During our 2010 summer holidays, Emily and I spent a
week near Galway, Ireland, re-enacting scenes from P.S. I love you. On a rare
deviation from the script we went horse riding, something she had spent a lot
of her childhood mastering. Something I had spent very little of my childhood
mastering. Naturally I was saddled (I hate puns) with the old and greying but
experienced horse. Our initial introductions were challenged by my falling off
as I went to mount the loyal stead and this was followed by him ignoring my
instructions at every turn, tracing the same route with which he was well
versed. In the end he saved me from much further embarrassment and back at the
stables we bonded over a pack of polos and excessive nose rubbing. At the time
I genuinely believed he was sad to be led away and I had developed an affinity towards
him. We probably both got over it pretty quickly.
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Our first
month of sailing has been a pendulum of nailing a stern-to mooring against heavy
crosswinds in front of a crowded restaurant, to going aground in calm and
regularly visited waters. I mentioned the grounding quietly in our last blog
but here I highlight for all to see after we found out it was quite common and
so far seems to have done no serious damage to the boat - hopefully. Our
inexperience but hard work are showing through in their own ways. We're
learning a lot, but when we fall short Hodja seems to pull up the slack, saving
us embarrassment and has a way of surviving the tough times despite our inabilities.
In return, the old girl takes some looking after, with constant attention to her
engine and electrics, never ending maintenance and an ongoing puzzle as to how
a boat can get so dirty when we’re surrounded by crystal clear water?
 |
| Just fixing stuff. You know. |
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Emily bought “Sea Breeze” scented
cleaner...
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But we have
managed to keep on the move during our most recent leg through the Saronic
islands. The longest we have stayed in one place between the Corinth Canal and the
Cyclades was a second night in Poros, where we had to get a mechanic on board
but fortunately just to confirm all was ok with our squealing prop shaft. Huh?
Korfos was
our first anchorage of call – it was our second open water anchorage but near to
a town where we could sample the local Aegean chandlery shops via tender; we
were in the market for a filler to fix the crack sustained to the side of the
boat in the unprotected ‘protected’ harbour of Corinth. I also bought some
rope, just because.
We’re starting
to see the same boats here and there which I hadn’t expected but is quite
reassuring at times – especially as most of the yachts we meet have been going
for a few years, with the accompanying experience. At one stop we were talking
to a couple from Lymington who were delivering a yacht for a friend. They had done
a lot of sailing all over the world including New Zealand and Australia. The
next yacht that turns up, sailed by a Kiwi who hand built it himself, knew the
Lymington couple. They had met in Australia after they sold him their second
head sail three years earlier...
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The second
stop after anchoring in Korfos was intended to be the harbour town of Aegina on
Aegina Island but room with sufficient depth for our two meter draft was
lacking. We circled the harbour for ten minutes, shouted at a departing boat
to find that they had grounded their Beneteau 44 ;-) and swiftly departed for
an anchorage further up the island. The spot was ideal, well protected from the
South Easterly wind and had a great little taverna for dinner and drinks - where
we met a Dutch touring group who had pulled up next door shortly after our
arrival. The very same group we sailed past three days later to much yahooing.
Our fondness
of the anchorage soon deteriorated when we were rudely awoken at 3am by some unusually
large wake. It felt like a speeding tanker had passed uncharacteristically
close to the land. Except the wake didn’t stop. And when we investigated on
deck found that the wind had veered and brought with it the largest seas we
have seen to date. The next step in said experience was for the anchor to drag,
duly obliged. So at 0.3m below the keel we fired the engines, lit the Nav
lights and motored out to re-lay the anchor and hope for some bite on the
patchy sea bed. We were lucky and only had to spend the next couple of hours
monitoring as our Dutch friends were forced to do the same. No casualties that
night – good times.
