Muddling through in Mallorca

We're having a heat wave in Mallorca, so I'm going to take the lazy route and just copy notes from our ship's log:

July 4-8: Sparrow arrived safely from her trans-Atlantic journey via the good ship Snoekgracht. We boarded her on the ship (note: that's Sparrow, strapped in, below)...

...and were hoisted up, then lowered down over the side into the bay of Palma at 2:00a.m.(note: the photo below was taken aboard Sparrow as she was held aloft by a crane above other sailboats on Snoekgracht).

We motored to the Real Club Nautico, a lovely sailing club/marina, where we spent the next four nights. Nora likes our next-door neighbors--young Kiwi men here for the King's Cup Race. Rosie likes the pool and the gym and the air-conditioned reading room. The city of Palma is absolutely gorgeous.

JULY 8: PALMA TO LAS ILLETAS Sparrow's first glorious sail in foreign waters. We fly along at about seven knots in a moderate breeze. Las Illetas is a tiny cluster of islands off the mainland, just a few miles SW of Palma. Pretty, but very crowded. We catch our first glimpse of nude yachties.

JULY 9: LAS ILLETAS TO ANDRAITX Another gorgeous sail, southwest to Punta de Cala Figueroa then NW to Porto De Andraitx--about 3.5 hours, averaging 7 knots. In the last hour, we set the spinnaker for the first time, with great success. We anchor in the harbour, surrounded by hills and the Sierra deTramontana in the distance. At night, the hills are a -twinkle and a full moon rises over us.

JULY 13: DAY TRIP TO ISLA DRAGONERA AND CALA EGOS Bert completes the installation of our water maker and--hallelujah!--it works. We had out for a picnic at Isla Dragonera, motoring north in 20+ knots of wind, and making water like crazy. Dragonera's tiny calas (coves) prove untenable, so we head back south to Cala Egos, just north of Andraitx. An easy downwind sail with just the mainsail up. Lunch: local baguettes, local salami, Serrano ham, Cambozola cheeze, tomatoes and olives. Yum. A swim amidst jellyfish, a kayak 'round the cala, a bit uf sunning, then it's back to Andraitx we go.

EDITOR'S NOTE: the following entries were written by Bert:

JULY 16: ANDRAITX Happily at anchor in Andraitx. Befriend Canadian couple with Spanish Waterdog puppy (Chris & Linda, aboard Mon Arch). Two U.S. flagged vessels asrrive (Jack & Patricia on Whoosh; John on Sarah). Jack helps us get Airmail up and running. Fiesta de St. Carmen over weekend: Blessing of fleet and fireworks (note: photo shows the fleet roaring out the harbour at sunset).

JULY 17: ANDRAITX TO PLAYA TRENCH (25 miles) Light downwind sail wing & wing. Stopped at Cala Pi to take a look--very tight with sheer walls dropping to water, boats tied to rings ashore. Very beautiful but not my idea of a safe anchorage. Move on to Playa la Trench off first large beach I've seen--but very protected from prevailing wind. (Below: Nora at the helm

JULY 18: ISLA DE CABRERA Beautiful harbour in national park. 14th century castle protects entrance. Nice breeze allows for good sail over. Hike up to castle, swim in clear water, snorkel in Blue Cave. Simply beautiful.

JULY 20: PORTO COLOM Wake to find alternator bracket bolt broken. Decide to push a little further to Port Colom to find mechanic. Leave in 15-20 knots, single reef. Upwind boat moves very nicely. Wind slowly dies with left-over sea--not comfortable. Solar panels keep us from losing too much charge. Find mechanic at once and he agrees to meet us at mole at 10 am tomorrow.

BACK TO AMY...
Well, that's the last entry. The good news is that the mechanic fixed us up in no time flat, and now we're back in business. Last night the harbour master told us we had to move our boat because we were too close to the spot where the town was going to be launching a fireworks display. We anchored about 20 meters further away from shore, then headed into town for a paella dinner. Returned to the boat then lounged till midnight. And then the fuegos artificiales began! Fireworks from as close a vantage point as we've ever seen. Spectacular! Scary! The next morning (today) we awoke to find our decks covered in flecks of ash. Caramba, that was close!

P.S. If you want to follow Sparrow's progress, go to winlink.org, find the "locate someone" link, click on it and punch in my callsign (kb1nly). A Google Earth image will pop up and show you a photo of our exact location!
This is Sparrow, standing by.

Same old, same old

Not a whole lot to report, really, except that we finally got the fricking boat on the freighter and we’ve moved to Spain. That’s about it.

