Memory is the product of physical sensation, and what we taste, smell, hear, touch, and see forms the record of our life. The island of Lanzarote, so unique in every aspect, triggers each of the five sensations and maps them onto our brain’s cortex. As I set sail from Lanzarote this morning, I need only close my eyes to relive the past month on this idiosyncratic island in the Atlantic Ocean.
Gustatory, the sense of taste–At Arrieta, the succulent flavor of a grilled fish, still simmering, is served on the sand next to the sea. Along the Ruta de Los Volcanes, a chicken roasts over the raw-earth heat of an open volcanic fissure.
Olfactory–Before the first drops of a young Malvasía Volcánica reach my tongue, the aromatic mineral notes of this brilliant La Geria wine fill my head. Even Shakespeare’s characters longed for a “cup of canary.”
Auditory–Sunday morning church bells ring in the Haría Artesanal announcing the opening of the artisans market.
Somatosensory–In a Guatiza garden, the sensuous touch of a single finger moving along the velvet-textured leaves of aloe and agave terminates in a skin-piercing spine. It’s the age-old seduction of pleasure and pain.
Visual–In the historic quarter of the Villa de Teguise, a pretty girl in a colorful dress seeks shade against a whitewashed wall.
Sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; equally important are the places where Flying Fish carries me, and the flora, fauna, and people I encounter along the way.
Please click “Follow” at the bottom of this page so that you don’t miss a new update,- and please consider sharing this post with others who might enjoy following the voyage of Flying Fish. I welcome your comments, andI will always respond when I have an Internet connection. I will never share your personal information.
You can follow the daily progress of Flying Fish, boat speed (or lack thereof), and current weather as I sail into the Atlantic by clicking this satellite uplink: https://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/Flyingfish. A Bonus: Click the “Legends and Blogs” box on the right side of the tracking pagefor passage notes while I am sailing offshore.
An irony of Canary Island cacti is that, despite being a ubiquitous part of this island’s landscape, not a single variety of cactus originated here. Nearly all of them came from the Americas. They are travelers, like me. They want to be here. When the Spaniards brought the plants to the Canaries from the New World, it was as if the cacti said to this scorched earth, “Where have you been all of my life?” The climate is perfect for Cactaceae. It is arid and windy with hot sun and cool night air, and the black volcanic soil is an ideal medium for a cactus. In addition to grapevines and date palms, cacti are nearly the only other natural thing on the island of Lanzarote colored green. And the cacti are not just green; they also show hues of red, purple, pink, and yellow. Volcanoes turned much of this island into shades of burned toast. The cacti arrived in a rainbow of color.
Cacti are sustainable visitors. They don’t consume resources (irrigation). They literally squeeze water from stone and then hold it during long periods of drought with brilliant biology that includes a wax-like skin layer and water-retaining cell membrane. And what use is a cactus, you ask? Aside from being a beautiful plant (see below), their fruit–the prickly pear–is a delicious and important food source in the Canary Islands. (You haven’t lived until you have eaten a freshly grilled red snapper on the beach served with prickly pear salsa.) More importantly, the Opuntia variety of cacti produces a commodity to Lanzarote that was once equal to the value of gold and silver. Inconceivably, it originated in the form of a wingless female parasite called cochineal.[1]
“…one of the most precious products to come out of the West Indies is the cochineal, a commodity equal to gold and silver.”
