After countless weeks of preparation in La Línea, the sails finally arrived, and a promising weather window emerged. We set off, navigating the busy port of Gibraltar amidst towering cargo ships. Tying up at the massive cargo dock, our boat felt like a tiny dingy in comparison to the industrial giants surrounding us. Before departure Espen had to fill in all the forms required to enter the port. Port authorities asked us to fill in number of crew with diseases, how many tons of waste, animal carcasses and number of dead people onboard!
Our long-awaited sails from North Sails arrived in pristine blue sailbags—a sight we’d been eager to see. Yet, they came without the furler and ropes we had also ordered.
Disappointed but undeterred, we carefully stowed the sails away, started the engine, and motored out of the port.
The Strait of Gibraltar demands respect, not only for its strong currents and bustling maritime traffic but also for the potential presence of orcas. Recent reports by Misfit crossing from Tangier to Cádiz mentioned being followed by orcas for an hour the previous day. Luckily no incidents occurred, they were able to outrun the orcas. Misfit is a huge 65f cat, we are not able to reach the same speed as them. This heightened our vigilance as we crossed from Gibraltar to Ceuta, assigning each crew member a lookout position. The strait is only 14.2 km at its narrowest point and connects the Atlantic Ocean to the Mediterranean Sea.
Fortunately, the crossing was smooth and uneventful. The arid coastline unfolded before us as we crossed strait over to Ceuta. From the sea, Ceuta is a city rising defiantly from the edge of the African continent, a city that tell stories of centuries past. It is a Spanish city firmly rooted on Moroccan soil. For sailors throughout history it has been more than a city— a lifeline, a fortress, and a launchpad for some of the most significant maritime ventures. In ancient times, Ceuta was a vital stop along maritime trade routes connecting the Mediterranean and Atlantic. Its sheltered harbor offered sailors a safe haven, while the city itself became a bustling market for goods from Europe, Africa, and the Middle East. Ceuta was a critical point for Muslim sailors exploring and trading along the Atlantic coast of Africa facilitating the exchange of knowledge, goods, and technologies between North Africa and Europe.
In 1415 Ceuta was captured by the Portuguese, marking a turning point in maritime history. As Portugal’s first overseas territory, it became a symbol of Europe’s ambitions to explore and conquer lands beyond its borders. After capturing Ceuta, Prince Henry used the city as a base for the Portuguese expeditions that would eventually chart new sea routes along Africa’s west coast. And we are now taking on some of the routes they discovered visiting countries they colonised, and the route of the terrible trade of slaves.
When Ceuta came under Spanish control in the 16th century, it continued to serve as a crucial waypoint for sailors venturing into the Atlantic or returning from the Americas. Today, Ceuta’s role has evolved, but its importance remains. Enough about Ceuta, we never went ashore to see the city. But it marks as a good start as we follow the footsteps of the early explorers on our journey towards Las Palmas, Cape Verde and the Caribbean.
New sails and folding propellers arriving in Gibraltar
To minimise the risk of encountering orcas, we stayed close to the coast, keeping depths below the recommended 20 meters. As we passed the border between Ceuta and Morocco, we gave a wide berth to the military ships anchored nearby.
Approaching the bustling Tangier Med port, we encountered a flurry of activity. Over VHF, the port authority instructed us to steer clear of the massive cargo ships coming and going. Despite our best efforts, they grew impatient as we lingered to ensure safe passage. Their repeated calls escalated: “Yggdrasil, this is Tangier Med port. Get out of here!” We quickly made our way behind a cargo ship, finally clearing the channel. But to be honest I don’t think they are unfriendly. They just find it stressful with small sailing vessels close to all the big ships in port. That said, the boat that passed by six hours later seemed to suggest a different story— according to them they had been firmly escorted out.
Approaching Tangier port, a place we had visited by ferry just a week ago, felt both familiar and challenging. The currents near Tangier port are notoriously strong, shaped by the narrow Strait of Gibraltar where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Mediterranean Sea. This area experiences complex tidal flows and intense water movement due to the significant exchange of water between the two bodies of water.
