18th July - Malfatano

Soundtrack: Wind, wind and more wind!

High Point: Travelling in company with Alan and Ann on Sula Mac. We met them in Mahon harbour, when we found we shared many of the same thoughts and concerns about when to make the passage to Sardinia. They also very kindly lent us the Italian Waters pilot for a while to make notes about places to visit. We’ve sailed together more or less since meeting up with them again in Sardinia, and it makes a nice change to travel in company, although they go quite a bit faster than we do!

Low Point: An anxious couple of days at anchor in Malfatano sitting out a northwesterly blow from the Gulf de Lion. For most of the time we have a steady 25 knots with the occasional 40 knot gust thrown in to keep us on our toes. Neither of us sleep much at night. During the day we aren’t keen to leave the boat to go ashore in case the anchor drags. We got soaked in the dinghy when we did. All we can do is try to relax and fill the time with a good book until it’s over….

On 13^th July we motored the 5 miles from Portoscuso to Carloforte on Isla de San Pietro, watching the sea bottom pass beneath us in the shallows. We’re going there because the water at Portoscuso isn’t drinkable and our water tanks are running very low. Carloforte is an old tunny fishing port with a large sheltered harbour. You used to be able to anchor there but the port authorities have put a stop to it. Instead you’re greeted by a RIB from one of the marinas touting for your business. The town’s streets are delightful - mostly too narrow for cars with tiny shopfronts overflowing into the road. In one of the many piazzas, we join families out for a stroll in the evening. The near constant wash from the ferries jostles us against other yachts tightly packed on the marina pontoon. In the morning we offer to sing the Marseillaise to our French neighbour to celebrate Bastille Day.

The next day we motor over to Calasetta on the north side of Isla de Antiochi. The hot scirocco headwind kicks up a chop and makes the 3 miles over there a bit of a slog. We’d heard that the new marina in Calasetta harbour wasn’t yet operational, although all the pontoons are in place, and that we could tie up for the night for free. Not so. In fact, it is open and the marina staff (in the nicest possible way) ask us to pay for our berth. It's oppressively hot as we walk round the town in the afternoon, and the peeling paintwork and cracked paving stones make us think it's a bit of a dump. But later in the evening we warm to the place, finding a pleasant café in the municipal piazza where we enjoy a glass of rose. We buy foccaccia and razza (skate) cooked in pesto for supper.

To the west of the town we spot a cove with a popular beach that is good shelter from the southeasterly scirocco. With the wind forecast to be the same again the next day, we arrange to meet Sula Mac there and anchor for the night. It was just one of those days when the forecast is completely wrong and we get a northeasterly instead, making for an uncomfortable day on a lee shore. We stick with it knowing the wind drops in the evening…..until we’ve turned in for the night and it pipes up again. That is good enough reason for us to say we've had enough and move into the lee of Calasetta harbour and re-anchor in calmer waters. When we look out in the daylight the next morning we find the water is so shallow it looks as if we’re anchored on wet grass!

We make an early start next morning to Teulada 32 miles away to get around Cape Sperone on the SW corner of Sardinia before the sea breeze comes in. To our surprise, fog reduces the visibility to less than 500 metres for the first hour, and we have to dredge our memory to remind ourselves how to use the radar. By 11.30 we are around the cape, but the breeze has freshened directly on the nose. It’s clear we aren’t going to reach Teulada without a serious slog to windward so we alter course to the northeast and an hour’s fast broad reach takes us to Cabo Pino where we anchor off the beach in the lee of some sand dunes in water of the clearest blue.

The Teulada peninsular is a craggy and forbidding place of rocks and cliffs. It is a military zone and off limits to anchoring and fishing. So it’s irritating to see several boats anchored in a sheltered cove just beneath the headland the next morning – a place we rejected yesterday in favour of Cabo Pino because of the restrictions. We’re bound for Malfatano, just west of Cape Spartivento to join our friends in Sula Mac. They reckon it’s the best place to anchor to sit out the forecast NW blow.

It’s a good choice of anchorage, with excellent holding in sand. A valley between the rocky hills slopes down to a sandy beach that looks invitingly normal laid out with deck chairs, umbrellas and an open air bar. Two small islands lying just off the beach divide the bay into two secluded anchorages, giving good shelter from everywhere but south. The NW wind turns up on cue within hours of our arrival. F6-7 is forecast and it continues for overnight and all the next day. It eases the second night, only to pipe up again for a second day. The continuous sound of the wind in the rigging is very wearing. The anchor snubber creaks as the boat leans under the load of another gust and the halyards rattle against the mast. We’ve switched off the windgen as it makes too much noise. It’s reassuring to have friends close by in the same situation and we make regular checks on each other on the VHF. Actually, by the second day of it we’re getting a bit more used to the conditions. When Leighton dives down to check on the anchor, he finds it hasn’t moved an inch. In fact it’s buried itself completely, even the stock has disappeared into the sand.

