Swallows and Amazons

After successfully dispatching John and Sharon in Orhaniye, a vague plan was hatched to go sailing where the wind took us and off we set into the breeze. Serendipity took over and we followed the vagaries of the weather Gods and headed West. We ended up in Palamut towards the end of the Datca peninsula.

Summertime. Looking good.

The sail to Palamut was to be up-wind, a long beat of some 30 miles. Livianda motored into pole position. In sailing terms this is behind the opposition so you have a target to aim for. Up went his sails and we were off.

Livianda pointing well.

On the first starboard tack I watched behind me with some satisfaction as his dimension diminished, but he was probably pointing a bit higher than me. There was a decent breeze and we were scooting along at 6-7 knots.

 When we tacked onto port we were probably a bit ahead, but not by much. However something was not right. On port tack we were 1-2knots slower! I tweaked and adjusted but I could not get the sweet spot I had had on starboard. And worse than that Livianda was clearly pointing higher, and, going faster!

I then made a series of ill advised and unnecessary tacks to try to get a wind advantage going round a point. By this time they were out of sight, and we returned to being what we do best, cruising.

While moored a few days earlier we had both taken the opportunity of resetting our depth gauges. These are essential safety items but following late night conversation it became clear that neither of us had a clue as to whether we were measuring the depth under the keel, or from the transducer mounted in the hull, or the true water depth from the surface. So out came my bit of medieval technology, the lead line.

 I swung the lead in traditional fashion and worked out that I was measuring from none of the approved standards, and neither was Livianda. So we both reset the offset in our instruments. I set mine to be the depth under the keel with a safety margin of 0.5 of a metre.

Just before we entered the harbour in Palamut, M read out the Rod Heikell pilot book to me, thereby passing on all responsibility for subsequent calamity, and noted that he said that the harbour entrance was prone to silting and there were rocks and shallows in the entrance.

Just at this moment Livianda radioed on the VHF to say they were successfully berthed, but they would be interested to know what our newly calibrated depth sounder showed when we came in.

As we approached the entrance we could see rocks and boulders off the Southern tip. Through the crystal clear water we could also see the bottom quite clearly. The anxiety levels rose a bit when one of the several swimmers who seemed to be intent on impeding our entry stood up! There was not a lot of water there.

I inched in slowly. If we did touch it was probably going to be soft silt, but another insurance claim might not go down well. I could just see the surveyor getting out the taxi again.

The depth sounder slowly dropped. 2 metres, 1 metre, 0.8 metres, 0.4 metres 0.1 metres. Sphincters tightening I bravely went forward. 0 metres, thank goodness for my safety margin. It continued to read 0 metres all the way in until I was inside the harbour when it slowly registered a positive reading.

We berthed uneventfully. I remembered the cheerful harbourmaster in a cowboy hat, and he seemed to remember us as well. We must have made an impression previously.

Thinking about this afterwards I have reviewed my policy of having a safety margin below 0 on the depth sounder. When it came to it I had no idea whether we were going aground or not, so in fact making the reading the exact depth below the keel would have been much more useful. Ah well, experiential learning.

Gulet under full sail.  Nice.

Our next destination was Bodrum. I had memory of a slightly down at heel dusty city with a range of genuine fake tourist shops.

But I needed fuel and also there was a brisk Southerly wind forecast. The prevailing wind in this region is the Meltemi which blows from the North out of the Black Sea through the Bosphorus and down the Aegean. It then takes various turns around the coast and in this area is predominantly from the North West. So all the major ports are designed around this and are generally exposed to Southerly storms. So although there is a good anchorage in Bodrum under the castle it would be uncomfortable in a strong Southerly and we opted to go to the Marina even though the cost would make Scottish eyes water.

The sail there was a bit disappointing with the wind failing to materialise until we actually got there, but as always it piped up big time just in time to make the berthing difficult. Indeed I understand that Livianda had a bit of an incident in which reverse progress while parking was only arrested by contact with the jetty. We’re much too polite to go into further details and no doubt they will have plenty tales to retaliate with before we’re finished. [ Datcha rock incident will never be forgotten !]

Bodrum St Peter's Castle

Bodrum is the site of ancient Halikarnasos, a major city and centre of early Mediterranean history. There is a wonderful museum in the Castle of St Peter, an important Crusader stronghold.

We had arrived with great cultural intent, but ended up finding a wonderful back street restaurant instead. Bodrum has changed hugely since we were last here 20 years ago. Very chic shops and extensive development of the tourist centre. We ended the evening in a lively street bar with live Spanish guitar and singing. Spontaneous dancing for the less inhibited. Excellent. Seemed to be a birthday party going on and we were given great generous slices of chocolate cake to go with our Raki.

