We count ourselves very fortunate to have mostly clear sailing (motoring in the Med) and peaceful nights at anchor. The last 36 hours though, have been anything but....
|Our good-bye to The Gulf of Kotor|
We left The Bay of Kotor, Montenegro with a light south wind and were able to sail wing-on-wing about 30 miles dead downwind. This a bit persnickety with shifty wind but it’s comfy and effective. It was great to sail - too often Milly is a motorboat in the Med.
Arriving in Cavtat, Croatia to clear in to the country, we were ready to come alongside the customs dock as directed. My lines and fenders were prepared for a starboard docking. But with a visual, we realized that a Med moor was required. This means that the anchor is dropped about 3 boat lengths in front of the “parking space” and Peter backs the boat in perpendicular to the wall while I let out the chain and then dash to the stern to throw the ready lines to the guy on dock. Except my anchor was not ready and the fenders were all on one side as were the lines. And this was our first time Med mooring so the theory had to be put into practice and it’s never as straightforward as it reads. Running, panting, sweating in a 35 degree sun blast moving lines, fenders, readying anchor while the guy on shore beckoned us urgently to an available spot. Ready!
Another problem, wind on the beam, our high freeboard acts like a sail, making steering between two superyachts a challenge. The hired crew come to the rail with fenders to ward off wayward yachts. Peter managed perfectly, I threw the lines with aplomb and Milly was safe. Phew!
For the first time, I had to do the clearing in bureaucracy - the dock guy requested that Peter stay aboard to take care of the boat if necessary. First stop, the police who took our passports, directed me to the harbourmaster’s office and told me not to come back for 30 minutes - they were having lunch. Couldn’t find the harbourmaster office. Asked guy with (super)yacht uniform and VHF radio clipped to his belt - dead give away - and he very courteously gave directions with British accent. Harbourmaster needed lots of cash - Croatia has exorbitant cruising tax plus some other tax. Went to ATM for $$. Harbourmaster didn’t have small change. Went to ice cream vendor who kindly provided change - I promised to return for a cone. Back to police. Door firmly shut. Waited ten minutes, knocked, door opened, they took stamped papers provided to me by harbourmaster (I was the deliverer) and then I was done. And Peter does this every time! Back to boat, more cash paid to dock guy. We were told to leave immediately. There were plenty of boats waiting for our space.
No time to change so in my best bureaucracy duds that were fast becoming sweaty, I let go of the stern lines and reeled them in. Meanwhile, Peter took up the anchor chain blindly from the helm. I ran to the bow to take over anchor detail but my remote didn’t work! Damn! I could tell something was amiss at the anchor - it was chugging up at a belaboured pace, like it was pulling up…another anchor. And one of the charter boats at the quay was yawning toward us.
|The walk to the police and somewhere down there, the harbourmaster's office.|
|The customs dock and town the day after...|
Meanwhile, the wind was pushing Milly across the bows of the super yachts with their anchor chains slicing down into the water. Peter is now sweating too, even though he is not in the sun. Rude guys are coming onto their bows and yelling at me to be careful of their chain. I respond with some vigour that of course we are trying to be careful of their ^%%^$#%^^* chain - it would do more harm to Milly then to their chain. Finally, I get my remote working - somehow I figured out previously that I have to push the light button three times when the windlass motor seems to die - we should really get that fixed! I pull up, let down, pull up and see an anchor chain around our anchor with another anchor dangling from it. Oh, shit! Working with chain underwater with a madly swingling, difficult to steer boat attached is almost impossible. Eventually, Peter reverses back into our dock place. I throw the lines to an asshole on the dock who has the impudence to tell me how to throw the line. Lots of quiet swearing - I did not thank him for his help. Back to the bow where Peter could join me. Raised the anchor to within sight and diving depth. Peter dove to the anchor and secured a line. It is scary being in the water with boats motoring about. It was my job to haul our anchor up so that the chain of the other anchor would “slip” off. With the two Russian guys from the charter yacht and the nice Brit who had directed me on shore on the superyacht, as well as a crowd of onlookers on the dock cheering me on, I tried and tried again to lift the bloody anchor at all angles. Peter also rooting me on from the water. I almost felt that I was in child labour again with everyone telling me to push. This time it was a pull. Finally, got it. Released from the chain! Cheering from all sides. The rest was easy. We motored away, anchored in the next harbour, cooled down in the sea and had a beer or two. On doing some research, Peter added an “anchor thief” which releases chains from over anchors to his Milly wish-list. He never thought he’d need one and maybe we never will again - but we’ll be ready if we do.
|Our view of the shoreline as we settled for the evening. Serene! But not so several hours later.|
Before settling for the evening, I dove on the anchor to make sure it was secure and found that the bottom was covered in thick grass as far as I could see. The anchor was dug in…grass. Foreshadowing!
