Okay, this is another longish post, so settle down, make yourself comfortable and I’ll begin…

I always try to live in the moment, because, as the saying goes, you never know what is round the corner. What has happened over the past couple of weeks epitomises this.

We left you hanging off the hook in Vliho Bay, awaiting lift-out on the following Tuesday. On Monday, (17^th) our wonderful friends, Mike and Sandy, drove us to Preveza airport where we were able to pick up a rental car. We then packed a suitcase, emptied the fridge aboard Rampage and took ourselves up into the hills to the little village of Katochori where we had booked a villa.

The first difficulty was to find the place. The twisty, narrow roads of the mountain village meandered randomly among the little houses and our satnav became totally bewildered and at one point, attempted to direct us down a steep flight of steps. Abandoning the car at this point, we parked up and set off on foot. It was mid-afternoon and unbelievably hot as we wandered hopelessly, serenaded by cicadas while all sensible citizens took their siesta. Eventually we tracked down Stathis and he led us to the little villa. (Actually, we could never entirely agree which member of the extended family was called Stathis, the father or the son. Possibly they were both called Stathis?)

The villa was something of a surprise. We had selected it mainly for reasons of economy but since it offered two separate bedrooms, air-conditioning and a washing machine, we thought it sounded reasonable. We had not expected the bathroom to open off one of the bedrooms. Hmm. We had a debate. Which would be more awkward for Pete when he arrived: to have to come through our room or for us to tramp through his? In the end, we gave him the corridor room since I have been known to strip off in my sleep, which might have been rather er, embarrassing for all.

 Other than that, the house wasn’t too bad: the air-con worked and the little washing machine was splendid, so we made full use of it. The décor was, well, like something from the 1940s, with lots of lace tablecloths, faded silk flowers and glass-fronted cabinets filled with bric-a-brac that would have gone down a storm in a flea-market. The latter were clearly much treasured however, as all the cupboard doors were firmly sellotaped shut in case we had any thoughts of pilfering the contents. Among the other quirky features were three sofas that offered varying degrees of discomfort and a loo-seat that lurched sideways unless you were extremely circumspect as you sat down. There was a lovely verandah although we only ever sat out once because it was just too hot, despite the attraction of innumerable cats and their enchanting kittens! That all said, the extended family who lived all about us were extremely anxious to please and very friendly, constantly attempting to engage me in conversation, despite my very fractured Greek.

Having settled into our new home, the following morning we rushed back down to Rampage to await lift-out. We waited until well into the afternoon (the hottest part of the day, remember,) before we finally received the summons. Since we could not run the engine, Duncan took the helm and I pushed Rampage to the slipway using the dinghy. For the next hour or more, the guys in the yard attempted to load her onto a trailer and lift our poor boat out of the water. It was excruciating to watch and it became increasingly obvious that their efforts were futile because the trailer hydraulics were incapable of lifting the boat high enough to clear the ground. To add insult to injury, when they then tried to manoeuvre her by hand round another boat, they managed to break one of the stanchion bases. At this point, we insisted on moving her back out to deeper water and left her at anchor while we went off to sooth our souls with ice-cream.

Thankfully the engineer, Simon, (see previous post,) managed to arrange for Rampage to be hauled out at another yard. Two days later, there we were, in position on the pontoon by the slipway as instructed, by 08:30. No-one about. After wandering aimlessly round the yard for a while we got back on board to sit in front of a fan in the relative cool, down below.

Suddenly and without warning, at 09:30 there was a thump on the deck, (our mooring line being tossed back on board) and we found ourselves being unceremoniously lifted, still on board Rampage onto the trailer. We then had to stay put until she was out of the water, manoeuvred into position, propped and a ladder found, before we were able to escape. It was a touch alarming, though we now know that this is their standard procedure.

The rest of the day was taken up with retrieving our friend, Pete, from Corfu airport. We drove up to Igoumenitsa and took the ferry across to Corfu. So far, so good! We then had a rush of blood to the head, or possibly the heat had affected our reason, because we then decided not to take a taxi from the port but walk across town to the airport. Once again, this was in the full heat of the afternoon and was, quite frankly, bonkers. Suffice to say, I’ve never been more thankful to reach an air-conditioned building and also that we’d had the foresight to bring a change of clothes.

We kept pretty busy while Pete was with us, driving up into the mountains as well as round the coast of Lefkada, discovering various beaches along the way. We managed to have at least one swim and an ice cream every day while he was with us. One day took the car ferry to Meganisi and had lunch up in Spartochori overlooking Porto Spilia. Afterwards we tried to find our way down to the southern tip of the island, but the unmade road was so appalling that we were forced to admit defeat. Instead, we drove round the northern end of the island, and managed eventually to find somewhere for a swim. Poor Pete was less than impressed to discover that all the beaches in this part of the world are pebbly so it is somewhat painful getting in and out of the water. This is, of course, one advantage of being able to swim from a boat.

Twice while he was with us, we rented a small speedboat, so he was, at least, able to get out on the water a couple of times, if not actually sailing. We discovered Papanikolis cave which was really a huge surprise to Duncan and me, as we had no idea it was there, despite having sailed past many times. I loved it. We also found a rather nice, shaded taverna on the Meganisi side of the strait between Levkada and Meganisi where we had lunch one day.

On Pete’s final evening, we took him up to Fillippo’s restaurant in Fterno where we have been a number of times with Mike and Sandy. It did not disappoint, and what is more, we were treated to some rather pleasant live music which was a nice way to round off his visit.

Last Thursday we drove him back to Igoumenitsa and waved him off on the ferry, with strict instructions to take a taxi to the airport and not to consider trying to walk! Pete was very good about the change of plans and we all tried to make the best of things, but it was a great disappointment that he was unable to spend the week on Rampage.

