Crotone to Nydri
My last post saw us in the lovely and fascinating town of Crotone in Sicily. This would be our last stop in Italy, a country which has enchanted me. Just one more hop and we'll be in Greece. Much as I would have loved to have stayed a little longer in Crotone the idea of making that final short push was even more tempting......
Wednesday 22nd to Thursday 23rd May 2024
An early, but not too early, start, casting the mooring lines from Crotone at around 7am. It was bright and clear, marvellous visibility. How ironic, all these days pottering along in the gloom seeing nothing, mist obscuring the incredible landscape, while today there could be marvellous views but we'd be at sea where the only view would be the waves.
Outside Crotone there are a number of oil platforms. They are much smaller than the ones you see on the North Sea. The water here is much deeper too. Probably explains why there are so few rigs.
Right now the winds weren’t favourable for sailing so it was on with the engine. Igor set the autopilot on a straight line course for Corfu. Libra followed this for the next 22 hours.
There was little marine traffic on the water, and once you’re out of sight of land you’re just surrounded by sky and sea. You still have to keep a constant watch though, you’re a long way from help should the unexpected happen.
Little things can catch your attention. I saw something floating in the water at one point. I thought it was rubbish but as it approached I realised it was a small turtle, about 8-12 inches across. I’ve never seen one when we’ve been sailing, what a treat!
Meals were the high spots of the day. Our provisions were starting to run low and when it was time to cook dinner I discovered that one of our two remaining onions was rotten. In fairness, I bought it back in Palermo, about 6 weeks ago, before we went back to England.
I gathered tins and herbs and some rather tired sliced Emmenthal which really should have been used a couple of days ago and improvised. We ate around 6.30, while it was still daylight, and I have to say it wasn’t bad at all. A while later the sun set, crimson light on the horizon which we watched until it disappeared.
Night falls around 8ish, and as the sky darkened I put on my lifejacket to take the first watch of the night. Regarding lifejackets, best practice is to wear them at all times on deck as the unexpected can happen and a lifejacket is no good to you if you're in the water and it's in the cabin. In British waters, which are choppy, cold and busy we always do this, but conditions here during the day have been so benign that we haven't bothered. Come nightfall the rule of 'safety first' prevails.
There was a full moon lighting up the water but little to see, no ships. I listened to podcasts as they keep me awake. Unlike staring at a phone screen they don’t interfere with night vision.
If the southern coastline of Italy is a high heeled shoe, our course took us from the sole to the base of the heel. Passing the heel at a distance of 20 miles or so I saw lights on the horizon. One of them was flashing, three bright flashes a second or so apart, then a gap of about 7 seconds then another flash. The sequence took 10 seconds. If I’d had a marine chart to hand I could have identified which lighthouse I was seeing. This is very useful information for eyeball navigation by the coast but our course took us past it, miles away. I watched it for ages, just the moon, stars, me and the navigation light in the big dark sea.
Around 11.30pm the wind started to back so the genoa lost its power and flopped around, doing nothing to propel us forward. Igor had gone for a rest after dinner in order to prepare for his night watch. I didn’t want to wake him unless it was absolutely necessary so I took an executive decision to roll the sail in. This was kind of a big deal for me. I’ve done it many times but at least 50% of the time I do something wrong so it’s either too tight, too loose or I just can’t get it to budge at all. This time it all went perfectly. I pulled the furling line and the sail rolled up, no resistance at all. I felt quite proud of myself. There’s an opinion that when you’re sailing and you pull on a rope, if you feel resistance then you’re probably doing something wrong. Well, I must have done it right today.
Around midnight Igor came back on deck to take his watch. The wind had picked up again so the mainsail needed to be reefed imminently. I suggested he did it before I went to bed so that I could help if necessary. Reefing the main involves going forward to the base of the mast and pulling the sail down to reduce its area. As we work by the saying ‘if you’re thinking about reefing it’s time to do it’ the decision whether or not to go ahead was made without further deliberation. Igor attached a safety line to his lifejacket and clipped the other end to a secure point on deck. Together we reefed the sail. The boat responded by straightening up and gaining a little speed. I went to bed, in theory for four hours until I’d be in charge again.