Still never saw the museum.

Back streets of Bodrum.

The next day we set off further up the Gulf of Gokova to Cokertme (co-cher-tmy). This was a brisk down wind sail ot 20 nautical miles with a following sea that heaped up a bit by the time we got there. 

We developed a new technique of having two boom preventers rigged, one on each side. This is to prevent the boom swinging across the boat if the helmsman gets it wrong and an accidental gybe occurs. Basically we have two ropes going from the boom, forwards to the midships cleats and then back to the stern cleats. This means they can be swapped over easily following a gybe (intentional) without the crew risking life and limb by going forwards during a big seaway. Seemed to work fine and avoided the usual anxiety of someone having their head removed.

We got there first (for a change) and anchored up in a cove with two stern lines taken ashore. This involves some nifty dinghy work, mountain goat skills and advanced knot tying from the crew. Well done M.

Livianda followed in and did the same with M doing the deft dighy and rope work. Unfortunately after a while a blast of wind came in and blew us all sideways a bit. Livianda’s anchor failed and they had to go out and do it all again. More nifty dinghying.

The process repeated a few hours after this and Livianda had to leave promptly. This time they had had enough and headed for the restaurant abandoning their shore lines.

They seemed to take a long time to retrieve the anchor and we witnessed a lot of running about on deck.

It subsequently transpired that the clutch on the windlass had given way and the whole chain had run out uncontrolled to the bitter end. Once a spanner was appropriately applied normal service was restored. It is likely that this was why their anchor had appeared to drag in the first place.

Scary dude.

We settled down to a quiet evening aboard. The Gulet next to us had carefully prepared their anchor and lines, and indeed had laid a further line from their bow.

It was a bit breezy but this seemed excessive.

Later that night we found out why. We were parked right below a steep and high mountain. About 3 a.m. catabatic winds started there was a sudden increase in the wind with huge dollops of cold air falling off the mountain and giving gusts of 30-40 knot winds across our bows. I sat up for several hours watching the anchor but we held firm. Magically as soon as sunlight appeared around 5 a.m., the cataclysm ceased. Off to bed.

The next day we set sail further East down the gulf. Again it was a nice down wind sail which is the most relaxed way to go. We ended in another nice bay called Sogut (there are more bays than names) and our pilgrimage round restaurants of the eastern Mediterranean continued. What size will we end up.

Bodrum to Cokertme to Sogut. Down wind.

We had just about gone as far east as is feasible so, what goes east must go West. Our next trip was to a magical little gulf called Amazon creek.

We started off going to a favourite tripper boat venue, Cleopatra’s beach. The legend is that sand was brought by ship from Africa to create a beach on which she could languish, and indeed there is evidence that sand there is not local. I am sure Mark Anthony, camel’s milk and Asps all come into it somewhere.

As we anchored up and popped in for a swim, M suddenly noticed something happening to the N of us. A huge storm system was developing. Very shortly there was thunder and then visible lightening and the clouds were popping up both N and E of us with alarming speed and grandeur. A quick check on windy confirmed that this locale was in for it.

All the electronics were popped in the oven, after a quick confab with Livianda we decided to exit stage left and try to out run the gathering storm. The wind picked up a bit from the W but we headed off into it and remarkably managed to keep ahead of the gathering system.

A big one!

There are lots of storms out here. The vast majority are short lived and a bit of huffing and puffing and pyrotechnics but you never can be sure. 

We have seen similar systems take the roofs off restaurants, a mini tornado ran through our home base in Marmaris causing extensive damage and we have been caught out at sea a few times so they are not to be taken lightly. A few years ago a sudden summer storm sank several boats at their moorings in Lefkas causing fatalities.

Exit stage left. Pronto.

Anyway all was good. My only anxiety was that M had tried to start the engine and something was not right. It would not start. I subsequently did it and the key went round too far before it started. She had bust it!

We were sailing quite nicely but I thought I should explore what was happening before we got to our destination. 

The key just rotated in its housing. We were just rounding a point, which can be a tricky area as winds can be fickle, come from unexpected directions and suddenly fail. So I radioed Livianda and asked them to stand by as we had an issue.

Out came the screw drivers and the engine instrument panel was taken apart. Having done this I managed to hold the lock barrel from behind the panel and stabilise it while the key turned and thankfully the trusty old donkey started right up.

I kept it running until we got to our destination.

Shonky wiring. Some attached by a single fibre.

Exploring the issue further I found that it had been previously bodged and the whole thing was only held in place by silicone sealant. I am somewhat used to shonky wiring having been involved in fiddling with old Moto Guzzis but this was a disgrace, even for an Italian electrician. [ M. Thank you… not my fault at all !!!!!]