We have now moved to a different villa, it having become apparent during the week that Pete was with us, that Rampage was not going to be fixed any time soon. She will not be going back into the water before we are due to leave in mid-July so we have now arranged for her to stay put over the winter. This gives Simon time, either to find a replacement second-hand sail-drive that is compatible with our existing engine, or, if all else fails, completely replace both the sail-drive and the engine. Clearly we are hoping for the first option as being very much cheaper and there is nothing much wrong with the existing engine.

In the meantime, Duncan has been undergoing dental treatment while we have been out here. Once that is completed, we shall return to the UK rather than stay here twiddling our thumbs. Before that, however, there are a number of jobs we need to do before we leave Rampage for the winter, such as removing the sails and bimini (sun awning.)

As I suggest in the title of this post, this was not how we expected our time out here to end, but we are hugely grateful to have such kind, considerate friends and we are just grateful that it is only the boat that is sick and not one of us. We’re staying in a beautiful villa with spectacular views and this evening we are once more joining Mike and Sandy for an evening meal together. One has to accept that sometimes life just doesn’t go to plan.

I said we would only write a blog post if we had anything in particular we wanted to tell you. We now do have news, although it is not exactly great.

We have been having a very pleasant time, yo-yo-ing between our various favourite anchorages, and meeting up intermittently with our friends, Mike and Sandy aboard Eos. We have had a lovely time, mostly swimming, reading and messing about in the kayak. We have spent quite a lot of time anchored off Kastos as it is especially lovely there. The rock formations are extraordinary, the water beautifully clear and there are lots of fish so I spend a lot of time just snorkelling. Duncan is not a terribly keen swimmer and generally only gets into the water to cool off, so I head off on my own, perfectly content and very aware of how lucky I am. Of course, all good things come to an end.

Last Wednesday we headed back into Vliho Bay, berthed on the Fish Restaurant pontoon and had dinner with Mike and Sandy. Over the meal we agreed that we would depart for Sivota on the southern end of Levkas the following morning, have a night on a pontoon there and then go on to Kastos for a few days.

Next day, we had a splendid sail down the Meganisi Channel which lies between the islands of Lefkas and Meganisi. As we emerged at the southern end however, the wind died, so we dropped the sails in order to motor the rest of the way. As we tried to move the throttle into forward gear, there was an ominous clunking noise and it refused to stay in gear. Much alarmed, Duncan switched off the engine and dived down below to investigate. With some coaxing we managed to select forward gear and then limp the final ten minutes of the journey, accompanied by Eos in case anything went wrong.

Sivota was very busy; the number of boats in the bay has increased dramatically in the time we have been coming here. Many of the restaurants now have a pontoon and offer free water and mains electricity on the understanding that you eat in the restaurant. Sandy had booked Eos and Rampage onto Stavros’s pontoon, but when we arrived he was busy helping other boats come in, so we had to wait our turn. Not wanting to risk taking Rampage out of gear, we solemnly circled round for what felt hours but was probably about 15 minutes until we were called forward. It was tense. Would we be able to get into reverse? We had to get it right first time, if possible, to avoid moving more than once between forward and reverse.

Thankfully all went well, Stavros himself fending us off on his dinghy. It was a great relief to be safely in. After making enquiries, we then managed to contact a mechanic called Simon whom we have used before. He said he could come and have a look the following afternoon, as he was busy until then. This caused another headache because Stavros could not let us stay a second night because he was already fully booked for the following evening.

I tramped round the bay trying to find another pontoon who had space for us but everyone I asked shook their head regretfully. Apparently, there was a blow due on Friday, so lots of boats were keen to come in and take shelter. This was not good news as we began to think we would have to anchor and ferry Simon to and from the boat. Thankfully, however Sandy had more success and Delfini Taverna said they had two spaces and we could move to their pontoon at noon the next day.

On Friday morning, we were all very tense again, waiting to make the move. The wind was building significantly which always makes manoeuvring more difficult. Would we be able to get into gear again, and if not, what then? Duncan and Mike came up with a contingency plan that Eos would tow us if necessary. I kept myself busy by preparing a cabin for our friend Pete, who is flying out on the 20^th to join us for a week’s sailing. In the event, the move to Delfini went very smoothly, much to our enormous relief. After another appalling clunk, we were able to get into gear. Hopefully, when Simon appeared, he would quickly sort out the problem and we would be on our way to Kastos by Saturday.

Simon did not reach us until 5:30 that afternoon but was not with us long. The news was not good. The saildrive is shot and must be replaced, which means Rampage must be lifted out of the water. Simon made a call and arranged for us to be hauled out in Vliho after the weekend. Somehow, we would have to try and get Rampage back there.

Over dinner that evening we discussed the problem with Mike and Sandy. Simon had told us we should avoid using the gears if at all possible. Very kindly, they offered to tow us out of the bay and, if necessary, all the way to Vliho. We hoped, however, that we might get a chance to sail, at least part of the way. We spoke to the owners of the yacht next to us on the pontoon and explained our difficulty. They told us they were planning to leave in the morning themselves and would depart early, thus making it much easier for us to get out.

Once they had gone, we pulled Rampage round manually and tied her alongside, making it much simpler for Eos to reverse back towards us and take us under tow. We set off at just after 9.30am and successfully navigated the channel out of the bay. It was made more exciting because lots of other boats decided to leave at much the same time, the wind now having disappeared. It was like Wacky Races as they all seemed to jostle for position, seemingly oblivious to the fact that we were under tow. Thankfully, all went smoothly but, in the end, due to the lack of wind, Eos was obliged to tow us all the way.

