We had already climbed to the summit of Vulcano, the first island of the chain but I was keen to climb to the top of a ‘real’ volcano. Sadly we ran out of time or got bored of waiting for the re-opening, so we left. It was the first week of the summer charter market and we were attracting too many other ‘yachties’ who seemed to think that Christina Lee was sitting on the only available piece of Ocean than can be anchored on. You would not believe how close some of the idiots drop their own anchors next to us. I have taken to shouting at them to move further away, that generally works. They seem quite oblivious to the swing available when you drop 40m of 8mm chain in 5m of water. OK, so that sounds like a lot of chain to the yachties amongst you but there was a 1 knot current running and lots of loose rocks. I like to get tangled in as many as I can so we eventually don’t swing too far. Our other specialist piece of kit is Wilson. Wilson we picked up in Ibiza some years ago. He consists of a rigid plastic fishing float about 300mm in diameter attached to a short piece of chain and 15m of old halyard tied to the CQR anchor. From the central hole he wears a four foot bamboo stick to which is attached our redundant yellow Q (nothing to declare) flag with an anchor drawn on in striking black felt pen. He looks splendid, bobbing away in the distance, waving his flag to all comers and silently shouting ‘keep away you muppets!’ The problem with Wilson is that he’s a bit clingy. On several occasions he has found his way back to us during the night as the wind inevitably goes 180 and he wakes us by banging along our waterline, tapping his stick along the rubbing strake, like Stevie Wonder walking down the Kings Rd. I eventually have to get out of bed, start the engine and reverse the boat back at speed and drag the chain to a point where he cant reach us. Just what you want to be doing at 4am….
We loved the Islands, they are a bit special though too busy at this time of year with the multitude of ferries and hydrofoils plying their way between the islands and the mainland. No group of islands are better served with transport between each. (what’s it like in the Winter I pondered?) The sea water quality around the islands is also the best I have seen in the Med, better than Malta and surprisingly abundant with marine life. On one snorkel trip we were amazed to see Tunny (baby Tuna) an Octopus and a Moray eel, as well as vast numbers of smaller fish in large schools. Gay spotted most of the creatures, I might add. I don’t think we shall be so well entertained until we reach the Red sea?
Leaving the Islands, we had to motor back as the expected NW wind failed to materialise as usual. We were joined by a few others all going the same way, they all overtook us as I refused to run the engine any faster than 1500 revs in order to save fuel. We can still make 4.5-5kn so when we do eventually get a bit of breeze we get to a thrilling 6kn or more! It was well worth the effort cleaning the underside, we save fuel and sail faster in less wind. The journey was made all the better for having been visited by three different pods of Dolphins that played under our bow and gave me a chance to video them in the crystal clear water. They are truly amazing creatures and will melt the heart of the hardest soul. They turn on their sides and look up at us as they effortlessly dance along beneath our vantage point on the bow. A good omen?
Messina Straights have a reputation going back thousands of years as being dangerous for sailing ships due to the currents, over falls and whirlpools as well as the squalls that hammer down from the mountains, Odysseus even had trouble and despite having the contrary winds given to him in a bag, the waters were untamed and looking for vulnerable yachtsmen, caught without the luxury of diesel engines. Many lives have been lost here but since the earthquake in 1783 the ocean floor has changed and the Charybdis whirlpool that could spin a 74 gun ship has been tamed slightly. On our run up the straight we got all the information on the tides and the timings relative to Gibraltar so we could make the best use of the currents. We sailed most of the way out but due to the heavy ferry traffic we motored the last part and had an easy run. Going south with the wind but against the current was not so easy and as I decided to go down the east side we met the worst of the currents. We had the motor running and the GPS was showing 7.5kn but when we hit the overfalls and turbulent waters just north of the ferry terminal we dropped to 1.5kn and the Autopilot could not cope with the changing directions of the water. I went to manual and had a job to get us pointing in the right direction, the ferry skippers must have had a laugh as we swerved about and struggled to make forward progress. I very nearly turned round to head back and cross to the other side of the straight where the huge battleship had just gone down but I didn’t, within ten min’ were passed the headland and back to 5.5kn on stable water. Exciting it was but not to be repeated!
