31/10/2019
We arrived in Tenerife in the wee hours of the 6th day of our crossing. We chose what looked to be one of only a few anchorages on her east coast to drop the hook. Anchoring in the pitch dark in unfamiliar territory is always a bit of a gamble, but we took it slow and seemed to dig on our first go. We had made it. We'd sailed over 750 nautical miles from Gibraltar to Tenerife, taking us just over 5 days. Far too tired to celebrate, we passed out, just thankful to be safe and to have made it in time to overlap with Stephen's family for a few days.
We woke up the following morning to drink in our first taste of Tenerife. I went above deck to check out what this island had to offer, curious as I'd never been to the Canaries before and didn't really know what to expect. First impressions were a bit dubious, as in the dark we hadn't realised we'd anchored just offshore of a waste management plant. Lovely! Time to move. We hadn't planned on spending time on anchor in Tenerife anyways, as we needed to get Florence to a marina that would be able to haul her out to have some work done pre-Atlantic crossing. We radioed Marina San Miguel, supposedly the only marina on the island with a lift big enough to handle Flo's tonnage, whom we had previously had a lot of difficulty getting in touch with. We had tried calling them several times from Ibiza in hopes of confirming the lift, a space on their dry dock for a couple weeks, and the required work. No one seems to answers the phone at the marina. We had luck getting through twice in about 12 attempts. On the first occasion, it appeared the person on the other end didn't speak English, so they hung up on us. Helpful. We managed to get through once more to someone who spoke enough English to inform us that they don't take advance reservations, so we'd just have to show up and try our luck. Not the most encouraging of responses, as we'd be pretty shit out of luck if they couldn't haul Florence out when we got there. But as we didn't seem to have many options, we figured the best we could do was to get Florence to the marina as soon as possible to see what was what.
When we radioed the marina that morning, they informed us they didn't have any berths but could squeeze us against the fuel pontoon if we'd be OK with that. What choice did we have? We weighed anchor and sailed the short hop down the coast of Tenerife to the marina. When radioing the marina again to get berthing instructions, there was no answer. Early evidence was not boding well for the efficiency of San Miguel Marina... We tried them on the phone, and thankfully someone answered and told us to radio again. No answer. So we had no choice but to round the breakwater at the entrance to the marina and hope for the best. Once inside, we saw what was a relatively small and crowded marina, but thankfully the fuel pontoon was right by the entrance, and there was someone on the pontoon to show us where to tie up. I was at the helm and executed a clean if relatively easy park, and we were soon secured to the pontoon. We were told the man to speak to was a geez named Rafa who ran the boatyard. We eventually found him having a beer in the restaurant above the marina office. He didn't speak much English, but he seemed to be able to confirm a haulout of our boat for the following morning at 10 AM. He also confirmed they should be able to do the work we needed, i.e., a scrub of the hull and application of anti-foul paint. This should remove any growth that had accumulated on Florence's underside over the past several months and should protect her hull for the remainder of the season. A clean hull should also give us more speed on the Atlantic crossing, which couldn't hurt. 2,750 nautical miles is a long way - every tenth of a knot of speed helps!
Relieved that we were able to get our work list confirmed, we cleaned and organised Florence and prepped her for her lift the following morning. The last time she had been lifted was when she was re-launched into the water for the first time since we bought her. This was at Berthon Boatyard in Southampton, arguably the most professional boatyard in the UK. Even knowing she was in those very capable hands, it was a nerve-wracking experience watching our new home being lowered on a crane into the ocean.
We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening with Stephen's family at their nearby hotel. I'm so pleased we made our weather window and were able to get to Tenerife in time to overlap with them. Stephen's older brother and his wife Joanne are lovely, and their 2 kids, Jessica and William, are the best niece and nephew a girl could hope for. They were full of questions about the crossing and keen to show us all the cool things their hotel had going for it, including a large pool with swim up bar, games room, and a miniature golf course. Several high-stakes rounds of that ensued. We arranged for them to come to Florence the following morning to see Florence before she was lifted. The kids seemed naturals on the boat, with William taking the helm (albeit while tied to the dock) with the confidence of a seasoned sailor. We will have to get them aboard Florence when she is out at sea sometime and not just hanging onto a dirty fuel pontoon.