We are now at anchor just off the yard where we are due to be lifted on Tuesday. Until Rampage is out of the water and Simon has had a chance to inspect her properly, we have no real idea how much work is involved and how long it will take. The likelihood is that we shall need a new saildrive which entails moving the engine. If this is the case, Duncan is inclined to replace the engine too since it is now nearly 25 years old and has done a great many miles of motoring. We will know more next week.

And what of poor Pete and his sailing holiday? We have arranged to rent a villa up in the hills for the duration of his stay. Tomorrow we shall pick up a rental car and on Thursday we shall drive up to Corfu to meet him. We shall endeavour to give him the best holiday possible under the circumstances but sadly, I fear, he will not get much sailing.

 

 

Well, that got your attention! What follows is a lot more dull 😁:

But first, a quick update:

We are currently back in Preveza and anchored off the yard. I won’t go into vast detail about where we have been over the past ten days or so. Suffice to say that when we left here, we went first to Paxos and then on to Corfu. We have talked about both islands and the various anchorages many times before in blog posts so I won’t bore you by repeating myself. I should mention, however, that we met up with my lovely Canadian cousin and her family for a day on Corfu. We had not seen Lorna and her husband Terry for years but felt an instant rapport, and had a brilliant day together, talking non-stop!

Afterwards we went as far north as Gouvia marina in order to refuel before turning south and retracing our route. The weather has been somewhat mixed: at times cool, overcast and even rainy. En route up to Corfu town we had a terrific sail. Two days later on our way back, we had to motor the entire way. Today leaving Lakka we were motoring but later managed to have a good sail before the wind dropped away. An hour later we were sailing again. As I said, a bit mixed.

Two days ago, when we arrived in Lakka, the bay was quite busy and we had to anchor not far from the entrance. This proved uncomfortable as a swell crept in and continued all evening and well into the night so neither of us slept particularly well. Yesterday morning, having been ashore to shop, we realised there was room up at the head of the bay so we re-anchored much closer in. This gave us a much more comfortable second night. It also put some distance between us and a catamaran with five extremely exuberant German guys on board, shouting, laughing, pushing one another into the water and generally being, well, raucous.

They gave me pause for thought though, because a boat full of rowdy men is not a particularly unusual phenomenon but I have never, but never seen an entire boat full of women, rowdy or otherwise. It’s not that women don’t go off on rowdy holidays together – I’m pretty sure gangs of young women descend on Magaluf and Ayia Napa every summer. Equally, women go off together for various other sorts of sporting holiday: kayaking, cycling and skiing, for example. But not sailing.

Sailing seems to be a minority sport for women and I have been wondering why that should be. Admittedly I am talking about cruising. I think possibly that things are very different in the racing world. Maybe young women who learn to sail are just far more interested in racing than cruising. We have a friend who took part in the Clipper Race and I had the impression from him that quite a few participants were women, which would bear out this hypothesis.

Among the cruising fraternity however, we see men of all ages but most of the women are either ladies of a certain age, like myself, or mums on holiday with their family. Either way, they almost invariably act as crew – or even as passengers rather than as skipper. Some ladies I know are very experienced, competent sailors who have been sailing for years and have many more sea miles than me, yet the only two female skippers I have come across were both sailing solo, or virtually. One brought a large sailing boat into the anchorage at Porto Kayio in the Southern Peloponnese while we were there. She was very clearly both confident and thoroughly competent. The other was a Turkish woman who was crossing the Mediterranean accompanied by her son but then planned to continue solo across the Atlantic. They were notable because they were the exception to the rule.

So why do women generally not seem to be interested in being skipper? As regards myself, it is mostly a lack of confidence. I was late learning to sail so I constantly defer to Duncan. I know that if I have to, I can manage Rampage on my own. I don’t just mean taking a watch. When Duncan was ill on one occasion I took Rampage round from Kefalonia to the harbour at Vathi on Ithaca and dropped anchor. Admittedly, there happened to be no wind that day, so I motored which is a much more straightforward proposition. Nonetheless, in suitable conditions, (i.e. not in a F10 storm,) I’m reasonably sure I could have sailed, including raising, setting and dropping the sails.

But the fact remains that when Duncan has had to leave me on board on my own, I haven’t gone off sailing. I remain on the quayside, or possibly at anchor. Aside from lack of confidence in my sailing abilities, I am also very aware that I am clueless about the engine, the electrics and the electronics. If anything were to go wrong with any of the above, I’d be stuffed. So why have I never done anything about this, I hear you ask. The brutal answer is that I’ve never been sufficiently interested to learn and I could afford to be lazy because Duncan is good at all that sort of thing. Perhaps lots of women feel the same? You still don’t find many women who are electricians or car mechanics.

In the case of many ladies, this lack of confidence even extends to using – or rather, not using, the dinghy. On this score however, I have always been very determined! When we found I had difficulty in starting our 4-stroke outboard, we traded it for an old 2-stroke which I can start every time. The idea of not ever being able to go off on my own is unthinkable – and if all else fails, I can always row!

I have not come to any conclusions about why women don’t assert themselves in this largely male-dominated world. Perhaps it is a generational thing. Maybe as more young women learn to sail, things will change but until women have the confidence to be skippers, groups of ladies are never going to charter a boat together for a week or two, the way groups of men do. Which is a shame, as they’d have a brilliant time, in my humble opinion.

We are back aboard Rampage after an absence of a year and it feels great. This time we have rather longer out in Greece to help justify the expense of continuing to keep a boat here. We originally thought we might go further afield but for various reasons, we will confine ourselves to the Ionian again and potter round old haunts, already familiar to regular readers of our blog.