Now the worst of the wind’s blown through, we’re a bit fed up with sitting here. We’re ready to move on to Cagliari where we’ll get internet to reconnect with family at home, and shops to get some fresh food.

12th July - Portoscuso, Sardinia

Soundtrack: Abba’s Dancing Queen, performed by six dancers in gold lame jumpsuits and black stiletto boots against the backdrop of Portoscuso harbour. We’re at an open air concert enjoying an ice-cream and the parade of passersby. We’ve just made friends with an adorably feisty pug puppy.

High Point: Getting to Sardinia. To celebrate we join the Saturday evening crowd to eat pizza in a makeshift restaurant in the street, washing the meal down with a large carafe of chilled red wine.

Low Point: A long and lumpy passage to Sardinia. In Mahon we wound up with 18 pages of weather forecasts off the internet and decide to sail on Thursday, despite strong northwesterlies forecast for west of Corsica and north Sardinia. We reckoned we’d avoid the worst of it some 100 miles further south, but we’d not twigged that the swell might reach us.

It is 193 miles on the GPS from Mahon to the southwest corner of Sardinia, nearly 48 hours passage at our rate of progress. We upped anchor from Mahon mid-morning on Thursday and in the expected NE3-4, we cracked off south of our course to keep the boat comfortably at 60 degrees off the wind. It was rough, but OK. On cue the wind backed NW later in the day but died away in the evening, leaving us to motor through the night. We had to hand steer as the tillerpilot was struggling to cope with the confused sea.

In the morning a breeze on the port quarter allowed us to get along under sail. Leighton gave some emergency TLC to Harry (the Aries windvane) as he’s developed a nasty habit of tracking us up to windward. We saw a number of dolphins, a turtle swimming along the surface with one flipper in the air, and once in a while a sleek, fat fish jumped out of the water – they looked like they were tuna. An open speedboat powered by a single outboard came past us some 100 miles out, giving us grounds for speculation. What was he doing out there? He stopped ahead of us and it looked like he had a rendezvous with an approaching ship, as he waited until it had passed, then sped off again. Did we witness a drugs drop? We don’t know.

Just after lunch on the second day, the northwesterly increased and with it came a short steep swell with breaking waves on the crests. Although the wind was no more than 15-20 knots apparent, the seastate made you think it was much stronger. At no time was the boat pressed with one reef in the main and the yankee part rolled, but it was a constant effort to avoid being thrown around. The conditions stayed with us as we closed the Sardinian coast the second night some 10 miles north of our track because of Harry’s slack steering. We waited until first light to gybe and had a rollercoaster last two hours surfing down the swell towards the gap between mainland Sardinia and Isla de S.Pietro. A combination of wind and swell pushing us onto an unfamiliar coast after two days at sea is an experience we could have done without, and we were pleased to get into calmer water and tie up here in Portoscuso marina.

The occupants of the neighbouring berth showed real respect for what we had done, as they (along with many other boats we’ve met) had waited until calm weather and motored the whole way across. Our new friends Alan and Ann in Sula-Mac were pleased to hear we got in safe and sound as well. Travelling some 12 hours ahead of us they had experienced a few hours of the same conditions and were concerned about how we’d be faring.

A bit like childbirth, in the relief that it’s all over you start to forget about the times when the experience was ghastly. As we stroll around the town, still rolling from the swell, we start to take in that we really are in Italy. Portoscuso is an unpretentious and pleasant place, slightly down at heel and dusty. Fishing boats moored in the harbour, drivers blasting their horns in the narrow streets, a group of men gesticulating at one another, a noisy wedding party gathered outside the municipio, shops selling olive bread, basil, gelati. It’s terra firma, and it’s heaven to be here.

7th July - Mahon, Menorca

Soundtrack: the crackle of static from the HF radio as we try to get good enough reception to catch the latest Mednet weather forecast.

Low Point: Our first serious equipment failure since leaving Ayamonte. The windlass decides to pack it in just as the police have ordered us to leave our anchoring spot. As luck would have it, the anchor is almost up so Leighton doesn’t have to haul it in by hand. And here in Mahon we can take our pick of vacant mooring buoys while he works out what’s wrong with it.

High Point: It turns out that a pin has sheared so the gears can’t turn the drum. Leighton mutters “there is a dog!” as a box of screws in the workshop yields up a rolled pin which can be made to fit exactly. The windlass is soon back in action.

