Christmas in Finike

Turkish White Christmas

A belated Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to our dear reader. As you can see, we have found some mountains to climb, but more of that anon.

Finike Marina, our home for the winter.

November proved to be a splendid month for us to cruise along the Lycian coast, awaiting the onset of winter. Most of the gulets were laid up, as were most of the other yachts.

More often than not we had the place to ourselves. We rarely shared an anchorage, the sun shone most of the time, and the sea was still warm enough for us to swim whenever the fancy took us. The occasional blow held no terrors for us, safe, sheltered anchorages were never far away.

On one occasion over a twenty four hour period, the wind got up to gale force 8. We found an anchorage off Kaleucagiz that offers protected from both waves and swell. While anchoring in six metres of water with all the swinging room one needed, I let out forty metres of chain in good, thick, gooey mud. (Well, it’s no use in the chain locker, is it?) We were as safe as houses, and perfectly comfortable.

Bucak Deniz near Kas

We spent several days at anchor in Bucak Deniz. First impressions were not at all good, but we warmed to the place. They are building a new marina here as well as making a new bypass road.

Extensive and varied feats of civil engineering are taking place, and we had a grandstand view. Massive diggers, drilling machines, cranes and lorries laboured from dawn till dusk, moving rock from where a surveyor didn’t want it, to a place where it was needed.

It was particularly fascinating to see how delicate some of these giant diggers could be, as they painstakingly placed a boulder weighing several tons in exactly the right place.

We took on the role of unofficial, unpaid, unknown, site supervisors, from the safety of our cockpit. I do hope they can manage without us over the winter.

Lycian rock tombs at Myra

Sightseeing was still on our agenda as well as trying to get some exercise. One fine day we took our bikes ashore and cycled from Andraki to Myra to see the rock tombs and well preserved Roman theatre. What a place it must have been in its heyday.

Part of the Roman theatre at Myra

We also passed close by, but didn’t visit Demre. The church here is dedicated to Saint Nicholas, the patron saint of sailors and pawn brokers! Apparently he was martyred here in 655 AD. A most uncharitable act, I think, killing Santa Clause.

Elusive Mediterranean summits.
(With apologies to Victor Saunders)

The tantalizing glimpses of distant snow capped mountains convinced us that Finike was a good place for two sailing mountaineers to spend the winter. (We tell fellow sailors that we are really climbers. What they don’t know is that we tell climbers that we are really sailors).

Pippa with the bit between her teeth

Frustration is a common emotion experienced by those who would go to the hills of the Mediterranean. The obstacles are legion. The main problem is that they don’t have 200
years of dedicated sheep farming. Everything above sea level + 500ft is covered in impenetrably dense and unbelievably spiky Maqui. There should be a law against it.

Just keep going till you run out of up.

Apparently Turkey does have topographical maps, but they are a state secret and known only to the army. What they don’t want us to know is a mystery. Maps that are available to visiting hill bashers are at best a joke, at worst a cynical plot to drive the would be rambler completely nuts.

Who dares wins.
(With apologies to the SAS)

It was probably a map reading error, for which I am well known. I tell my critics “I have climbed many mountains; I just don’t always know which ones”. But any way, we found a chink in their amour while on a sight seeing tour with some fellow sailing walkers.

“You see the forestry track, traversing that hill over there?” “It’s above the snow line”. “Let’s hire a car over Christmas and go have a look”. “Eureka!” The track (not on the map) led us through a magnificent cedar forest and eventually to a modest summit of about 2,300 meters. On Boxing Day we returned and bagged its neighbour.

Forbidden summits?
(Apologies to the Turkish tourist board)

The highest mountains hereabouts seem to be best approached from a few miles down this road. There is, however, a fly in the ointment in the shape of a locked barrier across the road, an official looking sign, and someone who may or may not be a park warden, who says “No”. That’s all he says. Just “No”. He offers no explanation, hands out no leaflet, gives no hope of arbitration. Just hints that he wishes we would go away so he could continue fixing his car. It comes hard to one never wanting to take no for an answer. It seems we have another project.

What have we here?

Pippa has been unable to identify these flowers. We are offering one day of sailing or hill bashing in the Mediterranean, to the first person to identify them. (Conditions apply).

Running repairs

A terrific hail storm last week, left hail stones up to half an inch in diameter on our deck.
Unfortunately, during the tempest our windex lost its tail. Enquiries at the local chandlery revealed that a replacement unit from Istanbul would cost £40 plus postage.
Hmm, I thought. Perhaps it can be repaired. And indeed it could. A few minutes of surgery to a fly swat and some seizing wire as a counter balance seems to have done the trick. Time will tell.

Every boat should have one.

A present from a close friend. But what is it?
Scroll down the page to find out.

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No more fights over the last apple. No more wondering if Pippa has a larger share than me. Though the core still poses a problem.

