We awoke on Saturday, September 5 eager to leave Katakolo and to sail to Zakinthos, our first Ionian island. On our way out of the marina, however, we hit our first very literal snag.
Ángel was steering us away from the dock as I stood on the bow pulling up the anchor. When doing this, you keep the chain as vertical as possible while picking up the chain, which reduces the strain on the windlass motor. I pride myself on being pretty good at this, but as the chain clattered up, I suddenly felt a tremendous jerk and the engine growled against the sudden force.
“Hold up!!” I yelled. “Stop! Go back a little, I think we’re caught on something!”
Ángel started reversing and the tension slackened.
“Okay, go forward again.”
I pressed the remote to pull the chain up, and I felt a very strong resistance and then suddenly I saw the watery outline of a GIGANTIC four-prong anchor with pointed barbs stuck in our chain.
Panicked, I dumped the chain and felt the tension slacken.
“We’ve got a gigantic anchor tangled up in ours! Like a crazy old-fashioned one.” I shouted, feeling a little lightheaded as I imagined our chain being hopelessly snared around that enormous evil-looking barbed weight.
We let out some slack and then Ángel went forward and reversed a few times to try to shake the anchor from our chain. When I felt it loosen, we began to pull our chain up again and I breathed easier after we passed the 15 meter marker. But when I saw the blur of our bright yellow anchor, I got another jolt of resistance. I couldn’t figure it out. I could see our anchor only about 2 meters below the surface and the chain was clear, but when I tried to pull it up, there was serious resistance.
“Something else is stuck on the anchor. I’m hopping in the water!”
I grabbed my snorkel mask, stripped down to my bikini, and tried not to think about how dirty the Katakolo harbor water was compared to the normally crystal clear water of Greece. Of course this had to happen in the one filthy anchorage we’ve been in. Le sigh.
I jumped in and dove down to the anchor and immediately saw the problem. Looped around the pointed, upturned tip of our anchor was a very heavy cord, probably tied to the four-pronged beast that had been tangled in our chain. I tried pushing the cord off the anchor tip, but even in the weightless underwater environment, it was far too heavy.
“I need more slack to remove it. You’re going to have to release the anchor while I unloop this cord,” I said.
My stomach was fluttering as I pictured my fingers getting caught between the sharp edges of the anchor and the thick cord looped around them, but I took a deep breath dove down, and after a few tries, when Ángel released the chain, I pushed the cord over the anchor’s tip, and once released, it seemed to briefly hover, suspended, before it floated innocuously away into the murky water.
I exhaled powerfully as I shot back up to the surface, eager to get out of the gunky water and to shake off the eerie sense that something menacing was lurking below that was going to grab me and pull me down, down, down.
Ángel later told me that he had no idea how nervous I was, but I was shaking as I pulled myself onto the back of the boat and my arms nearly gave out. But from there it was all smooth sailing to Zakinthos. Probably too smooth, in fact, because with very little wind, we just motored the short distance from the mainland to the port of Zakinthos.
On our way into the port, Ángel told me that we shouldn’t accept help from anyone when docking because he had read warnings on Navily (a sailing app that’s kind of like Yelp for harbors and anchorages) that the port of Zakinthos had a scammy company operating that would help secure the lines to dock your boat and then demand payment.
Sure enough, when we arrived, we had to very firmly and repeatedly decline assistance from an official-looking man in a blue polo shirt, complete with company logo and clipboard. We learned that although he looked completely official, he wasn’t employed by the port police or the marina. Instead, his company has basically layered themselves in as high-priced middlemen who collect exorbitant fees from unwitting sailors.
We declined their help, docked ourselves, and walked to the port police to pay our fees where the entire bill came to less than 15 Euros for 3 nights, but we overheard the middlemen charging 50 Euros to our neighbors for only 2 nights. We kept our heads down since these didn’t seem like good people to cross, but later added our own warning on the Navily app to help future sailors.
