Storm Central

The strait of Messina is notoriously known for its strong currents, funnelling winds and crazy traffic. A few months earlier as we were coming from the north, we experienced all of the above. Big tankers and container ships going up and down, ferries going across every few minutes, tourists boats taking idiots on a thrill ride and small fishing boats scattered all along the strait. The wind had picked up to over 20 knots and with 2 knots of current we had reached for the first time 8 knots, almost sending us back to the future. 

Today is a very different experience, with only light winds we are motoring along the coast of Sicily, making sure we keep as much distance with the mainland and its big black clouds as possible. Slowly but surely Kujira munches its way up the strait, the traffic is very light today and by midday the black clouds are gone and it even looks like we might make it out of the strait before sunset. As we reached the northern end, we witness for the first time a school of tuna hunting and jumping frenetically in the middle of the strait. While we shouldn’t really be there, as it is pretty much the divide in the middle of a highway, the traffic is so light that we decide to aim for it and maybe catch our dinner. We are not the only ones to dismiss the traffic regulation as a swarm of little fishing tinnies are quick to follow us. It feels a little strange to be admiring the natural world while hoping to kill it .. so it might actually be fortunate that we don’t end up catching one. As soon as we are done with the tunas, we turn to the next show: a beautiful sunset. Big white clouds turn yellow and orange, the sky turns pink and we are taking photos like two idiots who obviously have no idea of what they are witnessing. The clues were pretty big though, and right in our face: cumulus turning cumulonimbus. It starts with thunder soon to be followed by lightning, a lot of lightning. I turn on the radar and know right away that it isn’t good. The internet confirms that a BFS is coming with a CAPE index reaching 4500 J/Kg and more.

The CAPE is the convective available potential energy. It is basically an indicator of atmospheric instabilities. Windy, the weather app, states that a value between 1000 and 2000 indicates a moderate thunderstorm while values over 2000 indicate a severe one. Values over 4000 are used only in cases of extreme instabilities. Basically, we are looking at a beast waking up.

I tell Kim to have a rest while we still can as the night shift may end up being very difficult and full on. While she is down below, I can see the storm getting closer, the lightnings getting more and more numerous and the winds picking up. A mid-sized power boat overtakes us at full speed, obviously running for it’s life. I wish we could do the same but the old whale seems to be dozing off despite the ever increasing swell. It is becoming obvious that we will not outrun it, nor be able to avoid it. It is only a matter of time before hell breaks upon us, if it hasn’t already started. I wrap my cellphone in a thick layer of aluminium foil in case a lighting was to fry all our electronics and we were to lose the plotter. I start looking for alternative options but the north east coast of Sicily has no anchorages and the storm is now coming from the east and the north, squeezing us against the shore and offering no escape routes. Being out on the open sea is not a good plan at all but what can we do? Where can we go? It is getting worse and worse by the minute, night turns to day with every lightning strike and while I wished Kim was sleeping down below, I know she is not. As a matter of fact she is more likely half sea sick, half wishing she was dead and half wishing to kill me.

I follow on AIS the power boat that overtook us to see where he is hoping to find shelter. He is aiming for Milazzo. Should we do the same? Navily, the anchoring app, not only tells me that it would be very exposed to the nasty swell we are now fighting with but also that, in normal conditions, it is a tricky anchorage. On AIS, I also see that a lot of boats are already there, which would make anchoring even more difficult. However, Milazzo is a little peninsula sticking out, with an anchorage on the west side, that we visited a few months ago on our way south. We know where to anchor, we know it is decent holding ground and the peninsula would offer a little protection from the easterly wind which is dangerously increasing. Sure, it is a natural reserve and you need to pay in advance if you want to spend the night there but surely the Guardia Costeria would understand the situation. Now that I have made up my mind, we only have to reach it before it’s too late and anchor in the middle of a storm. 