Turkey’s Lycian coast.

Autumn sailing in Turkey’s Lycian coast.

Turkey has been kind to us. Albatross Marina had looked after Sula well and the launch went without a hitch. We arrived back in Marmaris on Friday 4th September. Launched Sula the same day and were on our way and anchored at Gerbeksi Bay by Sunday the 6th.

There followed a succession of fabulous anchorages as we worked our way day sailing along Turkey’s Lycian coast, between Marmaris and Anatalya.

The Turks have proved to be the most friendly and helpful of people. A smile is never far from their faces. Even market stall holders will not hassle rich tourists like us, once we have explained that we are “Just looking”.

In Fethiye, I bought a new electric bilge pump. I found the one I wanted in the marina chandlery. Having fitted it at anchor the next day, I found it didn’t work properly. On investigation I discovered that despite saying 12 volts on the box it was in fact a 24 volt model. I still had the receipt, but unfortunately not the box or packaging.

We retraced our course. Early the next morning a friendly fuel berth attendant directed us to a free parking place in a corner of the marina that we could use. “For a short while”.

I returned to the shop without too much hope. I don’t think Turkey has a consumer protection act.

I explained the problem to the manager, who spoke excellent English. He took the now rather grubby pump and placed it back on the shelf. Then having found a suitable replacement he handed it to me, not even asking to see the original receipt or enquiring about the missing packaging.

I took the precaution of carefully examining the pump and discovered that, although suitable, it was a more powerful model. I pointed this out and offered to pay the extra cost, but my friendly shopkeeper wouldn’t hear of it. He shook my hand and wished me good day.

Sula top left, Storeyville top right.
With a somewhat bigger craft as Sula’s neighbour.

More good sailing followed, with mostly fine weather, but with some no wind days and therefore some motoring.

In a beautiful archipelago of islands and creeks south of Gocek, known as Fethiye Korfezi, we bumped into Di & Tony Miles from Neyland (no, not literally). First it was a wave of recognition, followed by a snatched word in passing, then an email. A meeting place was arranged and Pippa and I were entertained to supper aboard Storyville in the fine, but rather busy Tersane Creek.

Although life has been treating us very well on this stage of our journey, there have been a few flies in the ointment.

Not the offender in my story.Though this one is, I think, invading our space a bit.

The least of the problems has come from one or two Gulets joining us in some wonderful anchorage. One can’t honestly complain about their mere presence, though we had perhaps rather greedily harboured ideas of complete seclusion.

The real problem has arisen when suddenly the peace is shattered by the Boom! Boom Boom! of loud pop music engulfing the bay. It can happen at any time of day and once or twice has gone on until late into the evening.

I was particularly annoyed by the attitude of a British yachtsman we had the misfortune to meet. We arrived at dusk, and did a quick survey of a bay not mentioned in our pilot book. There were lots of rocks, and the only practical anchorage in an otherwise deserted bay was off the beach 100 metres or so away from the only other vessel.

As we ate our supper, our neighbour turned his music player up full, rowed ashore with his partner and lit a fire on the beach. I gave it a while, but eventually my patience ran out. I called across to him asking if he would please turn the music down. His response, though negative, was simple, to the point and was perhaps all I expected. He yelled back, “No! If you don’t like it F*** off.

My final winge is about a Gulet again, but this time the incident was both bad seamanship and outright dangerous.

Having discovered a rather pleasant anchorage off a deserted beach, our thoughts were of a swim to cool down followed by a cold beer before supper. We anchored in a suitable depth and laid a stern anchor towards the beach to keep Sula’s head towards any swell that might develop.

Just as we had completed the manoeuvre, a large Gulet arrived and anchored fairly close on our starboard side; c’est la vie, there was enough room for two.

I went for my dip, taking flippers, mask and snorkel with me. While I was at it, I thought I might as well just double check the setting of our two anchors.

All was well and I set off back from the beach. Directly astern of Sula, I noticed a second Gulet looking for a place to anchor. Sorry mate I thought, you are too late, no room off this beach.

I swam back along my stern line and paused to look around the above surface world.
To my astonishment the Gulet was reversing straight towards me at quite a lick! I swam at right angles to his course as fast as I was able, shouting loudly to a crew member, who looked at me, but did nothing to draw the skipper’s attention to my plight.

Soon I was close enough to touch the side of the Gulet. Thankfully I had swam clear of the stern and it’s thrashing propeller!! From my position in the water I remonstrated with the captain and pointed out that he was over my stern line. He gave a shrug and assured me “It’s no problem”. He seemed uninterested that from my perspective, it was indeed quite a problem.

Fortunately, although anchored far too close, the captain and his passengers were quiet, went to bed early and left well before us at dawn.

The Turkish Gulet sailors are justifiably proud of their country and its flag.