For this reason, and to avoid boring repetition, we may publish a new post only occasionally if one or other of us has something we particularly want to share. What follows is more a piece of prose than a blog post. It is quite long too so I hope you will find it enjoyable. It is dedicated to my friend and mentor, Dr Jane Moss.

*

Life is a question of mind over matter – so I’ve been told. Sometimes frankly, that isn’t the case but yesterday, at least, it proved correct.

I have been up the mast any number of times. I can’t say I’ve ever actively enjoyed it, but I did feel a sense of quiet satisfaction. It’s not a physical achievement because I don’t have to actually have to climb the mast but sit in a bosun’s chair and am winched up. I do, though, have to conquer my fears. What is more, last year when I attempted to go up, panic overcame me and I had to ask to be brought down. The feeling of failure was enormous and I linked it to aging, to no longer being able to do things I could once do easily – it was depressing.

But the need to go up the mast doesn’t cease just because we have both got older. On this occasion we needed to replace the spinnaker halyard, the mousing line for which had somehow jammed in the pulley at the top. One of us would have to go up to sort it out and it made sense for me to do so because it was a simple, non- technical task requiring no tools or expert knowledge, plus it’s easier for Duncan to winch me than the other way round. It was also an opportunity for me to confront and confound my fear.

For some reason it seems less daunting when we’re afloat, which is illogical because if disaster happened and I fell, I would almost certainly land on the deck, not in the sea. There is also likely to be less movement when Rampage is on dry land. There were occasions while we were still in the yard doing annual maintenance when conditions were perfect but we postponed until after launch and since then, there has always seemed to be a bit of breeze.

This morning I woke and, looking up though the hatch above my head, could see that the various pennants and the courtesy flag were hanging limply from the shrouds.

‘We should get up & sort out the spinnaker halyard,’ I announced.

‘No hurry,’ replied the Skipper, ‘let’s have breakfast first.’

‘It may not be as still later.’

‘It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t need to be dead calm.’

I said nothing. Had he forgotten that I flunked it last time? I wanted to get on with it as quickly as possible. Get it over with.

We had breakfast.

There was then quite a bit of pfaffing to be done: finding the bosun’s chair, extracting the wooden steps from the starboard cabin, (they just fit through the door but only if you manoeuvre them in a particular way,) constructing a ‘fishing hook’ from a piece of wire coat hanger to enable Duncan to retrieve the mousing line from inside the mast, etc. etc.

By the time we had everything assembled, inevitably, the stillness was gone. There was a pattern of ripples across the surface of the water and the breeze caught at my hair. But we were ready and what’s more, people on the boats at anchor around us had spotted what was going on and begun to take an interest. I was committed. Backing out before an audience of fellow-sailors would be just too humiliating.

The bosun’s chair is not particularly comfortable, but rather as I imagine it would feel to wear a poorly-tied, old fashioned nappy. I clipped the main halyard to the stainless-steel triangle at my midriff and then the topping lift, which we were using as a safety line. Usually, we would use the spinnaker halyard, a much heftier rope than the topping lift but it was unavailable, obviously, on this occasion. Duncan handed me the weighted end of the new mousing line and that too, I clipped onto me using a karabiner. Then leaving me at the mast, he retreated to the cockpit to start winching me up.

I felt the halyard tighten as it took up the slack and then I was rising, wrapping my hands and feet round the mast, determinedly facing out across the water. It feels quick: up over the boom and on to the first set of spreaders. It’s not too bad. I breathe in deeply, navigate past the radar dome and on up to the second set of spreaders. I’m cleaning the mast of a winter’s worth of Saharan dust as I go, I think wryly.

I’m pretty high now – beyond the point where I gave up last time. Duncan has fairly recently acquired a type of drill attachment to assist him when winching the mainsail, since we don’t have the luxury of electric winches. It makes things a lot more speedy.

I’m almost at the place where the spinnaker joins the mast. That’s far enough now.

‘Stop!’

I have to shout repeatedly and increasingly loudly before it registers down in the cockpit. Several onlookers stop what they are doing to stare, possibly detecting the note of panic in my voice!

‘I’m too high! You need to let me down a little bit.’

He eases the halyard slightly and I inch down a little.

The pulley is round on the other side of the mast but I can see immediately what the problem is. The edge of the wheel inside the pulley is damaged as though it has been nibbled by little teeth. This means that instead of being a perfect fit, there is room for the mousing cord to slip under the wheel and get jammed. Could I free it though? I pull at it tentatively and then a bit more forcefully. It feels very precarious dangling 15 metres up. I take a couple more deep breaths and try again. Success!

‘I’ve done it!’ I call down triumphantly.

Down, on the deck, Duncan pulls the old piece of line through and discards it. My next task is to feed the new line through the pulley and down inside the mast. My hands feel clammy and clumsy. For God’s sake, don’t drop it, I tell myself. Carefully, I unclip it from my waist, then remove the karabiner and pause, wondering what to do with it. I can’t get at my pockets and I can’t just drop it. It is not big but if it hit Duncan from this height, it would not be good. More likely though, it would hit the deck and bounce straight into the water. It doesn’t occur to me to clip it back onto me. In the end I hold it in my teeth as I reach round the mast and feed the little fishing weights on the end of the line through the pulley. Now to feed them into the slot in the mast.

The difficulty is that I cannot actually see it because it is on the other side of the mast. We hadn’t been able to see it from the deck either, but it must be there. Gingerly I run one hand up and down the smooth surface of the mast, anxious not to let go of the line in my other hand. Nothing. A bit higher then? Yes! I have it. Then carefully, carefully, one at a time I ease the little fishing weights inside and joy of joys, the line starts to slip down inside.

