Ria de Muros

A light wind and a little mist greeted us as we rose, early for us, in time to weigh anchor by ten o'clock.  With poor visibility, but smooth seas and very little wind two options presented themselves:  To pop around the corner to Camarinas, or if visibility improved, to continue around Finisterre while the conditions remained calm.  We planned both passages and set off towards Cabo Villano to see what the weather was like further out.

Yet again the forecast for Finisterre coastal waters was north or Northeast force four to five.  The actual conditions were Southwesterly force one or two, but we were not complaining!  With the motor on we purred smoothly through the glassy water, in company with Ian and Jo on Zephyrus, and were soon enjoying the warmth of the sun as it burned off the mist.  With smooth seas and sunshine our decision was made very easy and we continued past the entrance to the ria de Camarinos and South towards Finisterre.

Finisterre, "End of the world", is the most westerly point in Europe, beyond which many believed, some still do believe, that the sea drops over the edge of the world.  With this in mind we kept a good look out, determined that we would not fall off.  As we were pottering along Zephyrus called on the radio and arranged a rendevous off Cabo Finisterre so that we might take photos of each others yacht passing the cape.  It amused Ian and Jo on Zephyrus enourmously that we hoisted our sails just for the photos, despite the lack of wind.  We don't want anyone to know that as we passed Europes most famous cape conditions were so benign that we had to motor!

The Cape really was rather spectacular, towering granite cliffs falling away into the deep blue sea, laced with a little spray thrown up by the slightest of Atlantic swells rolling into the rocky feet of the headland.

Once past Finisterre we turned in towards the coast and made for Ria de Muros.  We left the sails up, turned the engine off and in the blissful silence Chris cooked up some stew while I watched Finisterre disappear miles behind in the haze.  A couple of hours later, dinner polished off and washed down, we entered the Ria de Muros and put the engine back on, motoring the last couple of miles into a small bay beneath the town whose name the Ria bears.

As we dropped the hook, Zephyrus hailed us and invited us over to celebrate rounding the cape over a bottle of champagne or two . . . .