Leaving Ayamonte
Approaching Tarifa
Wet and windy - Gibraltar ahead
How on earth did this happen? - Europa Point
A tight fit in Caleta da Velez
Trying to get online with poor wifi connection - AlmerimarPhoto gallery May 2009
Leaving AyamonteApproaching TarifaWet and windy - Gibraltar aheadHow on earth did this happen? - Europa PointA tight fit in Caleta da VelezTrying to get online with poor wifi connection - Almerimar
Sunday 1st November – Aktio Boatyard, Preveza
The season has well and truly come to an end over the three weeks since our last blog entry. The idyllic week that we spent cruising round Meganisi wasn’t set to last long. When we got the gale warning for Monday 12th October we decided to sit it out in Vlicho, a large bottle-shaped bay just south of Nidri because there’s plenty of room to swing and it’s more or less sheltered from every direction-although the wind is known to gust strongly off the mountains. There’s no fetch to allow much of a chop to develop either. Dozens of other boats had the same idea as us. When we arrived, a local charter company was hurriedly taking its fleet of boats alongside to raft up on the quay. We put out 40 metres of chain, dug the anchor in well and hoped for the best.
Well, the Vlicho veterans had a storm to remember……First heavy rain poured down for most of the afternoon, closely followed by a solid 35 knot southwesterly with thunder and lightning that lasted on and off all night. Even if we hadn’t been anxiously watching the anchor, sleep would have been impossible in all the noise and mayhem. Many boats dragged their anchors and were flailing around in the dark desperately trying to get re-hooked whilst avoiding being blown into other boats. We watched them with a mixture of relief it wasn’t us, and concern when they got too close.
Then just before dawn, the weather got really vicious. Several squalls which were clocked at 57 knots and torrential rain hit the bay and Makarma slewed first one way then the other under the force of the wind. Putting one’s head above the sprayhood was like standing in a wind tunnel with a fire-hose in your face. Our Bugel still held firm, and by this time our nerves were more or less numbed by the never-ending ghastliness of it. Calm descended as the front passed through only for the squalls to return with the same force but this time from the northwest. Some gusts literally fell off the mountain-side, bringing grief to yet more boats. At least it was light now to make re-anchoring easier. The worst wasn’t over until mid morning, when finally we could have a bit to eat and catch up on some sleep. We were one of the few boats that stayed put through it all.
The weather looked promising for Honor and Stewart’s week with us from the 17th, and thankfully it was still warm enough for them to swim a couple of times. We managed a brief sail to Skorpios in gusty conditions. One puff got us heeled over 40 degrees, which didn’t do much for their confidence in sailing! The little harbours have now ‘rolled up the sidewalks’ for the winter. The Boom-Boom bar in Vathi was definitely not booming, and several of the tavernas in Nidri had shut up shop. At least Stew found somewhere with Sky Sports to watch the big Blackburn match. With another depression forecast for Friday 23rd, we make our way to Levkas marina and tie up safely to a pontoon. It hosed down and to save our visitors from getting wet we dress them in dinghy suits and wellies to go out for a farewell dinner. Who says sailing is glamorous? We were very sorry to see them leave – the main downside of being away is not seeing much of the family, so the time they were with us was precious and went all too quickly.
A couple of days after they’ve gone, we head north up the Levkas canal and our lift-out for the winter in the Aktio boatyard, Preveza. When the swing bridge opens to let us through to the open sea, Leighton notices the oil pressure has dropped to zero. As there’s a place to anchor 200 metres beyond the bridge we keep going while Leighton pours oil into the engine. But as fast as the oil goes in, it leaks out underneath – we clearly have a big problem. We drop the hook as quickly as we can and kill the engine.
Leighton isn’t cheerful as he goes in to investigate what’s wrong. Cathy meanwhile is working out plan B. It’s some while before he eventually tracks down the problem to a leaking banjo which is very difficult to reach, but once tightened the engine miraculously stops leaking. Then we have the delightful job of pumping all the oil out of the bilge. Later it is very satisfying to see the pan under the engine is still as clean as a whistle after the hour's motoring it takes to get us to Preveza.
We’d hoped to moor alongside in Preveza marina, but the pontoons are full of long stay boats. We decide against mooring alongside the quay although there’s room as it’s exposed to the east, precisely where the breeze is coming from. Instead we anchor off the boatyard in Ormos Vathi, a narrow creek just to the north, popular with anglers who sit along the banks around the clock. It turns out to be a perfect place to wait for our liftout on the 30th. An out of town supermarket is a short walk away, and it’s very sheltered. We spend the time there doing some repairs and making a start on winterising the boat - taking down the sails and halyards and so on.
On the 30th we motor the half a mile across to Aktio boatyard, reflecting it’s the first time we’ve overwintered the boat ashore since Baltic Wharf in 05/06. While we watch the men lift Makarma out of the water and settle her into a cradle standing a stone’s throw from the temple of Apollo, we compile a list of this year’s hits and misses. Here it is:
Our list of things that work on the boat (in no particular order):
- Casio C Pathfinder watch – tells much more than just the time
- AIS, which has definitely helped us avoid collisions with ships at sea
- Supercool fridge – low power, no moving parts, no CFCs
- Bugel anchor – ten stars for holding power!