I hasten to point out that despite the few problems we have had with Gulets and tripper boats. The overwhelming majority have displayed impeccable seamanship and courtesy.
We have picked up many useful tips on anchoring in tight places just by watching these huge, unwieldy yachts do it with such panache.

On one occasion I anchored with a line astern in the only available space, but was too close for comfort to an underwater rock off the shore. A neighboring Gulet captain recognizing my predicament sent a boat across and took my line to his amidships cleat to hold me off the danger for the night.

Another time I fouled up badly and ran aground on a shoal patch, while approaching the position in which I wished to anchor. No tides in the med to lift me off of course, and Sula was stuck fast. I couldn’t get off with the engine full ahead or astern. The light was fading and my thoughts were on techniques to careen her over to bring the keel clear. I tried crawling out on the boom set amidships, but to no avail.

A small neighboring gullet, watching the fun, came quietly to the rescue. He slipped his stern line, extended his anchor chain and threw me a rope, before calmly, but firmly, pulling me clear. Then, just as calmly, returned to his previous position.
Having circumnavigated the offending shoal and successfully anchored, I rowed across to thank the captain. He welcomed me aboard, offered me refreshment and took the whole incident in his stride. He sought neither thanks nor reward. I did however persuade him to accept a small bottle of rum as a gift from a fellow sailor.

Gulets, Yachts and local opportunist salesmen.

We have come across quite a few small local boats selling fish, fruit, bread, pancakes and fancy goods. One such boat can be seen in the photo above.

Whilst anchored in a delightful cove in the North West end of Gemiler Adasi, we were approached by a boatman calling “Ice Creeeeme! Ice Creeeeme!” Pippa replied politely, but firmly, “Thank you but not today, perhaps tomorrow.”

We soon forgot the incident until next day, after a fine sail round the islands, we returned to the anchorage we liked so much. Our boatman of yesterday appeared and, smiling at us, pointed out, “It’s tomorrow.” We saw no future explaining about Red Queens and Jam. We smiled back and bought two indifferent and rather expensive Ice Creeeemes.

Dawn at Kucuk Kuruk

A shoreside delight of our cruising has been to visit many fine Roman & Byzantine ruins. The whole place abounds with them. We normally do our land based exploration early in the morning before the heat of the day makes walking up hill a chore.

On just such an occasion we re visited Kucuk Kuruk before dawn, imagining how wonderful the view would be at sunrise. After a very pleasant 40 minute walk, we arrived at the sight and awaited the dawn. Sadly, on this occasion, we were denied its full splendour by a cloudy sky. None the less, it was well worth the slight effort.

Detail of the Kucuk Kuruk ruin.

As the autumn progresses the weather is of course becoming more unsettled. The days are getting noticeably shorter and if not cooler, at least not so hot.

We have lately had some quite spectacular thunder and lightning storms with their attendant squalls. I have attached lengths of chain that dangle in the water from the shrouds, as a gesture towards lightning protection. We also un plug the radios and have even been known to place portable electronic items in the gas oven.
We have a fridge on board that makes use of sea water, to dissipate the heat produced by its pump. We also rely to a great extent on a solar panel to recharge the boats batteries. The combination of high sea temperatures and shorter days is putting quite a strain on our energy management. Though not, I hasten to add, enough for us to contemplate foregoing a cold beer as a sun downer.

Just another Turkish anchorage.

So, to recap. Since returning to Turkey in September, we have sailed from Marmaris to Anatalya via Gocek, Fethiye, Kas, Finike and Kemer, visiting any number of smaller places along the way. As I write this on the 29th October, our plan is to continue cruising back and forth along this delightful coast, never straying too far from Finike, where we have booked a berth in the marina, from the 1st December until the end of March.

Return to the Med

Pippa and I have had a very enjoyable two month holiday in Britain. We have been wined, dined and entertained most splendidly by friends and relations at every stop.

We haven’t done any sailing, but we have climbed one or two modest mountains and enjoyed some very pleasant walks and bike rides. Thank you one and all for making our visit such a success.

It has proved impossible to meet up with everyone we would have liked to have seen, and to those we missed, I offer my apologies. I don’t know when we will have the opportunity to return to the UK again, but when we do I will let you know via the Blog.

A Cornish Chough

Sorry, but I find I have taken very few photos on this trip. (a lack of sunshine perhaps.) We did however spot this bird and a few of his/her mates on a coast path walk in Cornwall.The Chough is Cornwall’s emblem and until recently they were extinct in the county. Happily, since their recent reintroduction, they are now thriving.

I won’t name names, but for the record this has been our route:-
Gatwick - West Sussex - Central London - Bath - Pembrokeshire - Oxford - Basingstoke - Limington, Yelverton - West Penwith - Bristol - Pembrokeshire - N. Wales - Chester - Derbyshire – Sheffield - South London – West Sussex – Gatwick.

