Marina manoeuvres...

Making our way down the east coast of Lanzarote, it's been dark for a while and the stars shine where the gaps in the clouds allow them to. The wind literally blows hot and cold as we make our way to Arrecife, the capital of Lanzarote, the metropolis that feels like it could be an outer space docking station, sending a bright orange glow up into the sky that's visible for 15 miles or more. I remind myself that we are near the Sahara and that's why I get these warm furnace like blasts on my face. It feels tropical and exotic, for the last five hours I felt like I was in a dream, and knowing it is real. As we approach the entry to the port a large passenger ferry hurtles in at 20 knots, I am forced to make an arc and circle for a while until the behemoth has passed. Then I'm into the channel, peering keenly through the dark to pick out the red and green pilot lights. My glance goes to my iPhone where I can see us on the chart. A small launch surges by and I feel grateful that he is marking the way, help it seems is always at hand. They don't recommend going into new harbours at night. I obviously like learning the hard way. I try radioing the marina but get no response, I'm on my own. I crawl in at a snails pace to the marina, masts like reeds in the warm stillness, the engine chugging, nice and slow. I cannot quite make things out and I continue on my reconnaissance. Just then a shout catches me and I turn and see a couple of guys, one with a small torch, motioning me to come to them and berth at the pontoon where they stand. I make to turn and to keep it tight, I go into reverse, to swing her stern around, but nothing happens, I manage the turn and again push back the lever to reverse, or at least slow down, and it feels like we are accelerating forwards. I overshoot the berth, I shout to the guys waiting there, "I have no reverse, I cannot stop!" I hope they understand. Another two people appear, I come in for a second attempt and blindly hope the four of them will be able to restrain this 8 ton moving object before it ploughs into the back of an unsuspecting catamaran. It's a crunch time, with thankfully no crunch. With skill and quick thinking of those versed in boat handling, they bring us to a safe stop. I am so relieved! I don't sleep well and am up early. The nearby night club is noisy until 5am. It's hot and I'm not used to stillness and silence and sleeping laid down on a plane of unmoving 0 degrees. I go to register, to sign in at the office. The girl is friendly and fills out the forms. She tells me I will have to move Aisling to another nearby berth. My heart sinks a little. The strange thing is, I feel more confident to sail 3000 miles across open sea than I do to move my boat 15 metres sideways! The result was the latest in my growing portfolio of marina parking spectacles that thankfully ended well. Having thought I had solved my lack of reverse issue with the help of a well placed cable tie I reversed out of my bay. With a friendly neighbour on board and three people waiting in the new bay to receive me. After several minutes it dawned on me that the reverse gear had gone again, and additionally the boat was now stuck in forward gear, there was no way of stopping, again! The guy on the bow tells me, put her in neutral and we'll drift in. I tell him I have no neutral and we are stuck in forwards gear, ah, okay, he replies... Again, the deployment of four pairs of hands and sum deft rope work from the marinero and we arrive, 15 metres sideways and intact, phew! The good Lord has a way of slowing me down! I have arrived in mid October and any yachtsman worth their salt will tell me that it's not a good time to cross the Atlantic. They tell me I should wait another month at least, it's a matter of tropical storms and hurricanes. One of the things that I extol about my particular lifestyle choice is that I am humbled and must obey the natural law. When I am at sea, I am at the mercy of the elements and I will yield to what ever is thrown at me. And also I can learn to avoid the threats in the first place. Three weeks ago I battled my way out into the North Atlantic and came to a point of genuine concern for my wellbeing if I continued. I turned and ran for calmer waters. Perhaps today I have a little less arrogance than three weeks ago. Today they tell me I should wait a month, maybe I will wait a month. The thing with water is that given time, it rubs off all of the sharp edges and makes things smooth. I like smooth. So it looks like I'm here for a while. It's warm, quiet, I've met some lovely people. Maybe time to kick back, get my gearbox fixed and keep practicing my marina manoeuvres.

Ps - freshwater showers and clean clothes - sublime!