And as we were to learn, Zakinthos is unfortunately plagued by this type of tourist-gouging. Zakinthos has some of the most breathtaking beaches we saw in our entire time in Greece including the iconic Shipwreck beach, but the island is saturated with tourist boats, tourist shops, and opportunities to get… well, kind of ripped off. We saw wildly cheesy “pirate” boat tours, ATV rentals catering to early-twenties boys with an apparent death wish, and massive restaurants with “international” menus ranging from British baked beans to American style hamburgers.
After the ruggedly beautiful Crete, peaceful Astypalia, stunning Milos, and the undiscovered gems of the Pelopponese, Zakinthos was our first experience of feeling a bit let down.
That’s not to say we didn’t enjoy ourselves, because we absolutely did. We rented a car, drove around the island, and went swimming in the glorious turquoise waters that surround the island. I also had the best cup of coffee I had in all of Greece.
Most memorably, we went to the cliffs overlooking the iconic Shipwreck Beach for a truly once-in-a-lifetime view. But we decided to skip the selfie line…
…and instead we sent our little drone zipping up and over the line to get this video:
Pretty sweet.
But overall, Zakinthos (especially the area where we were staying in Port Zante) was a bit touristy for our taste and without more time to explore the less-reachable coves and bays by boat, we felt ready after a few days to move on.
From Zakinthos, we sailed north to the neighboring island of Cephalonia. Though we only stayed on Cephalonia for one night, we were far more taken with it than we were with its southern neighbor. Cephalonia is a unique island with a rugged beauty and violent history that reminded me of Crete, though it is far more green and piney.
For any of you interested in some armchair travel and history, I recommend the quirky book Captain Correlli’s Mandolin by Louis de Bernieres. It is fiction but it gives a glimpse into the occupation of Cephalonia by Italian and German forces, the devastation of the island during this period, and the near annihilation of Cephalonia (and Zakinthos) in 1953 when the islands were hit by a catastrophic earthquake that leveled 90% of the structures on these islands. But as usual, I digress.
In our short time in Cephalonia, we docked Gradisca in the unpretentious little town of Poros and went for an evening walk.
It was September 8, the day before the all-important September 9, my birthday and the day when I unashamedly insist on making the whole day about me.
We awoke on September 9 and I determined that the best way to start my 33rd year was an early morning dip in the ocean and a fancy cafe breakfast. Most mornings on the boat were a simple bowl of yogurt and fruit (drizzled in wildly delicious Greek honey of course) and drip coffee. But on my celebratory day, I wanted a cappuccino, toast, fried eggs, and all the things that are far too much work to prepare when you live on a boat with no dishwasher and only one pan.
After a gorgeous, refreshing swim and a breakfast that lived up to all my expectations, we decided to leave Cephalonia to sail to a truly idyllic anchorage that Ángel had researched on the nearby island of Ithaka. We were sad to leave Cephalonia so quickly, but made a mental note putting at the top of our Must Return list.
And now for any of you who were rolling your eyes as I complained about how Zakinthos was “too touristy” and thought “Katy, no one feels sorry for you. You were in Greek island paradise for Pete’s sake” well, now prepare yourself to be nauseated as I switch gears and blather incoherently about how much we absolutely and completely loved Ithaka.
I remember when I read the Odyssey in high school, and being beaten over the head with how “clever” Odysseus was. And I’ve got to say, after visiting his homeland of Ithaka, where he journeyed for 20 years to return, I fully agree. Because Ithaka is not just “gorges” like its American counterpart. Ithaka is perfection; it’s paradise; it’s completely unspoiled beauty in an age where I didn’t know such a thing was still possible. No wonder he wanted so badly to come home.
Our first anchorage in Ithaka might be the most heavenly place I’ve ever been in my life.
We anchored in a glorious turquoise cove that we shared with a few other sailboats and catamarans. It’s hard to explain, but it was like living in an aquarium. From the boat, we could see nine meters clear down to the bottom to see our anchor chain snaking out ahead of us. We could lean over and watch the fish swim around our boat and when we jumped in, we swam though glittering schools of little silvery blue fish.
There was no road or harbor- just a pristine natural anchorage so I swam ashore with a stern line and secured it around a rock to keep us from swinging.