‘It’s coming down,’ I call, feeling delighted with myself.

I feed more and more line. It seems to go on and on. I keep expecting Duncan to give a shout that he has it but instead he calls up:

‘I can’t see anything yet!’

Is it stuck somewhere? But the line is still happily feeding in at the top. Then to my relief he gives a shout and soon manages to extract it from the corresponding slot at the foot of the mast using his improvised fishing hook. This is why we needed the step; for some reason the manufacturers saw fit to position the lower slot above eye level; perhaps it was designed by giants? The job is nearly done now, I think to myself. He just needs to attach the new halyard to the mousing line and I can pull it up and through.

Duncan had explained earlier that he wanted me to stay up at the top to make sure the much heavier rope went smoothly through the pulley and in through the mast. It seemed sensible but what is taking so long? I glance down. Duncan is at the foot of the mast, head bent, concentrating on his task. I know he will be attaching the new halyard with whipping twine. I know how it is done but it seems to be taking forever. My feet feel slightly numb, from having sat so long in the wretched bosun’s chair. I wriggle them, then wrap my legs round the mast again, as a wave of vertigo washes over me. Don’t look down, I remind myself. Look out and round.

The sea in the anchorage is a picture-postcard turquoise, with dark patches of weed here and there. Further out, beyond the entrance to the bay, it is a deep, dark blue with the pale infinity of a cloudless sky above. Looking across to the mainland, it is hazy, the line of the horizon unclear. I pray that a large ferry or cruise ship will not go past, sending a rolling swell into the bay from its wake. I glance down briefly. Duncan still seems to be busy. I look over towards the village at the head of the bay where people sit drinking at the waterfront tavernas.

From behind me I hear a shriek followed by a splash as some invisible child leaps or is pushed into the water. There is a shout of laughter. Elsewhere is the familiar rattle of an anchor chain being drawn up and then, moving across my field of vision, a small motorboat leaves a milky, lace-edged wake through the crystal-clear water. I watch apprehensively as the ripples V out behind it. Will they set Rampage rocking? The boat trembles slightly but no more.

Below me the water resembles crushed velvet, the surface ruffled by the breeze and the path of light from the sun quivers and sparkles.  Where the sun shines directly down, the shimmering changes from silver to a rich, royal blue – as though a shoal of fish were darting and weaving, just below the surface. Captivated, I try to remember ever having noticed a similar effect before.

‘Okay!’

The shout from below interrupts my thoughts. Still gripping tightly with my feet, I begin pulling on the line, hand over hand, until the new, bright yellow halyard appears. It glides easily through the pulley and down through the slot in the mast. Fantastic! Nearly there now.

‘That’s it. Job done!’

Duncan grins up at me.

‘Just stay there while I take a photo!’

I do not have a choice.

At last he is back in the cockpit, easing me down, carefully, carefully, pausing every few metres and taking in the slack on the safety line. As I reach the safety of the deck and start to extract myself from the bosun’s chair he comes up to congratulate me, then casually asks:

‘Did you notice if there was a spring keeping the pulley in place?’

Too late, I now remember that he had asked me to look.

‘Er, I have no idea. Sorry. I forgot.’

‘Don’t worry,’ he grins again, ‘I won’t send you up there again, just to check!’

 

We’re back in Lakka this evening, having had a reasonable sail today from the mainland. It’s only the second sail we’ve had on this trip. A few days ago we did think we might try flying the cruising chute as there was just enough wind for a very light sail. Unfortunately however we’ve had a few issues with our spinnaker halyard and it started to jam as we were hoisting the sail. D was concerned that it might get stuck and we wouldn’t be able to drop it if we needed to, so we had to abandon the idea and continue on the motor.

We stocked up on water before leaving Corfu. Duncan had read about a public water fountain ashore so we went in search of it while we were there. Sure enough there is a small octagonal building with taps that we suspect may be fed by a natural spring. At any rate plenty of local people were coming to fill water containers so we made several trips in the kayak in order to replenish our aft water tank.

In fact we have yet to need the extra water as we’re still using what we took on board before launch (270 litres)! This is some sort of record for us and we reckon that it must be due to the fact that we have not been swimming as much as usual and rinsing off every time we get out of the water. When we first launched, the weather wasn’t great so swimming was just not terribly inviting and then, if you remember, there were lots of jellyfish in the water? Even now that the weather is getting hotter, I tend only to swim once a day because the sea is still warming up and I find that I get quite chilled. I did however, have a really brilliant snorkel this afternoon here at the entrance to Lakka bay. It was almost a good as a dive – masses of fish, lots of little nooks and crannies to explore among the rocks and even an underwater arch to swim through!

After leaving the anchorage off Corfu town we went across to a little bay north of Igoumenitsa called Ormos Valtrou. It is tucked away and very sheltered – it almost feels as though you’re in a lagoon as you cannot see the open sea once you’re in there. For this reason we’ve used it in the past as a bolt hole when there’s been a blow coming through. There has been a marked absence of wind on this particular trip however and we just went to enjoy the quiet. There is nothing there other than some fish farms and a fishing boat that seems to operate from the small beach. From the surface the water is very green and not clear as it is elsewhere, being full of microorganisms and silt from the Kalamas River. It’s perfectly clean to swim in but there is little point in snorkelling. We spent two nights in Ormos Valtrou before starting to to head back southwards and have been gradually zigzagging our way between the mainland and the islands of Corfu, Paxos and Antipaxos.

