Messina Strait

Our stay in Taormina lasted longer than planned while we waited for the winds to settle, so we could pass safely through the Strait of Messina.

The Strait is a narrow channel between Sicily and the toe of Italy. Though the Mediterranean is largely tideless, the meeting of the Ionian and Tyrrhenian Sea here creates powerful currents and whirlpools. This is driven not by tides, but by the difference in salinity and temperature between the two seas, causing a regular and often brisk exchange of water between them. With shifting winds in the mix, timing our crossing was essential.

In addition to natural hazards, the Strait is also a busy shipping corridor. To manage this heavy traffic there’s a Traffic Separation Scheme (TSS) in place - a kind of marine motorway designed to reduce the risk of collision. As a sailing vessel, we must stick to the east side of the channel and avoid the central lanes when heading north.

Pérdika (blue dot), navigating the TSS through the Strait.

We entered mid morning with a following current and light wind - ideal conditions. Whilst motoring past the scenic Calabrian coastline, we were treated to a close-up view of the traditional wooden swordfishing boats, known as passerelle. These peculiar vessels are built for only the calmest conditions, which made our sighting all the more fortunate. The captain steers from atop his 30-foot mast, while the harpooner waits out on a long bow platform to strike. It’s a centuries-old practice that is still going strong today.

Notice the 45ft spar extending from the bow.

These unique vessels have evolved specifically for swordfishing in the Strait. Swordfish rest near the surface during the day, and from high above, the captain can spot their silvery outlines in the clear water. The long bowsprit allows a harpooner to creep forward in silence before striking - no nets, no engines at full throttle - just a quiet, time-honoured hunt that has been passed down through generations.

Exiting the Strait into the Tyrrhenian Sea.

Aeolian Islands

From the Strait, we enjoyed a beautiful sail to the Aeolian Islands - a volcanic archipelago of seven main islands named after Aeolus, the Greek god of the winds. 

A fresh breeze and a sparkling sea.

In Homer’s Odyssey - essentially a poetic record of early Mediterranean seafaring - Aeolus gifted Odysseus a bag of winds to aid his journey, but when the crew suspecting treasure, foolishly opened it, they released a chaos of contrary winds that drove them off course.

True to Homer’s tale, the Aeolian winds were difficult to predict and offered little consistency - and as if that weren’t challenge enough, a persistent swell rolled through the anchorages day and night.

Not so Swell

There is nothing remotely “swell” about swell. It’s the sort of thing sailors go to great lengths to avoid, but in these parts, it proved a stubborn companion - present more often than not, regardless of local wind. The combination of open anchorages and steep volcanic slopes allowed long-period swell to wrap neatly into bays that appeared perfectly sheltered on the chart. Especially in calm conditions, a slow, measured roll would establish itself - often building with the evening breeze or the spring tide under a full moon.

Anchored in stillness, yet the slow roll deepened with the spring tide under a full moon.

At times, the motion evolved into a proper side-to-side seesaw. You adapt, of course - but cooking quickly became an exercise in core stability: one foot braced the galley, one hand gripped the counter, whilst the other chased wayward ingredients as they scattered along it. Still, thankfully on all but two occasions the motion settled into a gentle nocturnal lullaby. 

Vulcano Island

We visited three of the islands, with Vulcano being our favourite. It was a small, otherworldly place with an active crater, black sand beaches that felt like silk underfoot and a lush, almost tropical landscape. It had an air of timeless serenity that made it hard to leave.

Our first nights were spent at anchor in the quiet bay of Spiaggia del Cannitello, near a small hotel tucked into a 30-acre organic farm. 

The cacti kept watch while we wandered the farm!

We felt instantly at home the moment we set foot there. It had a nostalgic air about it - a feeling of a place frozen in time. We made friends with Pilar, from Argentina who worked there with her husband Martin- she kindly let us wander through the grounds and explained some of the history.

The lovely Pilar joined us for breakfast.

Climbing the Crater

We enjoyed a short, lively sail north to Vulcano’s main port, where the pungent tang of sulphur drifted across the bay - a reminder that the volcano was still at work. Early the next morning, we set off for a hike to the crater.  

An early climb to the crater across the bay. 

The three-hour round trip was not for the faint of heart - steep inclines and slippery black volcanic sand made the ascent quite a slog, but the view rewarded our effort. 

A relentless incline to the summit of Gran Cratere.

The main crater, ringed with steaming sulphurous fumaroles, felt like another planet. The volcano itself was one of Italy’s four most active, and though it hadn’t erupted since the 1890s, it was constantly venting.

Our next stop was Cefalù, a picturesque town on Sicily’s northern coast, where we’d provision and prepare for our three-day passage to Sardinia.

-More photos and video from this passage are on Instagram and Facebook.