It’s now time to return to Turkey and continue our Mediterranean Idyll. We fly from Gatwick on Thursday, 3rd September, to Bodrum and thence by bus on the Friday to Albatross Marina near Marmaris. We will launch Sula on Friday afternoon and find a quiet anchorage in which to acclimatise.

I contacted Albatross marina by Email yesterday and received the following heart warming reply:-

Dear Dee and Pippa,

It is very nice to hear from you. Sula is waiting the date of launching and also waiting for you :). She is very lonely, she told me that she missed you so much:)
Any way, I talked with my area manager and he said it is OK for him to launch Sula on Friday 4th of September. We are waiting for you here in Albatros.

Lots of love from sunny Marmaris.

Melda

Towards Turkey

Sula at a typical Dodecanese anchorage
(Taken through the lens of Pippa’s sun glasses).

We have had some glorious sailing and visited many fine anchorages as we worked our way down the Dodecanese and Cyclades islands . We have shied away from marinas and harbours as far as possible, usually only calling in long enough to replenish dwindling supplies of fuel, water and food. We have found that it is possible in most harbours and even some marinas, to call in for a few hours during the day, re provision and then move on to a quiet anchorage all free of charge. Since we left the UK we have, of course, never been asked to pay at an anchorage. I can only imagine the shock visiting foreign yachtsmen must get when asked to pay for the privilege of lying to their own ground tackle in a British harbour, especially when no services are provided.

Fledgling Swallows

Since leaving Kalamata we have anchored most nights, and often at a separate anchorage for a lunch stop. You would be forgiven for thinking that we must be getting fairly good at it. Well, we are at least getting more experienced. This is how it works:-

We decide in advance where to go, then look round for the quietest and most sheltered spot. I usually take the helm while Pippa goes forward and prepares the anchor.

It’s really easy. The water is so clear that you can usually see the bottom and so select the best spot to drop the hook. The trouble is, sometimes you can clearly see that the bottom is covered in impenetrable weed or rock that would not take the anchor. It’s then you realise why no one else is anchored there. So you go off in search of an alternative.

Having found somewhere that looks suitable you discover it’s too deep, so you cautiously edge your way into shallower water and fingers crossed drop anchor. When sufficient chain is out you set the anchor by gently motoring astern. That done you increase the engine revs and find that the anchor is dragging. Bother!

Next try everything goes to plan, though you may be just a tad closer in than you intended. Anyway it will do. Then just as you are about to open a well deserved can of cold beer, the wind that has been steady all day changes direction by 180 degrees. Sula swings to her anchor, the rocks are now really close. Best try again before the last of the evening light goes.

This time you find a place that’s so steep to, it goes from 60 metres to nothing in just a few boat lengths. It will have to do. You drop the hook in 15 metres and motor backwards towards the rocks. When you dare go no closer, you watch like a hawk as you set the anchor. It holds and Pippa is encouraged to dive over the side with a stern rope in her teeth, swim with gusto ashore and make it fast to a suitable rock or tree.

A cool skipper might remark at this juncture “It’s OK, no rush, take your time, that other yacht we are drifting towards is a long way off yet”. Hmm I wish I was that cool.

Life is full of the unexpected

Here is a list of the islands we have visited since the last Blog posting with just a few notes about the most memorable:-

May

11th - 15th Naxos. We hired a car and climbed the highest mountain on the island. A long hot day.

16th & 17th Mikonos.

18th 20th Rinia. Stayed an extra day because of strong head winds.

21st 22nd Naxos.

23rd Iraklia.

24th Amorgos. A very attractive harbour.

25th Amorgos. Cycled to Katapola monastery.

Katapola monastery

26th Levitha. Lovely small & peaceful fishing harbour with laid moorings

27th Leros.

28th & 29th Patmos. Super harbour, bow to, excellent facilities.

30th Arki.

31st & 1st Agathonisi. We sailed for Samos on the 1st of June, but once clear of the island we met fresh head winds. We turned back and found a second anchorage.

June

2nd Samos. Awful place, noisy & crowded didn’t get much sleep.

3rd Samiopoula. Lovely quiet bay picked up Caique (Greek Gulet) mooring for . .. the night.

4th – 6th Fournoi. South anchorage, lovely and quiet. Raced a fishing boat for best position and won!

7th 8th Patmos. Replenished our supplies and then cycled to a lovely monastery, before anchoring in bay a mile or so from the main harbour. Incredibly hot in the afternoon

9th Lipsi.

10th & 11th Leros. Three different anchorages one just for lunch and a much . needed swim.

12th Kalymnos. Anchored for lunch, but it was too hot and crowded so we moved to Pserimos for the night.

13th Pserimos. A lovely anchorage.

