Calendario de reservas da Agrupación Instrutiva de Caamouco

Este é o calendario de reservas da Agrupación Instrutiva. Se queres solicitar o uso das nosas instalacións envía un WhatsApp ou chama ao 680 16 19 29.
As actividades e cursos da Agrupación prevalecerán sempre sobre calquera outra.

InaugurandoAAiraDeCurma

Os veciños xa estaban un pouco fartos de vellas disputas polos pequenos anacos da Aira, ás veces cheos de escombros, material de construcción, refugallos, hórreos medio caídos, galiñas e sauces choróns. Medio quedaba a nostalxia dos traballos comunitarios, toda vez que un alcalde achegase un camión de morrillo e outro de area de canteira para tapar furados e baches que botaban medio inverno cheos de auga e algún veciño aparecese cun tremendo fletán que, feito ao forno, daba para a merenda comunitaria (para aquel que fixera algo, eso si). 

 Agora tocaba un arranxo como está mandado, con cemento impreso, farola de cinco brazos nun pedestal, bancos e ate unha escultura de pedra feita pola Escola Taller de Ares. Todo feito por obreiros a soldo e con materiais pagados polo Concello, ningún dos veciños tivera que arrimar o lombo para chegar a esta nova, relucinte e luminosa praza no medio de Curmá. Ese día a Aira de Curmá deixou de ser a Aira de Curmá e pasou a ser a Praza de Curmá, como se de repente Curmá se convertise nun espazo urbano en vez da aldea de sempre, xa se encargarían de mantela, limpala e todo iso, xa eramos medio urbanitas.

Para celebrar a ocasión os veciños e as autoridades fixeronse esta foto que vedes, autoridades satisfeitas polo resultado da inversión e veciños agradecidos por algo bonito que se facía ao carón da súa porta.

Logo chegou o tempo de San Xoán e claro, xa non se podía facer a luminaria na Aira porque xa era unha Praza e a íamos a estragar, non procedía o de xuntarse tódolos cativos (e algún maior con algo de leña e un moble vello) para ir a "decomisar" leña, e que logo aparecesen sardiñas, viño e chourizos para facer a festa. Xa non se podía porque aquelo xa non era unha Aira, era unha Praza. Desta maneira tan sinxela unha actuación coa mellor das intencións acabou coa Aira, trouxonos a modernidade e rematou cunha maneira de entender a vida na aldea, algo que por certo xa estaba algo de capa caída. 

The (other) Pirates of Redes (1)

The (other) Pirates of Redes (2)

The (other) Pirates of Redes (3)

The (other) Pirates of Redes (4)

SCENE 5. VIVERO TO REDES

“SQUARE THE YARD AND MAN THE BRACES.
FOR HOMEWARD BOUND AT LAST WE ARE
LITTLE SAUNTRESS MARTLET CHASES
ONWARDS, ONWARDS IS THE CRY
FOR WHAT MOTTO HAS A PIRATE
IF IT IS NOT DO OR DIE”

(The word, I believe, is doggerel).

 

 

At last came, as said, a forecast with no force 8, a “window” in the parlance. The anchor came in rather too easily and on a land breeze Sauntress glided towards the entrance to the Ria de Vivero, there to pick up the forecast NE wind. Martlet, with her motor, would follow. We could not waste that breeze.

But no breeze came. Martlet motored by and was gone. Still no wind. Instead an unquiet sea, made up of what? The waves left over from the storms to be sure, but something else, much more ominous. We were a few miles short of the Estaca de Bares, a headland of evil reputation, not only for being the northernmost cape on this cape strewn coast, but for the tremendous seas to be found there in dirty weather. The fishermen speak of the place in awe and with justification. Peter, the day before, had ventured out in a good deal of wind, was struck by a black squall off that very headland and had retreated. The rather gung-ho Sam likewise, to be replaced by Carlos and Mariña, who prostrated by seasickness or no, gallantly came to the rescue.

And now, tossed this way and that in abominable seas, but no wind, there was time to study what gave the place its’ name. At times it was as though we were being set upon some shoal, though the chart showed none. At others the sea turned glassy, boiling almost as some upwelling calmed the waves. At still others little tiny mountains of waves, for all the world as though a hand had slapped the sea hard, and there was no rhyme or reason to any of it.

We crawled in worsening visibility onwards, slatting atrociously, a tendency I quelled by topping up the boom and bringing in the mainsheet, for the strain on the gear was more than flesh and blood could bear. At last the headland was astern, an apology for a wind set in, aft and we set the square sail. And this, set on that spectacular yard, for once useful rather than ornamental, showed its worth and we crept up to a respectable speed.

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Los Aguillones. Cabo Ortegal. Picture taken from the internet but substantially as we saw it. (The highest Cape on mainland Europe – allegedly - and as nasty as it looks)

It was a slow passage still. Darkness fell, the breeze strengthened appreciably, headland after headland winked through the mist, “and one and two and three and four”, counting the seconds the old way. “1 plus 2, which light is that Luis?” or, should you be a Spanish tar “and one and two” becomes, as a way of counting seconds “one hippopotamus, two hippopotamus” now a bearing, now a cross bearing, now a fix and on in the darkness your vessel races, “are you sure you can get the square down in this wind”? A contemptuous yes for a reply. Sauntress at last was enjoying herself as was I, tiredness notwithstanding, for a good well found yacht in a capful of wind, roaring through the night, as she now was, is a thing of joy. The last great cape Cabo Prior pierced the fog with that powerful light. All to landward was obscurity, for fog blanketed all. I stood on and on and on until it was at last safe to gybe. And stand south for the Ria and home.

That we were instantly becalmed as we entered our home Ria was half to be expected. That we were in the way of a giant merchant ship shepherded by tugs was not. Flashlight on the sails may, or may not have been our salvation. Then, for a short while a wind came and Sauntress foamed in that race winning way of hers, through still waters, dawn illuminating by slow degrees the curves of those sails, working so clearly in unison, as she sprinted for home, only to have the wind fail yet again.

So the last cable we sculled. It had taken us 26 hours, Peter 12, but that is engineless sailing for you.

Than which there is no greater satisfaction.

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Corunna to Punta de Estaca de Bares.

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