With a southeasterly forecast two days ago, we set out early from Cala N Porter before the wind picked up. We have to round Punta Binibeca on Menorca’s southeast corner to get to Mahon. It’s two hours of motoring before anchoring under the lee of Isla del Aire to have a bite to eat for lunch while we wait for the sea breeze. Interestingly we pick up a slight adverse current on the approach to the shallow passage between Binibeca and the island. We’re alarmed to see that the southerly cardinal there has rocks awash to the southwest of it!

Later the sea breeze fills the yankee to take us to the entrance to Mahon harbour, where we obediently reef to keep our speed below the 3 knot limit. Mahon harbour is one of the largest in the Med and we scout around for some time looking for somewhere where anchoring is allowed. Finally we join a large Danish ketch in Cala Figuera beyond the Sunseeker marina. But it’s not long before a policeman’s whistle brings us on deck and it’s clear from his indignant gestures that we have to push off and anchor somewhere else. That’s when we had our low point with the windlass.

We’re now in the main anchorage in Mahon which is some distance from the town – about 20 minutes in the dinghy with the outboard motor. It is sheltered on the landward side by Lazareta island which is still encircled by the fortified walls of an 18^th century isolation hospital. To the east and south we’re protected by the ramparts of La Mola fortress, which was built in the 1850s on the orders of Spain’s Queen Isabel to protect Mahon from attack by sea. We walked a good distance along its massive moat which was dug out of the bedrock and didn’t get right round it.

We’re anchored just below an old stone watchtower in the company of some twenty other yachts – mainly French and British. Some unsettled weather to the north makes us uncertain about when to embark on the 200 mile passage across to Sardinia, and we’re keeping a careful watch on the forecast. We want to be sure we don’t run into one of those Med storms that blow up quickly from the gulf of Genoa. We haven’t done any night sailing since our passage from Ayamonte to Rota in May, so it will be a bit of a shock to the system to spend two days and nights at sea.

We consider we’re travelling at a pretty leisurely pace having covered some 850 miles in two months. But compared with other liveaboards we’ve met that’s fast progress and they tell us we should learn to go a bit slower! A woman who lived onboard her boat said to me once that it took her six months to adjust to a state of being on the boat instead of doing. That’s when she started to really enjoy it. We certainly haven’t got to that frame of mind yet. The protestant work ethic is so engrained in both of us that we feel guilty about just sitting and doing nothing very much. That’s plain idle, isn’t it? All the same, we reckon it doesn’t do us any harm to have a bit of a breather for a day or two to catch up on all the jobs and to prepare the boat for the passage to Sardinia.

4th July - Cala N Porter

Soundtrack: Ashore a dog is barking for someone to throw a ball for it - behaving just like Pippin used to. Oh, we do miss the dogs still…..

High Point: Cala N Porter is the beach we used to come to during the Weir family holiday a few years ago. We promised ourselves then that we would return in our own boat if we could. And here we are! It is somehow fitting that we’re here today when it is exactly three years ago that we set out from the Mayflower marina in Plymouth.

Low Point: Not sure we had one today – oh dear, that’s asking for trouble…..

From Cala Mitjana, we’d planned to spend the night in Porto Colom, but we’re having such a good sail in the southerly F4 sea breeze that we decide to go on the 11 miles to Porto Christo, despite knowing the town is unashamedly given over to mass tourism. Set in a cala shaped like a swan’s neck and flanked by cliffs on one side and beach on the other, Porto Christo must once have been an attractive place. Now several dreary hotels and apartment blocks overlook the seafront, a marina full of motorboats fills the head of the cala and every few minutes a huge glass-bottomed tripper boat roars in to dock at the pier.

Much of the area designated for anchoring in the pilotbook has been buoyed off for swimmers which gives us little choice with where to go. We’re quite pleased that we manage to squeeze into a calm spot right under the cliffs with the flook out to stop the boat from swinging. After a swim we go ashore and - oh joy! - among the rows of souvenir stalls we find a shop selling fresh fruit and veg.

Happily restocked, we set off the next day for Menorca. After an hour’s motoring to recharge the batteries and cool the fridge, we have a leisurely 30 mile sail in a light southerly until we’re just short of Dartuch light on the southwest corner of Menorca. It’s early evening when we anchor in 4 metres of crystal clear water on sand in Cala Saura, an attractive bay fringed by an almost empty beach with pine trees behind. However it’s open to the south, and the boat’s rocking in the slight swell gives us a fitful night’s sleep.