14th & 15th Kos. The wind picked up while on passage from Pserimos until we were running before a force six wind. At one point, for just a few moments we clocked 7½ knots on the GPS. It was time to dump the main sail! Later I was busy doing something important when a comment from Pippa brought me up on deck. “Dee the harbour entrance is half a mile away and we are doing 5 knots”. Entering the marina in that wind concentrated my mind wonderfully.

16th Nisyros. We felt very small berthed amongst several much bigger yachts. Cycled for many miles to view the famous crater. It was only OK, but we were rewarded by a grand freewheel all the way back.

17th Tilos. Found small, secluded & attractive bay away from main. harbour.

18th to 20th Simi. Three different anchorages. All very good but very hot.

Gerbekse
Our first Turkish anchorage

21st Gerbekse. Delightful anchorage, our first in Turkey. Good shelter Byzantine ruins to visit and fine cliffs to scramble on.

22nd Marmaris bay. Fine during the day, but very noisy with disco music booming out in the evening until the small hours.

23rd Marmaris marina. Huge efficient modern marina. Cleared customs.

24th to 28th Explored many fine bays in the vicinity. Came to grips with anchoring close in and swimming a line ashore. All very hot, we needed to swim at regular intervals to avoid overheating.

A Turkish gulet

29th In one fine anchorage, a neighbouring yacht’s anchor chain was fouled by a visiting gullet, full of local people dancing to lively Turkish music. When it came time for them to leave, a boy who couldn’t have been more then ten, and was presumably the son of the skipper, pulled in the anchor rope by hand until it became tight on the yachts chain. He then jumped over the side and dived down to clear the fouled anchor. Having done that he swam back to the gulet, reached up to grasp his fathers outstretched hand and was calmly pulled back on board. I wonder what he will be like in ten years time!

30th Albatross marina. Very pleasant and efficient marina. Much better than it looks on the map link.

July

1st An early start was made to avoid the heat of the day. We packed our bags, prepared Sula for storage ashore and hauled out mid morning.

2nd Caught flight from Bodrum to Gatwick. Arriving at Gatwick we experienced our first rain for almost three months. None the less it was lovely to escape the heat of the Mediterranean.

Naxos - Change of plans

Just a quick update as our plans for the summer have changed

Spring in Paros

We now plan to haul Sula out of the water and store her ashore at Albatross Marina
near Marmaris in Turkey for the summer months. We will then fly back to Britain for July and August.

We have no set itinerary, though we will want to visit family and friends and climb a mountain or two. Our route is most likely to be along the M4 corridor from Gatwick, with one or two diversions on the way. Then a dog leg down to Devon and back, turning left and on to Pembrokeshire. Then up to Snowdonia before crossing to the Peak district. A diversion to Oxford, then back to Gatwick to fly back to Sula for a rest.

What’s the time Pippa?

Into the Aegean

After several frustrating delays we eventually sailed from Kalamata on April 11th. We made a modest passage of just twenty five miles down the coast to the well sheltered cove of Limeni, where we spent a quiet night at anchor, though we experienced some quite strong gusts of wind tumbling down from the mountains.

The strong wind continued the following day, speeding us on to Mezapo at the southern extremity of the Taygetos range. Safe at anchor that night, we were buffeted by 28 knot gusts. It howled; the boat swung; the anchor chain snatched. We were reminded to:

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”

Our first major headland, Ak Tainaron was passed on day three. We had rounded the Mani peninsula and were now headed north, but not for long. We ducked into Porto Kayio for two days to shelter from a gale, and for the first time put our diesel powered cabin heater to use. Thus we were well tucked in; dry, warm and safe from the storm.

The gale over, an exhilarating twenty mile spinnaker run on the 15th took us to the beautiful bay of Ormos Levki on the island of Elafonisos near the Malea peninsular.

Ak Maleas, gateway to the Aegean

We rounded Ak Maleas, and entered the Aegean sea the following day. Fifteen miles further up the coast we tucked into Monemvasia, a quiet fishing harbour overlooked by the Byzantine fortified village of the same name. We cycled across in the late afternoon, and spent a very pleasant few hours exploring its fascinating citadel.

Monemvasia Church

The Citadel of Monemvasia

Chapel Cove in Kaprarissi, just twenty miles further up the coast, proved to be unspoilt and tranquil. We stayed two days, enjoyed our first swim of the year and walked a most pleasant coast path to inspect the town.

Spring is at its height now and the wild flowers are just stunning. Profusions of Poppies, carpets of Crown Daisies, Mallow Leaved Bindweed, Pitch Trefoil; not forgetting the deep blue Scarlet(!) Pimpernel and Winged Sea Lavender, to name but a few. Their colours are only matched by the fantastic smells of the wild herb gardens that abound.

Some of the hills are quite good too.

Spetsai also detained us for a couple of days. We cycled into the old town, explored the port, and inspected the traditional wooden caiques under construction in the yards. Private cars are banned from town, but ironically only to be replaced by swarms of noisy, smelly two stroke motor bikes.