–King Felipe III, 1620
Like an aphid or mealybug, the cochineal insect buries its proboscis into the fleshy leaves of the prickly pear cactus and satiates itself on the plant’s moisture and nutrients. As the parasite grows, it absorbs a red pigment that, when processed, becomes carmine. Carmine dye was used by Aztecs and Mayans as early as the second century BC. Cities conquered by Montezuma in the 15th century paid their yearly tributes in bags of cochineal dye.[2] After the Spanish conquest of the Aztec Empire, cochineal was exported to Spain, and by the 17th century, it was a commodity traded around the world. Cochineal dye became Mexico’s second-most valued export after silver.[3] Dye pigments produced from the cochineal insect gave the Catholic cardinals their vibrant robes and the English “Redcoats” their distinctive uniforms. The dried bugs parts were so highly prized that cochineal was regularly quoted on the London and Amsterdam Commodity Exchanges. Large-scale production of cochineal emerged, especially in Latin America and the Canary Islands.[4]
Today, dry cochineal powder is currently selling online for as much as $500 per kilo. It takes about 80,000 to 100,000 insects to make one kilogram of cochineal dye, and the Canary Islands produces some 20 tons per year.[5] The carmine dye from Lanzarote’s plants and elsewhere is primarily used as a colorant in cosmetics and food. The water-soluble form of cochineal is included in the ingredients of a wide variety of products, including processed meats, ketchup, alcoholic drinks, juice beverages, candies, and dairy products. There was a brouhaha 10 years ago when customers discovered that Starbucks was using cochineal insect dye to make their Strawberry and Creme Frappuccino. After the inevitable headlines, Starbucks reconsidered its recipe and announced it no longer colors its coffee drinks with bugs.
I had my first taste of cactus at Lanzarote’s stunningly beautiful Jardín de Cactus in the northeastern village of Guatiza. The café there specializes in green prickly pear burgers (from locally-grown cactus) served in a carmine-red sesame seed bun with a glass of freshly-squeezed cactus juice. Yum! The Lanzarote Cactus Garden is a botanical wonderland in an abandoned picon (volcanic soil) mine at the heart of the island’s prickly pear plantations. The garden has over 4,500 specimens of cactus and other succulents, including 450 different species originating from five continents. The creation of Jardín de Cactus was the final inspiration of Lanzarote’s favorite son, environmental artist César Manrique, who died shortly after the garden was inaugurated. The garden and its integration of artistic creativity into the environment was an essential part of Lanzarote being named a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve in 1993.
The images below were made from the Jardín de Cactus and other locations on Lanzarote. For you botanists in the crowd, several photos show Euphorbaicea instead of Cactaceae (can you pick them out?) because, like many things in nature, these plants are too beautiful to be ignored.
Click on any thumbnail photo below to be directed to a carousel of high-resolution, full-frame images that include data and camera settings.
Special thanks: Antonio Manuel Martín Santos, Lanzarote Jardín de Cactus, for help with plant identification
Sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; equally important are the places where Flying Fish carries me, and the flora, fauna, and people I encounter along the way.
Please click “Follow” at the bottom of this page so that you don’t miss a new update, and please consider sharing this post with others who might enjoy following the voyage of Flying Fish. I welcome your comments, andI will always respond when I have an Internet connection. I will never share your personal information.
You can follow the daily progress of Flying Fish, boat speed (or lack thereof), and current weather as I sail into the Atlantic by clicking this satellite uplink: https://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/Flyingfish. A Bonus: Click the “Legends and Blogs” box on the right side of the tracking pagefor passage notes while I am sailing offshore.
Charco de los Clicos, Lanzarote — If only I had been here 57 years ago… I might have seen Raquel Welch emerging from this green lagoon, her breasts spilling out of a fur bikini, only to be snatched from the beach by a carnivorous Pteranodon and flown to its nearby nest where the distraught “Loana the Fair One” was to be fed to the pterosaur’s offspring.
Ah, well, timing is everything.
Much of the 1966 cinematic fantasy, One Million Years B.C., was filmed in Lanzarote, including the epic green lagoon scene. The location director deserved an Oscar for choosing this island. If I blinked today and saw a 200-pound flying reptile swoop down out of the volcanic rocks to carry away a tourist climbing out of a tour bus, it would all seem perfectly normal. A million years and this place is still prehistoric.