Typically, the current flows eastward into the Mediterranean on the surface, bringing Atlantic water through the strait. However, underneath, a deeper countercurrent flows westward, carrying denser, saltier water back to the Atlantic. The combination of these layers and the funneling effect of the strait can create fierce currents around Tangier.
Close to the port, the currents are particularly challenging, especially during tidal shifts when the flow can reach up to 5 knots in certain areas. Timing your approach with favorable tidal conditions is critical, as the currents can drastically affect a vessel's speed and maneuverability, even with powerful engines. With our engines on full throttle we barely make 1-2.5 knots. We clearly did not time this right.
Along the shoreline, scenes of Morocco unfolded — camels meandering along the sand and locals going about their day on the beach. Progress was slow but steady as we inched our way down the Moroccan coast. We also pass by Cafe Hafa:)
Throughout the night, we zigzagged between massive cargo ships. It was nerve-wracking and felt tight as we maneuvered among the giants of the sea. At the same time, the night watch passed quickly with so much to keep an eye on. Our friends on Myrto had set sail from Cádiz earlier in the day, and Snowmane had departed Tangier, so they were roughly a day ahead of us on the journey to Las Palmas. It is nice to know we have friends out here with us.
After Fredrik and I crossed the shipping lane Emilie and Espen were on watch. They spotted fins in the water. Their hearts leapt—could it be? Orcas?
They looked at each other and then back at the sea. Phew, just dolphins! Dancing alongside the boat, lighting up the water with bioluminescence.
The next day, we decided to let go of our orca-related stress. The wind held steady at 10–15 knots, perfect conditions. We decided to test our new sail—without the furler—using Emilie’s silks mount as a temporary attachment. It started off well: we had a reef in the mainsail, and the new gennaker set beautifully at the bow. We managed to douse it under the mainsail before nightfall.
The next day, we decided to keep the same sail setup but skipped hoisting the mainsail altogether.
Gennaker - and no main. Lovely as long as it lasted:)
As evening fell, the wind picked up. Far too late, well after darkness set in, we realised we needed to bring the gennaker down. In our haste, the sail came down too quickly with no mainsail to shield it. It ended up in the water—part of it even under the boat. We pulled and heaved, eventually putting it on the winch. Then, rip… Damn! A tear in our beautiful new sail.
We packed the gennaker away and unfurled the jib instead—a good call in hindsight, as the wind climbed to 27 knots and the sea turned choppy. Emilie and I endured what was our toughest watch yet. Barbra, our autopilot, and one of our best friends is struggling in the large waves. Espen and Christoffer took over after us.
At 6 a.m., I got up in the dark for what is always my favourite shift: the one where the stars slowly fade, and the sun peeks over the horizon.
Bang! A massive wave hit the starboard side, throwing me into the bathroom door. The dishes tumbled down the portside steps where the kids were sleeping.
I got up and headed to the galley. Emilie was already cleaning up the mess. Barbara once again struggles with her steering. Christoffer is at the helm and gets everything under control. In Las Palmas we discover that the rudder sensor is acting up and on the next passages she is doing an awesome job.
When I stepped outside to prepare the cockpit, I noticed the floor was unusually slippery. “Did a lot of water come in?” I asked Espen. He shrugged, “Not really.” But I couldn’t shake the slickness underfoot. Espen soon spotted the culprit: an empty jar of olive oil lying on the table. We had created our own skating rink.
Espen took on the cleanup while I sat outside, but even then, I couldn’t escape the oil. My soles were still slippery when I got up to make coffee. Lesson learned: shoes off!
The winds die out and for the last 20 hours we motorsail towards the port of Las Palmas after five days at sea. We also catch our first Mahimahi:) Espen sleeps trough it all, and only get a taste of the leftovers when he wakes up.
Coming into Las Palmas we dock at the S pantoon. All of a sudden we are back in Norway -nearly half of the boats on the pantoon sail under the Norwegian flag. A buzy time follows.
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