It took me a little while to fall asleep and then around 2am I was woken by the VHF radio hailing us. Igor answered. It was the captain of a cargo ship. Our paths were due to cross so he was clarifying whether Igor wanted him to alter his course to avoid us. Igor said he’d alter ours. We may have had priority but the reality is that might is right, and it was easier for us to get out of the way than him.
I slept like a baby from then on, though apparently other captains contacted us. Igor reckoned it was as much to make sure he was awake as for any other reason. At 5am he woke me. I felt great, more or less 5 hours solid rest. He on the other hand was utterly exhausted and laid down and fell asleep immediately.
It was nearly daylight by now, no other vessels around and in sight of land, the Greek coast around 5 nautical miles away.
When the boat was within a mile of the coast I woke Igor up. He came upstairs and laid down on the cockpit sofa. Nearing our destination, Afionas Bay, he woke up. The bay was huge and nearly empty, only one other boat anchored there, and utterly protected from wind and swell. We dropped the anchor and, once confident that it was holding, went back to bed. Bliss.
Around 11am we were woken by voices outside saying ‘Hello’. Who could it possibly be? Was there a charge for anchoring? Popping my head out of the hatch I saw a man and a woman in a kayak. They lived nearby, he was British, and they were just saying hello and passing the time of day. How nice of them.
By the time they left we were awake, or what passes for awake after a sleepless night. The bay was beautiful, so calm and peaceful. Igor took the Italian courtesy flag down, it's been there since last September, and replaced it with the Greek flag.
We considered maybe paddling to shore on the paddleboards but that seemed a bit ambitious. Instead we just relaxed and took it easy and the day passed.
When it got to dinner time our choices were pretty limited. I searched the galley cupboard and found a tin of choucroute garni that I’d bought in France. It looked a bit intimidating but I was hungry so decided I may as well give it a go. Good move. The top layer of the tin was sauerkraut, then as I spooned it into the saucepan potatoes and frankfurters appeared. What a feast, it was excellent.
How come the French do such amazing canned food and all that the Italians can manage is tinned tomatoes?
Got to sleep at 10.30, though as I was still on Italian time it felt like 9.30 to me. As I laid in bed, falling asleep, just one thought was in my head: ‘We’ve made it, we’ve been saying we’re going to sail to Greece for the last ten years and here we are, we’re finally here!’
Friday 24th May 2024
After a peaceful night’s sleep in this quiet anchorage we set off sailing again just after 8.30 am. The motor was on for about half an hour but once out of the shelter of Afionas Bay there was a gentle breeze in the right direction so no need for the extra horsepower. Slow going at first, but over the course of our travels it picked up.
The coastline was very pretty and the visibility was good. The view to shore was perfect, no mist today. It’s funny how once you get past the south of France the landscape is so similar, apart from obvious exceptions like the red rocks of Sardinia. The gentle hills, smudgy green with scrubby plants and trees along the sides and tops stretch off into the distance wherever you go.
Our destination was the island of Paxos and we anchored in Longos Bay just before 6pm. There was one other boat there, British, which had bagged the prime mooring spot right in the centre of the bay. Their position meant it was essential to for us to choose where we would anchor very carefully in order to avoid the shallows. It was also necessary to leave plenty of room between us and the smaller boats moored further in as the wind might change direction later and we definitely didn’t want to be too near to them.
A picturesque waterfront of brightly coloured shops and restaurants beckoned just a couple of hundred metres away across calm, still water but it’s not a good idea to take the risk of leaving the boat unattended at anchor if you’re not sure how well it’s holding. I needed to stock up with provisions. Igor inflated the stand up paddleboard then went to shore to check there was a safe place to leave it.
When he came back I had to make the same journey.
As I was leaving Igor shouted to me to come back. A power boat was racing out of the harbour so I had to duck quickly behind Libra to avoid it. Idiots.
I am not the world’s most confident paddleboarder. I very rarely feel confident enough to stand up on one so I knelt down and made my way across to land. The water’s edge was shallow and I pulled the board to rest against the harbour wall then secured the paddle to it.
