June 18, 2019
So I must admit, I was a bit nervous upon approaching to the Strait of Gibraltar. You hear cautionary tales about the Strait of Gibraltar and warnings of strong currents, confused seas, busy shipping lanes, and the necessity for careful planning. Stephen and I were pretty confident in our passage plan for the cross, so when I took over watch from him at 6 AM, weary from only catching a couple hours’ rest over what was a rocky night, I felt apprehensive but definitely excited for the crossing. Bolstered by a massive pot of coffee that I sucked down with due haste, I rubbed my eyes and caught the end of the sunrise as Florence headed confidently towards the entrance of the strait. While there were plenty of ships around to be sure, daylight ensured that I could see them all well, and I was careful to give the traffic separation scheme a wide berth so I wasn’t having to dodge massive tankers heading west through the strait. I’m not sure whether it was the glorious early morning weather, the fact that I could clearly see the rocky south coast of Spain to my left and the jagged cliffs of Morocco to my right (pretty fucking cool), or maybe the near lethal amount of caffeine I had running through my system, but I was buzzing. And so was Flo! Our passage was indeed well-timed, and we entered the strait with the current going with us, and it only got stronger each hour.
I was truly enjoying myself alone on deck, guiding Florence swiftly and safely through the straight The crossing we had expected to take over 3 hours I had nearly completed in 2! Flo was hooning along at over 10 knots, helped by the current and as eager to get through the strait and into the Med as we were. I had to rouse the 2 Steves early from their slumber to let them know Flo had absolutely crushed the crossing and that we were about ready to turn up towards Gibraltar. It was great to have all 3 of us on deck and working together as we navigated what is by far the busiest shipping area I’ve ever seen heading into Gib - massive tankers, cruise ships, mega yachts (yes, we must be getting into the Med now), sailing vessels and speed boats were coming at us from all angles. I was happy to have my RYA collision regulations firmly implanted in the memory. Mission for Gib stop: refuel as quickly as possible while making a pit stop to the chandlery to buy a chart for the western Med and one for the Balearic Islands. Ready, get set, go!
We got a taste of Iberian culture as we tried to jockey for a spot on the crowded and completely chaotic fuel pontoon. Cheeky little power-driven vessels kept darting ahead of us in the queue, no acknowledgement of blatantly cutting us off. It seemed we would have to get aggressive or we'd be here all day! Manoeuvring Florence in close quarters in a crowded and tight space while trying to squeak alongside the massive concrete wall that was the fuel pontoon in front of the other vying boats was a tricky task indeed. Classic was at the wheel, and he was cool, calm and collected, eventually sliding us up to the wall where we tied off and took advantage of duty free fuel (not to be sniffed at! Fuel in the tax haven of Gib comes in at about half price of anywhere else in Europe). We couldn’t actually enter Gibraltar to get to the chandlery without going to a separate marina and going through customs check in, which just was too much of a faff and could take hours. So I managed to sweet talked the chandlery into running the charts we needed to us at the fuel pontoon. Success! On just over an hour, we had taken on 730 litres of half-priced fuel, procured the charts needed for the next leg our trip, and were off the wall and headed out into the Mediterranean Sea. As we left Gibraltar, we dodged a couple absurd bond-villain type mega yachts as we set the sails and our course out into the Med. Next stop, the White Isle of Ibiza. It’s about 350nm journey from Gibraltar, so it should take us about 50 hours if we average 7 knots. The crew are all excited, as we’ve come almost 2500nm together on Florence over the past month, and this leg will mark the end of phase one of our journey. (I have also been promised the semblance of a much-belated honeymoon upon arrival, which I hope I’ve earned). Ibiza, here we come!
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