Mostly, nowadays we just look at computers and go to marketing meetings. How interesting and photogenic is that? Personally, I'd rather see photos of sun, sea and sky; and it helps if they were taken when we were young and pretty. Well, Tony was a bit, anyway.

                

Chris, Tony, sailing, early 70's.         Tony, Chris, Helford, 70's.

Twenty-five years on - late 90's:    

Chris off the North (or South?) Foreland              Tony up a tower in Sienna
[still sailing after all these years]                  [Tuscany wine, architecture, and wine]

Now, you'd never guess by looking at me (Chris) that I'm an art lover, so here is some of my favourite art. These are from Horta; try and guess where that is from the following murals.

 


s/y Skedemongske




s/y Manutea




s/y Baal




s/y Nuage, et aussi les Biquets

Well, you should have got it by that one. They are, of course, on a sea wall; around the harbour of Horta, in the Azores (you can see Espalamaca Head on the left above, which protects the harbour to the north; and the big rock in front of Madalena on Pico, to the right - east - in the haze). This the ocean sailor's rendezvous, since you can't get there except by sailing across a thousand miles of ocean or more. Until recently, that is, when it got an airport - the blight of many an island paradise.

Like Funchal in Madeira, though (or the old airport there at least), it is one of the hairiest in the world to fly into on a rough day - definitely not for the faint-hearted. Only British and Portuguese pilots used to be allowed to fly in to Madeira, and coming into Horta in a high wind - which they get an awful lot of - you know why. As the pilot banks the plane round hard and stands it on its wingtip to get in under the cliff, just missing the big white headland to the south, the lower wing points down into the sea, the tiny runway perched out on a rock shelf on the sea below looks impossibly small, the engines are screaming, the whole plane is shaking and jarring hard, you can see the wings flexing a yard up and down, passengers are terrified and moaning all round - it's kinda fun.

Got to be honest, I'd sooner go by boat - I prefer a Force 9 in a 32-foot boat in mid-ocean to that, it seems a whole lot safer.

s/y Argo




s/y Low Profile




s/y Asra, s/y Expresso





s/y Futuro





s/y Magic Turtle





s/y Trygvason

It seems unfair to only comment on one of these works, as they are all noteworthy. When you consider they are done on a rough old harbour wall somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic, with paint bought from the local hardware shop (in a Portuguese outpost mostly forgotten by the world) and passed around between the boat crews, they are really something. The one above for the Swedish yacht Trygvason is done in wonderful pastel shades that don't come out well in this quick snap of mine. Many of these people are highly skilled, and probably graphic designers and so on in their land-locked lives.

s/y Monomatapa

One of my favourites. The marine world is of course divided into rag & stick merchants or stinkpot pilots - and these Martians look suspiciously like the latter.

s/y New Hope

This one by the crew of New Hope is a - what? I can't remember the word for a collection of real objects made into a work of art. Collage? Anyway, again it's hard to tell from the snap, but this is a striking collection of items that are (probably) epoxied onto the wall. There is a small dinghy anchor - useless, so no wonder they stuck it on a wall - and some neatly-spliced rope. The whole thing is finished off with a coating of the local black sand.

The Horta harbour wall paintings

Above are a shown a few of the many thousands of boat 'signature' paintings that seem to cover every inch of space on the walls, ground, and everywhere else in the harbour of Horta, on the small island of Faial in the Azores. This is a group of islands around a thousand miles west of Portugal out in the North Atlantic, on the sailing route from the Caribbean and US east coast to Europe. From Horta you can head north-east to the Channel (it's 1,250 miles or so to Falmouth, most likely with a building wind up your transom) or south-east to the Med, down the Portugal Current and into the Canary Current.

What makes cruising sailors stand out as a group is how talented they are. Plenty of artists there, as you can see; and more musicians, authors, linguists, skilled laptop computer users and no doubt other talents, than in any other group that comes to mind. Put that together with the fact that they are of course resilient characters by nature, and you have a formidable group of people. One might have guessed that in any case, since people who enjoy prolonging for weeks or even months, what many consider to be agony if it only lasts for an hour or two - bumping up and down the waves offshore - are hardly likely to be of the usual calibre.

If you want to discuss publishing a book, writing music, or getting a job in Fiji or Estonia, with some rugged characters, you couldn't do it in better company than in a bar in Horta; possibly Peter's Café Sport but there are plenty to choose from. This is also the spiritual home of the square riggers, and late in the season especially you'll probably see two or three in port.

It's said you can't call yourself a sailor until you've sailed into Horta; I'd add to that: until you can sing out a sea shanty or three, have singlehanded a night passage of 50 miles, taken a sight or two that got within 5 miles, and made a port-to-port passage of 1,000 miles. I'd leave out all those things I haven't done yet, of course - like being shipwrecked - but that's only through a matter of luck, not skill...

I was in Horta after a quick jaunt, singlehanding my Sadler 32 up from Cape Town, on the way to the Channel. A port-to-port passage of around 6,500 miles on that leg of the trip, and a leisurely 75 days at sea without sighting land - well, apart from a glimpse of Brava (probably) in the Cape Verde islands, through the thick golden haze they get down there when the wind blows off the Sahara.

If you ever get the chance, sail the South Atlantic in a small boat: dorado and tuna swimming alongside, showers of flying fish bursting out from under the bow of the boat, dolphins chattering at you, frigate birds overhead, and a huge, warm, friendly ocean to play in. The Indian Ocean can be hot, humid and vicious, with 50-knot winds that come from nowhere; the North Atlantic has a real mean streak, cold and hard; but the South Atlantic is extremely pleasant by comparison. Big, friendly rollers pushing you onward north to the Doldrums, the south-easterly tradewinds always on the starboard quarter, and fresh dorado for lunch - what more do you need? Ah, there's a slight lack of DSL, of course, but nowhere's perfect.