A Dirty Bottom

So finally fuelled, watered, solar panelled and vaguely provisioned, we were ready for the off, and excitement was rising.

We then got a message from sailing buddy Lindsay to say that there was a diver in the marina who would ‘clean your bottom’ for about 50 Euros.

So M went off to find him. However the next day was Sunday and he was not very keen to get up early before we were hoping to set off.

So in the end we set sail with a slimy hairy hull.

How did Noddy get aboard

It was a nice day of very little wind and we motored for a few hours out of Marmaris and SW down the coast of the peninsula. After a few hours the wind piped up on cue, and off we went.

It was good to get all the ropes sorted out under relatively controlled conditions.

This was just as well as by the time we rounded to point of the peninsula and heading N into the straits of Symi we were reefed fore and aft and doing 7.5 knots as the afternoon breeze accelerated us round the corner.

We had debated whether to go to one of our favourite isolated anchorages for a period of solitude and tranquility, or head to the town of Bozburun.

On the mention of a Pide the decision was made and we turned sharply to starboard and headed for Bozburun. A good sail to start our trip.

Mid April is really just the start of the sailing season and the harbour was quiet with just a few boats in, and was mostly being used for fishing. You will remember the fishing game with magnets you had as a kid, well a bit like that with people on all sides of the harbour massacring little fish. I don’t know what they were going to do with them as they looked far too small to eat. Perhaps they were to be pets, or fed and fattened until they got to edible dimensions. Who knows.

New crew

We made contact with Osman and Lynne of the Gordon Restaurant and had a pleasant meal there. The conversation fell to the changing world of sailing in the area. Lynne opined that most of her old UK clients had given up, or passed to the other side, and most of the sailors are now of other nationalities, including Turks and Russians. This makes sense in many ways as this is their locale rather than ours. I think it is also the case that the sailors from the UK and Europe of the generation before us, the real cruising Corinthians, are nearly gone. Our generation are not really taking up the baton and the next generation will not have the resources for costly leisure activities, in the gerontocracy under which they live.

Times are apparently changing in Bozburun too. The quiet paradise is being infiltrated by incomers, mainly from the cities who have the money to buy a piece of rural bliss, away from pollution and  covid zones. The locals do not see this as invigorating growth to the local economy, but an assault on their community. Similar to changing population patterns in UK and elsewhere. Life doesn’t stand still.

 

We had a two day stay in Bozburun and enjoyed the Muezzin, who is one of M’s favourites. Beer was drunk and coffers filled with supplies. 

A new trend in meal photography

We were however lusting after some solitude so set off in light breezes for our favourite spot at the head of the gulf. This is a bay with the most idyllic  surroundings, excellent holding and total protection from the prevailing winds. It is also usually fairly uninhabited. There was one other boat there but we cannot hope to be totally exclusive in our enjoyment of perfection.

 

Rock fall landed right way up!

We were due to meet up with Livianda at Loryma.  They had arrived a few days after us at their base in Fethiye and had done a long hike under engine over two days to meet us.[

 

However, our perfect peace and harmony was disrupted by a concern. On the way from Marmaris I had noticed a noise I was not familiar with. It was a bit of a clatter coming from the gearbox. Not totally worrying but something I did not recognise.

 

I had a look at the transmission fluid in the gearbox. I had checked it annually but had never changed it. To my horror I discovered it was way overfilled. On checking the Owner’s Manual I found this is about the moist heinous crime that can be perpetrated on an MS25L gearbox, with grave warnings. I am pretty certain I had not done it. Indeed the spare bottle of transmission fluid on board is full and came with the boat. So it must have been like this since the new transmission was fitted before before I bought it.

Noisy gearbox

I withdrew all the fluid and refilled it with the correct amount. However it was not the normal nice red colour, but had a blackish tinge to it. When I got online and did some research this means that the fluid had overheated at some point, and this might compromise its lubrication properties.

Cooked ATF

 However the main risk of overfilling is that the high pressure can overcome the oil seals and oil can escape to the clutch and cause it to slip. This had not happened so we had been lucky. I just hope the gears have not been badly affected.

 

 

Our next journey was S to Loryma. We sailed the whole way with a brisk SW wind and ended up screaming down the Symi channel again and round the point of the peninsula to the ancient city and bastion at Loryma.

 

Greetings were made with Livianda and crew, beers drunk, anecdotes exchanged and a meal take ashore at the famous (to some) donkey restaurant.

 

Livianda is a Turkey based boat, UK registered. So they are required to exit Turkey and re-enter every 5 years. We had planned that we and they would face the rigours of the Greek and Turkish  states together. We had previously used a nice chap called Gurkan of Pera Sailing based in Bozburun as our agent for exiting Turkey, and he was very efficient and made a painful task painless. So we planned to see him again.

 

 

The next day was again a good sailing day with NW winds. We retraced our steps back up to our perfect bay. 

