The Island That Doesn’t Exist. La Graciosa

The Island That Doesn’t Exist. La Graciosa Prologue... It is generally accepted that there are seven Canary Islands. Tourist websites add, with due political correctness: seven large ones. La Graciosa—a small Canary Island—has internet access and around 500 permanent residents. It was here that I came across a quiz about the Canaries in GEO, a magazine I hold in high regard. The very first question was: How many islands are there in the Canary Archipelago? And the options were: 7, 11, 13. Well, since I know of seven large islands besides La Graciosa, I choose 11 (there are also several small satellite islands). But the esteemed GEO magazine calmly declared: 7. Not seven large ones—seven in total. So it turns out that we, the 500 local residents, and a hundred tourists are currently on an island that doesn’t exist. Entering the Harbour Thirty knots of steady following wind drove us to La Graciosa—the first inhabited Canary Island in the northeast. We entered the island’s marina in a manner entirely befitting its name—gracefully, with the engine at high revs in 35 knots of steady wind right on the nose. Together with the head sea, all this killed our speed down to 2.5–3 knots. We made it just in time for dusk and low tide. At the harbour entrance, dead ahead, a shoal was clearly foaming. We had to let a mini-ferry pass, then carefully aim for the narrow channel without yielding to the head sea and wind. The harbour of Caleta del Sebo welcomed us in the form of a man waving a torch: “Come over here!” The Island That Doesn’t Exist. Berthing Well, if you say so!—and we try to turn bow-to-wind. I get ready to hand over the port bow line, but the wind is pushing the boat hard towards the quay. The man receiving our lines barely manages to dodge our bowsprit, while the bowsprit knocks over the electricity-and-water pedestal on the pier and recoils. Fortunately, the pedestal was standing there purely for decoration, with no utilities connected to it. Damage to the marina: four bolts ripped out. The yacht was unharmed. Meanwhile, night had settled over the shore. Still hoping to berth successfully, we turned our backside to the wind (the stern, pardon me) and decided to come alongside starboard side to. As I prepared to hand over the starboard bow line, I excelled myself once again and fumbled the emergency fender: I didn’t manage to shove it between the quay and the boat in time. Good thing there wasn’t anyone else’s anchor there, like that time in Rome 🙂. And the boat met the quay for the second time. Our damage: four screws ripped out. The marina was unharmed. No casualties. The Island That Doesn’t Exist. Volunteer Helpers The five people ashore, having grumbled for form’s sake, cheerfully welcomed us in the language of Cervantes. Then they secured the mooring lines to the pier, carried away the late, lamented dummy pedestal... and finally left, saying the paperwork could wait until tomorrow. Next, two indefatigable neighbouring fishermen turned up. In Spanish, they offered us various thick ropes lying on the pier, along with a hundred and one ways to moor. They helped with all their might. Then they would say goodbye and leave, but once off the pier, they would suddenly be seized by fresh concern and come back. And tie us to the land. Four times in all. It looks as though they were the very people who had once screwed in those same four bolts that we ripped out along with the pedestal. Still a steady 35 knots. More in the gusts...