Monthly Archives: August 2022

Incognito angel to the rescue

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It was the kind of anchor drama I’d been dreading. The man in a snorkel mask treading water by our boat said the words neither of us wanted to hear, “It’s stuck hard, I can’t move it. You’ll need to get professional divers.” A neighbouring skipper had volunteered to dive down and see if he could free our anchor, now stuck six metres down wedged under, what looked like some kind of metal frame.

Less than an hour earlier we’d arrived at the distant marine reserve island after a six hour passage in pretty heavy seas and gusty winds. We were already tired. The waves had mounted steadily during the course of the passage. At their height we were being pushed, tipped and rolled around, with four metre waves breaking onto the boat. We were both completely soaked after an hour or so and I wished I hadn’t bothered with shorts and T-shirt and stayed in a bikini. After we’d put in another reef, we settled into the lurching and rolling motion. I was glad the trip across wasn’t any longer, because although we were making great progress at 7.5 knots, six hours in a rolling sea felt quite a while!

After we’d dropped anchor at the island in a quiet bay, there was yet another semi daunting task to be completed. Due to the location and wind direction we needed to take lines ashore to tie us to the rocks. I was dreading this, as on previous Mediterranean holidays it’s been a task for “the boys” – this time it was down to me to paddle board over with lots of rope, negotiate the spiky rocks and sea urchins, and worst of all tie bowlines to make everything secure. (I’m only good at these 70 per cent of the time!)

Sometime later, after swearing, “I’m never doing this again”, “I hate doing this” and “I can’t do this”, and then the inevitable sea urchin encounter on my left hand… I swam back to what I thought was a secure boat, at last. But a final check of the anchor had almost been the final straw, when we saw, instead of wedged in the sand, it was jammed under some iron debris on the seabed.

Tension was rising. We were in a nature reserve at the north end of the Sporades islands, it was beautifully quiet and remote with no phone signal whatsoever. So, how would we call for divers? And what would it cost to free our anchor? The skipper took the paddle board ashore and climbed a nearby hill in search of phone signal. There were plenty of bleating goats, but still no signal. His face was grim when he returned to the boat. There were various options to consider, none of which we wanted to do, involving leaving the anchor and returning with divers, deploying a kedge anchor and trying to free it ourselves somehow… a few prayers were said.

The answer came quite quickly in the end in the form of a “Greek angel” called Nasos.

Nasos, a skipper on another yacht in the bay, was woken up from an afternoon rest by his crew, who’d been alerted to our dilemma and plea for help. It wasn’t long before he was alongside in his dinghy, snorkel and flippers to the ready.

“Where have you come from?” He asked.

“England,” we said!

“No, today I mean!”

We explained we’d sailed from Halkidiki and he was surprised, as he’d also sailed across from the same port an hour earlier. He said we must be tired, as it has been quite a tiring crossing.

“I will try and help you,” he said. “ Are you with a flotilla?”

“No,” we answered. “We’re on our own, that’s the problem.”

“Don’t worry,” said Nasos.“ You are not alone anymore, Nasos is here. We will solve it together!”

What a lovely thing to hear!

A few minutes later after carefully examining the anchor position through his mask he dived down. Very soon after he reappeared and said the magic words, “It’s free!” He explained the anchor had dragged and been caught in what was actually an old bed frame on the seabed and he had been able to yank it free.

We were so relieved and grateful, but as we’d only just met him and we were all wearing very little, we couldn’t hug and kiss him, instead we gave him a bottle of gin! Nasos, the incognito angel, even helped us re-anchor and re do our lines without too much stress. What a difference it makes when you have a “friend” to tackle a problem together.

After a restful and peaceful night on anchor we went to thank Nasos again and enjoyed real Greek coffee and sweet treats on his boat with his crew. We laughed about being caught by a bed and wondered how it had ever come to be on the bottom of the sea in such a remote place.

I’m not sure what to rename this little bay. It could be ‘Bedframe Bay’ but perhaps ‘Angel Bay’ would be more appropriate? We hope to catch up with Nasos again before he heads back north, if only to find out what other “angel missions” he’s been called to 😉.

Halkidiki revisited

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A few days ago we travelled back to where we spent our first Greek holiday – 35 years ago. But instead of travelling via plane and coach we arrived by boat.

Back in the 1980s, and newly married, we had scraped together enough to book a kind of bargain B&B package holiday in Greece… somewhere! We knew we would be staying in a B&B nearish the beach on the Halkidiki peninsular – the rest was a mystery. The room and location would be chosen by the tour operator – filling empty rooms we guessed.