Kim can not stand any longer being down below and comes on deck. She is pleased with my plan but not with the fact that we are still a good couple hours away. Once again, we push Mr. Perkins to its limits for two long hours which feel like an eternity. We slowly round up the peninsula and all its rocks and shallow reefs. Once on the lee side of the peninsula, the swell becomes more manageable. There are only 2 other boats in the bay, far apart and no one in “our spot” from our previous stay. Of course, as we start lowering the anchor, it gets jammed. With all the bouncing and rolling of the past hours, the anchor chain pile collapsed on itself making it impossible to be lowered and unlike most sailboats, our anchor chain locker is not accessible from deck. Its access panel is in the front cabin and it is closed with 2 butterfly nuts. Kim jumps down below to try to unblock it while I brace myself for the apocalypse, the rain has finally caught up with us. Trying to untangle a chain that weighs over a hundred kilos is not an easy task and by the time Kim succeeds we have drifted and we need to do another lap to reposition ourselves. The second try is the right one and by the time I am back in the cockpit I am soaked to the bones and must look like a miserable cat that has been showered for the first time. As we believe to be finally safe, my brain has hardly the time to register a flash then the noise hits us: KABOOOM! It is absolutely deafening and based on the lack of time between the light and the sound, the lightning strike could not have been more than 300 meters away from the boat. As a matter of fact, we wonder for a minute whether the boat behind us has sustained a direct hit. All our electronics appear to still be functioning and the neighbour doesn’t appear to be calling for help.

Holly chihuahua, that was another close call, much too close for our liking. It is definitely high time for us to leave this part of the Med. I set up the anchor alarm, in case we were to drag and we set a regular alarm for 6am, time by which the storm is meant to be over. It is 11pm and surprisingly we manage to fall asleep.

Beep, beep, beep 

My anchor alarm is ringing, it is 4am.

I quickly jump on deck, the wind has shifted 180 degrees and we are no longer protected by the penninsula. The storm is not over, the wind is howling and the swell is nasty, making Kujira jump up and down like a mad horse. As we turned 180 degrees, we must have unhooked the anchor and Rockna takes a few meters to reset itself. However, now we are way too close to the shore for my liking, even more so considering we are now on the windward side. We basically have two options, leave into the night and ride the storm or re-anchor further out. We opt for the 2nd option and I start raising the anchor while Kim tries her best to keep a panicked Kujira under control. With every wave the front of the boat is going up by well over a meter before crashing down almost instantaneously. Inevitably, Rockna ends up punching Kujira in the nose before we can make our way out by a hundred meters and re-drop the anchor in 14m meters of water. Hopefully we are still on sand. The neighbours has also been woken up by the sudden wind shift and has opted for the 1st option. We see him disappear into the darkness, swallowed by the storm.

Rockna appears to be holding well and we go back to sleep, resetting our clock for 7am.

“Don’t worry, be happy …”

My clock is rigging, it is 7am.

The boat feels a lot steadier but as I poke my head out of the companionway, I can see big black clouds aiming at us. There is no way we can outrun them and by the look of it they will be upon us within the next 20 minutes or so, which they do. I quickly check the weather forecasts, check that we haven’t dragged, reset my clock for 9am and go back to sleep.

“Don’t worry, be happy …”, I am trying, but it’s not easy right now.

My clock is rigging, it is 9am.

We can finally see some blue sky, the storm must be over. Before heading off, Kim has the great idea to go for a wake up swim. Once in the water we realise that a rope is wrapped around our propeller… It must have happened in all the mayhem and chaos of last night and it probably is only out of pure luck that it didn’t jam the motor which could have been fatal not only for Mr. Perkins but also for the whale. 

We hoist the sails as we leave the anchorage and make our way towards the Aeolian islands. The sail is beautiful, Kujira is racing at 6-7 knots, just as eager as us to get away from lightning storms central. It is a strange feeling to be back here. Last time we were complete newbies, racing to make it on time to the eastern side of the Med, now we are still newbies with a few scars, still racing but this time to go west. Today we keep a safe distance with the islands as thunderstorms are developing on top of them for a change. We pass Vulcano, then Lipari and after Salina we finally take a left turn to sail into the sunset. The night is uneventful, for a change and so are the next couple days. It is a mixed bag of slow sailing, motor sailing, good sailing. It looks like we might finally be out of storm central and it is a relief. We see a little bit of wild life, some jumping fish, a turtle, allegedly, and we catch our first Mahi Mahi.