We called into Lavrion (Athens seemed too daunting) on the 23rd, in order to get a new Serial to USB connector. It’s a special lead that connects our GPS to our laptop chart navigation system. The system had crashed in Kalamata due to finger trouble (mine) and more traditional navigation techniques have had to be pressed into service in the interim.

Magic was in the air! I couldn’t find the lead, but the man in the IT shop said he had a gadget that should do the job. The box had been opened so I could have it for ten Euros. It didn’t work! So I got my ten Euros back. But while I was messing with it I did something, I’m not quite sure what. But the old one started working and has been fine ever since. So if you’re looking for a computer wiz kid, I’m your man.
Or then again, perhaps not…


From this point forth our Odyssey has taken on a new direction. We are no longer on passage. It doesn’t really matter where we go or rest our heads. For the next couple of months we will go more or less where the wind dictates. I will pretend to be a Gentleman. And of course, Gentlemen don’t sail to windward.

The foredeck hand at work

A good south westerly was blowing on the morning of the 25th so up went the kite and we positively bowled along. The main and genoa were stowed and we still touched seven knots. Quite exhilarating.
It didn’t last all the way unfortunately and eventually died away to nothing. Nonetheless, we arrived in Kea in time for a very late lunch.

In the late afternoon we got the bikes out of their stowage in a cockpit locker and cycled (much of the way) up a Mount Everest of a hill, to visit the old town (Chora). We had a great time exploring the winding narrow streets, the tunnels, countless steps and the innumerable churches. We eventually returned to the boat at breathtaking speed, free wheeling all the way back to the harbour.

A typical Cycladian church. This one on Milos.

Our next islands were Kithnos, Serifos, Sifnos and Kimolos where we found lovely sheltered anchorages. The sailing was predominantly down wind in cool, but bright conditions with the spinnaker doing most of the work. Just cracking sailing.

Milos. The second anchorage.

The harbour in Milos was created by an enormous volcanic eruption that literally blew the centre out of the island. Its flooded crater provides an inland sea/haven. We tied up on the town quay and spent a rather uncomfortable night bouncing up and down and surging back and forth in the swell. We should have left at once, but delayed while we ate our supper. By the time we had finished it was almost dark. To have left then could have changed the situation from one of mere discomfort to putting Sula and ourselves in danger.

In the morning the wind was still blowing at the top end of force four, so we decided to seek a more sheltered anchorage. Whilst preparing to leave, we were provided with an example of first rate seamanship as the slab sided ferry berthed stern to the quay, broadside to the wind. I would not have liked to attempt the same manoeuvre with Sula in those conditions. However, it’s a useful lesson on the art of the possible. If you have the skill and nerve.

Don’t try this at home!

The sea between Milos, Kimolos & Poliagos is a delightful cruising ground reminiscent of the Scilly Isles. Interesting pilotage and always some shelter to find whichever way the wind blows.

We left these islands on the 5th of May and have now arrived at the delightful island of Paros. But I will tell you all about that another time. Suffice to say:-

‘Twas brilig and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves.
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Goodbye Kalamata

It’s been a good winter for Pippa and me. We’ve met a lot of like minded sailors overwintering in Kalamata; we’ve enjoyed their company, picked their brains, enlisted their help and drunk their wine. It’s the way of things that we just don’t know if we will meet again. I hope we will, and in the small world of yachting it’s perfectly feasible that we could.

We have had many marvellous adventures in the Taygetos Mountains. On our own, with friends from the Kalamata Alpine Club and, with my sister Celia and Laurence during their recent visit. But now it is time to go.

A Picnic in a Greek Alp

Spring is definitely here. It’s considerably warmer, the wild flowers are at their stunning best, both in the hills and along the coast. I saw a swallow the other day and told it to fly north. I'm sure the people in Britain are looking forward to Spring as much as we are.

Spring in the Taygetos mountains

Last Thursday, two ageing Greek gentlemen, one certainly an octogenarian, the other not far off, came promenading along our quay. We took time out from our chores to speak to them; the conversation ranged over many topics including the ineptitude of the Greek government and the ownership of the Elgin marbles.

They said we could not leave the Peloponnisos without making a visit to the ancient town of Messini, just outside Kalamata.

N.B. You will have observed many interesting or unusual spellings in this Blog. However, they are not all down to my dyslexia. Greek place names never seem to be spelt the same way twice. This Messini can also be spelt Mycenae. Pippa tells me it has something to do with transliteration. That seems as good an excuse as any.

The ancient city of Mycenae

We were picked up the following morning and given a conducted tour of the ruins. The gentlemen were obviously very proud of them, and with good reason. They are very fine.

Our guide explained while picking up a stone “This is Andreas, I am every where here”. He showed us his favourite olive tree, overlooking the ruins, where, as a young boy, he would seek shade from the sun to play his wooden pipe.

