Motril and the mystery of the Phantom Breakwater

Motril was only about 10 mile further east from Este but by stopping there it would make the next hop, to Almerimar more manageable. Even so, I still did the planning and Chris programmed some waypoints into the chart plotter. The 11th of March was a beautiful morning and so at around midday, having paid our dues we pottered out of the marina, confident that we would sail the 10 miles even if it took the rest of the daylight hours. It seemed it might take a fair while because there was little wind, but with snow-capped mountains as our backdrop, a smooth sea and a one-knot current in our favour we were happy to be doing just 2.5 knots! For a while the wind picked up from the east and we sailed close-hauled for nearly an hour. It didn't last though and at 1500 we took the sails down and drifted with the current while we ate a late lunch. We were joined by some dolphins and then we noticed that the visibility, which had been moderate towards the east was deteriorating and that the land around Motril was disappearing. We put the engine on, deciding it would be better to get in and moored or anchored if fog was looming.

And loom it did! We had to put on the radar, blow the foghorn, reduce engine revs (so that we could hear other boats) the lot. It was quite spooky. I stayed on watch with George on helm and Chris down below with the radar. At this point we got a little confused! The chart plotter showed the end of the harbour breakwater ¼ of a mile ahead, yet the radar showed the breakwater continuing for another 800 metres! Deciding that the radar cannot lie, yet the computer could be wrong (Chris used to work with computers) we changed course to miss the phantom breakwater too. We approached on radar until we could see the wall, which was when we were about 40 metres away, and followed it on a left hand rule safely into the marina, where, being a Sunday afternoon, Spanish families were enjoying themselves eating and drinking in their cockpits, oblivious to the fog in their harbour. We were greeted with smiles and offers of help with lines, told where to moor and within seconds, Giblet jumped ship to a neighbouring boat and was running along the pontoon being chased by a three year old. Chris leapt to the rescue and got her back onto La Premiere before much harm was done. Later, we realised that the breakwater wall has been recently extended and it is not shown in our pilot book or on our charts, paper or electronic.

Motril is quite a large and important harbour, serving Granada, and is actually about two miles from its town centre. Fortunately there was a supermarket for the small fishing community that has built up around the port. The gas situation was still uncertain though, and so we took out our trusty steeds for the first time since Vilamoura and embarked on an epic hunt for camping gas. The port had nothing to offer so we headed into town, fortunately a mostly flat ride, and I waited on a park bench with the bikes while Chris did a quick reccy around the town for 'Ferretarias' (ironmongers which usually stock the much sought after gas. He returned shaking his head. So, we thought we would give up. As we cycled away he spotted another Ferretaria and we went to ask there. They gave us directions (in Spanish) but we failed miserably to understand and found ourselves in yet another shop. This time a customer came out and used hand signals to show us where to go. Success at last! Ironically, the gas shop was only a hundred yards from the park bench I had waited at some hour ago! We treated ourselves to some cakes before cycling back to the boat! Strangely, the thing we liked best about Motril was the fact that the people didn't speak English and it wasn't too touristy: A real Spanish town.

The next morning, with an east wind blowing we decided to stay put. We had the VHF on and we heard Zephyrus call up Malaga for a forecast. We waited for that to finish then called them. It turned out that they were only 5 miles from Motril and they decided to come in because the wind was on the nose and Almerimar, another thirty miles east, was out of the question. Unfortunately for them, two German boats had the same idea and beat them in and there were no spaces left on the pontoons. (Ever heard of German's putting their towels out first?!) They would have to anchor, but would their anchor hold in the mud that the pilot says is good for anchoring? Not likely. They tried three times; ventured over to the commercial quay from where they were sent back to the marina and finally, the Yacht Club secretary (worth a special mention because he was so friendly and helpful) said they should pick up a particular mooring. We invited them over when they were finally secure and somehow we spent about four hours in the club bar eating Tapas, which were provided free, with generous gin and tonics, beer and wine! It was good to catch up with Ian and Jo's news. We left them in Ceuta, just before their trip into Morocco, and their boat now proudly sports a new rug or two!

Chris and I were keen to get moving again but the forecast still had some east wind involved. It seemed calm enough though, and we thought a motoring trip to Almerimar would not be so bad if the sea was slight.