On the fifth day after leaving Catania, we make landfall in southern Sardigna, in the Marine protected area of Capo Carbonara … I knew that learning the name of pastas would pay off one day. We arrive at 10.30 am in a packed anchorage but the bay is so wide and shallow that we find a good spot without too much difficulty. No one around us realises what we have already been through to reach Sardigna, hardly more than a 3rd of our journey between Sicily and Almerimar. We start the day with a well deserved nap, followed by a swim, some food, more swimming, more eating, more sleeping. The weather is beautiful and we are glad we took a day off to stop and rest in the pasta bay. After this 4th final night in Italy, feeling well rested, we leave the anchorage early in the morning, with Formentera as our next goal. It takes us the entire day to go around southern Sardigna due to light winds. As the night starts falling, we see the now way too familiar black clouds rolling in. Once again, no storm had been forecasted but surely it found us. Before we know it, we find ourself beating into 18 knots of wind and short steep waves. The progress is slow, Mr Perkins keeps bleeding to death while providing us with the necessary power to go forward, Kujira decides to transform itself into a U-boot with its bow diving into every wave. It is full on and I end up hand steering for more than 4 hours in a row. By 1am, with Sardigna now behind us, I can hand the whale to Kim and go for a well needed sleep. 

The Med is notorious for its varying weather and sailing conditions, and today is no exception. At some point during the day, the swell dies, the wind eases and we manage to fly the kite for a while before having to drop it entirely and finish the day under engine, which at least makes for a “peaceful” night. We find ourselves running the engine about 25% of the time. It is a bit much but we are still under time pressure and we don’t feel like bobbing around at 2-3 knots waiting for the next storm to hit us. Due to the angle of the wind and the currents, we find ourselves drifting a lot further north than planned. If we are to push even further north, we should be able to reach the southern tip of Minorca and drop the anchor for the night. It sounds like a good plan as this journey from Croatia is draining our stamina faster than a group of pre-schoolers at the zoo.

Southern Minorca doesn’t offer a lot of anchorages and based on Navily, none of them are advised to be attempted a night. We didn’t come all this way to crash Kujira on a rock neither to turn around and do another night sailing, so we drop the anchor in a pass on an alleged sandy bottom between the main island and a tiny rocky island. It is rolly but we don’t care, it will be a better night sleep than a nightshift. 

We wake up under another stormy, uninspiring sky. A quick jump in the sea to reboot the neurons and we get underway towards Majorca, a 40Nm journey. It is another mixed bag day, with squalls up to 27 knots and beating into a terrible swell. However, the anchorage of Cala Angela, our destination for the day, is beautiful and well sheltered. There is no swell, no wind, no storm on the horizon. It is peaceful and we decide right away to spend a couple nights there. 

After dinner, while on the phone with my mum, I suddenly realise that the sky right ahead has turned black, not because of dusk but because of another BFS. I turn on the radar and there is so much electromagnetic activity that it pretty much turns all red. Red is not good. The storm radar on Windy tells me that an incredibly dense storm has left Barcelona an hour ago and is just about to land on us. I have never seen such a high density of recorded lightnings in Windy…

I hang up the phone and we hardly have the time to brace ourselves and close all the panels in the cockpit that the wind jumps from 5 knots to 40 knots within a few seconds. Kujira and its 13 tonnes fat belly are being flattened on the spot. We are heeling like crazy despite not having any sails out. Thousands, if not millions, of litres of waters are falling from the sky. Kujira is trying to escape but Rockna, well dug into the fine white sand of the Balearics is not giving way. In this crazy madness, we are glad to have an anchor one size too big for Kujira, and we are once again grateful for our well protected centre cockpit as we are in shorts and t-shirts, pretty much dry despite the current apocalypse.

To say that Kim is panicking is an understatement and I have to admit that I am not at ease either. But at least I don’t start singing songs to cheer myself up … After a few minutes the wind changes direction and we get thrashed onto the other side. It all feels completely surreal. There is something magnificent about the shear power of nature but I think we have seen enough. 

I don’t know if it lasts 10 minutes or 20 or an hour but by the time we are back in the mid 20’s, a wind speed that would have made us uneasy a few hours ago, it now feels like a relief. Once the storm is over, we stay a while in the cockpit, trying to come to terms with what just happened. Once again, Kujira turns out to be one hell of a champ when “the seaweed hits the propeller”. Another boat in the bay next door wasn’t that lucky, they registered 50 knots of wind and their genoa unfurled itself and blew up. The woman is now so traumatised from this experience that she wants to quit cruising instead of crossing the Atlantic.

   

The following day, we get to know the neighbour, who happens to have a spare key for the Torqeedo outboard and offers it to us. This generous act allows us to set foot on land after having been at sea for 10 days. To my greatest surprise, I can only hear German around us. I am spoken to in German, not Spanish and we end up eating a Bratwurst for lunch as nothing else seems to be available. I knew that Majorca was Germany’s favourite travel destination but we hadn’t noticed it this badly last year when we were boat shopping.

