Liam’s Take
We left early. First light, just enough wind to make it worthwhile. It was backing southeast by mid-morning, so I wanted to clear the river mouth and be moving before it dropped.
Ryan looked rough. He always does when we leave anywhere before breakfast. I’d prepped the night before — fuel, lines, rig. We didn’t talk much, but everything got done.
We kept offshore after Cascais. Wind held longer than forecast, then went soft around Cabo Espichel. I gave it an hour. Nothing. Sea flattened out. Motoring again.
He asked if we could stop in Sines. I didn’t bother explaining. The anchorage isn’t worth the time — busy, exposed, bad holding in anything offshore. Better to carry on.
Past Setúbal, we had long hours of nothing. Sea was oily. Swell rolled under us like a shrug. Ryan sat up front for a while, then disappeared below. I trimmed sails for something to do.
Portimão was messy when we arrived — fuel dock stacked with charter boats trying to check in late. We held off for twenty minutes. The berth they gave us was tight, lazy line fouled, but we got in without drama.
One beer each. Ryan barely said a word. Didn’t ask about the next leg, which probably means he’s thinking too much again.
Ryan’s Take
Liam said we’d leave early, but I thought he meant “after coffee.” He meant just after the marina lights turned off. We were motoring before sunrise, and I hadn’t even found my socks.
Leaving Lisbon felt weird. Not sad, just… incomplete. I liked the mess of it. The energy. The way everything looked like a postcard and a bit like it was about to fall over. I think I would’ve liked another night, or ten.
We slipped out with barely any noise. The wind held just long enough to feel smug about it, and then disappeared. No drama. No dolphins. Just heat, a greasy sea, and Liam looking at numbers on his phone.
I asked if we could stop in Sines. He said no. Then he said, “Too exposed.” I didn’t argue, just nodded like I cared about fetch and holding and approach angles. Truth is, I just wanted off the boat for a few hours.
I stayed on deck for most of it. Watched gulls. Thought about home. Mam’s last message was just a photo of the dog and the phrase “He misses ye.” Which might’ve been about me, or Da’.
We got to Portimão late enough that the light had that sideways thing going on. The kind that makes everything look older. Dockhand was trying to talk to three boats at once. Liam sorted it. He didn’t need me. He never really does, not when it’s tight like that.
We sat on the deck after. Didn’t talk. Just watched some lads from Hull try to get a paddleboard back onto their catamaran without falling in.
The beer was warm, but it tasted fine.