The island of Lanzarote bubbled up from a hot spot in the ocean 15 million years ago as plate tectonics transformed the earth. It has been nearly three centuries since the last major volcanic eruption and much of the island is unchanged. A dry climate and lack of erosion–and the protection of the spectacular Timanfaya National Park–have left the landscape pristine (translation: burnt to a crisp). NASA used this otherworldly topography to train the Apollo 17 crew.
Despite the current and severe volcanic activity on the Canary Island of La Palma 200 miles to the west, Lanzarote is known as the “Island of Volcanoes.” There are over 100 volcanic craters on this island that measures only 37 miles north to south. During the eruptions here in the 1730s, which lasted six years, the island grew by several square miles. Flames were visible 130 miles away and smoke hung in the air while lava and ash covered large areas of the island. Lives were lost, homes destroyed, and residents were plunged into years of darkness.[1]
The Green Lagoon is one of the volcanic craters that formed during these powerful eruptions. The Atlantic Ocean eroded the western side of the cone flooding the crater with seawater. A berm of black volcanic rock and coarse sand now separates the lagoon from the ocean. Ancient lava tubes and underground fissures circulate the water. Charco de los Clicos was once home to a thriving colony of shellfish known locally as clicos (thus the name) until someone put a pair of turtles into the lagoon, and they devoured every last clico. Now the lagoon is inhabited by phytoplankton, microscopic marine algae, which gives the water its distinctive emerald green hue.
The Charco de los Clicos is a Natural Reserve bordering Timanfaya National Park. Regulations forbid swimming… unless, of course, you are Loana the Fair One and you come attired in a fur bikini.
Sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; equally important are the places where Flying Fish carries me.
Please click “Follow” at the bottom of this page so that you don’t miss a new update, and please consider sharing this post with others who might enjoy following the voyage of Flying Fish. I welcome your comments, andI will always respond when I have an Internet connection. I will never share your personal information.
You can follow the daily progress of Flying Fish, boat speed (or lack thereof), and current weather as I sail into the Atlantic by clicking this satellite uplink: https://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/Flyingfish. A Bonus: Click the “Legends and Blogs” box on the right side of the tracking pagefor passage notes while I am sailing offshore.
Puerto Calero, Lanzarote, Canary Islands — The first impression of this landfall is at once welcoming and foreboding.
I am thankful for a safe passage, and I am in a secure place. Still, I cannot help but think of the volcanic disaster occurring on the island of La Palma, 200 miles to the west. Today, three weeks into the eruption of the Cumbre Vieja volcano in La Palma, portions of the cone collapsed and blocks of molten lava the size of three-story buildings rolled down the hillside into an industrial park.
I cannot imagine what it must be like to have the land under your feet tremble, and then watch the mountain above your village explode into molten rock.
On Lanzarote, the Las Montañas del Fuego erupted for six years beginning in 1730, and then again in 100 years later, resulting in the Parque Nacional de Timanfaya. From the deck of Flying Fish, I look at the Caldera Riscada looming over my landfall. All is quiet for now, gracias a Dios.
Sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; equally important are the places where Flying Fish carries me.
Please click “Follow” at the bottom of this page so that you don’t miss a new update, and please consider sharing this post with others who might enjoy following the voyage of Flying Fish. I welcome your comments, andI will always respond when I have an Internet connection. I will never share your personal information.
You can follow the daily progress of Flying Fish, boat speed (or lack thereof), and current weather as I sail into the Atlantic by clicking this satellite uplink: https://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/Flyingfish. A Bonus: Click the “Legends and Blogs” box on the right side of the tracking pagefor passage notes while I am sailing offshore.
Thousands of sea miles have passed under the keel of Flying Fish since I set sail from Key West nearly four years ago. Still, the expectation of a new ocean passage remains as exhilarating as it was on the first day. The next leg of my journey begins soon, from Gibraltar to the Canary Islands, some 700 nautical miles southwest and five days en route.