We had landed at night in Thessaloniki and piled onto a bus, while the travel guide told us we would be dropped at our “surprise” hotels! We asked where we were going but it was just a name and we weren’t any the wiser. After lots of stops and as the coach got emptier and emptier, our names were called as the bus drew into what appeared to be the middle of nowhere! As we stepped off the coach into the balmy Mediterranean night, we could make out a square three story building with a few lights on at the entrance. We were ushered to our room with a balcony and as we fell asleep we wondered what we would wake up to the next day. We hoped it might be a little bit of paradise – a million miles from our little terrace in Nottinghamshire.

When we woke up bleary eyed the next morning, the light streamed in. From our balcony we could catch a glimpse of the turquoise water on the other side of the Taverna. I remember the water was so clear and such an amazing colour, with the sun shimmering across it, the sand soft and hot. We ate meals under the trees, walked a few kilometres to the nearest town along a wide road and enjoyed boat trips, scooter rides and lazy siestas in our room. We were very happy to be located out of the town in what felt like the countryside.

Locating this little country Taverna 35 years later turned out to be tricky! For one thing it turned out to be on the westerly peninsular called Kassandra, rather than the middle one, as we had imagined. And from google earth, there also seemed to be buildings all along the quiet beach we remembered. Could it have changed so much in 35 years? After a long search on google earth and street view, scouring our memories for distinguishing features on the landscape we reckoned we’d located it – the balcony and shape of the building matching our memories of photographs of me, in the days of stringy bikinis!

Setting sail from Porto Koufo we set our course on the far peninsular – little more than a blue haze on the horizon. What felt a long time later we were both scouring the shore with binoculars trying to pinpoint the right part of the beach. Eventually we spotted the only square flat roofed building the right distance from the town, but no longer on its own, it was one of a string of buildings on a busy umbrella-laden beach.

Once anchored off we paddled boarded to the beach still not quite sure if this really was the place. But as we wandered to the front of the building behind the beach it all fell into place. Although there’d been changes, it was still recognisably the place we had stayed in 1987.

A friendly member of staff asked if we needed anything and we unfolded our story. He was delighted we’d made it back. Yes, they were one of the first hotels in the area and had been all alone by the main road, until more development popped up over the years and a new main road was built. In fact his grandfather had built the place and it was still a family run business.

We enjoyed a frappe overlooking the beach, just as we had when we’d stayed there. But this time instead of looking out on the water wishing we could be on it, we were looking across at yacht Riou – bobbing on the bright blue sea in front of us.

It wasn’t quite as beautiful and tranquil as it was all those years ago, but it was a lovely trip down memory lane and we were pleased, having come all that way, to have found our little piece of history together.

Then it was back to the boat to catch the wind for the distant shore, where further adventures awaited.

Into the deep

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What are you scared of? I guess we don’t know the answer until we’re faced with something that makes our stomach turn upside down.

I love swimming but a few days ago we tied up in a little harbour after a long sail and walked along the quay to the beach. The water was crisp and clear and you could see right down to the sloping white sand below. We both plunged in to cool off.

“Wow!” came the exclamation, “that’s deep!” The skipper a few metres further out than me, pointed below. I stuck my head down and saw a steep bank of sand disappearing into blue and deeper blue and more blue! The steeply shelving beach had the feeling of stepping off a precipice. My stomach did a tumble as I back paddled away.

We can both swim well and in deep water, but there was something different about this, like standing close to a cliff, as if I was suspended above the drop. Neither of us felt keen to venture over the drop which we called “the deep”. It was quite ridiculous considering we’ve jumped into the sea mid sail hundreds of times in much deeper water and felt fine.

After our trip to the beach we met a Greek sailor who told us some of the secrets of this hidden harbour on the south of Halkidiki’s middle peninsula.

He told us it had been a secret submarine base during the Second World War. The deep natural harbour with its hidden entrance between the cliffs had even had a metal net across the entrance to stop enemy boats getting in. All around the surrounding hills had been huge canons standing watch. He said one of these now lay on the sea bed below.

The story of the submarines somehow confirmed my deepest fears of something unknown lurking unseen below, a bit like the Loch Ness monster!

After a few days sailing around the peninsulas, we returned to Porto Koufo yesterday and went back to the beach.

“Let’s go into the deep,” I said.

“Do you want to?”

“Yes we have to face our fears!”

We laughed and both put our heads down and headed out. Through my goggles I could see the sand slipping away and the blue below becoming bluer. We both looked up and trod water – no giant squids snapped at our toes, no monsters bared their teeth below us. We were still OK. Nothing to be afraid of really! Still after a few minutes we headed back to the safety of the sand and enjoyed the feel of something solid between our toes.

Last night in the restaurant we heard more stories from would-be psychology student, 17-year-old Nicole, our waitress for the evening. Her grandfather had set up the first Taverna here after the war. There were tales of bombs being made in a cellar and tunnels in the hillside where you can still see the remains of the Nazi control rooms.