This truly was the life we had imagined when we’d set off on our sailing journey. We spent the day jumping in and out of the heavenly water and later took our dinghy out for a paddle to explore. Around the corner in a bigger cove we saw some pretty posh motor yachts, and I was glad that our little cove wasn’t filled with these mega-yachts with all their jet-skis and other toys.
My birthday evening was capped off with homemade Thai curry on the boat made by my personal Spanish chef.
I’ve had many wonderful birthdays, but I suspect my 33rd will forever feel the most magical.
The following morning we decided to explore another of Ithaka’s breathtaking anchorages and we sailed the short distance from Pera Pegadi to Filiatro. In Filiatro, we anchored in a protected cove from which we could swim or paddle ashore to a popular beach.
Life felt unreal. We would awake and sip our coffee while watching the super yachts come in and out of the cove next to us. We Google-stalked the billionaire owners of these motor-yacht monstrosities and watched the tanned, Polo-shirt-clad crew scurrying around as they anchored the giant boats and then set out all the toys. We read, we swam, we truly luxuriated in a way we often don’t if we are docked and able to go out and about exploring on land.
After two days of bliss in Filiatro, we decided to continue our anchorage-hopping while we waited for a window to cross the Ionian Sea to Sicily where we had arranged to berth Gradisca for the winter. We pulled out of Filiatro and we were headed to another bay when we saw the entrance to Vathi, the main port of Ithaka that is situated far into the island at the end of a long, narrow inlet that cleaves into the land.
It was Friday and we had been watching to see if Monday would be a good window to leave. Ángel tapped his phone open.
“Monday’s actually looking possible.”
“Then we have to go to Vathi. If there’s a chance, we have to grab it.”
“But what about the other anchorage?”
“It’ll be there next time. We have to maximize chances of being ready to leave when there’s a good weather window.”
We turned hard to port and entered the channel leading into Vathi.
And as it turned out, we didn’t mind at all that we’d skipped the last anchorage in favor of Vathi, which we found to be the most stunning harbor we’d ever seen.
Sadly we didn’t have a ton of time to appreciate everything about it, because we worked pretty much from morning to evening both Saturday and Sunday to get Gradisca ready for the crossing. We had to re-fuel, provision, clean out one of our fresh water tanks which had picked up some dirty water in Zakinthos and refill our water, check the engine, deflate clean, and store our dinghy, plan the route and download the maps and information we’d need while out of internet range, and clean out the gunk that had grown on our speedometer so we’d be able to know our speed. In true Spanish style, the last step was to prepare a tortilla for the journey.
And now comes the part of the blog that I’ve been waiting to write for MONTHS. Because the crossing from Vathi to Syracusa was so memorable that even as we were underway, I was composing sections of this blog in my head.
We left very early (about 5 a.m. to be exact) in the morning on Monday, September 14. We were a bit tense, because leaving in the semi-dark when there are lots of possibly-crossed anchors can be stressful and we had seen another boat attempt to leave around 5:15 a.m. and 45 minutes later, they were still stuck, rowing around their anchor with their dinghy trying to get it untangled. We had already deflated, scrubbed, and stored our dinghy and we hoped we could get away cleanly and not have to wake up our German neighbors at the crack of dawn to deal with tangled up anchors.
As I pulled up the anchor, I felt better and better until suddenly, it jerked again. Oh no.
“We’re caught again” I yelled.
Ángel began reversing as I fed out some chain and then he maneuvered around, and I felt the tension release.
“I think we’re good”
With fingers crossed, I brought up the rest of the chain and triumphantly watched our anchor clatter into place.
“You did it, we’re unstuck. We’re good!”
We were on our way to Sicily.
The water, a glass mirror in front of us, split into two rippling waves as we motored out of Vathi. All around us, the glowing dawn was reflected back up by the water’s unbroken surface.