We returned to Petriti for a couple of nights so we could buy food and then headed back to the mainland again, this time to a place called Sivota Mourtos. We only intended to stay one night because although it is beautiful, it’s not actually Duncan’s favourite anchorage – it is situated between two small islands and tends to be a bit of a wind funnel. However, as I’ve mentioned already, there has not been a lot of wind so we thought we would give it a try.

Yesterday morning just as we were preparing to go ashore I noticed a couple in a dinghy approaching. They had spotted our Cruising Association pennant and, being members of the CA themselves, had come over to say hello. Naturally we invited them on board for a gossip which meant that by the time we finally got ashore it was lunchtime. We had a fabulous lunch and ate far too much after which we didn’t feel like going anywhere – so we stayed another night! We did go ashore again in the evening for a walk and an ice cream but didn’t need another meal! Instead we enjoyed a glorious sunset, something you don’t really see on either Paxos or Corfu because the anchorages face east.

Tomorrow we plan to try and get to Two Rock Bay, by way of lunch and a swim off Antipaxos, the small island just to the south of Paxos. On Monday night we need to be anchored off the yard in Preveza ready to be lifted out on Tuesday morning. The time has gone very quickly as we knew it would but it’s been great to be here as we don’t know quite when we shall next manage to get out.

We’ve spent the past three days anchored off Corfu. We know the town quite well, having spent a winter in Gouvia marina just north of the town plus we have returned a number of times since. This visit is after a break of some years though and has served to remind us of just why we like it so much.

We took the dinghy to one of the sets of steps that lead down to the water and walked up Leoforos Alexandros, a gracious, tree-lined avenue with wide pavements that leads from the waterfront up into the heart of the modern shopping town. The elegant, pastel-coloured houses are a reminder of the 19^th century British occupation, of Edward Lear and the Durrell family and so many other British ex-pats who have lived here.

Both here and all around the town, many of the majestic old buildings are in varying states of decay: gardens overgrown, railings rusted, facades crumbling and wooden shutters peeling. Yet few are completely derelict despite the lack of maintenance. Indeed modern Greece thrives at street level, as smart boutiques and pavement cafes blossom, apparently oblivious of the dilapidated buildings everywhere. The place buzzes with activity year-round and smartly dressed Greeks work, shop and socialise. In winter when the visitors go home, the Corfiots migrate into the town from the various tourist centres around the island.

Turning right at the top of Alexandros Avenue takes you down the main shopping street, past Marks and Spencer and the Vodafone shop. You could be anywhere- except you couldn’t because as you continue you find yourself in the maze of little streets and alleyways that nowadays caters for the tourist market. Here, amid the innumerable cafes and restaurants, little shops sell all the predictable souvenirs: olive wood salad servers, leather bags of every possible colour, t-shirts and embroidered blouses that you’ve never actually seen anyone wear, plus the bright orange liqueur made of kumquats that is special to this island. Yet, for all this, the old town has an unmistakable appeal. Bougainvillea and jasmine arch up over doorways or droop from balconies, the former creating bright splashes of purple and deep cerise, the latter perfuming the air as you brush past. There are little nooks and crannies everywhere, unexpected flights of steps and hidden squares.

We came upon a terrific restaurant in one such little square and stopped for lunch. The mixed platter of appetisers, when it arrived was second to none – everything delicious and more than the two of us could finish; it cost us €15. The little square was clearly owned and policed by a battle-scarred bruiser of a tomcat who patrolled the tables, confident of his unassailable right to be there.

Beyond the network of little streets is an elegant colonnade of up-market restaurants and a wide paved boulevard that runs the length of a vast, grassy sward where the British once played cricket and where now children kick footballs. Sometimes there are rock concerts here or displays of art or political rallies. It is here too, that at intervals through the year there are religious processions with marching bands, icons and candles, whilst the relics of Spyridon, patron saint of the island, are solemnly paraded. And above it all the old fortress looms, redundant yet undeniably romantic, attracting the cruise ships and floodlit at night.

In the evening the atmosphere changes. The shops remain open, the streets just as crowded and the indiscriminate souvenir buying continues but there is a more leisurely, relaxed feel. People stroll and greet friends while their children career wildly about on bicycles, shrieking with laughter and bursting with energy after their afternoon siesta. Nobody seems to mind; for the most part, small children are regarded with affection and tolerance. In the summer months, swallows flit and dart noisily overhead as the light fades from the sky, and as young people pose and flirt together, music begins to seep out from the bars. This is not the plinkety plonk of ‘traditional’ music laid on for the tourists – the Corfiots are too sophisticated to tolerate that. No this will be a pianist from the Ionian School of Music making some extra money, or perhaps some jazz or modern pop.

 

As the sun set and we made our way back the dinghy, the rock group that had set up near the bandstand was just getting started. The night was young.

Over the past week there has been more relaxing and reading going on than rampaging, hence the title of this latest post.

I did have my first and only swim to date, while we were still in Mongonisi. As we came in to anchor I was puzzled by a long, sinuous blue object in the water – certainly no sea creature I had ever seen before. And then the penny dropped. It was some of the masking tape I had failed to remove before launch. Once we were settled I donned a swimsuit –  somewhat reluctantly it must be said – it wasn’t terribly warm, remember and I’m a very fair-weather swimmer these days.

Anyway in I went and then found that whilst some of the tape had already come off during the sail, much of it was very difficult to get off and left a nasty, sticky residue when it did. I endured about 20 minutes getting the worst of it off and then, feeling quite chilled, got out and had a hot shower. To be be honest you would hardly see there was a problem unless you got very close and I had already decided that all the anti-foul round the boot-top (water line) needs to come off next season and be completely redone anyway.