This is a place of history and beauty. We love the ramshackle quay, with its huge metal bollards for ropes, the fishermen waiting patiently all night by their rods and feeding stray cats with the unwanted catches.

Tomorrow we will leave Porto Koufo and “the deep” behind us to make the passage back to the Sporades islands. We will be heading into another kind of “deep” hoping for fair winds. The unknown is always a little scary, whether it’s new places or fresh challenges. I get a little nervous each time we come into a new anchorage or port, uncertain how we’ll do tying up or getting our anchor set. But each time we swim over the edge and face the fear we get a little bolder and braver, hopefully!

Although facing my fears doesn’t help me being rubbish at lassoing ropes over bollards ( Thank you to the old sailor who helped us tie up yesterday, reassuring me as I ‘misthrew’ the rope yet again, by saying, “Slow, slow, slow, no rush – we sailors have all the time in the world”! ) I should have taken his advice this morning too as I rushed up the boat steps for the umpteenth time and tripped re grazing my shin, all before breakfast! My body is now tattooed with the stories from this trip, a selection of tell tale bruises, scars and mosquito bites.

Listening to the wind whistling through the mast today, I am sure there will be more to come!

A night at ‘one monk island’

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We’ve gone from whistling wind and rocking motions to the sound of silence and barely a breath of air… For the first time this morning I could hear the gentle hum of the fridge when I turned it on!

We’re half way through our little Greek sailing adventure and now living life above and below decks has become the new routine.

Yesterday evening we arrived here, at what we call, “One monk island”. Because just one monk lives here in the monastery, with his solar panels and olive grove. There is also another monk we’ve been looking out for here – the monk seal – but we’ve not spotted him yet.

After several days of changeable and strong winds, we have dropped anchor in what looks like an inland lake with deep turquoise water. Navigating the entrance in was tricky, as it was very narrow and shallow, approach advised in calm weather only. We made it, despite being tossed about by a speeding motorboat, which raced past us at the narrowest point creating lots of swell!

Last night with no lights ashore, we stared up at the stars and watched satellites tracking across a velvet sky, there was even a shooting star. Earlier we’d heard the sound of bleating and spotted a little family of goats picking their way between the rocks and bracken on the hillside, before reaching the shore and gently lapping at the salty water.

There are just a couple of other boats anchored here and this morning the water is like glass. The scenery reminds us of Scotland. The silence is deafening.

Today is in sharp contrast to a couple of days earlier, when strong winds left us ‘harbour-bound’ and we decided to go for a hike… in the heat!

Having asked a local estate agent the way to a sandy beach further round the coast, he shook his head.

“You can’t walk there you must drive,” he said, miming a steering wheel between his hands.

Never say “you can’t” because we’re bound to try and prove you wrong. The climb up out of Skopelos port wound up steep stone steps past four tiny ancient churches perched on the cliff side. At the top we were tempted by the blue and white cafe with a view, selling fresh orange juice… but we pressed on – we were on a mission to the beach.

Before setting out we’d been reading about hiking trails round the island, it seemed the T3 was the route to this particular beach… that’s how we read it anyway! We were on the look out for T3 signs off the road and soon enough we congratulated ourselves on finding a beautiful trail through the trees on an ancient rocky path. I was enjoying walking for a change, after weeks on board and only swimming for exercise. It was good for the swaying to stop too.

Sometime later we came to a road and our walking sign pointed left, in the distance to the right we could see blue water. The sign was very clear, no need to cross check on google maps, we thought. The clever trail would take us down the valley to the sea.

Twenty minutes later we’d branched off the road and descended a stony track to the base of the valley. We spotted three deer on the way and hundreds of ancient olive trees. I was loving the hike. But five minutes later the track disappeared into brambles and nettles! We searched for another route and then eventually checked the phone maps. We were off route – it turns out we were both better at navigating on water than land!

A short climb later and a good few kilometres along a road and another track, we were very hot and weary, but determined to prove we could walk to the beach! We were both dripping wet when we arrived at the beach and dived into the water with some relief.

The walk back was a lot shorter, but still steep and this time we did stop for an orange juice at the blue and white cafe!

Back at the boat we felt heroic hikers and I examined my blisters… Better stick to sailing for now.

I don’t think we’re that great with quiet. Despite last night’s thoughts of a day of contemplation, reading and writing, neither of us wanted to linger long on One Monk Island today. So, we have set sail again. Not just to find wi fi and signal, but because the still heat was making us jittery and we long to feel the breeze against our backs and hear the slosh of the water against the bows of the boat.

This is the life – we’re sailing on a passage into the blue leaving the islands behind us. Who knows where it will take us?

Meanwhile below decks it’s time to get the coffee on.