We motored through the calm stillness, and I remember feeling a sense of pride. We had learned so much in our time sailing the Greek islands that I could scarcely believe it had only been a single month. Mooring and marina maneuvering that used to inspire such anxiety now felt routine. Getting Gradisca ready for a several day passage felt familiar. And while I wouldn’t go as far as to say I was looking forward to the two-day passage to Sicily since I still worried about the disproportionate workload that it placed on Ángel, I was tentatively excited to be undertaking this journey.
I eagerly awaited the spectacular moments that only happen aboard sailboats out of sight of land. The moments of near-silence when the only sound is the waves lapping against your boat. The sunrises that surround you and lift your spirits after a night of darkness. The stars that twinkle so brightly and so close that sometimes I mistake them for lights of nearby boats. The joy of flying along with well-trimmed sails.
Our plan was to leave early Monday morning from Ithaka and to cross the Ionian Sea that separates the Western islands of Greece from the Eastern coast of Italy, arriving off the Italian coast sometime on Tuesday evening. Then we’d sail south through the night, following the toe of the Italian boot until we reached Sicily’s east coast in Syracuse early Wednesday morning.
This was the plan anyway. Our reality was…. a little more complicated.
On Monday everything went according to plan. We motor-sailed the first part of the day as we waited for the wind to pick up. We ate grilled cheese. We stared at the undulating sapphire waves. We loved life.
The sunset was beautiful.
The sunrise was beautiful.
But by Tuesday, the waves had swollen into rolling 1.5 meter mounds that rocked the boat from side to side. The lateral assault of the heavy seas significantly slowed our forward progress. In addition, the long-awaited wind was finally picking up, but again from a slightly different direction than was forecast. Unhelpfully, the wind was almost directly behind us and steering was a chore as we tried to keep the boat on a deep broad reach and out of the “dead downwind” danger zone.
At first we relied on the autopilot, but with the challenging wind and wave directions, the autopilot began making a worrying clicking sound and we decided to save it for night when we would need it more. So we hand-sailed a long and arduous Tuesday morning and afternoon.
And then, when I went down below to prepare lunch, I was met by an additional challenge: the boat smelled like rotten eggs.
No, we weren’t having refrigeration issues. We hadn’t left the laundry too long. And though we were unshowered, we were far from smelling that rank.
Nope, we soon realized (with the assistance yet again of Nigel Calder’s manual and a few satellite phone messages to Michael) that our battery bank had overcharged and our batteries were now burning hot and “off-gassing,” a process that releases a powerful sulfur smell. But how did this happen? Basically when you run the engine, it generates power that is stored in the batteries. But we realized something must be wrong with our alternator regulator because it was allowing too much power to flow to the batteries and had overcharged them.
The simplest solution would have been to disconnect the engine from the battery bank but we were worried about disconnecting electrical wiring while at sea and we were also worried that if we disconnected it, the batteries may be so fried that the starter battery wouldn’t work to start the engine again and we would lose our ability to turn the engine back on for the rest of the voyage. In the middle of the Ionian, this seemed too risky.
What we did next I can only describe as one of the most tense, and yet somehow comical, 24 hours of my life: we slowed the engine to 1000 RPMs so it wouldn’t generate significant power, and we turned on every single light in the boat and plugged in every single energy-sucking device to keep the batteries from reaching 15 volts and overcharging again.
We set up Ángel’s energy-heavy Macbook in the shower and set it to play a looped video; I turned on every ceiling fan; we ran the autopilot; and any time we were above 14.5 volts of stored energy, I sat on the bow of the boat, running the electric anchor windlass to pull the chain up and down, up and down, in the anchor locker.
If we hadn’t been so worried about wrecking the batteries past usability, this probably would have been one of the funniest things I’ve ever done. When evening fell, we were floating along like a glowing Christmas tree and I was sitting on the fore deck sending the anchor chain fruitlessly up and down on repeat.
To make matters even more challenging, the weather was getting heavier than had been predicted with large waves rolling toward us like heaving, lumpy boulders. The air seemed poised for a storm. We began debating if if we should instead try to anchor somewhere in Calabria on the east coast of Italy instead of going all the way to Sicily.