It transpired that Andreas had a small house in the town. We were invited in for afternoon tea, which consisted of very strong Greek coffee, delightfully/disgustingly sweet pastry and a glass of Tsipouro, a local liqueur (moonshine) distilled from grape skins and pips left over from the wine press.

It was a fabulous day out. The generosity and friendliness of the people we meet while travelling never ceases to amaze us.

Taygetos mountains from Koroni

In between distractions, we have been hard at work getting Sula ready for our next cruise. We are almost there. We won’t ever get all the jobs done, but we won’t let that stop us going.

Last week we had a test sail. We revisited Koroni, a lovely small harbour on the south east side of the Gulf of Messina, then off to Pilos on the Ionian side of the peninsular. Pilos is a fascinating natural harbour and the scene of the bloody battle of Navarinon that brought the Greek war of independence to its successful conclusion.

It was easy to imagine, as we sailed into the harbour, that we were one of Admiral Codrington’s 26 ships about to do battle with the Turko-Egyptian fleet of 89 warships.

Pilos

On our way back to Kalamata we visited the delightful village of Methoni with its splendid Venetian fort and Turkish tower. The fort was closed to the public, so we paddled our dingy round the sea walls, found a weak link in the defences and mounted our own water-born invasion.

Methoni

We were pleased with our test sail. Everything, or anyway most things seemed to work, and we could remember, after a fashion what ropes to pull and when to pull them.

We have said our goodbyes and will sail off as soon as we get a reasonable forecast.

The plan is to round the Matapan and Maleas peninsulas, then head north east to the Northern Cyclades (Aegean). We will spend the rest of the spring and early summer slowly working our way south through the Dodecanese (south east Aegean) and on to Turkey. Before it gets too hot we plan to haul Sula out of the water and leave her to dry out while we head to cooler the climes. We are not really sure quite where, but you can bet your boots there will be mountains in sight.

The Taygetos Mountains

Sunday 14th March was a good day. Though unfortunately, Pippa was unable to join in on this occasion. The plan was to go with the Kalamata EOS club to do some tree planting in an area devastated by the fires two years ago.

I realised we would be working above the snow line and it was likely to be very cold indeed. I therefore turned up at the appointed place at 8 O’clock in the morning, wearing my mountain boots, warm clothing and heavyweight waterproofs. Ready for anything and as it turned out a jolly good job too.

The plan had been changed; we weren’t to plant trees today. Instead we were going to take the opportunity presented by the fine weather to climb the 1,852 metre ‘Dry Mountain’ Xerovouna

Manolis - The President of Kalamata EOS
On Xerovouna

I was handed an ice axe and a pair of crampons, asked if there was anything else I needed, and bundled into the club’s mini bus.
Nine of us set off along the Sparti road, simply happy to be going to the hills.

The climb itself wasn’t technically difficult, though you had to watch your step in one or two places. We followed a zigzag route along a vague ridge line heading for a pyramid of rock that barred further progress. The obstacle was turned to the right and before very much longer we were breaking through a small cornice onto a minor subsidiary summit.

We were now high in the hills and were rewarded with stunning views across to mountains whose names I have yet to learn. Indeed some discussion took place as to which was our final objective for the day.

The going was now easier and we set off at a brisk pace. At one point a small but steep descent was required. We simply sat down and slid as though on a child’s slide, to whoops of delight.

The mountain I had presumed to be our goal turned out to be a false summit that had to be traversed to put us on the true ridge.
This achieved, all that remained was to persuade our tiring muscles to keep up the good work for just a little longer.

A mist had developed, shrouding the highest peaks. So it was a tremendous bonus to finally reach the top, and be rewarded by the mist lifting to reveal a spectacular panorama of high mountains, with Sparti clearly visible to the East and Kalamata in the distance to the South West.

Decent of Xerovouna

We descended by a different route, that led through Christmas card scenes of snow encrusted conifers down into a gorge. Soon a track led us back to the Sparti road just as it was getting dark.

We had been on the go for eight hours. A couple of team members were dispatched to recover the mini bus, and after a little confusion caused by the remaining party accepting a kindly offered lift. We were eventually all united at a convenient taverna.

The following is a report Pippa wrote

for the Kalamata club website

Dee and I celebrated March 1st in grand style with EOS Kalamata. We walked high into the snowy mountains and were rewarded with stunning views of the surrounding area.

Panaghitsa

But first, we need to go back several months.

Shortly after we arrived in Kalamata, Dee was studying the map one evening. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘If we go along here and follow this ridge up, we can join a higher ridge which connects with these mountains. It would make a marvellous day out.’

We duly hired a car and set off for Vorio. The scenery was spectacular; deep gorges and soaring mountains. Our excitement grew as we wound our way up the dusty track. Unfortunately, there was no way through the scrub.

