It seemed too good to be true. Ahead of us was the unforgiving coastline of Atlantic Portugal with its steep cliffs and deep ocean canyons. Yet for the next six days, the forecast was one of mild-mannered seas and gently cooling evenings. The notorious Nortada, the wind from the north that had us double checking the diesel in our tanks in order to brutally bash our way to windward, seemed to have left on vacation. Like the angelic girl of your high school dreams, momentarily still available to join you on the dance floor, timing was critical. Fresh from our land pursuits, we hopped back onboard Sea Rose and exited Marina de Cascais, pointing our bow almost exactly north on the ship’s compass to the first safe harbor of Peniche. We didn’t want to show any disrespect to the weather gods for handing us this unexpected gift.
It didn’t take long before Cabo da Roca, that westernmost point of continental Europe that we had seen by car, to first come into view. My worries about the treacherous rock-strewn shoreline full of whipped up white water were all for naught. You could practically water ski on these benign ocean scapes.
