We had been expecting high winds for a few days. On Thursday afternoon, one of the mariñeros told me to prepare for a windy night ahead. But the predicted high winds failed to materialise. By lunch-time Friday the wind had started to howl, rattling through the rigging of the boats in the marina, causing Carina to strain and jolt uncomfortably on her mooring lines. On the high cliff road from Aguadulce to Almería I looked out across the sea. There were white caps as far as the eye could see out across the Mediterranean, and the huge swell rolled in, crashing with spectacular white foam against the orange cliffs beneath the road. Three hours later, when I came home from work, I was battered by the wind as I made my way to the boat.
All night long the wind grew stronger, furiously shrieking through the masts and rigging of the boats all around, fenders squeaking and moaning as boats rubbed together in the swell and wind that moved them in and out of synchronicity. The noise carried below deck by a loose rope slapping against the mast led me gingerly out on deck to try to locate the offending rope and secure it away from the mast. Three times I thought I had found the right rope. Three times I was wrong.
I checked the stern fenders were secure and made sure the mooring lines were secured around the cleats fore and aft. All night long Carina jolted and lurched, throwing me wide awake with a feeling like airplane turbulence. Each time I drifted off only to be suddenly thrown awake again. At some point in the night I became aware that the sound of the wind had changed. It had become more high pitched, more pure, and it felt as though Carina had been lifted up and was falling down and down.
I woke after an uncomfortable night and discovered that the weather station 10km down the coast at Roquetas de Mar had recorded wind speeds of 72km/hour (39 knots, F8) and one gust of 119km/hour (64 knots, F12).
I didn’t leave Carina all Saturday morning. The wind continued unabated and I stumbled around like a drunk as I tried to make breakfast and get dressed. On deck I checked for damage, but there was none, only a thick layer of brown grit covering every surface. By early afternoon the wind had died down and I ventured ashore – to take a shower, do the laundry and do some grocery shopping. I went for a walk along the seafront and surveyed the damage. Palm fronds littered the beach front and, in some cases, the entire tops of palms trees had fallen down. The sea was calmer than the previous evening, but still the big swell rolled in, and waves bigger than I’d seen before at Aguadulce crashed farther up the beach than I’d seen them come before.
After dark the wind rose again and, for a second night I listened to it howl and shriek around Carina, lifting and dropping her, pushing her this way and pulling her that. Another sleepless night for me as I worried about unidentified noises and listened to the ropes straining against the force of the wind on the boat, and the fenders rubbing against the boat to port.
By early Sunday morning all was calm and there was nothing for me to do but hose down the deck and the rigging and watch streams of brown grit pour down the sides of the boat into the sea.