- ICOM 718 HF radio for position reports, email and weather
- GPS in cockpit
- C-Map chartplotter on PDA
- Power shower made from a 5 litre garden sprayer
- Offgrid energy – solar panels and windgen give us independence from shorepower
….and things that don’t:
- Navtex weather bulletins – unreliable or no reception more often than not
- Silva S15 VHF radio – a complete piece of junk - nothing good to say about it
- Blakes antifouling – the Syracuse ‘worm’ loved it.
- MR16 LEDs – they’re great, but some of them haven’t lasted as long as they should
- Wifi - we’re still working on beefing up the signal strength to get a solid connection
Now we’re ashore, we’ll take a break from boat jobs at some stage to put some of our photos up here.
Saturday 10th October – Spilia Bay, Meganisi A Taste of the Ionian inland sea: Vonitsa – Levkada – Nidri – Meganisi
Before leaving Vonitsa, we hire a car with our delightful Dutch neighbours, Frank and Anneke and drive right around the gulf of Amvrakia. First stop on the tour is Nikopolis, the city Octavian built to celebrate his victory over Anthony and Cleopatra. What an amazing place – and we have it more or less to ourselves. The ruins that remain are far too big to explore in a day, and it’s only one fifth of the original city. There are some very fine floor mosaics in the old Byzantine church; massive ramparts in the city walls; and an almost completely intact round theatre. A number of stones carved with inscriptions and part of a fluted column have been left in the ditch alongside a ploughed field – clearly unearthed by the farmer’s plough and not considered worth collecting.
Next we stop in Arta to look at the old packhorse bridge, its arches spanning high over the river. It’s said that the builder, fed up that its foundations kept being washed away, took the advice of a talking bird and buried his wife alive in the central pier. She now haunts the bridge! Driving a car could be like building a bridge, jokes Frank, when Cathy criticises Leighton’s driving. After a picnic on the shore of the gulf at Menidi, we check out some good anchorages on the southern shore of the gulf – a good place to escape the flotilla crowds next summer maybe.
We leave Vonitsa with regret, amid warm farewells from our new friends. It’s an autumnal misty morning, with a slight breeze. We motor past Preveza and out of the channel into the open Ionian. There’s a rolling swell and still no wind. An hour’s motoring later and we’re approaching the northern entrance to the Levkas canal. We anchor for lunch in the channel under the lee of a sandbank and wait for the swing bridge to open at 2pm. The bridge opens on the hour every two hours and is actually a floating barge which swings around to allow boats through. From there it’s less than half a mile to Levkada harbour, home to hundreds of sailing boats.
The pilots say you’re not allowed to anchor in the harbour, but we join a handful of other cruising boats at anchor, including ‘Shindig’ belonging to PBO’s Andrew Simpson. The holding is good solid mud, which with a strong southerly forecast is a comfort. Unusually for a landlocked harbour, Levkada is exposed in southerlies so we tuck ourselves well into the lee of the marina and hope for the best. We get wind and rain for the best part of two days – one night we stand anchor watch for a while during a particularly vicious thunderstorm. When we come to raise the anchor later, there’s mud up to its rollbar.
Between the downpours we enjoy exploring the little shops and alleyways of Levkada. It’s a pretty town overlooking a salt lagoon, and although the town had to be completely rebuilt after the 1953 earthquake, it has plenty of charm and some good shops.
Once the weather settles down again, we go south through the canal to enter the inland sea where a brisk northwesterly barrels us along under full sail. When the old girl picks up her skirts in the puffs to put on a good turn of speed, we understand why so many people come back here to sail year after year. It’s flat calm, it’s bikini hot, and it’s October for heaven’s sake! Steep jagged mountains rise on either side of us, and several wooded islands with secluded inlets lie ahead of us. It is absolute heaven – the most fun we’ve had sailing all year. We decide to base ourselves in the centre of things in Nidri and anchor a short dinghy ride away from the town in lovely Tranquil Bay.
We take a couple of days in Nidri to recce the place in advance of Honor and Stewart’s visit, then we have another stunning sail to Port Athene on Meganisi. Leighton is on the helm and enjoys being sail-trimmer for the afternoon. Pictures of Meganisi rightly appear in all the sailing magazines and pilot books. The island’s deeply indented coastline is perfect for overnight anchorages in beautiful surroundings with short distances between each one. You can’t get close to describing it adequately without running out of superlatives. Suffice it to say the water’s deep and clear, and ashore it’s remarkably unspoiled – just the occasional taverna at the head of a bay. This late in the season, there’s still a lot of boats about, especially flotillas, but it isn’t exactly crowded.
On Meganisi we enjoy one last gasp of glorious summer weather. We’re making the most of six days in succession of cloudless skies and 30 degree heat by swimming every day, knowing it won’t be long before the weather breaks again.