There will be challenges; I will be 66 years old in a few months. I don’t move as quickly onboard, and I have lost some mobility and balance. These are ordinary issues associated with aging, but they are extraordinary when put into the context of a solo offshore passage.
There will also be risk; the passage along the West African coast is unforgiving and mostly without shelter. I will be traveling on a dark moon. Small Moroccan fishing boats setting nets must be avoided — as well as other boats emerging from the African coastline that may have more sinister intentions. And, in a bizarre twist of nature, there is an issue with aggressive killer whales intentionally colliding with sailing vessels just outside of the Straits of Gibraltar. Since March of this year, there have been more than 50 verified reports of orcas ramming sailboats. Biologists don’t understand why, but half of these encounters have been serious enough to disable boats and require towing to repair facilities ashore.[1]
Regardless of the risk, the pure and absolute joy of setting out on an open ocean passage cannot be overstated. In a world of rapidly diminishing nature, ocean voyaging allows access to one of the few unaltered places remaining on this planet. It is a world of silence and isolation. There can be long periods with no organic sound, generated light, or evidence of other human beings. The ocean provides a sense of timelessness. This is why I go.
I have been landbound for the past month in Gibraltar, but the time ashore has provided a much-needed health and wellness stop for both boat and captain. The sails went to a sailmaker in Tarifa for re-stitching. The captain went into a gym to address added kilos of body weight accumulated from epicurean excesses while cruising Sardinia, the Balearics, and the Costa del Sol. A Hungarian physical trainer in Gibraltar named Rita worked me back into shape.
The passage to the Canary Islands will be one of the final legs of this COVID-interrupted trip around the world aboard Flying Fish. The pandemic took hold of my itinerary two years ago. Now, I am slowly moving again as I anticipate the end of the Atlantic hurricane season. It is an above-average year for tropical cyclone activity. Rapidly warming sea temperatures are spawning stronger and more frequent storms.[2] Most late-season tropical cyclones form over Western Africa, south of the Canary Islands. I will monitor the weather (and the recent volcanic activity) carefully. My favorite sailing partner, Ginny, will join me on the passage from the Canaries to the Caribbean when the hurricane season ends in December. I hope to return home to Florida with Flying Fish in 2022.
Ironically, it is the return home that causes me the most uncertainty. As I sail toward the end of this journey, I wonder how difficult it will be to reckon with life after Flying Fish. In these four years, I floated in a bubble of unreality, immersed in the rarefied air of freedom and privilege while many others around the world could barely hold their heads above the water. I think of the anthem of entitlement, Once in a Lifetime, by songwriters David Byrne and Brian Eno:
“And you may ask yourself, ‘Well, how did I get here?‘”
While I may not fully understand “how I got here,” I am grateful for this time at sea. At the end of this journey, the transition from water to land will be my choice. There will be new challenges ashore during this time of uncertainty; re-socialization, commitment to faith, family, home, and community, and prioritizing my personal health. For me, a greater risk than any danger at sea would be spending the rest of my days in a chair in front of a TV with a cocktail in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. I will not succumb to that life of mediocrity.
I’m getting ahead of myself… For now, it is time to focus on the immediate passage forward. The boat is ready, and I am ready. The weather to Lanzarote looks good. I have route planning to avoid Moroccan nets, and contingencies in place for potential collision with whales. I will keep a sharp mind and maintain situational awareness. And I must stay onboard.
Sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; equally important are the places where Flying Fish carries me.
Please click “Follow” at the bottom of this page so that you don’t miss a new update, and please consider sharing this post with others who might enjoy following the voyage of Flying Fish. I welcome your comments, andI will always respond when I have an Internet connection. I will never share your personal information.
You can follow the daily progress of Flying Fish, boat speed (or lack thereof), and current weather as I sail into the Atlantic by clicking this satellite uplink: https://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/Flyingfish. A Bonus: Click the “Legends and Blogs” box on the right side of the tracking pagefor Passage Notes once I am en route to the Canaries.
Flying Fish 