Bad weather building off Águilas sent us running for the nearest tiny,
well-protected notch in the coast, which turned out to have exactly two
mooring balls and, once we’d picked one up, absolutely nowhere else to
be for three days. I do not mind being stuck somewhere. I have been
stuck in worse places for considerably longer than three days. But I
will note that a crew penned into a small cove with nothing to do
develops its own kind of weather, and it is not always calmer than the
kind outside.
The generator got its first proper workout on the second day, which I
watched with some interest, having spent centuries relying on nothing
grander than wind and a favor owed. Tobi and Jo went ashore to explore a
cave and a scattering of wildflowers, Jo wanting to pick a bunch for his
mother until Tobi talked him out of it: leave them where they are, take
a photograph instead, and Anna gets to see them just the same without a
single flower having to die for it. Jo took the job seriously after
that, marching Tobi from bloom to bloom and directing exactly which
ones deserved a picture. For a few hours the whole business of waiting
out weather looked almost like a holiday rather than a delay.
On the morning we thought the wind had eased enough, we made a break for
open water and lasted perhaps an hour before the sea outside made the
decision for us and sent us straight back to the same mooring ball. I
will admit to some quiet satisfaction at that. The sea rarely needs my
help to make its point, but it is always gratifying to watch it prove
one anyway.