Before returning to Nidri again to await Honor and Stewart’s arrival next weekend, we spend a couple of days in the idyllic surroundings of Spilia Bay, also on Meganisi. We’re berthed on the quay beside the Taverna Spilia, with a view behind us of Skorpios, the Onassis family’s private island. Perched above us is Spartachori, one of the prettiest towns in the Ionian with stupendous views of the inland sea.
Spilia bay is a perfect place to reflect on how far we’ve come this season. We’ve sailed just under 2,000 miles since we left Ayamonte on 11th May, but it seems like a million miles away. The experiences we’ve had on the way here have enriched us and deepened our appreciation of what we (and the boat) are capable of. We can wind down now for the winter in the knowledge that we haven’t made too many idiotic mistakes; the boat’s still in one piece; and we’ll be back next year to explore this lovely cruising area some more.
26th September – Vonitsa in the Gulf of Amvrakia
High Point: Vonitsa town quay is home to an assortment of cruising folk of different nationalities. Once here, most boats seem to stay quite a while. Our neighbours are Frank and Anneke, a Dutch couple aboard Panteleimon, a Victory 40. They tell us stories of their voyages which are uncannily similar to our own – fire in engine; running aground, and so on…Maybe they’re common to everyone. And we have exactly the same anchors, instruments, etc; and the same outlook too. They’ve just returned from a cruise along the coast of Albania. There’s a German couple on a home-built catamaran who are spending the winter here, and several English, including Derek and Lynne from Essex (who’ve spent 6 summers in the Ionian and have no desire to sail anywhere else); and a slightly manic looking couple who’ve brought 5 chihuahuas onboard with them.
It’s a ready-made community in which we swap boat bits; borrow each other’s manuals and pilots; share what we know about places to visit and how to fix things. I can’t see us leaving in a hurry.
Low Point: It’s blowing hard from the southeast today, bringing low scudding clouds and frequent showers. The usual view across the gulf is shrouded in mist, and the sea is flecked in white. Our kedge line is taut under the strain of holding the stern beam-on to the wind. Yesterday afternoon we had another thunderstorm with strong gusts and heavy rain. We’re glad to be tied bows-to to the quay, snug in the lee of the Venetian fort whose walls tower above us on the hill. We’ve got the duvet back out, and Gordon the ship’s mascot has his dungarees and sou’wester back on. Autumn is here – now our thoughts are turning to the winter jobs and where we’ll cruise next year.
Vonitsa lies inland on the shore of the Amvrakia gulf, some 8 miles from Preveza. The gulf is a 150 square mile inland sea which – unlike the Med - is rich in marine life, and is a fantastic sheltered cruising area. With the strong southerlies on the way, we decide it’ll be a much better billet than Preveza.
We spend our first night here anchored to the east of a small island which is linked to the land by a causeway. There’s no room on the quay as the Sailing Holidays flotilla is in town. We go for a walk through the pine woods growing on the island and come across a tiny white painted chapel dedicated to a stern looking fellow by the name of St Nektarios. The open door lets the sunlight fall on icons that depict more unfamiliar Orthodox saints, each one with a hand raised in the same gesture of benediction.
Vonitsa’s most prominent landmark is the Venetian fort on the hill above the town. Once we’re moored on the quay, we climb up to the battlements to be rewarded with some amazing views of the gulf - a scattering of islands and plenty of green wooded inlets to anchor in, with mountains in the distance. We spot a tortoise in the undergrowth munching its way through a rotting prickly pear. Later we go for a swim off the pebbly beach. The water’s still pleasantly warm, although the shower on the beach afterwards is bracingly cold. We keep a watchful eye open for ‘Myrtle’ the resident loggerhead turtle, which Leighton’s convinced would give you a nasty nip given the chance. We saw it earlier in the harbour and it’s an awesome size.
Vonitsa town has an authentic feel to it – it’s the first town we’ve visited that isn’t a resort catering to foreign tourists. Here elderly men with leathery faces sip black coffee over a game of backgammon in pavement cafes. We notice one man is missing his right hand – the disastrous consequence of the now outlawed practice of dynamiting for fish. We count seven different varieties of goat bells in the hardware shop. Cats press against the doorway of the fishmonger’s, waiting for scraps. The town’s only traffic lights don’t work and holes in the pavements trip you up if you don’t watch where you’re walking. Most of the shopkeepers speak little or no English, so we have to make our few words of Greek go further with smiles and gestures. It motivates us to keep going with learning the language.
20th September - Preveza
Soundtrack: The tune from Zorba the Greek – of course! – wafting across Ozia bay. A Sailing Holidays flotilla of 15 boats is tied up on the quay and the crew are making the most of an evening of live entertainment ashore.
High Point: Getting our liftout and space in the boatyard booked at Aktio Marine in Preveza for the winter. We’re lucky they can fit us in as they have very few spaces left. The boatyard is one of three yards here, and the other two are full. They are located opposite Preveza town, on the other side of the channel leading into the Amvrakia gulf. It is the site of the battle of Actium, when Octavian defeated Anthony and Cleopatra, a victory that changed the course of the Roman empire. The story goes that Octavian waited for the afternoon NW sea breeze to pick up before he attacked. If he roared up the channel at anything like the speed we did, we’re not surprised he routed Anthony and Cleopatra’s fleet. Makarma is going to be sitting right next door to a newly discovered Temple of Apollo dating from that era. The archeologists have been digging there all summer. When we went to look at the site yesterday, they were just wrapping it all up for the winter, so we got to see it just in time.
