Across the Bay of Biscay
23 July 2010
by H. Veisz
The Tower of Hercules
With a sense of relief, we completed our Biscay crossing, and entered the marina at La Coruna, on the morning of July 19. As has been the case for so much of this trip, the crossing was faster and smoother than expected. We covered the 335 miles from France's Sainte Marine to Spain's La Coruna in 49 hours, a half-day sooner than our most optimistic estimate. Our time was helped by about 12 hours of exceptionally fine sailing conditions during the middle of the passage, when we maintained speeds of up to 8.4 knots. Lorraine recorded the best two hour mileage total during one of her turns on watch.
We had a period of considerable rolling during the latter portion of the trip, as moderate swells came at us broadside, but none of the horrid conditions for which Biscay is infamous. (Think of the photographs you have all seen of waves swallowing entire lighthouses, and you have Biscay at its worst.) There are few bodies of water so perfectly designed to make life miserable, and potentially dangerous. The deeply indented bay is 350 miles from one end point to the other. Waves generated by storms far out to sea flow into this cul de sac. The effect of the land contour is amplified by a rapid rise of the sea bed as it approaches the bay. On the French end, the bottom rises from 4,000 meters to 150 meters in 30 miles, forming a shelf that extends 115 miles from the point of our departure. On the Spanish end, the rise is sharper and closer to shore. All of this can produce conditions, when storms send waves rushing toward the bay, that the cruising guides describe in ominous terms. The Royal Cruising Club's "Guide to Atlantic Spain and Portugal" provides a nugget to mull over on the sail to La Coruna. Noting that it is pleasant sailing "in fine summer weather," it further notes that "in stormy conditions the coast is one to avoid - not for nothing is it known locally as the Costa da Morte (Coast of Death in the Gallego dialect.)"
As we left France, good weather was forecast for the anticipated period of the crossing, and a reasonable margin beyond that. The forecast proved accurate. The pleasures of a good weather passage were heightened by the company of dolphins at several points during the crossing, by a bird that landed on the hard dodger and entertained us for a few hours as it boldly walked around the cockpit within an arm's length of the wheel, and by nighttime views of the Milky Way arcing across the heavens.
The greatest challenge was maintaining our stamina as we traded places in the cockpit every few hours for the 49 hour period. The trip was long enough to become exhausting, but too short to fall into the rhythm of a watch cycle. But we managed.
Then came the rewards of Galicia: beautiful places, wonderful people, and the prospect of day sails from harbor to harbor as we work our way to the south of Portugal.
Our marina is adjacent to one of La Coruna's most attractive neighborhoods. Buildings in the neighborhood span the centuries, and include distinguished architecture from every period. A bicycle path, which we utilized, runs along the shoreline for several miles from the marina to the Tower of Hercules, an immense hilltop lighthouse (shown in the photograph) with a history going back to Roman times.
Yesterday, we enjoyed an unexpected in-depth tour of the La Coruna's oldest quarter. It began when Lorraine asked somebody for directions to a museum that was one street from where we stood. Apparently charmed by Lorraine and her Spanish (his sister is a Spanish professor in the US), he led us to the museum, then to some buildings of interest further down the street, and on we went. We parted company after a two-hour walking tour and an interesting discussion of La Coruna's history. This was not the first time in La Coruna that a simple request for directions triggered a lenghy and cordial conversation, but it was the most remarkable.
We took one day off from La Coruna to join the "pilgrimage" to nearby Santiago de Compostela. According to my RCC cruising guide, which I rely upon for ecclesiatical as well as navigational insight, Santiago has been a pilgrimage site since the discovery of the tomb of St. James (Santiago in Spanish) at the beginning of the 9th century. We arrived during the build-up to the Fiesta of Santiago, which is celebrated on the 25th of July. As we arrived at the plaza surrounding Santiago's magnificent 12th century cathedral - fresh from 30 minutes on a high-speed train and a 10 minute stroll from the station - we mixed with others whose loaded backpacks and walking sticks, or laden bicycles, bespoke a more substantial pilgrimage. Piety, fortunately, did not preclude good musical entertainment, or an ample selection of places to relax with good wine and good food.
Over the next several days, we will be mixing stops in small marinas with nights in quiet anchorages in rias ("drowned valleys") along the Spanish coast. Distances between stops will be shorter, hazards and tidal gates fewer. Traffic now tends to flow in one direction. We are beyond the realm of most boats that have crossed the English Channel on round trip voyages, and are part of a procession bound for the Med and beyond. Growing numbers of boats and sailors in this procession are becoming familiar. We are not in the company of any other US boats, but we are encountering sailors that we met before in Ireland, England, and France.
The joy of ending each day on European soil in the comfort of our own home (as Aponivi can rightfully be described), is heightened by the notion that our floating home is part of a congenial seagoing community.