We sailed off
anchor late the following morning after catching up on some sleep, headed onwards
to the large but sufficiently quaint town of Poros. Most large Greek towns seem
to have either suffered ruin post 2012 economic crises or a sizable earthquake
between now and visually appealing architecture disappeared from the Mediterranean
builder’s repertoire. So it was a pleasure to climb the steep slopes of the old
town and sample the local Greek coffee, watching the ships come and go from a height.
Hi German couple who helped us out in Corinth, sure we’ll take your lines for
you.
After our two
night stay we headed for the small but notoriously upmarket port of Idra (Idra island).
On the way, we saw a rare Mediterannean Monk Seal as we squeezed between the
mainland and close islands/rocks. One of only 500 left in the world due to selective
habitat and low fish stocks. It was nice to see. We’ll call him Gunga Din.
Upon arrival the
hill side town was everything you’d want from a backwater version of the south
of France. Boutique shops, lots of tiny lanes and passages to get lost in, slightly more expensive beer/coffee and lacklustre
chandlery shops. Quayside mooring was free though, in the absence of a port
master, which may also help to explain the unusual rafted-stern-to mooring
which we haven’t seen before or since and hope never to experience again –
carnage.
The chartered boat next-door to us was frequented by a group headed by a chatty Kiwi, based in Lyon, with his French possy. We’ll call them group A.
The following
day we left early, as places in the Saronic seemed to fill-up fast and we
wanted to get a decent sport in the port of Spetses (you guessed it – on Spetses
island) for the following night in response to weather forecasts. Good decision,
as protected spaces were severly lacking due in most part to a resurgence in
local fishing boats which rarely seem to leave the harbour. It was a ‘rough
around the edges’ version of Idra with one of the last remaining working caique
boat yards adding some genuine character above white walls and blue timberwork.
Next-door to us was a British family of five, chartering for the week and skippered
by the father. Circa 45 years old based on career and children but looking good
for his age - he was a tank mechanic in the army for 25 years. Naturally we
invited him over for a good look round Hodja’s Yanmar 29 and his musings were
useful and surprisingly reassuring. Top man. We’ll call them group B.
The final
stop before crossing to the Cyclades, the middle group of islands within the Aegean
sea, was a quiet anchorage sandwiched between the mainland and two low lying islands/rocks
near to the sea lion spotting grounds we passed not two days before. Naturally
I put two and two together and lowered the tender, fishing rod in hand, under
the assumption that the sea lion must be living off something. After two hours
it transpires he is a better fisherman than I.
There were
two other boats tucked into the cove where we lay, and the couple from one
popped over in their tender on the assumption that had I been lucky with the
rod that they would be duly invited for dinner. I broke the sad news but their
conviction was unwavered, duly returning with substantial volumes of drink to
console us, which worked a treat. This we call group C.
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Group C were
on their way back to Athens to return their charter boat. They had spent the
night before at a similar anchorage four hours back in which they had helped
and subsequently gotten to know a French group skippered by a Kiwi – group A.
The night before that they were moored in Porto Kheli where they met a guy who
fixed army tanks – group B. From memory of passage plans and in hope of a
typical ‘world is small moment’ I have every certainty that Group A and B spent
that night chatting about an American couple that helped them anchor and this
weird English couple who were stupid enough to throw away their careers for an
outrageous tan and never ending boat troubles. I gave the Kiwi details of the
blog – I bet he threw them away. We’ll never know.
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I use never
ending boat troubles in good taste. Breakage and maintenance is an inevitability
that we are slowing learning to embrace and appreciate that it’s at least forcing
us to get to know Hodja well and learn about maintenance and repairs more
generally. So far Hodja has been solid against everything we have thrown at
her, both knowingly and through our stupidity. Refusing to dip her bow amid heavy
seas at 3am. Holding her line on a gusty shore after some amateur moves by her
crew. Keeping herself straight when astern at the time you most need her to –
in front of the packed restaurant crowd. Everyone loves their own steed.
Indeed, sailing around the Med there are many like her. But this one is ours.