Low Point: Ozia bay on the south side of Paxos. It’s brilliantly sheltered from all directions and a very pretty place (with wifi too!) but the holding was the worst we’ve come across – powdery sand and weed that the anchor can’t get a grip into. An hour after we get there we’re still no nearer to being properly hooked. First we try to set the anchor to free swing as usual, then we try to reverse back on the anchor and secure our stern to the shore. Finally we pick a spot to anchor in the middle of the bay and just put out loads of chain. Never mind, we think, the wind dies away at night, so we should be OK. Needless to say, just after supper a thundery squall rolls in bringing strong winds and heavy rain. We’re not the only boat scrambling to re-anchor, and it’s not until 1am that everything settles down again so we can turn in.
We’ve come back to Paxos because we’re zig zagging our way south from Corfu to make the most of the wind direction. Mostly the wind’s been light and variable, so we’ve done a fair bit of motoring. On Corfu we stayed in Benitses, a new marina 8 miles south of Corfu town where berthing is free. The resort town is a convenient place to park the boat and explore the island but it’s an unappealing collection of tacky souvenir shops and noisy bars. And we were bothered by the traffic noise from a busy road nearby, and from the constant stream of planes overhead.
Corfu town is set in a magnificent sweeping bay with mountains behind, but we found the town itself was a bit of a let-down. A lot of tourist tat for sale and overpriced tavernas. Nevertheless we admired the view from the top of the Venetian ‘new’ fort, and the magnificent interior of the church of St Spyridhon, the island’s patron saint.
Leaving Corfu behind us, we overnight on the quay again in Sivota Mourtos before arriving in Ozia bay. After the thunderstorm we wait there another day for a fair wind to take us the 30 miles to Preveza. We have a wonderful downwind sail all the way, with the wind building to a F5 by mid afternoon. We gybe round the channel entrance marker buoy in a badly timed 30 knot gust, and storm up the narrow channel with a 2 knot current under us to reach calmer waters off Preveza town where we anchor for the night.
Preveza is an attractive town. The long town quay is lined with tavernas and there’s a warren of pedestrianised streets behind. It lies at the entrance to the Amvrakia gulf, a sheltered 150 square mile inland sea, which we plan to explore before the season is out.
The weather has already turned unsettled and much cooler. The reliable northwesterlies of the summer have been replaced by variable and squally conditions which make planning where to go and where to anchor a bit of a lottery. The old hands in the boatyard are shaking their heads and saying this never used to happen so early. All we know is even if we’re not planning to sail anywhere we have to keep a vigilant eye on the weather at all times. Only last night our supposedly sheltered anchorage turned into a lee shore when a 25 knot east wind got up for several hours, kicking up an uncomfortable chop. It wasn’t much better this morning, and there’s more on the way, so we've moved to a more sheltered spot. It means that the plan to go ashore today to Nikopolis - Octavian’s Victory City - is on hold until it calms down again.
High Point: Getting our liftout and space in the boatyard booked at Aktio Marine in Preveza for the winter. We’re lucky they can fit us in as they have very few spaces left. The boatyard is one of three yards here, and the other two are full. They are located opposite Preveza town, on the other side of the channel leading into the Amvrakia gulf. It is the site of the battle of Actium, when Octavian defeated Anthony and Cleopatra, a victory that changed the course of the Roman empire. The story goes that Octavian waited for the afternoon NW sea breeze to pick up before he attacked. If he roared up the channel at anything like the speed we did, we’re not surprised he routed Anthony and Cleopatra’s fleet. Makarma is going to be sitting right next door to a newly discovered Temple of Apollo dating from that era. The archeologists have been digging there all summer. When we went to look at the site yesterday, they were just wrapping it all up for the winter, so we got to see it just in time.
Low Point: Ozia bay on the south side of Paxos. It’s brilliantly sheltered from all directions and a very pretty place (with wifi too!) but the holding was the worst we’ve come across – powdery sand and weed that the anchor can’t get a grip into. An hour after we get there we’re still no nearer to being properly hooked. First we try to set the anchor to free swing as usual, then we try to reverse back on the anchor and secure our stern to the shore. Finally we pick a spot to anchor in the middle of the bay and just put out loads of chain. Never mind, we think, the wind dies away at night, so we should be OK. Needless to say, just after supper a thundery squall rolls in bringing strong winds and heavy rain. We’re not the only boat scrambling to re-anchor, and it’s not until 1am that everything settles down again so we can turn in.
We’ve come back to Paxos because we’re zig zagging our way south from Corfu to make the most of the wind direction. Mostly the wind’s been light and variable, so we’ve done a fair bit of motoring. On Corfu we stayed in Benitses, a new marina 8 miles south of Corfu town where berthing is free. The resort town is a convenient place to park the boat and explore the island but it’s an unappealing collection of tacky souvenir shops and noisy bars. And we were bothered by the traffic noise from a busy road nearby, and from the constant stream of planes overhead.
