Fuseta Portugal

Not much of a blog this one. We’ve spent two nights in Fuseta Monocarpacho, and one and a bit days (as you’d guess). This is rural Portugal, only about nine miles east of Faro, maybe only thirty from Albufira.
Fuseta is a fishing village and as per the previous post (maybe not explained specifically), and an area of `semi subsistence farming’. I say that because clearly some of what’s grown here goes elsewhere, but from the shops and stalls, quite a bit stays nearby.

The Entry Channel to the Village

Birds a Way out on the Sandbars

Inner Beach, Outer Sandbar

Channel Through the Sandbar to the Sea

There is a small fish market (which we couldn’t go in). A tiny railway station and train service and overall it’s just pretty and quaint and local. There are a couple of hotels or apartment blocks all closed up for winter, and there is our municipal campsite.

Fully Tiled Buildings

It’s a two night town if you’re touring, though there are plenty of over winterers on the campsite (predominantly French and Dutch). Fuseta is everything Isla Cristina just a way back over the border in Spain could be. A small fishing village with salt pans for preservation and a nature reserve. The difference couldn’t be more pronounced, this place is fantastic, clean within the parameters of a small town at the mercy of the Atlantic, cheerful and friendly.

Storks and Waders

Disused Salt Pan

Highlights for us have been the birds on the disused salt pans, eating fish and prawns caught that day in a restaurant that expands its alfresco seating and re-jigs everything on the fly to accommodate the customers, the fish is cooked on a double level Barbeque on the pavement, the salads, bread, olives and a half litre carafe of wine and beer and desert (as per previous post all come in at €20 or €25 and the bill amount is written on your paper tablecloth). They only do lunch, in the evenings they are closed.

Borage and Bees

Train

There are good well marked cycle paths, that zigzag between small holdings and homes and cross single track an unmade roads here and there. I was constantly reminded of England in spring, but for the occasional cactus or Prickly Pear.

That's Some Fresh Fish

There is something to be said for the land management here, Bees are everywhere. The lanes where the Borage grows actually hum with the noise of bees  (as did the almond groves way back in Spain). If there is a problem with bees in the UK, then based on what we’ve seen here, we the people are likely to be the problem somehow or another.

The sand bars just off shore are a protected area, though you can pick up a small boat and be dropped on them for an hour or two. They extend for at least twenty miles and when we get to Faro, we may go on one of the boat tours if they’re running.

It’s been pleasant and we looked forward to more of Portugal.

Lunch

Shadow Selfy

Urchin

In Other News

We went fishing for the first time in months last Sunday. I used my new rod that I got for my birthday way back in MAY. I caught a nice baby Cod, and we both got mugged by crabs. We put the fish back to fight another day. It was nice to have the time spare at last.

On another plus; instead of losing rigs to rock and weed, we both landed rigs with swivels and leads still attached, and being the pair of pikey’s we are J I bought them home and untangled the good bits and added them to our fishing box.

And then to complete our day of foraging and fishing, I brought the air rifle out of its hiding place and finally showed Amanda how to use it ... and you wouldn’t believe it ... she had one flyer (that’s a pellet that goes wide) and the remaining four in a really acceptable sub inch grouping. Very steady for a first time, we were both very pleased.

PS: Apologies for the face ... it's the only one I have.

Hunting and Fishing

Things must be ramping up, two posts in the month so far. Last week saw me fettling with the stock of my sixteen year old bull-pup Falcon Pre-charged air rifle. Over time, 16 years by my reckoning, the stock has shrunk just a fraction. Over time this has allowed, a fraction of movement of the entire action (about 0.5mm) around a central fixing point. That sounds like nothing but take that 0.5mm of play in the barrel and then run it out over a twenty five metres, and you will find your shots going wide.

It took an evening of making snooker cue chalk dust, then carefully covering the under surface of the Inter-mount block (on my rifle that’s the bit that holds the barrel, cylinder and the scope rails all in one) and then rubbing the Inter-mount gently but firmly against the inside face of the stock to find the high points.

Once this was done several times, to ensure all the high  spots were visible by virtue of the absence of chalk dust and the glazed appearance of the timber where the Inter-mount block had created friction, and everything else was covered in a fine green dust, I had to gently rub the high-spots away with a very light sandpaper, and very light touch; while avoiding sanding any of the edges of the inner groove where the action should sit square.

