Ryan’s Take:
Leaving A Coruña was easy. No drama. No grand send-off. Just a quiet morning, ropes untied, engine humming low as we slipped away from the dock, another chapter closed. The Tower of Hercules faded behind us, and ahead—Galicia’s legendary Rías Baixas. Deep inlets clawing inland, half-river, half-sea. Perfect for sailing, if you know what you’re doing. A trap if you don’t.
The water was smooth at first, a flat blue highway stretching south. Wind coming off the beam, steady, pushing La Sirena along without complaint. The kind of day you don’t question—just let the boat do her thing. A bit eerie, actually. Like the calm before something.
Liam was stretched out in the cockpit, feet up, completely useless.
“Shouldn’t you be doing something?” I asked.
He cracked one eye open. “I am. I’m observing.”
“Observing what?”
“The energy of the sea.”
I stared at him. “Did you drink the last of the Albariño?”
“Maybe.”
Liam’s Take:
The Rías Baixas is a strange place. Feels like the sea forgot where it was going and just decided to stay. Rivers swallowed by the Atlantic. Forests creeping right up to the cliffs. Villages tucked into the hills, watching you like you’re the intruder.
And wine. Oh man, the wine.
Albariño doesn’t taste like other whites. It’s sharp. Salty. Like the ocean soaked into the grapes while they weren’t looking. We picked up a bottle before leaving A Coruña, and let’s just say it didn’t survive the sail.
Anyway, the plan was simple: cut into Ría de Arousa, anchor off Illa de Arousa, and take our time exploring. Problem was, the wind had other ideas.
Ryan’s Take:
It started creeping up in the late afternoon. That shift you feel in your gut before you see it on the instruments. Wind edging up. Sails pulling tighter. The easy ride gone, replaced by a new game: control.
I reefed the main early. No point pretending we were in charge when the weather always wins in the end. Liam, of course, was busy “documenting.” Meaning? Taking moody photos while I did the actual work.
Then the depth alarm beeped.
Three metres.
We were not supposed to be in three metres.
“Liam, check the chart.”
Rustling below deck. Then his voice: “Uhhh… yeah. We’re… kind of on top of a sandbank.”
Not ideal.
Liam’s Take:
Ryan swears a lot when he’s stressed. Just putting that out there.
I ran up, chart in hand. “Okay, so, good news—this isn’t quicksand, we’re not sinking.”
Ryan glared. “And the bad news?”
“We should probably not be here.”
Cue some frantic maneuvering. I killed the music (because obviously I had music playing, I’m not a psychopath), Ryan adjusted the rudder, and slowly, carefully, La Sirena slid back into deeper water. No damage. Just a little reminder that the rías have teeth.
Lesson learned.
Ryan’s Take:
Anchoring went smoother. A quiet little cove off Illa de Arousa, water clear enough to see the chain snaking along the sand. The second we set, Liam broke out the emergency supply.
Wine. Cheese. Bread. Like we’d just crossed an ocean instead of a day’s sail.
“You know,” he said, staring out at the hills, “we could just stay. Open a little sailing tour business. Sell Albariño. Live the dream.”
I considered it. Longer than I should have.
“Nah,” I said, finally. “You’d drink all the profits.”
We clinked glasses anyway. The wind had settled. The boat was still. Somewhere, out beyond the cove, the Atlantic was not. But that was tomorrow’s problem.
Tonight? Just two brothers. A boat. And a place that felt like it had been waiting for us all along.
Until next time,
Ryan & Liam
The Ocean Bois