Corfu town is set in a magnificent sweeping bay with mountains behind, but we found the town itself was a bit of a let-down. A lot of tourist tat for sale and overpriced tavernas. Nevertheless we admired the view from the top of the Venetian ‘new’ fort, and the magnificent interior of the church of St Spyridhon, the island’s patron saint.
Leaving Corfu behind us, we overnight on the quay again in Sivota Mourtos before arriving in Ozia bay. After the thunderstorm we wait there another day for a fair wind to take us the 30 miles to Preveza. We have a wonderful downwind sail all the way, with the wind building to a F5 by mid afternoon. We gybe round the channel entrance marker buoy in a badly timed 30 knot gust, and storm up the narrow channel with a 2 knot current under us to reach calmer waters off Preveza town where we anchor for the night.
Preveza is an attractive town. The long town quay is lined with tavernas and there’s a warren of pedestrianised streets behind. It lies at the entrance to the Amvrakia gulf, a sheltered 150 square mile inland sea, which we plan to explore before the season is out.
The weather has already turned unsettled and much cooler. The reliable northwesterlies of the summer have been replaced by variable and squally conditions which make planning where to go and where to anchor a bit of a lottery. The old hands in the boatyard are shaking their heads and saying this never used to happen so early. All we know is even if we’re not planning to sail anywhere we have to keep a vigilant eye on the weather at all times. Only last night our supposedly sheltered anchorage turned into a lee shore when a 25 knot east wind got up for several hours, kicking up an uncomfortable chop. It wasn’t much better this morning, and there’s more on the way, so we've moved to a more sheltered spot. It means that the plan to go ashore today to Nikopolis - Octavian’s Victory City - is on hold until it calms down again.
Saturday 12th September - Valtou Bay, mainland Greece
Soundtrack: The distant bleating of goats and the tinny sound of their bells clanging gets our attention, and sure enough, there’s the shepherd on a quad bike herding his flock home at nightfall. We can’t remember when we’ve found ourselves in such a wild and unspoiled spot as here in Valtou Bay, just north of the commercial port of Igoumenitsa. The sound of ships’ hooters carries across the hill - an incongruous sound as the pool we’re anchored in is completely landlocked.
High Point: Our first bows-to landing on a public quay, our bows pointing straight into the terrace of the Central café in Mourtos. It took ages to decide what we would do and how we’d do it, but it worked well first time - we’re very proud of ourselves! Our Aussie friend the little Flook is proving an effective kedge.
Leighton's high point: I can now read Greek! Having purchased a children's Greek "Learn the Alphabet" picture book I can now read and transliterate! Now all I have to do is learn what the words mean. I'm progressing on that front as well, and people are even responding when I say things to them...but it is still all Greek to me for the moment.
Low Point:
A sudden thunderstorm over Lakka one evening brings strong gusts that cause havoc in the anchorage. We’re anchored in the innermost part of the bay, which is also the most sheltered. We’re not there particularly for the shelter but because we wanted to be close to the wifi antenna on the town hall ashore. In the squall at least half a dozen boats try and anchor close to us, and it’s quite a job to stop them dislodging our anchor in the process.
Passage notes:
“You’ve been Lakka’d!” Phil calls out to us one morning, as we walk back to the quay from the shops. We immediately understand what he means. Several days have gone by and we’re still in Lakka. The harbour is so delightful, the laid-back atmosphere of the village is so beguiling, that we’re finding it hard to leave. Phil says it’s nothing new - Lakka’s charm is infectious and most people succumb to it sometime or another.
As we row ashore for ice-cream after supper one evening, we’re hailed by Brian and Joyce and invited to join them aboard Tusk for a glass of wine. They’ve sailed round the world in their snug 31’ Golden Hind, which is anchored astern of us in Lakka. They are matter-of-fact about their achievement, but it goes to show you don’t have to have a large boat or flash equipment to cross oceans - it may be slow but you get there in the end.
We finally shake ourselves free of Lakka’s attractions and sail 12 miles across to the mainland to Sivota Mourtos, a small harbour tucked inside the lee of three wooded islands. There we get the boat checked in with the Greek port police, and receive this enormous document, a DEKPA, which is our obligatory cruising transit log, getting not much change out of 50 euros in the process. We’re supposed to get it stamped at a harbour at least every 30 days so the authorities can keep track of us. We’d tried to get one in Gaios on Paxos, but they said they’d run out of the right forms. The Mourtos police reckoned their colleagues on Paxos just couldn’t be bothered to do all the paperwork.
At Mourtos we book the fuel truck to come and fill the diesel tank which is down to its last 120 litres after the long passage from Sicily. And Tomas the waterman unlocks the quayside tap so we can top up the water tanks. So……street legal; refuelled (plus Leighton’s changed the fuel filter) and rewatered, we’re all ready to explore this fantastic cruising ground for the weeks that remain this season.
From Sivota Mourtos our first hop is north up the mainland coast for some 8 miles to Valtou Bay. It’s thoroughly pleasant motoring in the flat calm. That changes when the engine revs falter half way up. We quickly take the mainsail cover off - we are getting lazy! - but the engine recovers almost immediately. We’re worried we’ve taken on a tankful of bad diesel, but on reflection we reckon that some air got in the system when Leighton changed the fuel filter, and it’s now cleared.