When the stock felt tight against the Inter-mount, I applied a light coat of specialist stock oil to the inner face of the stock to encourage the timber to swell a little and to form the tight seal between the stock and it’s Inter-mount. And finally the stock was sat overnight to dry before final tweaks and re-mounting of the complete action and scope.

All that remains is to borrow a Black and Decker Workmate and do the re-zeroing of the scope… though I’m in no real rush, what with other activities going on. Once the rifle is zeroed and I’ve had some field target practice, I will add the rifle to the inventory of travel kit, and items that need to be covered by insurance.

The air rifle, the fishing rods, a proper shrimping net and a few foraging field guides will join us on our travels and hopefully they will all be put to good use feeding us.

It all sounds quite novel and romantic when you write it down like that, but the facts are, that if you set out in the morning or the evening to hunt bunnies for the pot, you had better be ready to fail and have bought a pack of bangers and a packet of Smash in the event of a hunting failure. Likewise with fishing, shrimping and even gathering plants, there are no guarantees.

Getting Ready: The Tangents.

When eventually we leave the safety of home and home comforts, other than the Aluminium and polystyrene walls of the habitation unit of our motorhome, we intend where possible, legal and fun to try and forage for ourselves, both on the flora and fauna of our land and sea. And now without the flowery language; a bit of fishing, shooting and picking of herbs etc. In part this will help to save some pennies, (though we would hope never to be that poor), and of course it brings you a little closer to the land and sea you’re exploring, and adds extra dimensions to the overall adventure.

To this end, a week or so back we bought some very basic fishing rods and reels (from these people http://www.tacklebargains.co.uk ) and went out to practice the art of salt water fishing down near where we live on the tidal Thames at Tilbury. Now many years ago I did fish the inland waterways near home, and experienced most of my first forays into camping and sleeping outdoors in that environment. Amanda on the other hand has never fished with rod and line. So guess who blanked and who caught? That’s right on Amanda’s second cast she came up with a small Flounder http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flounder, I was very pleased for her for the reason regaled below.

I remember being invited to go fishing once a week by a fella who lived up the road from us, my mum had said I wanted to go fishing, and as he was an Angler, he volunteered for the task. Then once a week for the next four weeks or so we sat at the same spot and didn’t catch a thing. Frankly I was losing the will to live and the desire to fish. Then one evening (usually a Wednesday as I remember) I caught my first fish; a Roach,  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Common_Roach . And from that moment on I was hooked. However until that moment I was just about sick to the back teeth of sitting by the Lea Canal at the junction of the Hertford Union canal in Stratford catching nothing. Eventually the fella (Phil) if I remember correctly moved away, but by that time I had got all my own gear and fished for several years with a group of mates. Once we all left school our group broke up and, I took up hobbies like SCUBA diving, walking and more serious trekking and a bit of air rifle hunting (more about this later).

Since then fishing hasn’t really been on my agenda; but many is the time in the last four years since I moved to Tilbury that I’ve cycled past the guys that fish down by Tilbury Fort, and thought “I fancy some of that”. And so it would appear that in the making of our trip plan, I have fulfilled a side ambition, and introduced Amanda to the joys of tangles, lost fish, tall stories, and slimy cold things that won’t stay still while you try to take hooks from their mouths.

Given the relative success of our first trip, we went out again last Friday morning the 6^th of April, on the rising tide and bagged ourselves four Whiting http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Merlangius_merlangus before cycling home as the tide started its ebb and the clouds started to fill the sky; up until that point we had been facing into bright sunshine for the best part of three hours, and we both caught fish. All things being equal a very good morning. And then home to start on the serious Easter jobs at home to get the house ready for sale or rent (we still haven’t decided, and it will depend on the market later this year).

The point of this post? Well I think it’s about a coming together of many strands of life, as the plan firms up. As things start slowly to gel together and the idea feels more and more like something concrete as opposed to a pipe dream, you suddenly find that things you have paid no heed to for decades, were stored like savings earning interest in your deep long-term memory. Things like how to tie a hook, that once upon a time drove you mad with frustration, or how to disgorge a hook, and even how to fillet a Whiting; which I learnt from an ex girlfriends dad on the only other occasion in my life that I had fished from the beach. I say beach, I mean the sea wall towards Jaywick East of Frinton in Essex, but even that memory of filleting your own fish and how to do it stuck. At an appropriate time, those memories bubble to the surface imbuing one with confidence. Maybe this post as with others is also about confidence, and finding those reserves you’ve subconsciously stored away for yourself. Anyway enough for now, fishing is back on the agenda. Things are coming together, and for that I am glad.