tourist spot but inaccessable to us
carries 35 crew, a sailing yacht, helicopter and launch!
I spent some time copying stuff that I had promised Svein, obtained from his compatriot and namesake on C'Est La Vie. We loaded it on his computer which although newer, seemed even slower than ours. Later we returned to our 'spot' in Vliho.
We changed the engine oil with the new vacuum extractor. I envisaged a totally clean and oil-splash free event with the expensive new toy! At first all went well, as we connected up the tubes, and inserted them into the dip stick tube, and pumped up a vacuum. Deciding to change over to the narrower tube, in case it went in deeper, was a mistake, however. The tubes have a mind of their own, as they have a springy steel wire inserted to prevent them kinking or bending, and inevitably full of dirty oil they will flick and splash if they can. Eventually the beast was full of oil, and we were only getting sucking bubbles reminiscent of the noise the saliva extractor makes on a trip to the dentist, but deeper in tone. Once more the tubes were released, and had their bendy way with us. Taking the oil filter off was the usual disaster, as it is on the side of the engine. Why can marine engine designers not appreciate that boats are not on their beam ends when an oil change has to be effected? Having been lazy thus far, I tried to do the job without entering into the bilges myself, and the kitchen towel nappies failed to stay in place or catch much oil. Inevitably cleaning up was every bit as mucky as it usually is.
We left it until early afternoon, when we hoped we might find a slot on Neilsons' pontoon, but a catamaran just beat us to the only space. So instead we went onto the Hotel Armonia pontoon, where we had changed the rig two years ago. At the sight of a hose with running water, Mo felt able to indulge in some hand washing, although we still had one of the water tanks untouched. We had thought about going out for supper, but with drinks and nibbles we managed to kill our appetites, and decided to abandon the idea in favour of omelette and rat, with potatoes.
Mo busied herself with more washing, while I did a couple more fuel runs to the garage. We then both went out to do some shopping for supplies for our trip. Having filled with water, we came off the pontoon, and returned to anchor in Vliho. We went ashore to the Giallo restaurant, that we had been recommended, between Eleni's and Dimitri's, on the east side of the bay. We had not been back for long when John Bullard, from Angelique came on board causing a flurry to find our clothes as we had just come out of the water. John had provided some information on his use of Vodafone in Greece so we had been in touch, and we had a good chat over tea. Later, as the sun set, we took off the sun covers so that I could go up the mast to find out why the steaming light was not working. Once again it responded to some brute force, and a few sharp jolts with the fist, making it unnecessary to remove the screw which will inevitably be rusted well in. Having been fed at lunch time, the cook went on strike, and we resorted to bread and cheese, or marmite respectively.
Although we were already reasonably well prepared, we did not feel in any rush to depart. I spent a while updating the web site on the computer and obtained the latest forecast, we swam, then recovered the dinghy. We left the anchorage at 1145, and called by Unique in Tranquil Bay to say goodbye to Svein on our way out. It was 1215 before we left Nidri bay, rounding the headland with the chapel where Oristatle Onnassis and Jackie Kennedy tied the knot, and raised sail. Inevitably, the wind was blowing up the Meganissi channel against us, so we motor-sailed south. It was perhaps just as well, as the waters were crowded with Italian motorboats and Sailing Holidays charterers returning to Sitova.
Our forecast had indicated reasonable northerly winds for the first third of our passage. We could then expect light and variable winds as we traversed across a high, before more northerly winds to take us the last part of the journey toward Sicily. We were soon disabused, as we encountered light and variable west to north west winds making it slow and frustrating progress for the remainder of the day.
Through most of Sunday we had similar light winds, from various points of the compass, but predominantly from the west and northwest. We made slow progress, as we tried to sail whenever we reasonably could, often at three knots or a bit less.
Our expectation on Monday was for a northerly wind, of reasonable strength. It never materialised. As we were making slow progress, we had been heading for Rocella Ionica instead of our original plan to go to Sicily. Investigation of our old pilot suggested that the entrance was silting, and that a sandbank in the entrance posed a hazard to night time approaches. Although we know of plenty of people who have used the harbour, we decided that we could not make it in daylight, so altered course back for Capo Spartivento, on the bottom of the big toe in Italy's foot. That evening, as we approached the coast, the wind continued its dance around the clock, briefly sitting in the east and north east but of negligible strength. The seas were inexplicably confused. Then literally within minutes, the wind came back from the north and built rapidly to Force 6. We put in one reef, then attempted the second, but found the reefing block attaching the single line reefing line to the sail at the leach had again twisted somehow, so we could not pull the reef in. We had no alternative but to drop the sail altogether. This wind did not last and it was not long before we raised the main again, and continued to plod along, not quite fetching our course.
It was not until after midnight on the night of Monday 16th that we finally made our initial waypoint off Capo Spartivento, 60 hours into the trip. The winds had again fallen to light and variable, and Mo did her best to sail along the south of the toe while I slept. At 0415 I came to, but Mo said she was good for a while longer for which I was very grateful. Minutes later she was saying 'Please can you come up, its getting boisterous, but no rush!' We supposed that the wind coming up was associated with rounding the headland at the entrance to Messina straits and should be temporary. As she had had no steady wind, the jib was furled, and she had been motoring, but we had the reefed main which still had the snagged second reefing line. By the time I got into the cockpit, the wind was blowing F5 from the north and building. On the one hand it was good to have some wind at last, as we were getting a bit short on fuel, but we were unable to drop another reef in. We planned to head for the bay at Naxos/Giardini, giving us a reach across the channel to the Sicily side, so instead of dropping the main, we carried it, spilling as much wind as we sensibly could. The wind continued to build, and we were soon screaming along at 7-8 knots, with a F7 on the beam. We were lucky with shipping, as two passed ahead with no problem, and the rest passed astern. However from 30 knots across the deck we soon had 39 knots, and it was inevitable that we would have to get the main down. As ever, this was the usual struggle, requiring the visit to the mast, and a climb on the mast step to grab each slider in turn until it was all down and under control with the halyard around the mast winch. We continued under engine alone, then as the wind dropped back again, eventually to F3/4 we set the jib. It was only with daylight that the realisation came that the flogging of the main as it came down had taken its toll, with lengths of the leach line and tape torn away. The incident early in the season when putting the sail away where the leach line had torn away had warned us that the end of the sail's useful life was imminent: it now appears to have arrived. We dropped anchor in the exalted company of some magnificent motor yachts at 0815 (Greek time), some 68 hours after leaving Nidri, 30 hours of which were under engine.