We arrived back at Reggio di Calabria and went against the disused commercial dock to sit beneath the tower crane, in the swell of the ferries and the smell of sewage being discharged 100m in front of us. Anything to save 50 Euro. The local men with nothing else better to do, stand above us on the dock and peer down like curious penguins. As soon as it’s dark the fishermen take their positions for the nightly ‘shit eating fish’ catching competition. We moved to the adjoining wall the next day so we could skank some free water and fill up with diesel. We heard rumour that fuel was 1.50 in Greece so it was worth getting some ’cheap’ at 1.36 per litre. Another 102 litres and we were good to go the following morning at 6am. The port official wanted to move us off the wall but we explained that we were soon to be gone and he let us be. The 74 year old Danish man behind us had to move so we helped with his lines as he was alone. He came for a beer later and we enjoyed his reminisces of the region 30 years prior. The best years for cruising have long gone and only gave me a feeling that we had missed the boat when it came to affordable living in the Med, (outside of Africa). We shall see…
The next port was 63 miles round the big toe of Italy and promised to be a good sail with the winds from the west. I got the mizzen and main up inside the port and as we left the harbour wall to port, I unfurled the genoa and we flew south, with the engine off at 5/6kn. Three hours of hand steering as the sun rose and Gay sleeping in the saloon was the best sailing for a long time. Almost without notice the wind changed 180 deg and we were back to burning precious diesel again. As we pottered along the South coast we were again overtaken by others going East, possibly to Greece or Turkey for the summer season, maybe Croatia and the Dalmatian coast?
Our next landfall was known to be difficult due to a sand bar across the entrance so I wanted to arrive in good time and save the embarrassment of going aground before entering Roccela Ionica Marina. Sods law dictates that even with the best planning something will fail you at the last moment and you get stuck with a fishing boat up your transom wondering what you are playing at. As a precaution I made up an Irrawaddy depth gauge for Gay to use on the bow, just like her father would have had when he worked the great Burmese river after the war. It consisted of two sections of plastic pipe making about 6m, marked with 1m increments that could be dipped off the bow. Water clarity was not good and my yachts depth gauge was vague so a fully manual system was going to be reliable?
We followed the pilot book instructions and kept well clear, I also called up the port on the VHF for directions. She said there was a risk of ‘grunding’ so keep near the red light? Great! She even called back and repeated the advice. We had a bit of wind pushing us in but I could see masts in the port so it must be possible. We trickled at 1.5kn as the depths fell and Gay kept probing the bottom that was now in view. We got to 1.7m and I hit reverse as we ground at 1.5 on the boats instruments. Gay suggested going nearer the shore so we did and found the depths rising. By this time we had the obligatory trawler following us, having cut the corner as he knew the depths. He was very patient and allowed us to take our time as we entered the outer wall. We stuck to the port side and as we entered the depths went up to 4m and I could start breathing again. Excellent! We made it.
When the marina was planned they obviously hadn’t factored in the effect of a big wall extending out into the sea causing a dead zone in its lee where the sand would drop and make the port un-navigable to yachts? As a result it had been left to it’s own devices and had no electricity or water at the numerous taps. Two taps did have water though so they were much in demand by those that had braved the entry. We paid the local police man 20 Euro, who had stood waiting for us to tie up, offering no help as we came in. Fortunately a smiling Czechoslovakian lady in her knickers took our lines, that’s a first! We were later joined by several other boats, mostly incompetent Italians, filling all the available spaces. We were one of three British yachts, one of which had been hit by lightning and had lost all their instruments. She explained that it was the same day that England lost to Germany and went out of the ‘Prima donna Cup’. They should have left before the inevitable…..
We stayed another night and managed to avoid paying the policeman as most of the other boats had avoided paying and the Italians didn’t out of principle. Our course options were to stick inland and follow the shore or head out and make the most of the westerly breeze. The latter option worked and our new cruising chute managed to stay filled for about three hours till about 6pm. Following the wind dying, as I was sure it would do, it came back 180 deg so we made the best of it. It grew steadily stronger and within an hour was blowing 22+kn and the sea was starting to build but now the wind was more north and pushing us off course. The light was failing and the next few hours were not going to be pleasant. What to do? Head north to the lee of Italy or run off down wind and see where we get to? Going down wind with a following sea was really uncomfortable so we tacked back and headed towards the point we would have been headed for if we had taken the ‘easy’ inshore route. By this time we were 25 miles off the ball of Italy and faced arriving at the unknown anchorage at about 5am if we were lucky. The other factor was the crazy lightning I could see in the distance, no mention of that before we left port?
