8 to 30 August 2022

Puerto America, Cadiz, to Bonanza, Rio Guadalguivir, 36° 48′ 73″ N 06° 20′ 77″ W, 28nm, 5 hours 45

to Canal del Padre Santa, Mazagon, 37° 08′ 17″ N 06° 50′ 52″ W, 32nm, 6 hours

to Rio Guardiana, 37° 12′ 34″ N, 07°24′ 63″ W, 33nm, 7 hours 30

to Rio Formosa, 36° 58′ 75″ N 07° 52′ 48″ W, 30nm, 4 hours 30

With Chris gone we had no fixed plans until mid September when we were due to return to the UK for a visit so we decided to take a very slow cruise back around the Gulf of Cadiz. It was to be a wonderful few weeks of not being in a hurry, hanging out in old haunts, seeing some new places and catching up with friends.

It was also, however, to be punctuated by some not so gentle reminders of the dangers of life at sea.

From Cadiz we decided to head to an anchorage at the mouth of the Rio Guadalguivir which makes its way from the Parque Nacional de Doñana up to Seville. We had a slow day’s sail, enjoying light winds and not being in a hurry. We anchored over in Rota for lunch and to wait for a favourable tide up the river.

Later, as we approached the channel to enter the river, it became busier with fishing boats charging back to their base in Bonanza. I was on the helm keeping a careful watch as we continued under sail downwind into the buoyed channel. I clocked several boats converging on the channel, double checking their track on the AIS to be sure we weren’t on a collision course. One boat was on track to head down our port side, close but not close enough to make me change our track. Regardless I kept turning to check on it. Suddenly the boat had changed track and was now heading towards our stern quarter and fast. To my horror there also appeared to be no one in the wheelhouse. I yelled to Stefan to get up on deck, switched on the engine and changed course. The fishing boat was now so close I really thought it was going to hit us. The fisherman finally realised what was happening and returned to the helm. By the time he passed us he was just a metre or two away.

Shaken and very angry we radioed FV Juan y Delores but our levels of Spanish matched his English so we couldn’t communicate our displeasure. As we continued up the river we contemplated reporting the incident to the Guardia Civil but we had little confidence of any action being taken. If you ever see them out on the water, keep an extra wide berth!

The anchorage off the national park was just what we needed to settle our very frayed nerves. As evening fell, deer appeared from the pines and onto the shore. Despite the occasional tanker heading up river to Seville, it was the perfect spot to recover from this nearest of misses.

Doñana is an important wetland area full of marsh land, pines groves and sand dunes. It is home to flamingos, lynx and the Spanish Imperial Eagle. It is accessible by land but not, as we discovered, by boat so we had to make do with a dinghy ride along the shoreline. However, from Pintail’s deck we could watch the eagles soar over the river. You might just be able to make one out, perched in the tree.

After a couple of very tranquil nights we steeled ourselves to run the gauntlet of the fishermen again and leave the river. We had discovered that our friends Annemieke and Steve were in Mazagon and decided to catch up with them.

Just a few miles down the coast, and extra cautiously, we entered the channel into the Huelva canal to find SV Spirit of Delft anchored outside the marina with a couple of other yachts so we dropped anchor close by. Before we had a chance to tell of our encounter with the fishing boat, Annemieke and Steve started recounting the drama of the previous night in the anchorage.

In the middle of the night a motor boat had crashed into the bows of the two other yachts. We would later hear first hand accounts from the Dutch and Canadian crews of their exceptionally rude awakening and very close call. Miraculously, neither yacht had been seriously damaged. The damage to the offending motor boat was, however, obvious to see when Steve later pointed it out to us in the marina.

And we never did find out whether the dead body on the fuel pontoon which Annemieke saw the following morning had any connection to the incident or was the result of something completely different. However, both incidents served as yet further reminders of how fragile life on the water can be.

Thankfully there were no more rampaging motor boats and we happily spent nearly a week hanging out with two of our favourite humans, joining them for tostadas con tomate breakfast at their favourite cafe, taking a daily dip and playing rummikub.

Although a strange transit canal for the port of Huelva, the anchorage was surprisingly beautiful. Its sandy beaches and incredible sunsets made it difficult to leave and it was made harder still when we spotted SV Lady Gail making her way into the anchorage.

Winter marina friends Renata and Richard were heading east into the Med and we hung around a bit longer to catch up with them. Sitting on board Lady Gail one afternoon, through the window I spotted a small fishing boat floating slowly towards us with no one on board. Richard and Stefan jumped into the dinghy and towed it to the beach where the Salvamento Maritimo took over. At this point, the anchorage started to feel very unlucky and we started to plan our escape.

Annemieke and Steve were heading the same way so we decided to sail with them back to the Rio Guardiana. After so many years of knowing them, it was the first time we had sailed together. We knew they were purists so it didn’t surprise us when they sailed off their anchor and out into the channel!

We had a great day sailing in tandem with them. In fact, later, as they contemplated the sale of Spirit of Delft, Steve said it was the best sail they had ever had and true to form they sailed all the way up into the river to anchor just outside Ayamonte on the Spanish side. We had long put the engine on to navigate the tricky depths of the entrance.

The Guardiana flows fast at its mouth and we hadn’t been anchored long when we saw just how fast. Sitting on deck we watched another yacht anchor just up river from us. A gust of wind took one of its cockpit cushions into the water and, we suspect without thinking about the current, one of the crew immediately dived in after it. ‘He’s never going to get back’ Stefan predicted as we saw him struggling to swim against the tide which was taking him up river. Twice in as many days the dinghy went to the rescue!

The following day we jumped in the dinghy again – this time to watch Spirit of Delft make her way under the bridge and back up to Alcoutim. And of course, they did it under full sail. None of our wimpy motoring under!

Safely under we waved farewell for now. The temptation to return to the serenity of the upper reaches of the Guardiana was strong but we wouldn’t be following them.

Instead, after a couple of days in Ayamonte, on a flat calm day we continued around the bay and back to our favourite local anchorage in the Rio Formosa. This time we had the company of SV Zebulon, the Canadian boat still bearing the scars of the midnight incident at Mazagon.

Turning into the harbour at Culatra, the entrance was blocked with tiny fishing boats. For a second we wondered whether it was some kind of protest – like the fishermen who had blocked our entry into Boulogne all those years ago. But, no, there was just obviously good fishing to be hand right in the channel so we picked our way carefully through.

We might have mentioned it a number of times before but the anchorages of the Rio Formosa are real favourites of ours! There is just something so remote, peaceful and pretty about the sand islands and their tiny communities of fisherfolk.

On this visit, however, something had happened to shatter the hearts of these close knit neighbours. Just a few days before we arrived a teenage girl from Culatra had died in a collision between a water taxi and the ferry that runs to the mainland. It was hard to imagine that there was anyone living along those few sandy streets who was not touched by this tragedy.

We spent a couple of weeks hanging out between the islands, watching islanders forage at low tide and swimming in the cool water in the summer heat. The breeze carried the unmistakable scent of the curry plants growing on the dunes which we will forever associate with this area.

We were joined for a few nights by our lovely marina neighbours, Teresa and Mal and their two dogs, Pebbles and Roxy. We hung out together for walks and fresh seafood lunches ashore.

And just as happily as they did in the marina, Pintail and Moondance bobbed around at anchor side by side until it was time to return to pontoon F….