The next couple days are spent making day hops along Majorca. The sailing conditions are dreadful, with lumpy sea, big swell and head wind making the progress slow and painful. Mr. Perkins is doing overtime and slowly sees his retirement age slipping away. He is still oozing oil from every gaskets, obliging me to top it up every 15 hours of use but every time we turn the ignition key, he is present. On the bright side, we catch 4 mackerels which once grilled are absolutely delicious.

To reach Formentera from Majorca, it is a 95Nm overnight sail at our pace. We were hoping to be able to stop over in the Cabrera Islands, a small uninhabited archipelago. Unfortunately, being a protected zone, anchoring is forbidden and there are only a limited amount of mooring buoys. They need to be booked online in advanced meaning with our current luck, they are fully booked. As we sail by, we call the park ranger on VHF but he confirms that no buoys for a boat our size are left. It’s a pity as the place looks stunning and wild. Moreover, it would have been a welcome break in what had been so far a very uncomfortable sail. As the sun goes down, the conditions improve and we end up having a nice downwind sail under the moonlight.

Formentera is a bit of an oddity as it has one of the best and biggest anchorage we have come across in the Med but one of the most expensive marinas too. We have heard from people that food is just as expensive with a pizza meal costing you around 100 euros … Not really keen to verify this story ourselves we opt for the anchorage and mackerel on board. It is a huge shallow bay of white sand. As usual we drop the anchor at the back of the pack, “miles” away from the shore and other boats. Not only it turns out to be the clearest water we have seen in the Med but it also has the best snorkelling. A big chunk of the coastline is a no fishing zone and you can easily tell the benefits of it. The place is such an unexpected surprise that we decide to spend a couple nights there. After all, Almerimar now feels within our finger tips, only 250Nm away. Staying longer in one place means increasing the probability of having to deal with morons. Here are some of the specimens we encountered:

A super yacht, shaped like a fighter jet, arrived at full speed in the anchorage and did a donut a couple hundred meters away from Kujira to stop itself meanwhile dropping the anchor. The skipper must be a big fan of the movie Battleship.. It was then followed by Arabic music blasting for everyone to enjoy, generously on the house. No way I could compete with some Ramstein blasting on my UE boom. A bimbo spent the next hour or so taking selfies at the front of the boat without once taking the time to admire the view. They left before sunset, probably heading to Ibiza or another party hub.

Two charter catamarans decided that, despite the immensity of the anchorage and the fact that we were all the way at the back, dropping their anchors on top of us would be a great idea. As I, politely, pointed out to the nearest one while he was still anchoring that he was hardly 20 meters away from us, I was told to “get lost” … I retaliated with some Ramstein, followed by System of a Dawn while they were trying to enjoy some outdoor time. They did move inside the catamaran but did not re-anchor.

Talking about our experience in Cala Roca with another sailor we met a few weeks later, here is what he told us about his experience in the height of the peak season and his first experience in the Med after coming from the Atlantic.

“I was puzzled to see all these boats with fenders out, in an anchorage?!? Charter boats would arrive at full speed, toss an anchor overboard, drop a few meters of chain and piff paff puff, there is your sangria. As soon as the wind started picking up, I started seeing boats dragging left and right, crashing into neighbours, hence the fenders! I wasn’t too worried as I have a steel boat, but every day, I would watch and wait for the show to begin. The Med is a crazy place…” 

He didn’t go any further than the Balearics Islands before turning back and heading for the Atlantic again.

Fortunately, the sea is not only full of idiots, it is also full of fish sometimes. Within our stay I spend hours in the water, snorkelling and free diving, surviving thanks to my 3mm wetsuit. Unfortunately, by the end of the 2nd day, my right ear is painful and blocked, and will stay blocked for the following 2 weeks, which drove me absolutely crazy.

We are now facing 2 options, either go straight to Almerimar, which should take us roughly 52 hours or stop in Cartagena and split the trip in half. We shall see how the conditions are and decide on the go. The predictions are for a strong south westerly wind reaching 20 knots and for the first time the predictions are completely over estimating it. With a top wind speed of 13 knots, Kujira is dragging its rudder like a dog not wanting to take his owner for a walk. Luckily the sea state isn’t too bad and bobbing at 3 knots is not uncomfortable. The first night sail is uneventful. The 2nd day is just as slow, if not even slower so that we do not manage to reach Cartagena before sunset. Not wanting to enter a port at night and not keen on another night sail, we decide to drop the anchor in a bay along the coast. Once again, I am glad to have a radar as the town’s light in the background are hiding the anchor light of other yachts. 