Now I had to find the shop which Google maps told me wasn’t far. I could only see a souvenir shop and some cafes but heard a couple of English guys nearby. I asked them where the shop was and they directed me about a hundred yards to my left.
The supermarket was small and expensive but had everything I needed – tomatoes, olives, bread and so on. I also bought a pack of ‘saganaki cheese’. This is served fried and is a very popular starter. I decided that it should liven up our boat slup nicely. I was right. It sort of melted and went very crispy when cooked. Welcome to Greece.
Walking back through Longos I looked around and decided it was the prettiest place I’ve seen in Greece. The small old buildings are brightly coloured and shady, lots of flowers and greenery. There are no cars, just marble pavements with the occasional well fed cat. The shop owners don’t bug you. It was such a pity I didn’t have my camera with me but there was no way I was taking the risk of having it fall in the water.
I paddled back to the boat with no mishaps and cooked dinner. We sat on deck as the sun set, enjoying the scenery. As I was about to serve the food the couple from the other boat near us motored over and offered us a lift to the restaurants on land. What a kind thing to do!
If we didn’t have our boat slup with saganaki cheese I would have been very tempted.
Saturday 25th May 2025
Igor woke me around 8am, telling me that the boat had swung overnight and was now very close to a line of moored small powerboats. We made ready to set off immediately but saw that there was a scuba diver in the water, accompanied by someone on a boat keeping lookout. We waited until he was safely out of our way then set off.
The little wind was on our nose so it was another day of motoring past the endless islands. By early afternoon the weather turned very warm so we dropped the spray hood and enjoyed the breeze generated by the movement of the boat.
Our intended destination was Nydri on the island of Lefkada so it was necessary to pass through the lifting floating bridge at Agia Mavra Fort. It spans the short distance from the island to the mainland and opens on the hour throughout the day. When we were about 6 nm out from there, around 3pm, a decision was needed. Our speed was roughly 4-5 kts (i.e. nautical miles per hour) at this point, could we increase it enough to catch the 4pm opening?
There was no hurry and going faster uses a lot more fuel and so we decided to just carry on pootling along and pass through at 5pm. I tried phoning the marina in Nydri to let them know we’d be arriving later than planned but they were closed because it was Saturday afternoon. There was no voicemail, just an emergency option.
The engine carried on chugging away at low revs, the sun shone, no pressure. Very shortly after this the wind sprang up, on the beam, and propelled the boat forward at about twice the speed it was going before. The wake at the transom told its own tale, so I sat and enjoyed the exhilaration.
By 3.45 we were closing in on the approach to the bridge. Sailing boats, motorboats and catamarans queued up behind the harbour wall. Would we get there in time for the 4pm opening after all? Igor increased the engine power. By now the wind had stirred up the waves and it was pretty choppy. The gap closed between us and the Fort. We saw the convoy of boats moving forward. It was 4pm. Libra reached the harbour entrance a couple of minutes later and turned the corner only for us to see the bridge swinging closed. I radioed the tower to see if they could open it again but the answer was a firm ‘no’. Bugger.
The harbour area was small so we turned and waited outside, the waves tossing us around. Other boats, mostly big catamarans, joined us. I made a snack. I would have made tea but it was so bumpy it didn’t seem like a good idea. Forty minutes or so passed then we slowly made our way into the harbour, at the head of the line of waiting boats that had arrived in the meantime. Cars were passing over the bridge. A loud siren sounded. The cars carried on. Eventually barriers came down to block the road and the bridge lifted and the whole thing started to swing out of the way to allow the widest possible crossing for boat traffic in both directions. It was quite a sight.
Libra passed through the crossing, past all the cars queuing for the bridge to close again so they could get on their way. A channel is cut through the swampy lowlands and there was a strict speed limit so we proceeded towards Nydri followed by the other boats which crossed with us. They overtook as soon as the speed limit was lifted.
It was a really beautiful section, lots of greenery, trees, water, birds, all very peaceful. In places it almost looked like a British landscape, until you noticed the telltale signs that it was a hot climate.