Incidentally, for those of you who may be wondering why we have anti-foul round the boot-top, it dates from our live-aboard days when Rampage had somuch STUFF on board that she sat very low in the water. Now that we only come out in the summer, I have been gradually taking home things that we no longer need, e.g. winter bedding and clothes*, a pressure cooker, the cockpit tent. We no longer have bicycles either as these eventually died after a dunking in sea water, minimal maintenance and then 3 years of neglect when we didn’t come out because of Covid. When we finally returned last autumn they had effectively died and besides, we never use them in the summer though they were handy when we were in the yard.

Since leaving Mongonisi we have had three nights in Lakka and three in Petriti. Lakka is a bay at the northern end of Paxos – very pretty and much less busy than we have seen it for years. We haven’t been in this part of the Ionian for some years and it’s fun to revisit old haunts.  We didn’t manage to sail, either on the trip there or when we went on to Petriti which is on the southern end of Corfu. Indeed as I write we are en route for Corfu town and the sea around us is a gleaming sheet of silk; there’s not a breath of wind.

The weather has finally warmed up now – indeed it caught me slightly unawares a couple of days ago when I was sluicing off the boat with sea water to remove all the red Saharan dust dumped by the rain. My back and legs were distinctly pink that evening. Sadly though, I haven’t managed to swim again as the sea has been full of little jellyfish. I’ve been stung by jellyfish in the past; it’s not fun.

So really we’ve done remarkably little apart from the occasional trip ashore and walk. We plan to anchor under the Corfu citadel tonight which is picturesque and we should be able to buy a decent new dinghy pump in the town. Really what we need is a new dinghy because despite our efforts to repair it while we were in the yard, it still lets air out and water in. Not ideal.

*I was somewhat caught out by the cool weather during the first couple of weeks of this visit, having taken all my warmer clothes back to UK and wound up having to go and buy a pair of jeans. Lesson learned.

To be fair, this expedition will be more of a minor skirmish than a full blown rampage since our time in Greece is very limited on this visit. The reasons for this are tedious; suffice to say we are trying to move from Cheshire to a new home some 350 miles away down in Cornwall. Regrettably this must take precedence over prolonged marauding on the high seas.

 

Inevitably, after more than six months on the hard in a boat yard, we needed to spend the first week of our precious month here waking the boat up and doing necessary maintenance. I will not trouble you with the detail as we’ve been here before many times and nothing much changes.

 

The one thing we did do, that we have never before attempted was to put the sails back on before launch. Usually there are too many other jobs to be done and besides the skipper has always been very wary of getting caught unexpectedly by the wind whilst a sail is up. (A nautical variation of getting caught with one’s trousers down, I suppose.)

 

Actually to get caught out like that on dry land that would be very worrying, indeed potentially dangerous, so this is no light concern. However, on this occasion we had the time so, having having repeatedly consulted the weather forecast, we thought we’d give it a try.

 

Bending on the foresail (genoa) is pretty straightforward and quick so we achieved that without too much trouble. Duncan had also prepared all the running rigging (i.e. all the bits of rope) for the mainsail but by then the wind had picked up so we were obliged to wait until evening to finish the job. Even after having done this so many times before, it is still awkward and a bit of a struggle feeding the huge mainsail and stackpack simultaneously into the groove along the boom. Having done this though, the worst is over and the rest of the process went very smoothly. However we had arranged to go out for a meal that evening with our friends Mike and Sandy so there was no time to sort out the reefing lines.

 

There was some delay with the actual launch on Monday which was originally scheduled for 1p.m. When the tractor hadn’t appeared by 3p.m. I went to make enquiries at the office. The staff seemed rather startled to learn that we were still on dry land and the chaps then appeared shortly afterwards! It was therefore somewhat embarrassing to realise as she was lowered into the water, that I had failed to remove the masking tape from round the waterline, having redone the antifoul. I saw one of the guys looking at it with a rather bemused expression and felt very foolish.

 

Apart from that though, the launch went well and we made our way round to Hospital Bay and dropped the anchor just off Preveza town. We were sitting in the cockpit having a drink shortly afterwards when a pod of dolphins appeared, swimming all round the boat for about 10 or 15 minutes. We’ve seen them a number of times over the years but then usually come to play in the bow wave. This is the first time I have known then come into an anchorage. It was very special.

 

Unfortunately we had to spend the next 24 hours hunkered down as wind and rain made going ashore in the dinghy a very unattractive proposition. Thus is was only yesterday that we got our admin sorted out with Customs and the Port Police, did some shopping and finally got the reefing lines in place.

 

Today we set off, heading north for a change towards Paxos and Corfu.  We planned initially to spend tonight at a place known as Two Rock Bay on the mainland. However, as we left the Preveza channel and ventured out into the open sea we discovered there was a significant swell running from the west. This would have made Two Rock Bay, if not untenable, then certainly very uncomfortable so we had a rapid change of plan and headed for Paxos instead. Halfway here the wind had built enough to sail. Not only that but later we were obliged to put in a reef so just as well we finished the job before setting off! It was a cracking sail.

 

We now have just under three precious weeks in which to rampage about before we are once again back at the yard to be lifted out and everything is once again packed away until we are able to get back here again.

What follows was written three days ago. We are now back in Cheshire but in the flurry of activity that inevitably follows our return, the publication of this final post for 2022 has been somewhat delayed. Please accept our apologies.

 

So the alternator held out, I’m sure you’re all very relieved to hear, and we made it back up to Preveza. We spent one night anchored off the town while we checked what admin hoops we needed to jump through before leaving the boat and then spent the next few days at an anchorage near Vonitsa on the inland sea that we’ve been to many times before. It’s only about an hour and a half from the yard and very beautiful. It’s known as the Bay of Pigs however, because there are some very large and distinctly scary pigs that roam around ashore. We encountered one once and are not keen to repeat the experience so we don’t go for walks there any more.

