Captain's Log. May 13, 2014
Somewhere off the Coast of Croatia
Dalmatian Islands
Crew: Tim Mercer (Skipper), Debbie Meade (First Mate), Colin Joyal (Cabin Boy), Rhian Christie (Chief Steward), Mira Mercer (Stoker), Shannon Mercer (Quarter Master), Kaya Joyal (Botanist) and Mhari Joyal (Surgeon).
I was awoken at 2:30 am by the sound of the sloop's rudder thumping loudly against the limits of its radius. "Damn," I thought lying snug in my aft cabin bunk, "forgot to secure the wheel." For once on this voyage the marine weather forecast was accurate. Although secured soundly to a mooring ball in Hvar Harbour, we were being tossed around wildly by the winds gusting to 40 knots from the northwest. "At least the rain has stopped," I thought, as I pulled on my damp clothes and rain gear before going up on deck to screw in the wheel locks, tighten a flapping halyard and make sure we were swinging safely from the other sailboats hiding out from the worsening storm.
We left sunny Split three days ago and were, for a short time, concerned about not having enough wind to sail all week. In a 5 knot breeze, our chartered 45 foot Benetau Oceanis barely responded to her full compliment of canvas. We motored into the port of Maslinica on the Island of Solta and caught our first mooring ball. Steaks and wine were enjoyed under a warm starry night with only a couple of other boats in sight.
On day 2 the moms on board were treated to a breakfast of crepes, fresh strawberries and coffee. After a swim off the back of the boat and some sun tanning on deck, we headed out into the Adriatic destined for the Island of Vis, 20 nautical miles due south. Almost immediately we were forced to shorten sail in the face of strengthening winds. By the time we changed course for the nearby island of Brac, the winds were above 20 knots gusting to 30. When we finally doused the sails, the hull began to smash loudly against the trough of the high waves charging relentlessly towards us. Everyone on board was either teeth grindingly nervous, seasick, or oblivious to the danger of being the only ship in sight in dirty weather and unknown waters.
When we tucked in behind Brac the winds came down and the sun came out. We tied up to an empty mooring ball in the scenic harbour of Bobovisca and immediately opened a bottle of wine to celebrate the successful navigation of the biggest wind and water any of us had, thus far, been in. We'd tested our sea legs and they'd passed. Bigger seas awaited us later.
After anchoring off the shores of the famed Dugi Rat Beach for a swim, we crossed over to the Island of Hvar. Dolphins swam alongside us for a few minutes causing all hands to rush on deck for a view of the lovely, sleek mammals in their natural habitat. Earlier in the day we'd stopped to watch a fisherman reel in a huge yellowfin tuna. The sea is an amazing place with no end of wondrous sites on offer. It was late when we pulled into a sheltered harbour and found the best anchorage dominated by a boisterous German crew in a Bavaria 43. Not trusting the ground closer to shore, we ended up Med Mooring to an old fishing shack on the adjacent shoreline. The crystal clear water demonstrated in painful detail just how close our rudder was to the rocks as we backed in and tried several times without success to lasso an iron rod on shore. Colin volunteered to jump overboard as darkness descended and the kids all cheered as he looped our stern rope and climbed back aboard, dripping seawater but heroic beyond measure in the eyes of the young crew. We set every wind, anchor and depth alarm we could and slept with one ear open through the night. Morning found us exactly where we'd anchored. Another close call with catastrophe averted.
The next day we enjoyed a fantastic day of sailing up the northern coast of Hvar Island, into Stari Grad marina for lunch and then around to the south shore to Hvar Town. The steady 15 knot winds had stirred up the Harbour and we spent a restless night bobbing and swinging at our mooring. We spent most of the next day touring the beautiful town and changing our minds repeatedly whether to spend another uncomfortable night at anchor in Hvar, or risk crossing over to the more sheltered marina of Palmizana 3 miles to the south. By the time we let go, the winds had increased to 25 knots and the sea was angry with crashing waves and whitecaps. It was our collective moment of truth. The rough water on day 2 paled in comparison to what met us on this short crossing. The winds were gusting to 50 knots, heeling the boat uncomfortably without any sail showing. Every fifth or sixth wave would pitch the bow high in the air and then crash the hull into the next roller with a loud blow and spray of seawater. The adults were all nervous and tense, but the kids were having a blast! Tethered to the boat with safety lines, they squealed with delight into the winds as one would yell out "here comes a big one!" We all breathed a sigh of relief when we finally turned broadside to the rollers for a tense moment and then glided into the safe green waters of Palmizana.
We stayed in port for the next two days as the storm raged off shore. The kids all discovered a great playground on the island where they spent entire days planning a grand show for us. The adults took the time to relax on our floating cottage, listen to the weather radio, cook some great meals and play lots of cards. It was great fun to swap stories with other sailors and watch newbies pull in from the rough seas dazed and wide-eyed. We shook our heads at the adrenaline junkies who insisted on going out in such foul weather. I guess when you only have your charter for a week, every moment under sail counts.
As for us, we certainly could have used a few more beach days. However, we all agreed that given the choice between seven sunny but windless days motoring from beach to beach and a week of strong winds, serious sailing and challenging anchorages, we'd take the latter in a heart beat. We came to sail, afterall, and boy did we. In my opinion, there is nothing more exhilarating than turning off the noisy motor of a keelboat and surrendering to the silence and dictates of the wind. Balancing a powerful sailboat right at the edge of her range, soothing her personality and quirks, respecting the wind while trying beyond reason to harness it - these, to me, are the pursuits of pure joy that define sail cruising. We got what we came to the Dalmatian Islands in search of.
We arrived back to Split on Friday evening one minute before the fuel jetty closed and just as darkness was setting over the Adriatic. She passed her return inspection with flying colours and our full deposit was returned to us the next morning. Another critical success factor achieved.
Before saying our farewells to the Joyal/Christies, who had a flight to Paris to catch, Mira piped up with a bit of ten year old insight. "It's good that we're splitting up for a few weeks before our bike trip in France. That way we won't get sick of each other!" That may be true for the senior kid who took on the unenviable role of show director, peace maker and occasional babysitter, but not for the adults. Our sailing partners are now in France and we miss their easy company and adventurous spirit already. Early reports are that the food and wine are pretty good there though. Can't wait for our third "round the world rendezvous" in Provence in a few weeks.
As for our clan, we are spending a last night in Split before catching a ferry to Italy tomorrow night. In two months we'll be back in Canada. It really is true what they say about vacations . . . they're like rolls of toilet paper - they unwind faster at the end. Happy May Two-Four to everyone in Canada.
Sauerkraut from Croatia