If you must have the interminable details, read on.

After we knew we were going to miss the May 9 ship from Fort Lauderdale to Mallorca (due to a shockingly endless series of brand-new boat malfunctions), we sent the kids up to New England to hang out with Bert’s parents for a few days, then to visit with the Wicker family on Star Island. I’m sure you recall from your geography lessons that Star Island is part of the Isles of Shoals, a small group of islands about ten miles off the coast of Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Anyway, there they hung, Rosie running feral with her friend Bea, and Nora working in the kitchen as pastry chef, under Sarah Wicker’s tutelage. (Need a chocolate torte for 50? Nora’s your girl.)

Meanwhile, Bert and I sailed the boat from Palm Beach to the Pier 66 Marina in Fort Lauderdale. We spent the next six weeks sweating like whores in church as we labored to get Sparrow ready for the big trip. We replaced the old, ill-fitting propeller. We replaced the Furuno GPS chart-plotter with a Raymarine one. We moved the autopilot panel and the cockpit shower head to more sensible locations. I realize suddenly that I’m saying ‘we’ a lot—actually, I didn’t do a lick of this work. But I did sweat a lot and I offered many extremely well-received opinions.

We spent our last week in air-conditioned splendor at the marina’s adjoining Hyatt Regency hotel (below is a picture of Sparrow, taken from our room).

Then, on the 17th of June, at about 8pm, we got word that the time was right to load our boat onto the good ship Snoekgracht (try saying that name out loud. Now say it out loud really loudly. Gesundheit! Hah!). We dashed out of our hotel room, untied the boat and motored under the 17th Street Causeway bridge. There, in the distance, under a suitably dramatic sky, lay Snoekgracht, or Snoeky, as I like to think of her.



We drew close and circled around a few times, until a guy from waaaay up on the deck of the ship shouted down to us to bring Sparrow alongside. Bert generously allowed me to take the helm for this tricky maneuver, and I executed the landing with a most singular feeling of exhilaration (and a most copious flow of sweat). The tiny man at the top of the container ship lowered two lines to us, and in no time we were holding fast and fending off with great care to keep the spreaders from banging alongside the great hulking metal sides of Snoeky.

Then the tiny man up top shouted down and asked us if we wanted to get off our boat and take a launch back to the hotel, or if we’d like to stay aboard while they hoisted Sparrow up with a crane. “But you’ll have to climb off on the rope ladder after you get up here,” he added. Bert yelled, “Sure,” as I nervously eyed the ladder. A two-hundred-foot descent from that swaying piece of line seemed, I don’t know, like something I would NEVER DO IN A MILLION YEARS AND BERT OUGHT TO KNOW THAT BY NOW.
“I’m not doing that,” I said.
“Oh, come on, you can do it,” he said, smiling encouragingly.
Just then, a man in a wetsuit began climbing down the ladder, Or, rather, he took a step down, swung a bit, then was slammed, twisting, elbows and knees, against the side of the ship. This action was repeated until he reached bottom. Bert and I watched in silence, then Bert yelled up to the the tiny little guy, “Actually, we’ll just take the launch.”

At this point, it was about 10pm. We stayed aboard long enough to watch a sailboat in front of us get hoisted up, and to swig a few drams of rum and eat some Pirouline cookies. We gave the remaining cookies to the guy in the wetsuit (that rum was gone) and hopped onto the launch. When we got back to the hotel, we dashed off and grabbed a pizza, then drove to an empty lot across from the harbor, and watched as Sparrow was lifted onto the Snoekgracht. If you look at the photo below closely, you can kind of see her, just left of center, raised just above the great ship's decks. I'm sorry. It was late, there'd been rum, and my camera sucks.


Oy, this is taking forever. So then we hightailed it to Rhode Island, got the kids from the Wickers, said goodbye to family and friends (and it was so great seeing you all, we miss you already), and on Wednesday, June 28, we flew to Mallorca, where we await the July 4th arrival of Sparrow.

We’re comfortably ensconced at the stunningly beautiful Hotel Dalt Murada, (check out their website, www.hoteldaltmurada.com, we’re in suite 3) in the achingly beautiful town of Palma. That's Nora out on the terrace, and Rosie in the living room of our suite.



We’re feasting on tapas, sipping Spanish wine, seeing the sights and tentatively trying out our rudimentary Spanish. As soon as Sparrow shows up, we’ll provision, then sail off for a summer cruise of the Balearic islands (quick, dust off the atlas!). Then, in early August we head for our future home: Port Vell Marina in Barcelona. Ya’ll come see us!
This is Sparrow, standing by.