We spent the rest of the day recovering
Having tried to catch up on sleep on the day of arrival, we now needed to come to terms with the damage to the mainsail. The leech, which had already been extensively repaired and reinforced, was now torn along some two to three metres in two different places, with a further tear close by. Given the general condition of the sail, we decided that it truly was 'beyond economic repair', and we only had a couple of metres of sail repair tape left. The mainsail was on the boat when we bought her, and was not new then, so it has done well over 7 seasons in the Med. We dug out the old Elvstrom mainsail, originally supplied with the boat. To fit it, we had to remove a couple of the batten boxes and replace them with the new batten boxes that match with the heavier Ronstan cars that we invested in at the beginning of the season. We found that the bottom three battens matched reasonably, two being a little short, but the top two needed shortening. Handling the old sail, folding it on deck, and working with the new one proved to be an all-day job in the heat.
The next morning we were awoken by cries nearby. I got up, and shouted out 'what's the trouble?', and received back 'You're in trouble, your anchor's dragging!'. The source appeared to be an Italian boat, but the accent was strange but seemed fluent enough. The trouble was in fact a small speedboat/runabout with two older Italians on board. They had managed to get our anchor chain through the flukes of their anchor, and had presumably lifted our anchor off the bottom, so that we were both drifting along the bay together in the fresh wind. I started to get the anchor up, while Mo went to the helm, but realised that if I did that I would simply draw the boats together, but not resolve anything. The dinghy was in the water, so I then rowed over to them. At my suggestion they produced some rope, but the guy on the bow did not know how to secure it to the mooring cleats. It was quite a long line, but it was useless trying to explain what I wanted. I passed the line under our chain, and handed the end back to him, but of course he didn't manage to secure it sufficiently. At the second attempt the line held, they let go their anchor to free the load off the chain, and we managed to clear it. Unable to untie the line, they resorted to a knife, and cut the line at both ends, and then disappeared. Fuga was left on the anchor, but I did not realise how much current and wind there was, so failed to put in the required effort to make it back to the stern. I had just decided I would not make it, and started rowing for the shore instead, when the Italians came back and towed me back to Fuga. I later found a good length of light line attached to our chain! Some good came out of it after all! As we returned to re-anchor, the source of our confusion became apparent: the boat that raised the alarm was an Irish boat (Flag green/white/orange) not an Italian (green/white/red)! We had drifted past them only a metre away.
Later we put the outboard on the dinghy, and tested it, as it had been giving more grief when last used in Greece. We decided we would move Fuga over to Naxos at the other side of the bay so that we could go ashore with minimum risk of outboard malfunction. We passed Tatoosh, 92m, the smaller of two yachts owned by the co-founder of Microsoft, Paul Allen, and then the Rising Sun, 138m, jointly owned by Larry Ellison, CEO of Oracle. In the bay we had also had the 56m bermudan cutter rigged sailing yacht Salute with the tallest 75m 6 spreader aluminium mast in the world. Southern Cross III, also in the bay, was the baby of them all at 55m, but quite attainable for sale at only £12m, less than Rising Sun costs to run for a year!
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| Our anchorage below Taormina, a popular tourist spot but inaccessable to us | Tatoosh, the smaller of Paul Allen's yachts carries 35 crew, a sailing yacht, helicopter and launch! |
We found it hard to find somewhere to tie up the dinghy: the yacht club looked as if it would want money for the privilege, and we were turned away from the quay amongst the fishing boats where we had tied up in 2007. We settled for the beach instead. We went in search of a Centro Tim (phone shop). I had walked past when Mo called me back, and we went in. No problem, my old SIM had expired, but the computer system would not accept my passport number. Whether I am a wanted man or unwanted man in Italy, or whether it was the confusion caused by my birth in Tanzania, or the fact that I was already on their system, nothing would work. On the way back to the boat, we bought some fresh supplies, some bread, pizzas, and other essentials. Fuga was rolling like a pig in the shallow water off the quays, so we unloaded the supplies and picked up Mo's passport and returned to the shop. This time Mo's passport got through the system, and we went away with our new telephone number, and hopefully an internet connection. The deal has changed yet again, and prepaid is now 24€ for a month, with a 3GB data limit. The SIM card itself seemed expensive at 25€. We returned to Fuga, and re-anchored back in our original spot.
The following day, Friday, I felt under the weather. It was a bit like flu, and reminiscent of rheumatoid problems I had in the late 1980's. I had ached, and wondered whether it was wrestling with the mainsails, or wrestling with the Italian motorboat's anchor. We did very little all day. Mo put up the sun covers. I read, and rested, so that by evening I felt a bit better. Overnight, I had identified that although I felt better in myself, my left leg was feeling tender, very similar to the problem in Croatia in 2007. The antibiotics that the consultant had given me against this eventuality expired in 2008, but we resolved to try them. If not we will have to try to find a local alternative.