We decided that if the weather stayed okay, then we’d just power through and make it to our original destination. Anchoring in the dark in an unplanned location wasn’t appealing. Further, all of our COVID clearances were for Sicily which is a different region than Calabria, and we didn’t know if we’d be permitted to get off the boat in Calabria to fix the issue with the batteries. But with the waves and wind growing in strength, we weren’t sure if the weather would allow us to continue our passage.
Around 10 p.m. the shoreline glimmered in the distance and we radio-ed the Italian authorities in Calabria. We informed them we were having engine troubles on our way to Sicily and asked for a weather update. They told us the weather was clear to proceed and advised us that they would call us every two hours to check our progress.
I’m not sure why they told us the weather was clear. Maybe they hadn’t gotten updated information. Maybe they thought we’d be safer continuing with our course rather than trying to come into an unknown anchorage at night. But for whatever reason, they told us the weather was clear.
Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.
By this point, we were both running on about three or four hours of sleep which we’d snatched at various points throughout the voyage. We each tried to sleep a little more that night but with all the lights blazing, the engine and autopilot on, and the boat lurching from the continued waves and wind, neither of us got more than an hour or so of exhausted oblivion.
Dawn was a welcome improvement: though the weather and our battery situation continued challenging, at least we could see. But as the world grew lighter around us, our outlook grew darker. Flashes of lightning crackled in the distance and dark storm clouds lurked ominously on the horizon. With the wind now at a steady 20 knots, Ángel decided to err on the safe side and brought in the mainsail and reefed the jib, leaving out only about 2/3 of the sail.
But then our GPS began showing an abnormal number of container ships near us. And then we realized that none of them appeared to be moving. Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice would say.
We began radioing to nearby container ships to request that we pass them and with a sense of foreboding, we sailed past several enormous halted ships. When it began raining, we understood what the big ships with their weather-radar sensors must have known all along. A squall was coming.
The drops got bigger. The sky darkened. And then we were in it. Wind, waves, and rain began pounding the cockpit and Ángel sent me below in case things got too wild.
I momentarily considered arguing with him, but I knew I didn’t know how to be helpful up above and he would only worry for my safety.
I realized that the only helpful thing I could do was prepare a clean and dry boat for him to rest after the storm passed. So as the squall raged above and Ángel courageously steered Gradisca through the storm, I braced myself against the wall to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and held onto the ceiling as I made the bed and dried off the water that had entered the boat.
I tried not to worry, but probably every 30 seconds, I steadied myself against the walls and crept over to stare up the gangway to make sure Ángel was still there. He was tethered to the boat of course, but I kept having visions of him being knocked out of the cockpit and dragged behind in the water. Each time I saw him crouched against the rain, steering with one hand and cranking the jibsheet winch with the other, my heart swelled with pride and my stomach momentarily unclenched.
The worst part of the squall probably only lasted 30 minutes, though it felt far longer. When it finally cleared, I poked my head up to find my husband, soaked to the bone, but elated.
I asked him how bad it had gotten and he said at one point, the winds were close to 40 knots with 2.5 meter waves, rain, and lightning. I shivered, glad to have gotten though our worst storm yet.
We both munched on PB&J’s as the adrenaline wore off and our fatigue began catching up.
“How much further?” I asked.
“12 more miles.”
With the strong wind, we were flying along at about 7 knots, so this meant less than 2 hours to go.
Our final hours heading into Syracuse were cold, drizzly, damp,and grey. Our photographs entering Syracuse look like they’re from some grim Northern European city and certainly do not look like Sicily in late summer.
We arrived around one in the afternoon on Wednesday, about six hours later than we’d planned but with all our battery issues and the wild weather, we were happy just to be there. We were both exhausted and we tied up at the town quay where we’d arranged for a spot since all the marinas nearby were full. It seemed odd to us that we were the only boat on the quay, but we figured it was because of the fee and that others preferred to anchor out of the harbor.
After securing our lines and checking in with the Italian agent who was handling our arrival and COVID entrance forms, we fell fast asleep. I dozed for an hour and then opened my phone to catch up on messages we’d missed while out of range during our crossing.
