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On the evening of the 13th, a banner cloud to the WNW hinted at
the presence of land, which three passing sea-gulls confirmed (one
does not see them in the deep ocean).
Mary spotted the Punta do Castelo light that night, at 0200hrs;
dawn revealed the island of Santa Maria, as well as a few whales
spouting, too far off for me to positively identify. At 1230 we
tied up at Vila do Porto, to enjoy a swim, and the old town straggling
up the hill; also the friendly locals and the two other crews in
the harbour.
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They were a Swedish couple and an elderly French
single-hander, who came pottering in from Dakar in his battered
little boat. As if I were not gob-smacked enough that he had come
so far in her, against the prevailing northerly Portuguese trade-wind,
he told me this was the twentieth time he had done it, on his way
home to Frnace for the summer, after spending the winter training
up para-medics on the west coast of Africa.
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