Fishing doesn't change much

On previous trips the two boats had been fairly evenly matched, with us having the advantage on some points of sail and Livianda on others. However it was clear we were significantly slower this season. Almost certainly this is a consequence of our dirty bottom! This is a circumstance we cannot tolerate, however it is way too cold at the moment to force M over the side with a scraper. I had a brief (very) dunk in the sea and it is still at gasping temperature. We will just need to wait for it to warm up a bit.

 

 

 

We then headed for Datca, the largest town in the area and one of our favourite places. There was a brisk NW forecast and we set off going great guns. However the wind direction was more directly SW than NW, which was strange. As we approached Datca there was a brisk 15kts  piping up the channel between Symi and Datca and we were on port tack. However as we approached the mainland and the row of windmills over the isthmus to the E of Datca there was a sudden windshift of almost 180 degrees as the wind  whistled over the isthmus. Then again as we headed SW the wind suddenly stopped and shifted again to the S. Presumably the captains of the age of sail were very familiar with winds changing direction round land masses, and stopping dead at various points. At least we can switch on the engine when needed rather than getting the rowers out of their bunks.

Strange wind directions.

 

We moored up at Datca in a scene of destruction. They had extended their town quay with a steel framework and wooden boards to lie over the rocky ballast that lined about half of their quay area. This in order to allow more boats to moor up and participate in the revenue of the town. However each year over winter they have southerly storms and this year the storms had destroyed this development. All the wooden boards were gone and a section of the steel framework transformed into a twisted metal piece of modern art. It must have been quite a storm.

 

I was keen to replace my cooked transmission fluid but I could not find a shop that had it. Eventually I tried asking the young Marinero who had assisted  us to berth. Google translate was used to try to identify ATF. Whatever Automatic Transmission Fluid was translated into Turkish resulted in the fuel truck being called. In order to avoid an International Incident I accepted the fuel thinking this was part of the deal to get the ATF, but no, after loading up with the small amount of fuel we could accept the driver declined to offer up the ATF and left somewhat disgruntled at the small sale he had made.

 

I had identified on Google maps an industrial area out of town where car maintenance was done so it seemed likely I could get ATF there. I was just about to leave to get a taxi when the Marinero appeared joyfully brandishing a red bottle of just the right stuff. Relieved not to have to go on an uncertain foray I delightedly paid him and added a tip a lot more generous than my usual.

 

ATF Hurrah!

We had a nice couple of days in Datca visiting local Turkish ‘canteen’ restaurants for our meals with the aid of Google translate to identify what was on the menu, and a lot of patience and tolerance from the staff. These restaurants provide no fuss cheap food and are mostly busy with locals. Big pots of stews and soups line up and big dollops served with welcome and good humour. The food is excellent, good wholesome locally sourced ingredients. An excellent model .

 

 

 The weather was set fair for a few days with gentle mornings and brisk NW winds in the afternoons. We planned to set off W towards the town of Palamut and then on to the archaeological site at Knidos.

 

All was well as we motored off. The gearbox noise seemed somewhat better and it was working normally. After 15 minutes or so however a new unfamiliar noise emerged. This was a load hum, not unpleasant but definitely present and slowly getting louder. It was clearly related to our prop speed and as I eased off the throttle it would go, only to return a few minutes after picking up the revs again.

 

Fortunately I had left the aft cabin empty so I could get at the gearbox so down I went to rummage in the nether regions of the boat again.

 

Stern Gland --Hot!

What I discovered was that the stern gland and prop shaft were hot to touch. I had not tried touching them while underway before but this did not seem right.  The Volvo Penta has a bespoke stern gland system that is a rubber boot with seals running on the rotating prop shaft. It is all lubricated by its own water supply via a through hull fitting with a reverse scoop to force water through at pressure. The water then exits at the back of the tube that the prop shaft runs in through the cutlass bearing. It dawned on me that as the boat had been afloat all winter and we had not had the chance to clean the hull, this water intake might well be blocked causing a lubrication failure of the stern gland and the overheating and hum.

 

The wind had got up by now and I could switch off the engine to ponder what to do as we were sailing along nicely and only a few miles from Palamut, our intended destination.

At this point Livianda piped up on the VHF radio to say that Palamut was full of boats that had overwintered there and there was no space for itinerants.

 

So we agreed to implement plan B and carry on sailing to Knidos some 10 miles further to the W.

 

By this time the wind had arrived in force and we were reefed and sailing hard upwind, well heeled over on a starboard tack and having fun.

 

Suddenly M noticed some water on the floor boards near the aft heads compartment. It didn’t seem much at first and she hoped to avoid being the bearer of worry and quietly peered into the bilges. There didn’t seem much at first but it soon became clear that it was accumulating ...and the bilge water alarm went off.

 

A worried face emerged up the gangway. I asked her to taste the water to confirm if it was the sea or not, and it was.

 

Now the golden rules of sailing are 1. Keep the water out of the boat. 2 Keep the people in the boat and 3 Don't hit anything.

 

We had broken rule 1. By about a dozen buckets full. In true Batman and Robin style, to find out what happens next you will need to tune in to the next episode of Keep Your Bottom Clean.