After a morning swim, we sail closehauled the 12 miles to Cala N Porter, just managing it on a single tack. The breeze goes from a force 2 to a fresh 4, helping us point higher and giving us a bracing finish.

30th June - Cala Mitjana, Mallorca

A stream of water cascades over the rockface of the cala a stone’s throw from where we’re anchored today. Cala Mitjana is just three miles north of Porto Pietro – it took all of half an hour to get here this morning. We’re sharing this snug anchorage with three other boats, that’s all there’s room for. A very exclusive villa overlooks us, its well manicured lawns extending all the way down to the small private beach within swimming distance of the boat.We’re both stung by jellyfish getting ashore.

High Point: Porto Pietro, where we’ve just spent two idyllic calm nights in beautiful surroundings.Three spacious calas share a narrow opening to the sea forming a natural harbour with hardly a powerboat to be seen.We pick up one of the many vacant mooring buoys which are free to use. Their purpose is to prevent the damage that anchoring does to the posidonia grass meadows on the seabed. You’re supposed to book ahead but it didn’t seem to matter that we hadn’t when the man came round to check.We row over to the pretty village at the head of the harbour, which is made up of the usual mix of open air cafes, tourist shops and restaurants. We pick up some fresh fruit and veg and learn that Michael Jackson has died of a heart attack.

Low Point: Finally realising that an overnight stay at the marine reserve at Cabrera is out. Despite several phone calls and repeatedly faxing our application, there was still no sign of a permit after six days. There’s a limit to our patience after all.From Port Andratx we had a frustratingly slow downwind sail to Palma Bay, the wind finally picking up enough to drive us more comfortably through a dying swell. It turned out to be a mistake to choose an anchorage that was an easy day trip from Palma. Cala Portals was absolutely heaving with boats, swimmers, jetskis, RIBs and banana boats. We picked our way through the melee and dropped the hook. Thankfully almost everyone scurried back to Palma later, leaving only a handful of boats behind by nightfall. The wind was forecast to be SE (on the nose), so we made an early start the next morning before it picked up. A disappointment to Leighton who wanted to explore the Madre de Dios caves we’d seen in the cliff-face. We had thought to have lunch in a little cala just past Cabo Blanco which marks the east side of Palma Bay. Some of these places look fine on the chart until you get there and discover they are the width of a country lane, with rocky sides to boot. Cala Pi was definitely not for us!

The wind has now freed enough for us to sail nine miles closehauled towards Colonia St Jordi, and by mid afternoon we anchor off the beach in the lee of a promontory to the north of the town. The water is the deepest turquoise and the beach stretches for miles, but the holding is rock and/or weed, a swell is heaping up over the shallows, and there’s little shelter from the sea breeze. Add to the mix dozens of weekending motorcruisers, powerboats, gin palaces and super yachts all trying to stay anchored and you get the recipe for a nightmare anchorage. With no suitable alternative within striking distance we grin and bear it (with bad grace in my case I’m afraid) and our anchor stays put, despite the fact that it’s hanging on by its point stuck in a crack in the rocks. It’s a long rolly uncomfortable night.

On Sunday we motor the 2 ½ hours to Cabrera island. We’re excited to be going there if only for the day and hopeful that perhaps we might be allowed to stay overnight even though we haven’t got a permit. From a distance, the island looks like Mull or Skye – old rocks, mellowed and weathered with scrub growing on its gently rounded slopes. The day anchorage is in a deep bay well sheltered from all sides. Expecting a secluded marine reserve, we’re surprised to find it’s crowded with boats. We pick up the only vacant mooring buoy we can find. It’s a long way to row ashore and we go snorkelling instead. The water is so deep we’re off soundings, and we see nothing but a couple of jellyfish. We’re now beginning to question a system that doesn’t check people for permits, and allows motorboats to roar in and out of the harbour with scant regard for marine wildlife. We are pretty disappointed by the whole experience and decide to move on.
With the help of the sea breeze we sail off the mooring and set our course northeast past Punta Salinas - the southernmost tip of Mallorca - and along the coast to Porto Pietro. Between Salinas to the south and Cabo Depera to the north is known as the Cala Coast. It is a 35 mile stretch of low cliffs topped with pines broken by dozens of calas - small rocky inlets.

It’s attractive if you don’t mind the villas and apartment blocks that cover every inch of the cliff-top. And there are plenty of good places to anchor within a very short distance of each other.
We’ll explore a couple more calas before going on to Menorca.

We now understand what people meant when they told us the Med was crowded. Even early in the season there are just too many boats – too many BIG boats - in too small a cruising area. We’re happy to mix it with others, but razzmatazz and jostling for space really takes the shine off things. We just hope that we can get off the beaten track a bit come high season.