Mon 6 May – Passage making, how not to do it

Here is one thing that you might not know about sailing: sometimes, you are not sailing at all! Instead you are spending all day holed up in the bowels of your boat, praying to the weather gods to make the bloody wind go away! We had one of those days on Saturday. Even though we were pretty sure that our anchor was properly set and we were hiding in a bay that was reasonably protected, sitting out a storm at anchor is always a nerve wrecking experience. The howling of the wind through the rig, the waves slapping against the hull and the constant motion of the boat is just exhausting.

It is no surprise then that we woke up on Sunday morning, and after poking our heads out of the hatch and realizing the wind had gone, decided with a quick and determined nod of our heads that it was time to pick up and go. Our next destination was an anchorage on a little island just north west of Corfu, about 40 miles away. This passage should take us about 8 hours and finally get us into Greece! 

We left our anchorage around 8:30 in the morning to leave ourselves plenty of daylight once we arrived. Coming out of the anchorage we found no wind, but a pretty horrendous sea state instead. The strong winds of the last 24 hours had churned up a significant chop, and we were motoring straight into it. This is probably as uncomfortable as you can get on a sailboat, with the boat lurching and bucking over every wave. After about 30 minutes of being thrown about we looked at each other and considered turning back. The problem with that was not only having to admit defeat, which is always a problem, but also that our weather window would close and we would be stuck in Italy for at least a few more days. With gritted teeth and properly extended jawline we decided to press on. After a few hours the sea state calmed down somewhat, as the chop was replaced with a longer swell. Our spirits improved in direct proportion with the state of the sea. The music came on, life jackets and safety harnesses were stowed away and we started enjoying being out at sea again. It was a remarkably clear day, and a few hours in we could see the silhouette of Othonoi raising above the sea at the horizon. The hours flew past, and soon enough we found ourselves approaching the south of the island, which harbors a little bay in which we were planning to spend the night.

Getting close to completing a passage always puts a smile on our faces, and this one was amplified by a breeze picking up allowing us to sail the last few miles. Full of joy we arrived at our anchorage, just to realize that the southerly swell was rolling straight into the bay. White crests on the water were a clear and indisputable sign that this would in no case be the place where we could spend the night at anchor. Next to the anchorage was a small breakwater, apparently the beginnings of a marina which was planned to  be completed years ago. Big breaking waves were rolling across the entrance made it clear that hiding there would not be an option either. Now there was our conundrum: should we sail around to the north side of the island and anchor there? There was an anchorage on the charts, but the pilot book talked about the difficult approach through various hidden rocks. The sun was setting, and it was pretty clear that we would have to make the approach in the pitch black night. As we were talking about our options the horror stories of the “witte walrus” kept playing in our minds. A Dutch couple that we met years ago in the canaries lost their boat and everything they owned due to running aground on a submerged rock while approaching an anchorage at night. We heard about the event through the coast guard announcing the drifting wreckage as well as sailors in the marina sharing the story with sheer terror in their eyes. We decided back then that we would never try to approach an unknown anchorage if we did not feel 100 percent confident about it, and thus decided to press on towards Corfu. There are a few bays on the north coast that looked wide enough to even approach in what would be the middle on the night by then. 

Sailing through the night means a significantly different routine for the two of us. A daysail is typically characterized by both of us hanging out in the cockpit, chatting happily along while a gentle breeze is wizzing through the rig. Sailing through the night however means that we need to manage sleep, which typically means one of us is sailing the boat while the other one is down below sleeping. Usually we switch every three hours, which allows us to rest enough to make it through the night. 

Our decision to press on to Corfu meant that we had to start doing our watch cycle, which was complicated by the fact that Camilla had caught a serious cold and could not really sleep anyway. Fast forward a few hours, and we finally made our approach to Corfu. By that time a cold, nasty wind had picked up, and the night was the darkest night we have had experienced so far. Suffice to say that these were not ideal conditions to approach an unknown anchorage in the middle of the night. After considering our options we decided to press on and keep sailing through the night, arriving in Corfu city the next morning in the daylight. This was not the easiest decision, as we were both tired, cold and did not really prepare mentally for a 24 hour passage.

Passing through the tight passage between Corfu’s north coast and Albania turned out to be quite an adventure – and one that we really did not need at this stage either. First of all, the passage is only about a mile across, riddled with rocks and submerged reeves. Massive cruise ships came hacking through the passage while we were trying to dodge the shallows and the weird currents around the island. Once through the passage, that what should have been a fairly mellow 8 mile ride down the east coast of Corfu turned out to be the hardest part of this passage. Somehow a headwind that was not on the forecast had managed to churn up a significant chop, and we were motoring right into it. This meant that the boat was slamming up and down into the waves. Every now and then the boat slammed into a wave that would stop it right in its track with a loud bang and a terrible shudder. There were times when even with full throttle we were only moving at the crawling pace of 1.5 knots. I can literally cartwheel faster than that, just for reference. It also meant that the last few miles, which should have taken about an hour, would take four or more hours. Luckily Camilla managed to manoeuvre the boat closer to the shoreline, which meant a longer distance to go, but allowed us to travel a bit faster. As quickly and unannounced as this horrible sea had consumed us, it disappeared. We arrived in our calm anchorage in Corfu city around 6:30 in the morning, exhausted but happy that we finally made it.