After some torrential rain in last week, we did however manage to dry off all the sails, drop them and pack them away which was most satisfactory. We also packed up the kayak and started to compile a list of what is on board Rampage (and where it’s all stowed).  This is something I have vaguely been meaning to get done for years but never got around to and then this year we both found it very hard to remember after an absence of three years. Thankfully this was not too serious – there were no major items we failed to bring out with us – but it did almost lead to a teabag crisis. I had to ask Polly to bring some when they came out and inevitably of course, I almost immediately found some PG Tips for sale in a tiny shop in Vliho.

 

While compiling our inventory we discovered that most of the medicines etc in the first aid kit were long out of date. Thankfully we have not needed anything much other than anti-itch cream. Our stowage list has resulted in another list however, namely all those things that need to be replaced. This includes, in no particular order, fire extinguishers, flares, anchor chain, dinghy, alternator, replacement shower for swim platform, new aft bumper, fender covers, chart plotter etc, etc … Oh and really we need to replace the standing rigging (i.e. the steel cables that hold up the mast,) which has never been done and Rampage is now 22 years old so this job is over-due. Some of these above items,  you will note, are fairly significant purchases. I think over the winter we shall have to decide on priorities and then decide what we can actually afford to do!

Our lift-out was scheduled for 08:30 on Monday morning (17^th October,) so on Sunday we made our way back to Preveza, anchored just off the yard overnight and went ashore to eat. Next morning we were up betimes in order to drain out the dinghy and lift it on board. The wretched thing has been gradually dying on us over the past few weeks and now despite Duncan’s best efforts, not only lets water in (never a good feature of any craft) but also leaks air from the tubes and deck so it has to be pumped up with monotonous regularity. Its days are numbered.

After lift-out there are always a number of final tasks involved in putting the boat to bed for the winter, calling for another list! Canvas work and running rigging, (halyards etc,) needs to be stowed away to protect them from wind and weather damage through the winter. There is lots of last minute laundry and cleaning to be done, the water tanks must be drained, the anchor chain is let down to the ground to be rinsed by winter rain, the dinghy has to be cleaned and packed away and, and, and – well you get the general idea.

It is now all done and I am finishing this as we sit in the airport waiting to board our flight home. All things considered, Rampage survived remarkably well in view of our long absence. Every year there are items that need to be replaced. This time though, the list is much longer because we have done nothing since 2019 plus the lack of maintenance during the period has taken its toll.

 

2022 has been our shortest season ever aboard Rampage. We didn’t go far or explore new places. We just enjoyed the sunshine, the beauty of the place and being able to relax heavily after a busy time at home, renovating our house in Cheshire. Our plans for next year are hazy. Once the work on Chapel Cottage is completed (we’ve done about 80%,) we are hoping to sell and would then like to buy somewhere in Cornwall. However, in the current economic climate, the future is very uncertain so we shall have to wait and see. We do intend to come back out for a couple of weeks in the spring, simply to catch up on maintenance. Beyond that, we simply don’t know.

We have spent the past few days at one of our favourite haunts: the Abelike anchorage on Meganisi. The weather has been warm enough to swim but not scorching. Most days we’ve gone ashore to walk over the hill into Little Vathi to shop and have a drink at one of the cafés.

We’ve also spent quite a bit of time messing about in our inflatable kayak. It’s good fun and a bit of exercise – a far better craft in many respects, than the dinghy. As our son-in-law jTommy discovered, the dinghy is a pig to row which is why we nearly always use the outboard. The kayak however is easy to manoeuvre and much more efficient but one is inclined to get a bit damp as the paddles flick water, though this is possibly due to poor technique on our part! Also of course there is not much cargo space in the kayak though Gracie and I did manage to fill it with quite a lot of litter from the Agios Andreou beach the day we went there.

Anyway, despite having a rather pleasant, indolent time, for the past week or so there has been a nagging concern about the electricity supply. In Sami there was no mains electricity so we had to run the engine every day to charge the batteries. In Sivota we anchored, so again there was no mains boost for the batteries which now didn’t seem to be charging properly. Duncan began to suspect that we needed to replace the remaining domestic batteries. Accordingly, we only spent one night in Sivota before pressing on to Nidri to buy another two new batteries. We motored all the way which was frustrating as it was perfect sailing weather but we were concerned to put enough charge in the batteries to be able to operate the anchor winch.

Several hundred euros the poorer, we then pressed on to Porto Spilia where we reckoned we could plug into shore power. Unfortunately the electric points at Babis’s did not seem to be working properly and in retrospect the next day we should have found somewhere else to plug in. However, the new batteries seemed to have solved the problem so we opted instead for the anchorage at Abelike since we prefer, when possible, to anchor.

Since we have been here, Duncan has had several attempts to improve the alternator charging capacity. Yesterday he replaced the regulator and thought he had solved the problem.

 

We had planned to leave here yesterday but for various reasons we both slept badly on Sunday so we decided to postpone our departure by 24 hours. This morning, the batteries look very sick indeed and the alternator seemed to have died completely – running the engine was putting no charge into them at all. The fact that the weather has turned grey and rainy today has not helped as the solar panels are producing very little output either.

Duncan has now been working on the engine for several hours and finally seems to have fixed the alternator although he is not sure quite how! He has come to the conclusion however that we should try to replace it so we now shall head for Nidri and see if we can pick one up there. Rampage is due to be lifted next Monday, so either way we shall continue north tomorrow, keeping our fingers crossed that the alternator doesn’t die on us again.