Valtou Bay is a deep inlet tucked behind a row of hills that form a peninsula little more than half a mile wide. There’s nothing here apart from some rusty corrugated iron farm buildings and a ramshackle wooden jetty. It’s the perfect place for some peace and quiet away from the tavernas and flotillas.
In the late afternoon, we go for a walk across the peninsula to the beach watching the thunder-clouds build over the mountains that stretch northwards into Albania. On the way back to the boat we say hello to a guy who’s given up shore life altogether. Mike sails his Beneteau singlehanded in the Med for the summer in the northern hemisphere. Then he goes to New Zealand to live aboard his other boat for the summer down under. He has the look of the hermit in Monty Python about him.
An area of wetlands to the north of us is a perfect habitat for wading birds, and - so the pilot says - otters. We spend a morning in the dinghy paddling along the shallow waterways that wend their way through the marshland in search of wildlife. We see herons, egrets, bitterns, curlews and several kingfishers. But sadly there’s no sign of otters.
High Point: Our first bows-to landing on a public quay, our bows pointing straight into the terrace of the Central café in Mourtos. It took ages to decide what we would do and how we’d do it, but it worked well first time - we’re very proud of ourselves! Our Aussie friend the little Flook is proving an effective kedge.
Leighton's high point: I can now read Greek! Having purchased a children's Greek "Learn the Alphabet" picture book I can now read and transliterate! Now all I have to do is learn what the words mean. I'm progressing on that front as well, and people are even responding when I say things to them...but it is still all Greek to me for the moment.
Low Point:
A sudden thunderstorm over Lakka one evening brings strong gusts that cause havoc in the anchorage. We’re anchored in the innermost part of the bay, which is also the most sheltered. We’re not there particularly for the shelter but because we wanted to be close to the wifi antenna on the town hall ashore. In the squall at least half a dozen boats try and anchor close to us, and it’s quite a job to stop them dislodging our anchor in the process.
Passage notes:
“You’ve been Lakka’d!” Phil calls out to us one morning, as we walk back to the quay from the shops. We immediately understand what he means. Several days have gone by and we’re still in Lakka. The harbour is so delightful, the laid-back atmosphere of the village is so beguiling, that we’re finding it hard to leave. Phil says it’s nothing new - Lakka’s charm is infectious and most people succumb to it sometime or another.
As we row ashore for ice-cream after supper one evening, we’re hailed by Brian and Joyce and invited to join them aboard Tusk for a glass of wine. They’ve sailed round the world in their snug 31’ Golden Hind, which is anchored astern of us in Lakka. They are matter-of-fact about their achievement, but it goes to show you don’t have to have a large boat or flash equipment to cross oceans - it may be slow but you get there in the end.
We finally shake ourselves free of Lakka’s attractions and sail 12 miles across to the mainland to Sivota Mourtos, a small harbour tucked inside the lee of three wooded islands. There we get the boat checked in with the Greek port police, and receive this enormous document, a DEKPA, which is our obligatory cruising transit log, getting not much change out of 50 euros in the process. We’re supposed to get it stamped at a harbour at least every 30 days so the authorities can keep track of us. We’d tried to get one in Gaios on Paxos, but they said they’d run out of the right forms. The Mourtos police reckoned their colleagues on Paxos just couldn’t be bothered to do all the paperwork.
At Mourtos we book the fuel truck to come and fill the diesel tank which is down to its last 120 litres after the long passage from Sicily. And Tomas the waterman unlocks the quayside tap so we can top up the water tanks. So……street legal; refuelled (plus Leighton’s changed the fuel filter) and rewatered, we’re all ready to explore this fantastic cruising ground for the weeks that remain this season.
From Sivota Mourtos our first hop is north up the mainland coast for some 8 miles to Valtou Bay. It’s thoroughly pleasant motoring in the flat calm. That changes when the engine revs falter half way up. We quickly take the mainsail cover off - we are getting lazy! - but the engine recovers almost immediately. We’re worried we’ve taken on a tankful of bad diesel, but on reflection we reckon that some air got in the system when Leighton changed the fuel filter, and it’s now cleared.
Valtou Bay is a deep inlet tucked behind a row of hills that form a peninsula little more than half a mile wide. There’s nothing here apart from some rusty corrugated iron farm buildings and a ramshackle wooden jetty. It’s the perfect place for some peace and quiet away from the tavernas and flotillas.
In the late afternoon, we go for a walk across the peninsula to the beach watching the thunder-clouds build over the mountains that stretch northwards into Albania. On the way back to the boat we say hello to a guy who’s given up shore life altogether. Mike sails his Beneteau singlehanded in the Med for the summer in the northern hemisphere. Then he goes to New Zealand to live aboard his other boat for the summer down under. He has the look of the hermit in Monty Python about him.