And then suddenly everything made sense: the weird heavy seas, the squall, the tankers stopped in the water, the marinas in Sicily full of boats, the town quay empty, and the strange low pressure weather when we arrived in Syracuse.
There was an enormous storm, a “Medicane,” or “Mediterranean hurricane,” which had started as a low pressure system in North Africa on Monday, the day we had left Greece, and then by Tuesday evening had developed into a full-fledged cyclone cutting up the center of the Ionian about 70 miles off the Sicilian coast where we were before swerving eastward toward Greece. I was reading these updates on Wednesday afternoon and the cyclone was predicted to make landfall early Friday morning in Ithaka, Cephalonia, and Zakinthos.
I woke up Ángel to show him and we both sat glued to weather apps, Facebook sailing group updates, and news sites for the rest of the evening. The storm was basically following our path but in reverse. It was now past us, heading straight for Ithaka where we had been just over 48 hours before.
I was deeply shaken and kept imagining what would have happened if we hadn’t made the last minute choice to cross the Ionian on Monday. If we had still been in Ithaka, we would be sailing up to Corfu to get out of the storm’s path and what if we’d had our battery troubles there and what if we couldn’t get to Corfu fast enough… It felt like a very close call.
But if I was shaken, Ángel was fully in shock. He had checked the weather model assiduously for weeks ahead of our departure watching for a good weather window and there was no indication of this storm. We had been looking at weather apps right up until we lost internet connection sometime mid-day Monday and nothing. How had this HUGE storm developed so close to us and with so little warning?
Between the lack of sleep, the stress of the dying batteries, and now terrifying sense of how close we had come to catastrophe, this was probably the lowest I have ever seen Ángel. We talked about selling Gradisca, about walking away from the dream, about whether it was all worth it.
We ate a rather glum dinner, watched a TV show to get our minds off of our worries, and went to bed early. And I wish I could tell you we got some rest and things seemed brighter in the morning. That evening, however, had other plans in store for us…
But… this blog post is already way too long and has taken me a month to get out, so I am going to leave you with that cliffhanger and with my solemn promise not to take another full month to write Chapter 11!
And P.S. I know I ended on a bit of a down note, but don’t worry! Within a few days, our freakout and stress began to fade, soothed by the arancini, gelato, and baroque architecture of the gorgeous town of Syracuse. But the sailing life is all about major ups and downs and this was the lowest of our lows. But luckily it would soon be followed by some of the highest of highs. So stay tuned…
3 comments
I am in awe of you both. You are so strong, smart, COURAGEOUS, inventive, young, FLEXIBLE, and in touch with the rythem of The nature arounD you. Your videos and photographs of SHIPWRECK Beach, underwater adventures and the epic storm battle are BREATHTAKING. Your words and images carry me from my Covid Stay at home milase. I travel with you from ancient times, to EMERALD waters, twinKling skIes, swimming Fish and turtles and to sweet Street side cafes With baked goods and ESPRESSO. I am floating in what seems like a dream worlD. Angel, my dear one, you are truly a beautiful Old soul who can find strength, resOlve and Knowlege from some deep understanding of the meaning of all things. Katy, you literally dive into your fears and rise up TRIUMPHANT. Your insight, honesty, CURIOSITY And humor are a gift that will SUSTAIN you now and forever. Ilove you both and pray for safe sailing and bright skies. Auntie G
This brought me a huge smile! Thank you for the encouragement and love Auntie Gloria!! It makes me so happy to know that you’re enjoying the posts. They’re so much fun to write, because it helps me to reflect on and re-live these experiences. We love you and can’t wait for better years ahead when you and Auntie Kathy can visit us in Europe for more Merk Family Adventures!! XOXO
Hi!! As ever, enjoying your posts, and you keep on having classic after classic: the batteries overcharging because the alternator breaks, the anchor getting trapped with the neighbor, the UN-OFFICIAL guy trying to CHARGE foreign boats when entering the port…. that is the real sailing!! Are you going back to civilization for christmas?? don’t!!!!!the vaccine is not yet ready for everybody!! enjoy!