After a bit of tacking back and forth to get back to our original ground track to Corfu, the wind had gone more in our favour so we stuck to 65deg, closed hauled with three reefs in the genoa and a full main. Only 130 miles to go at an average of 5 kn. We ploughed on through the night and I wondered to myself, why do I do this? The sea is shit, the wind is never where you need it and I’m starving. No chance to do more than make coffee in the heaving galley, even the stove goes past the point of diminishing stability and jams itself at 45 deg on it’s gimbals. Gay is feeling unwell and belatedly takes some Stugeron. When will it ever end?
Eventually the sun make it’s presents felt as it claws it’s way up the grey eastern sky and my hopes are lifted. We have only been sailing 14hrs but I feel pretty tired. It’s like doing a full on workout just to stay planted on deck, holding onto the shrouds or the mizzen mast, bracing myself against the constant rocking as we crest the waves and drop down the other side, the sails fighting to stay filled as the mast surges back and forth. Anyone who thinks Ellen MacArthur is a lightweight might like to consider what it must be like to go up a 95ft mast, unassisted, in the southern ocean. As it becomes light I leave my place at the X trainer and go below for a quick nap. Gay is half asleep but as we are in the open sea and away from any major shipping lanes I can relax, a bit. I have only been down for what seems like a couple of minutes when something wakes me up with a start. I look at the radar and see a huge black blob, about two miles wide, just to the north of us. In my half asleep, dozy state I think it must be an island or something. I rush up on deck and peer into the half light. I wish it had been an island or even a band of pirates, what we were facing was a huge thunder cloud and below it was a wall of water, charged full of electricity. All I could see was this light brown mass that looked like smoke. I was concerned. No, I was shitting myself.
We have met people that have been hit by lightning, only yesterday in fact. There is no mention in any of the books that I have as to what to do when you are faced with imminent electrocution from mother earth. Our German friends got hit and it blew their forestay and all of the electrical appliances on board. We were 80 miles from land and I did not relish the thought of having to hand steer for another 18 hours with only the binnacle compass. It was like having to face the white rabbit without brother Maynards holy hand grenade for protection. Running away is what was required. The system was tracking south west so we turned 30 deg, just south of east and opened the throttle to 2500 revs. We had plenty of wind but I was loathe to throw up more canvass as thunderheads also come with big winds, if it caught us we would be in even bigger trouble. I went below and removed the aerial from the VHF as that would be the first thing to be vaporised, being at the top of the main mast. I then turned off the computer and removed the battery. I tried to put it in the oven but it was too big. I did the same to Gays Net book and also the Garmin chart plotter. How many things can you isolate when you might get stuck by 50 million volts? I’m glad I didn’t have a pace maker but I think I might be needing one soon…..
I may have done many crazy things in the past but I don’t think I have had so much prolonged agony as trying to avoid being arrested by natures version of a Taser. Even bike racing was less stressful. I could only watch as we raced along at a record 12.8kn on the GPS max speed recorder. The lightning was striking the water at what seemed only half a mile away but it was much further in reality and the thunder was crashing about the sky just above our lonely floating conductor. I felt like we were waving our mast about saying ‘strike me, strike me’. Gay was blissfully unaware of my childlike fear as I crouched on hands and knees just outside the companionway, not even daring to clip my safety harness on as it might connect me somehow to the rigging, should we get zapped.
Thankfully we survived the ordeal and I felt not only relieved but also quite embarrassed for being such a wimp in the face of a thunderstorm. It must be my age?
As I watched the dreaded cloud move slowly away on the radar I thought to check the Navtex for any warnings that may be in process. Well bugger me, Thunderstorms right along the corridor. Thankfully the warning expired at 06.00 and we were looking at high cloud and a 15/20kn northerly wind to get us back on track and safely across to the anchorage in St George Bay, Corfu, some 16 hours later at 02.30 Tuesday.
I think we might stick to day sailing for a while, take the easy route along the coast…Gay would also be much happier!!!!
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