An area of wetlands to the north of us is a perfect habitat for wading birds, and - so the pilot says - otters. We spend a morning in the dinghy paddling along the shallow waterways that wend their way through the marshland in search of wildlife. We see herons, egrets, bitterns, curlews and several kingfishers. But sadly there’s no sign of otters.
Saturday 5th September - Lakka Harbour, Paxos
Soundtrack: A cock crows somewhere on the hill above us as we squeeze in among the throng of anchored boats to drop our hook in the sand of Lakka harbour. The raucous sound tells us the night is coming to an end and we have made a safe landfall in Greece. Leighton cracks open a beer and Cathy polishes off a portion of leftover gnocchi before we turn in to catch up on some sleep.
High Point: Greece has been our goal for this year. Since leaving Ayamonte, we’ve had to keep on the move to Get There. Well……There is now Here. We have arrived! Now we can stop moving and start taking it easy. In the dawn light, we can see green hills sloping steeply down to the water’s edge on all sides which remind us of the Dart. The wind carries with it the scent of pine trees, which we first smelled some way out at sea. Sitting in the cockpit we wonder what’s taken us so long.
Low Point: A long, slow passage from Siracusa to Paxos. It takes us 66 hours - from mid-morning on Wednesday to the early hours of today - to cover a distance of 280 miles. There can’t be too many modes of transport since the demise of the horse and cart that are actually quite so slow.
Passage notes:
There’s not much to write home about a passage where you motor most of the way. The wind was never more than 10 knots, the apparent wind much less than that. Makarma isn’t built like a Bavaria which can zip along nicely in 8-10 knots of breeze. With that weight of wind we struggle to get 4 knots out of her with the wind on the quarter, and even less if it’s astern. That’s fine for a daysail, but not great if you’ve got 280 miles to cover. Mostly the wind came from the southwest, dead astern, so there was nothing for it but to motor. We managed to sail the first day and night, and after that it was only for a few hours on and off to give ourselves and the donk a break. We trickled along at 1200 revs to keep the engine, the cabin and us from overheating.
"George" the autohelm seized up and stopped working approximately 140 miles out at sea. At 14.26 tonnes Makarma is a very heavy boat to steer by hand when under engine power. Hand steering without wind for two days would be almost impossible - certainly exhausting. While there was a bit of daylight left we decided to take George apart and engage in a bit of "cockpit maintenance" - Cathy steered while George was completely stripped to his basic components, all his essentials cleaned and re-greased. After some effort we managed to get him unseized and working again. (And without losing any of his many bits over the side).
On the plus side, we had a full moon for company, the sea was mostly calm, the shipping light and we slept and ate well. Leighton is the first to see the lighthouse on Lakka Point through binoculars at 00:21 on Saturday, some 20 miles out. It is a moment to savour, and we hug each other to celebrate. We are coming to the end of the longest passage we’ve undertaken on our own, and we’re on the point of reaching our goal for this year. What more can you want?
We anticipate entering Lakka harbour in the dark is going to be straightforward enough. The approach is in deep water and there are port and starboard hand lights. In reality we see what looks like a radio mast in the entrance until we realise it’s the mast of a superyacht that’s anchored in the fairway with a line astern to the shore. Why does it have a red anchor light - who knows? And our chartplotting software is some way off the mark as it’s showing us on the land. Only a trifle rattled, we eyeball our way by moonlight in among the other boats at anchor to drop our hook without incident.
Leighton’s note: We have been known to have big arguments when it comes to anchoring at the end of a trip, which we call “anchor drama”. However despite the chartplotter putting us completely off course, despite the harbour being lit only by moonlight and despite some very expensive yachts anchored with no lights at all, Cathy did a superb job of steering us into the harbour and doing what can only be described as a handbreak turn into a perfect anchoring position between two boats, resulting in a completely harmonious end to the passage!
Lakka - first impressions
It’s mid morning by the time we emerge into the cockpit to take in our surroundings. Immediately a dinghy comes alongside. It’s Anna from a neighbouring yacht, asking if we have the order of flags in which to dress a boat overall - “because you look like the people who might.” She’s right too, we have the Reeds that she’s looking for! It turns out the reason she and Phil (and Nelson the dog) want to put flags on their elegant ketch is to celebrate the marriage of the owners of the local taverna Harbour Lights next week. We’ve not been here five minutes and it’s as if we’ve stepped into a scene from Mamma Mia!
Lakka is on the northern tip of the island of Paxos. The harbour entrance looks towards Corfu, just 8 miles away to the north. The harbour itself is picture postcard pretty - everything you imagine a Greek island village should look like. There’s a waterfront quay with small fishing caiques and speedboats moored bows-to. Tavernas cluster along the quay, their shady terraces looking very inviting. Away from the quay, scrub vegetation tumbles over rocks to the water’s edge, except where a couple of pebble beaches shelve steeply down to the water. Lakka is rightly acclaimed for the distinctively deep turquoise colour of its water, which promises excellent snorkelling. About 30 yachts are anchored here. That strikes us as a lot, but apparently at the height of the season you can get anything up to 80. We’re pleased to hear the crowds are easing off now we’re in September.