Happily it is now sorted and restored using crimped connectors and epoxy putty. The worry is that this could have failed at any time, and usually it would be a critical moment.

3am anchor check.

Amazon creek has got to one of the most serene places on the planet. There were just the two boats anchored in a beautiful little creek with pine trees on both sides extending down to the shore. Beautiful. We even had the delight of a full moon.

Amazon creek.

A further hop west took us to the lovely bay of Mersincik. This was a new find for us. Beautiful emerald water and good holding for us to anchor overnight. The land around the bay is a private estate so no exploring allowed, although a polite notice does offer walks avoiding the many fruit orchards. It was a lovely peaceful spot.

Aaaaah

By this time supplies were dwindling and Datcha was calling again. Once past the cape at Knidos we had a cracking sail along the coast and berthed without incident. Well, nearly. 

We were called on to berth by the harbourmaster between two English boats. One a Halberg Rassy flying  a Cruising Association pennant (like us), and a Hanse flying an RAF pennant and a RAF defaced Blue Ensign. 

As we approached I could see that the Group Captain's anchor was at a very jaunty angle and we were going right over it and were inevitably going to drop our chain across his.  "I say old chap" he started to protest. "Some blighter has laid your anchor across my final approach path" I got in before he could continue the reproach.

 He was actually quite sanguine about it, especially when I assured him we were leaving before him the next morning.

It is unavoidable in this harbour. It is an irregular C shape so there is an inevitability of anchors fouling and indeed we have many past experiences of this. Everybody does it sometime.

 Nobody was particularly concerned. It transpired our neighbours were staying a second night, so as long as we left before them, everything should be fine.

This guy tracked us a bit spookily.

So we had an interesting evening with the search for the best Pide in town. Indeed we found the one that the locals clearly favoured. Culinary delight for £3 a head. No alcohol though.

The evening was still young and we fancied trying an interesting looking bar in the backstreets promising live music. It was a beautiful restored stone building.

 A sax beckoned us inside. A small stage draped in burgundy velvet and gold tassles revealed an unusual selection of instruments and deep introverted jazz going on. 

I think it was an open mic night. The 3-4 serious people of the audience glared at us as we shuffled to our seats and ordered beer. We were the only ones not sporting goatie beards.

The head nodding and serious playing resumed. No talking. I’d like to say that it was a joyous, life changing experience, but it really wasn’t. Much as we like jazz, this wasn’t really our thing and we made a silent exit as soon as it seemed polite. We felt we had escaped as we made our way back to the boat for some noisy conversation and general libation.

We set off the next morning. 

Because of the known anchor problems, every boat owner jumps to attention when the sounds of someone leaving starts up, and takes position on their bow, guarding their anchors and chains, looking forward to some entertainment. Its always disappointing when someone leaves without a problem. So we didn’t like to disappoint.

It was all going extremely well. The water was clear and we glided past the point where we could see our chain crossing the Group Captain's. Easy. Anchor nearly up and …. THUNK.

At first I thought we were just well dug in and breaking out the anchor, but no, there was another anchor well embedded in ours. Blast.

By now the audience had begun to swell and we could hear the clamour rising. 

Looking up, the assembled cognoscenti were enjoying the show and in full flood with random gesticulations and a wild cacophany of conflicting advice. Everyone knows best how to remedy the situation, especially if they can’t see what is actually happening. 

We weren’t too fazed by it. We know what to do and have the appropriate kit. We weren’t in danger of doing any damage and fortunately it wasn’t too windy.

 Colin managed to get a rope around the alien anchor and tied it to a cleat. He then dropped our anchor to free us. Feeling cool and a bit smug. No shouting. No panic. We are in full control here.

But then the button for the electric windlass jammed and our anchor and chain free-dropped uncontrollably. A good 20 metres flew out before he had the inspiration to pull the ruddy thing out. We tried to salvage the situation with our remote control button.

 However when the anchor returned to the surface it had caught in another chain and anchor from a large Gulet.  Now this was anchor macrame with three anchors and chains. Think Christmas puzzles. 

The roar of abuse from the shore rose like a choir in full voice. Everyone was pointing in different directions and swearing in a multitude of tongues.

The skipper of the Gulet was standing on the prow looking somewhat piratical threatening severe consequences if we dropped the first anchor over his.

 I drove around as instructed and Colin did the disentangling using the special hook that had been in his Christmas stocking and presto ...there we were free. We shot off into the sunshine and didn’t wait to see the results of the carnage that we probably left behind ! I think Livianda got their revenge !

Offski.