‘Let’s try a bit further up,’ Dee suggested. So we got back into the car and drove a little further on. It was still impossible.

The sun was shining, it was a beautiful day and I was getting impatient, ‘If we don’t start walking soon, the day will be over and we will have wasted it sitting in a car.’

So we abandoned our original plan and walked up the track instead. The views were good; we could see down into the Ridomou Gorge and the peaks of high mountains loomed above us. It was, however, a tedious walk and we felt rather cheated.

On our return to the boat, we studied the photos. ‘There’s got to be a way,’ said Dee. ‘See where those orchards are? I’m sure there must be a track that goes up through them. I’d really like to have another go some time.’

Time passed. We didn’t forget Kolobou or Panaghitsa, but we visited other fine mountains and kept studying the map.

March 1st. The alarm clocks (yes, there were many!) went off at 0630. The mini bus collected us from the marina, which saved us having to cycle over to the headquarters.

We were on our way!

We skirted round Vorio and turned off towards Kentro, then proceeded along a rough and tortuous track, climbing up alongside the fig orchards that Dee had seen in his photos.

This was the way we should have gone all those months ago, but the track is not marked on the map! The mini bus was skilfully parked (Not too close to the edge!) and we piled out, donned our walking kit and the walk started.

The gradient was kind – not too steep to begin with. I so much prefer a gentle start to a walk; it gives you time to get into the rhythm of things.

Eventually, we left the track and started to climb the ridge – Kolobou.
It was a delight; crisp snow that mainly held your weight, interspersed with dry rocks that gave good grip. I began to enjoy myself hugely and the nagging doubt that it would all be too difficult or exhausting, evaporated. I was in the mountains; there was sunshine and blue skies and the company was excellent; just 6 of us, Dee and me and 4 members of EOS. Kalamata.

We finally reached Panaghitsa at 1703m. The views were spectacular. Snow covered ridges and mountains all around us and the sea in the hazy distance. We continued along the ridge avoiding the wind swept cornices and traversing lower down where necessary. It was steep! I was grateful to follow in the steps already cut by the person in front. Judicious use of the ice axe was needed, but conditions were such that we didn’t need our crampons.

We stopped just short of Kokkinovouni. Chalasmeno rose majestically before us and there too was Profit Illias – with a tiny black figure on the summit!

What a fine summit! It is always such a privilege to be in the mountains and we were so proud to be there with our Greek friends.

Panaghitsa

We descended via the west ridge of Kokkinovouni. I found it steep and tiring, but it was a good way down. We finally regained the track and walked the last kilometre to the waiting minibus.


I am so grateful to our Greek companions for making it all possible. Not only did they transport us there and show us the way, but they shared delicious figs and walnuts with us and included us in the conversation by talking to us in English. How we wish we could speak more Greek!

A wonderful day in the hills.

Back to Dee again.

The cherry on our mountain cake came just two days later.
We hired a car, made an early start and headed off to Sparti.
Our goal was to climb the highest mountain in the Taygetos range, Profitis Ilias.

Profitis Ilias.

We parked the car at the snow line and headed steeply up a forest path that led to the Sparti EOS mountain refuge. It was closed on this occasion, although we had stayed here on a previous attempt on the mountain.

As we gained height we realised that the footprints in the snow we were following deviated from the way marked route. However visibility was good and we could see that it was a logical if rather steep alternative. We could always turn back if it proved too difficult.

As we gained height our ski poles were put away in favour of ice axes, essential in this terrain to arrest a slip. The snow condition was excellent and secure footholds were obtained by a good heavy kick of a size nine (or size six) boot.

Five hundred feet from the summit it got quite steep, and we met some snow ice. A handy rock provided a small but sufficient seat, while we fitted our crampons. Thus equipped we were able to continue. The gradient soon eased and all of a sudden there we were on the summit.

Profitis Ilias summit

We were rewarded with a fabulous panorama. The sun was shining, the sky was clear, and the whole Taygetos range was laid out beneath our feet. It was, however, very cold and an icy wind soon ushered us away.

We elected to followed the normal route down. It was very icy at first, however the gradient was easy and we made quick progress to a sheltered outcrop of rock for a late lunch.

Lunch time - Giving my crampons a rest

As we lost altitude the snow became softer and softer. Footsteps would collapse without warning, and one would sink in up to ones knees.
Exhausting work and very slow. We literally ploughed our way down past the refuge and into the woods, where thankfully the snow was less deep.

After nine hours of almost continuous climbing, we arrived back at the car, where hot coffee and a bag of cinnamon buns revived us no end.
We were ecstatic, it had been a brilliant day. It took a long while for the Cheshire cat grins to leave our faces.

N.B. If you have enjoyed our ramblings, you may find the Kalamata EOS web site amusing. It’s not all in Greek.