The Mar Menor

29th-30thJune

We left Torrevieja on Sunday morning with the idea that we would go to Cartagena that day but also thinking that we may visit the Mar Menor, a large inland sea a few hours sail down the coast. We would decide when we got there: the entrance is via a canal that is supposedly dredged to 4 metres but our pilot guide warns that it can get down to 3 metres. We draw 2.7 metres. Also, there is a bridge that only opens at certain times and we didn't know how convenient it would be. We didn't want to be waiting around for hours. However there is an island offshore that provides an anchorage with some shelter. We would see.

After a good sail, nothing too daunting, we arrived at the island. There were the usual Sunday boats at anchor - always a good sign - and we decided to at least stop for lunch, have a think about whether to enter the Mar Menor. According to the pilot guide, the bridge would open at five o'clock. At around quarter to four I noticed that there was a rush of boats all heading for the canal. 'I think the bridge may be about to open,' I said to Tony. 'Can't be,' he said, 'the book says it opens at five." Oh well... but still more boats were heading in the direction of the canal and the bridge. 'I really think the bridge is about to open...' Tony looked around but still wasn't convinced. Then the man in the boat next to us started to raise his anchor. I shouted and he confirmed that the bridge opened at four.

You have never seen us move so fast. On with the engine, up with the anchor and off we rushed, catching up to and then following the other boats. It was going to be tight. We were the last boat in the queue. The speed limit in the canal was 3 knots. The boat in front was doing 8 knots, trying to overtake another, slower boat. So... Tony was also doing 8 knots, watching the depth gauge all the while. To begin with it was fine, 6 metres, 5 metres, 4 metres. Tony was still having to make speed just to keep up with the boat in front. And then we were up with the others, waiting, hanging around for the bridge to open. There was a long tail of boats. Tony was looking pale, grim. We had slowed right down. And we had reached the point of no return - we couldn't turn round if we wanted to. The depth was now 3.5 metres. Tony had a sort of panic look on his face. 'We just went down to 2.8 metres!' he exclaimed. Ouch! And then the bridge opened. There were now boats behind us, definitely no going back. Under the bridge the depth went to 2.7 metres, we slowed... and then continued. Now we were back in 4 metres, 6 metres, 8 metres. We were through!

The Mar Menor is separated from the sea by a sandbank that is approximately 13 miles long. Entrance is via a canal that is dredged to a minimum depth of four metres, as I said before. A lifting bridge opens regularly to allow boats to enter and leave the sea. For me, the most notable thing about the sandbank - called La Manga de Mar Menor - is the density of building. I know I have mentioned this all down the coast since we arrived at Moraira, but at La Manga is was unbelievable. Here was a sandbank, no more than 2-5 metres above sea-level and on every available inch of land, or so it seemed, there was a huge apartment block.

Tony chose to anchor just outside the canal. We discussed the spot and all was going well until Tony shouted 'Now!' Huh? This wasn't at all what we had agreed and, what's more, I didn't like it, it was too far out and felt exposed. I questioned, he repeated 'NOW!' and I dropped then anchor, muttering all the while. So then there was a strop. This wasn't what we had decided. I didn't like it. We seemed to be just outside the route everyone took when leaving the canal... or heading back to the canal. And... in spite of what the book said about the bridge opening at five o'clock... well, yes it did. I admit it. But it also opened at six, seven, eight... and so on, Why did he change his mind? It was for my sake, of course, this would be a better spot from which to take the dinghy ashore. Because, of course, we had come up against the usual problem: nowhere ashore to leave the dinghy. We had to go back down the canal, to the entrance to the marina. Another Humph! but it didn't help. I still didn't like where we were anchored. I sulked and huffed for the remainder of the afternoon, as boats seemed to whizz past us to and from the canal. Eventually, though, the strop diminished and we went ashore to investigate and enjoy a glass of wine.

The date: Sunday, 29th June. The final of the European Cup: Spain v Germany. After the celebrations of Thursday night we were looking forward to great things if Spain won. There weren't a lot of people around, this is a tourist area and the season isn't in full swing, the restaurants were empty. We were, of course, eating out. Even if we hadn't been before, after my grump it was a cert! The restaurant was very quiet: three staff and four tables of customers. The television was on, of course, and the staff were wearing Spanish tee-shirts. Dinner was good. Sardines - I was half keeping to my diet. The other half - the half not on a diet, shared a bottle of wine with Tony. I tried to make sure his share was bigger... Dinner was over by half time but we decided to stay until the end. We finished our wine, drank our coffee and then the lady came over with yet more wine... which we drank, of course. The finish was an anti-climax. After the celebrations of the semi-final perhaps that was to be expected. The three Spaniards hugged each other, we indicated how pleased we were that Spain had won... and that was it. The other restaurants were equally quiet. We made our way back to Ganymede. There were a few rockets went up, a few bangs, and it was over. We went sadly to bed.

Next morning we made our way to the bottom corner of the sea and anchored off La Puerto de La Manga. It didn't look pretty. We tried going ashore but, as usual, it wasn't easy, a very unfriendly Club Nautico made it difficult. Ashore, we didn't much like what we saw. In the water - very topical this - hoards of jelly fish - you know, those pretty purple ones that you definitely don't want to get near. No wonder there was no-one swimming. We decided we didn't like this town and would move to another, opposite the canal. However, although I am sure the town was very pretty, we couldn't get near it. The depth was 3 metres even 500 metres from the shore. Hmmm! We decided to go back to the anchorage of the previous night, and to the same restaurant.

Next morning we left early and made our way to Cartagena.