There’s excellent shelter, no mosquitoes, a free wifi service provided by Paxos municipality (haven’t got it to work yet!), a bookswap library, and a good selection of shops ashore (we have yet to sample the olives for which the island is renowned). We’re supposed to go directly to a port of entry to get checked in and issued with a cruising log. But we think we’ll stay here for a day or two - Anna tells us the rules aren’t rigidly enforced.
High Point: Greece has been our goal for this year. Since leaving Ayamonte, we’ve had to keep on the move to Get There. Well……There is now Here. We have arrived! Now we can stop moving and start taking it easy. In the dawn light, we can see green hills sloping steeply down to the water’s edge on all sides which remind us of the Dart. The wind carries with it the scent of pine trees, which we first smelled some way out at sea. Sitting in the cockpit we wonder what’s taken us so long.
Low Point: A long, slow passage from Siracusa to Paxos. It takes us 66 hours - from mid-morning on Wednesday to the early hours of today - to cover a distance of 280 miles. There can’t be too many modes of transport since the demise of the horse and cart that are actually quite so slow.
Passage notes:
There’s not much to write home about a passage where you motor most of the way. The wind was never more than 10 knots, the apparent wind much less than that. Makarma isn’t built like a Bavaria which can zip along nicely in 8-10 knots of breeze. With that weight of wind we struggle to get 4 knots out of her with the wind on the quarter, and even less if it’s astern. That’s fine for a daysail, but not great if you’ve got 280 miles to cover. Mostly the wind came from the southwest, dead astern, so there was nothing for it but to motor. We managed to sail the first day and night, and after that it was only for a few hours on and off to give ourselves and the donk a break. We trickled along at 1200 revs to keep the engine, the cabin and us from overheating.
"George" the autohelm seized up and stopped working approximately 140 miles out at sea. At 14.26 tonnes Makarma is a very heavy boat to steer by hand when under engine power. Hand steering without wind for two days would be almost impossible - certainly exhausting. While there was a bit of daylight left we decided to take George apart and engage in a bit of "cockpit maintenance" - Cathy steered while George was completely stripped to his basic components, all his essentials cleaned and re-greased. After some effort we managed to get him unseized and working again. (And without losing any of his many bits over the side).
On the plus side, we had a full moon for company, the sea was mostly calm, the shipping light and we slept and ate well. Leighton is the first to see the lighthouse on Lakka Point through binoculars at 00:21 on Saturday, some 20 miles out. It is a moment to savour, and we hug each other to celebrate. We are coming to the end of the longest passage we’ve undertaken on our own, and we’re on the point of reaching our goal for this year. What more can you want?
We anticipate entering Lakka harbour in the dark is going to be straightforward enough. The approach is in deep water and there are port and starboard hand lights. In reality we see what looks like a radio mast in the entrance until we realise it’s the mast of a superyacht that’s anchored in the fairway with a line astern to the shore. Why does it have a red anchor light - who knows? And our chartplotting software is some way off the mark as it’s showing us on the land. Only a trifle rattled, we eyeball our way by moonlight in among the other boats at anchor to drop our hook without incident.
Leighton’s note: We have been known to have big arguments when it comes to anchoring at the end of a trip, which we call “anchor drama”. However despite the chartplotter putting us completely off course, despite the harbour being lit only by moonlight and despite some very expensive yachts anchored with no lights at all, Cathy did a superb job of steering us into the harbour and doing what can only be described as a handbreak turn into a perfect anchoring position between two boats, resulting in a completely harmonious end to the passage!
Lakka - first impressions
It’s mid morning by the time we emerge into the cockpit to take in our surroundings. Immediately a dinghy comes alongside. It’s Anna from a neighbouring yacht, asking if we have the order of flags in which to dress a boat overall - “because you look like the people who might.” She’s right too, we have the Reeds that she’s looking for! It turns out the reason she and Phil (and Nelson the dog) want to put flags on their elegant ketch is to celebrate the marriage of the owners of the local taverna Harbour Lights next week. We’ve not been here five minutes and it’s as if we’ve stepped into a scene from Mamma Mia!
Lakka is on the northern tip of the island of Paxos. The harbour entrance looks towards Corfu, just 8 miles away to the north. The harbour itself is picture postcard pretty - everything you imagine a Greek island village should look like. There’s a waterfront quay with small fishing caiques and speedboats moored bows-to. Tavernas cluster along the quay, their shady terraces looking very inviting. Away from the quay, scrub vegetation tumbles over rocks to the water’s edge, except where a couple of pebble beaches shelve steeply down to the water. Lakka is rightly acclaimed for the distinctively deep turquoise colour of its water, which promises excellent snorkelling. About 30 yachts are anchored here. That strikes us as a lot, but apparently at the height of the season you can get anything up to 80. We’re pleased to hear the crowds are easing off now we’re in September.
There’s excellent shelter, no mosquitoes, a free wifi service provided by Paxos municipality (haven’t got it to work yet!), a bookswap library, and a good selection of shops ashore (we have yet to sample the olives for which the island is renowned). We’re supposed to go directly to a port of entry to get checked in and issued with a cruising log. But we think we’ll stay here for a day or two - Anna tells us the rules aren’t rigidly enforced.
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