At about three a.m., I was awakened by the distant rumble of thunder and the occasional flash of lightning. Otherwise, it was very still, no wind, dead calm seas. Over the next half hour the thunder became a roar and the lightning brilliant. We scuttled around putting electronics in the oven which probably does nothing but makes us feel better, closed portlights etc. And then the wind hit with a sudden ferocity. And all hell broke loose.
Our App that alerts us to a dragging anchor alarm went off. It was very dark. Peter went into the cockpit and said, “We’re too close” , meaning, I soon understood, too close to shore. Rain was pelting down and the wind was blowing. Two docks seemed to be feet away as was a very firm cement wall. We were in 1.5 m depth of water - our keel hits at 1.2 m. After grabbing a flashlight, I could just see that a buoy line demarcating a swimming area came behind our starboard stern but came out our port side about where the propeller is. Lots of yelling…
(I should add that Peter has had a plugged ear for a few days. He has not been able to hear my loving words of encouragement or my frantic directions. We have prepared it with hydrogen peroxide and I had planned to syringe it today - excuse the health professional talk. All of our exchanges - bow to helm, stern to helm - are done at full volume with many “I can’t hear you.” exclamations. This definitely threw an added challenge into the situation.)
…”Don’t use the port engine!!” “Go right!” “No, left!” “Go forward!!” “Watch out for the dock!!” Eventually, we figured out that Milly was held tight. We couldn’t escape. We had to jump in to find out what was holding us in place. Already soaked and shivering, I opted for the water instead of trying to keep the boat in place with one engine in the mayhem on the surface. Wearing swimming goggles only, I jumped in to find the buoy line so tightly wrapped around the propeller and shaft that it had to be cut. That complete Milly started to move and poor Peter who couldn’t start the engine until I was on but couldn’t see where I was, was yelling, “Get on the boat!” which I happily did. We were free!! We reanchored further from shore among the superyachts. Peter succumbed to bed, and I, after my energizing dip and a hot shower stayed up on anchor watch. There was no way I was going to be able to sleep!
|Cavtat, the day after.|
The a.m. was bright and sunny and hot. We planned to explore the sweet looking town of Cavtat. After Peter dove on the shaft to cut off the remains of the buoy line and we set the anchor which we couldn’t do proficiently with only one engine the night before, we noticed some gray cloud upwind. We decided to sit tight.
The gray fast became larger with a defined darker grey arc leading the way. The wind at Milly was still only a few knots but in the distance and advancing quickly right down the bay to us was a band of whitecaps. It hit hard and fast. From no wind to more than 30 knots - the highest Peter saw was 39. Peter turned on the engines to assist the hold on our anchor. We watched as all but two super yachts dragged in chaos around us. Each of half a dozen yachts were broadside to the wind getting blown very quickly toward the rocky shoreline. One person was on the bow windswept and wet the other was at the helm. Lots of faint yelling to be heard. Some tried to reanchor, others motored off in search of a more protected anchorage. We held along with our superyacht neighbours. The wind remained sustained, the whole sky was grey and it didn’t look like we would find any relief soon. Initially, Peter kept the boat in place with the aid of the engines. Gradually, the wind eased enough to turn the engines off but the wind was veering gradually too. Once it veered 90 degrees our anchor gave up! And we started to slip.
No real problem. Engines were already on so Peter had control. I weighed anchor to find at least 60 cm of thick clay/mud packed onto the anchor. No wonder it couldn’t reset as the boat turned. It took me at least 15 minutes of stabbing the heap with the boat hook while the anchor hung off the bow roller and the occasional dip into the water to rid the Rocna of it’s sticky unwelcome visitor.
Now where to go? Across the bay we found an anchorage that had a sandy bottom and was relatively protected from the still high wind with calm waters. We set the anchor and relaxed. We didn’t leave the boat but enjoyed beer, wine, a pasta dinner and I went to bed early.
|My imagination tells me that this once villa now pockmarked with very round scars was the dining room etc of the resort. Sad, tragic times.|
Peter, though, stayed awake to make sure that the boat did not get too close shore in the now calm sea. The current was pushing us in, the wind when it came pushed us out. We now hoped for wind - go figure. Eventually, he felt good enough to escape in sleep.
It’s been a very busy, over-stimulating 36 hours. We now have a certain anxiousness about finding protected anchorages with excellent, not just good, holding. Apparently, eel grass is rampant on the Med floor. Oh, for the sand and consistent winds of the tropics!...occasionally we yearn for them! But...Dubrovnik calls.