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.
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.
31st August – Siracusa harbour
Soundtrack: Every evening we hear a splash then thwack as fish leap out the water to smack themselves on the side as they fall back in. They’re substantial fish that look like seabass. They make two or three powerful leaps one after the other. Leighton thinks they are getting rid of parasites, but maybe they are just out having fun.
High Point: The living history lesson that is Siracusa. Anyone who remembers history lessons were boring at school should come here. It’s a revelation. We explore the old quarter of Ortigia, wandering down backstreets little more than an alley’s width, admiring door arches; the carved stone corbels supporting wrought iron balconies; the tiny piazzettas colourful with flowers. You can still see the columns of the original Greek temple inside the town’s splendidly baroque cathedral. Archimedes is reputed to have advised on the defences of the forbidding Byzantine Castello Mariace (which doubles as the starboard hand entrance to the harbour). This along with the site of his alleged tomb is a complete fabrication, although it is true that he was born in Siracusa. It tickles us to imagine him sitting in his bath having his ‘eureka!’ moment.
Low Point: The high summer heat is beginning to get to us. It turned our visit to the fabulous Greek theatre here a bit of an ordeal. It’s sweltering in the sun by breakfast, and at night when the wind drops, it’s airless in the cabin making it hard to sleep. The harbour water doesn’t look clean enough for a swim, so there’s no obvious way to cool off. On occasions, tempers start to fray……
It took us a couple of days to get our bearings in Siracusa. A good supermarket is surprisingly hard to find, for example. One day we go on a mystery bus ride in search of one to an out of town shopping centre which we’re told has an Auchan hypermarket. We realise long before we get there that it’s going to be much too far to get back by taxi, thus ruling out our plan to stock up with a carful of provisions. The launderette is easier to find, as is the public water tap where we can fill our jerrycans – over the week here we’ve managed the uphill task of filling our 700 litre capacity tanks using three containers with a combined capacity of 40 litres. And Leighton finds a good hardware store to buy engine oil and connectors for the holding tank. As usual once we start getting to know our way around a town, it’s time to leave.
One evening we see black smoke towering above the shore on the far side of the harbour. The fire is well ablaze, and for almost an hour two seaplanes (Leighton says they are modified Russian stunt planes) swoop down and pick up water in their floats to dump on the blaze. Two helicopters with buckets slung beneath them join in to fight the fire. Their combined efforts finally pay off, and peace is restored.
We have loved our stay in Italy and will be sorry to leave. The historic sights; the wonderful choice of fresh food from the market, the friendly reception from people – all this will be hard to beat. There’s an endearing quality too about the dramas and the chaos of much of everyday life in Italy. The way Italian drivers treat kerbstones, pedestrian crossings and traffic lights as minor inconveniences that get in the way of where they’re going. The way that the bus ticketing system is designed to be completely incomprehensible even to the locals. The way they manage to run out of stamps in the Post Office.
However many times we do it, we don’t embark on a long passage without a twinge of apprehension. The passage ahead of us across the Ionian sea – 270 miles - is the longest we will do this year, and although we don’t say so, we are both a bit nervous as we go about preparing for it. Leighton likes to check and service the engine. This time he’s even moved the fuel filter to make it more accessible. Cathy likes to pre-cook a couple of suppers and get the nutty cupboard well stocked up with nibbles. We spend loads of time at the internet café picking up ugrib files and the latest forecasts. It looks OK to go on Wednesday - three days time - but you never know. .
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