As we are no longer under time pressure, we decide to stop in Cartagena the next day, just because we can. The marina is not cheap but it is in great condition, with good services and facilities and for the first time since Corsica, we don’t have to do some weird Med mooring or slime line nonsense, we have our own finger pontoon, a true luxury. Cartagena doesn’t have any particular landmarks or ruins, but the city has obviously made a lot of effort renovating the water front and its pedestrian centre, making it a pleasant stop over. It also has an interesting sea archeology museum which goes in depth into the colonisation of the Med. The other particularity is the types of boats you see in the marina. The days of the plastic fantastics, A.K.A. the Tupperwares, is behind us. We now see a lot more heavy duty boats, long distance boats, wind vanes, wind generators, large array of solar panels and beefy outboards. Talking to a few of our neighbours, everyone seems to be aiming in the same direction: the Caribbean. We also see our first ARC flag being flown by a large American boat. The Atlantic is getting closer, we can feel it, we can smell it. The scenery has also changed, the sandy beaches with its ugly rows of hotels are gone and have been replaced by shear cliffs. The tourists and the charter boats have been left behind.

The last 24 hours sail to Almerimar are a treat. The conditions are good, Kujira feels sturdy and surprisingly fast. Maybe he finally remembers the call of the Atlantic which he has crossed in his youth, in the the 80’s. The conditions are so good that we even fly the genaker. The night shift is easy, with a near full moon, a flat sea and no wind, we peacefully motor into the night. As we reach the province of Almeria, the cliffs are being replaced by a dry desert like landscape. Trees have been replaced by palm trees. The infamous green houses of southern Spain start showing up. 

With hardly any wind, we decide to motor the remaining few hours to our destination. As we finally approach the legendary port of Almerimar, we are being overtaken by a small tug boat towing a tiny sail boat which had sent a Pan Pan a bit earlier due to a failed engine. The name of the tiny boat: Oberoi … THE Oberoi Kenobi who will be crossing the Atlantic with us, one of the only life lines in our long future journey and who we will be welcoming like heroes in St Lucia in 3 months time. However, for now they are being towed and we are about to enter the port of Almerimar.

 It is a very emotional achievement. Just a few weeks ago, we thought we were not going to make it and the past couple weeks have been extremely challenging and exhausting. Also, Almerimar is the port I thought we would be wintering the year before instead of struggling to find a boat and ending up in La Grande Motte. Almerimar is also a legendary stop among sailors exiting the Med for the Atlantic. It is a cheap and cheerful marina with excellent craftsmanship and chandleries, dirt cheap supermarkets and good weather during the winter.

We are being welcomed by Fumi, a Japanese staff who is over the moon to welcome a boat with a Japanese name. He even takes a selfie with us to put on his instagram.

Once Kujira is safely tied stern to, we go for a little wander around the marina/town and meet SY Istanbul, who will become our first boat buddies. It is then the turn of Oberoi, Avare and Intrepid Kiwis. We have a few days to socialise, do some boat jobs, order bits and pieces from the chandlery and get Kujira on the hard for the duration of our express trip to New Zealand.

Following the advice of Paul, a local engine mechanic, I identify the main oil leak on Mr. Perkins. When I present him my theory he tells me that I got everything wrong but together we identify the main issue. All I need to do now is an open brain surgery and Mr. Perkins may live another day. We also get the plank fixed, the waterlock fixed, a new pin for the mizzen gooseneck, a new exhaust hose, we have the prop shaft nut modified to be able to attach an anode to it, we order a new dinghy, I go see a doctor for my ear which is still blocked and the list goes on and on but nothing feels critical or insurmountable. All in all, we feel good about Kujira and more confident than ever that he will take us safely across the Atlantic and that we will make it to the start of the ARC in November. Going back to NZ now almost feels wrong, I want to keep going, the Atlantic is just there, calling us, with Gibraltar only 150Nm away. All our new friends are also going to be leaving within the next few days, together, meaning that we will have to play catch up once more when we return.

On the 15th of September, Kujira is being hauled out and a couple days later we are in a bus, on our way to Madrid where we will catch our flight back to New Zealand, which turned out to be an adventure in its own…