The channel eventually opened up to the sea.
I’d booked a place in one of the marinas in Nydri and had been told to hail on VHF channel 73 when we were nearby. Just before 7pm I had a line of sight to the town’s waterfront so I called. The radio was answered by a grumpy Greek man. ‘You were supposed to be here an hour ago.’
I responded, apologising and explaining that we had missed the bridge opening. No reply. I called again. Nothing. And again. I called the office number but the message said that they were open until 2pm on Saturdays but to press ‘0’ if it was an emergency. Was this an emergency? Not really, nobody was in any danger, the boat was sound, we were healthy and conditions were benign.
We carried on until we saw the pontoon. It had a sign saying to call VHF channel 73. A bunch of guys were standing at the end of the pontoon so we assumed they’d come and help us. I called 73 again. No reply. The guys were obviously nothing to do with the marina.
What were our options? We could have anchored in the bay but we’d booked a place at the marina. Igor took us for a recce of the pontoon and there was a space between two boats where we could just fit. It was getting late and we’d had enough so he carefully reversed into the gap. Once we were level with the boats on either side we just walked Libra back until we were by the edge of the pontoon.
The only problem was the boat on our port side. It was a modest sailing boat, around 32-35 ft long. It was moored bows to, diagonally across the available space, with the mooring lines passing across where Libra’s lines needed to go. A man from another boat came and helped us with our mooring lines so that we were secured, then it was a matter of sorting out all the ropes so that they were safe and our ropes wouldn’t rub and chafe the neighbour's.
Igor started working on the problem and as he moved things around I noticed that the other boat had a ladder attached to the front. When I say ‘attached’ it was sort of hanging from the pushpits and where the ropes were now touching the base of the ladder it was in danger of being nudged off and into the water. I disembarked and held onto it to keep it safe.
As we were doing this we became aware of an older couple walking up the pontoon towards us. I asked ‘Is this your boat?’ and the woman started having a go at us. ‘You touched our boat! You moved our ropes!! This is outrageous!!!!’
Her husband came over and started trying to work out how to move his lines so that they wouldn’t be in our way, he was very reasonable. He suggested that they could access their boat by climbing over ours as the ladder was no longer in the right position. We’d have been fine with that, they were leaving at 8am next day so obviously we’d do whatever we could to make it easier for them. His Mrs was having none of this. ‘I’m calling the manager!!!!!’ She stormed off, landwards.
A few minutes later she returned with the manager, an English guy in his 40s. He proceeded to lecture us about how WE DON’T DO THINGS LIKE THIS in his marina, you DON’T APPROACH OR LEAVE THE PONTOONS WITHOUT HELP FROM MARINA STAFF, you MUST CALL ON CHANNEL 37. I explained that I had but that the guy who answered hadn't responded in any meaningful way.
Apparently the guy who answered was working since 7am and had finished for the day. Fair enough but shouldn't the owner have arranged cover? It’s a marina, things notoriously don’t go to plan on the water. When you make contact by VHF and it's acknowledged you expect the conversation to continue over VHF. Failing that, if the guy who answered had said to call the office and press '0' we could have done that. Instead, no communication whatsoever.
The owner then said we should have rung him on the phone. I said that we did but it wasn’t what either of us would consider to be an emergency so we didn't want to press that option. According to him it was 'exactly' an emergency. I suggested he changed his phone message to have an option for out of hours mooring.
After about half an hour of being spoken down to, lectured and patronised he grudgingly conceded that the guy who answered our initial VHF call was slightly out of order and should have been more informative. The lines on the other boat were rearranged. Everyone was happy, apart from Mrs Next Door who accused us of damaging their boat and triumphantly pointed to a place where our vinyl wrap was missing. Igor informed her that this happened months ago, it was due to rope chafe while on the canals, and we had photos to prove it. She even held up a grotty old fender and accused us of popping it. I just walked away, I’ve seen better fenders abandoned in boat yards.
A little later, once things had calmed down, we walked into town. We thought we saw Mrs Next Door walking along the side of the road but made very sure we avoided eye contact.
Welcome to Greek marinas!
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