And then the time had come for the dreaded lift. Stephen and I had a wander around the boatyard (if you can call it that) the day before, and it didn't inspire a ton of confidence. It was basically a concrete platform with a handful of rusty tools scattered around. Berthon it clearly was not, but it did have a lift that could apparently handle Florence's tonnage. We spoke to one guy named Angel who seemed to be running the operation, and he did seem to know his stuff, so we slipped the lines off the fuel pontoon and began driving slowly towards the lifting station. Stephen was at the helm, which I was thankful for, as the marina was very tight, and anytime you are driving your boat into a narrow gap between two high concrete walls is a little unsettling. We didn't really know what we were doing, as we'd never lifted the boat before, so we just took it slow and awaited instructions. Once inside the lifting berth, we were tossed four lines that we secured to Flo's bow and stern to keep her from bouncing into the concrete walls while the lifting straps were attached. It's hard to describe just how large, loud, and intimidating the lifting crane was - a huge metal apparatus on four of the largest wheels you've ever seen, with two thick straps that were slowly lifted under Flo to ultimately sit flush on her hull. We showed Angel the boat's diagram so he knew where the keel and propellor were located so that the straps could be put in the right place. Once we felt we'd gotten that right, the lifting process began. At this point, Stephen and I were still on the boat so we could untie the lines at the right time. This was not a pleasant experience. You could feel the boat losing its buoyancy as she inched higher. For some reason, her starboard side was rising a lot faster than her port, so she was coming up all lopsided. I had to hang onto her guardrail to keep from sliding off. Was this right?? It wasn't obvious if the boatyard staff knew either, as there seemed to be a lot of yelling and gesticulating going on. The only word we could understand being screamed over and over was, "NO! NO!" Stephen and I didn't know what to do - we just kept looking at each other and at the crew, asking what they needed us to do. Eventually as she rose higher, the sides evened out, and the crew stopped the lift to give us time to clamber off on a little plank. Relieved to be on land, we were able to step back and watch the rest of the lift. Florence has to be one of the bigger boats this lift deals with, as the concrete walls were uncomfortably close to her topsides.
We both heaved a sigh of relief once her keel was clear of the concrete pontoon. There she was - all 28 tons of her, suspended in mid-air with only a couple of straps preventing her from plummeting to her demise. And then she was on the move again. The lift's huge wheels began rotating backwards, as they moved Florence away from the mouth of the berth and towards what we assumed would be her spot on the dry dock. Stephen and I were holding hands, white-knuckled, just praying this would be over soon. To give credit where credit is due, the lift parked Florence safely into a spot on the dry dock, and the team began assembling the stilts that would support her once the lift's straps were removed. This we were told would take a couple hours. We'd seen enough. We both needed a stiff drink. We wandered to the little bar above the marina and exhaled properly for the first time since leaving the fuel pontoon that morning. I am NOT looking forward to having to do that again!
With Florence on the dry dock where she would sit for the next couple of weeks and all of her work commissioned, we were able to spend a bit more time with Stephen's family before packing our bags for a trip home to the UK. We figured we didn't need to waste a couple weeks just hanging around the boatyard and could instead use this time to head back to our old home and to catch up with friends and family. It seemed an opportune time to have a bit of a break from boat life before undertaking what would be by far our biggest challenge yet - a trans-Atlantic crossing. So we dug into storage under Flo's floorboards, unearthing our cold weather clothes for the first time since leaving Ireland many months prior, and prepared for a couple weeks on dry land (if you can consider London dry land). Then it was off to the airport, where I got the first stamp in my passport since embarking on this journey in May (it feels good to be back in the system instead of travelling illegally!), before boarding the plane. It feel a bit weird to be travelling internationally like normal people do, via airplane rather than sailboat. Much quicker, if not quite as badass. As we took off, I could just make out Florence sitting on her stilts in the San Miguel boatyard below. Let's hope she stays there safe and sound until we return... We'll be back to her mid-November to finalise our trans-Atlantic preparations. In the meantime, we are homeward bound.
