Passage to Sardinia

We opted to leave Sicily, partly due to the incessant swell, but also because a perfect weather window had come along for our sail to Sardinia. Sadly, that left no time to explore or provision in Cefalù, our last port, which looked to be a charming and picturesque place.

The forecast was for a strong-ish south easterly blowing through the gap between southern Sicily and Tunisia. I’m sure this gap helps accelerate the wind as it’s squashed between two land masses. Predict Wind our go-to forecaster, was showing wind of around 20kts which is ideal and being a south easterly, it was in the perfect direction to take us across and up to Sardinia.

Predict Wind’s sail routing and forecast for our journey.

 With the wind blowing in that way it meant very little wind in the lee of Sicily, along the north coast. What little wind there was, was coming from the east which made perfect conditions for us to raise our “kite”. This is the biggest sail we carry and can only be hoisted if you want to sail downwind or 10-20 degrees either side of dead downwind.  She’s a beast and in the early days slightly terrifying to launch.

Launching the kite.

It’s wrapped up in a “sock” which you hoist up to the top of the mast and to launch it you effectively roll up the sock and the kite is pulled out by the wind. It’s scary simply due to its enormous size and therefore tremendous power, even in light airs. It’s also very easy to get the lines wrong and launch it wrapped round something you didn’t intend causing all sorts of havoc but when it goes right, oh, it’s magic! That massive kite unfurls, the boat surges ahead, and suddenly, you’re grinning like a fool. 

The sail is incredibly efficient. In 5 knots of wind, we’re able to do 6-6.5 knots over the ground, pretty much the speed we would do when motoring. I love the feeling of getting all this power and speed for nothing (the engine guzzles three litres of diesel an hour at 6.5 knots).  Luck was with us as a steady  5 knot easterly held for our entire journey along the north coast of Sicily.  This very gentle sail, at reasonable speed, in glorious sunshine, resulted in our most enjoyable sail of the trip so far.

The kite flying with the mizzen ballooner.  

For those interested in how the fishing is going, this gentle glide down the North coast was an ideal time to get the line out and after an hour the reel screamed and the line tore off the spool. A catch at last?  As I sprang into action, I could tell it wasn’t very big, too light as I was hauling it in, definitely not tuna weight, and no fight. Maybe just a little-un but still a catch, right? 

The Med continues to mock me.

Sadly not, my catch revealed itself as a piece of plastic, retrieved from the ocean for the better of all. It only goes to show what I’ve been telling Rachael for years, though she won’t believe me! “There’re no fish in the Med”.

If you know your geography of Sicily, or take a look at this map, you’ll see what I mean by the wind blowing through the gap between southern Sicily and Tunisia. We knew this wind was due to pick up the following day to around 25knots and once we came to the edge of the north coast, we knew that wind would hit us around breakfast time and I’d calculated that we’d have the strongest part of it during that day, which makes it far more manageable than sailing with it at night.

First night’s sunset

So what’s it like to sail at night? Well, it’s certainly not as easy as during the day, but it definitely has its own magic. You can’t see, is the obvious difference - or rather you can “see” just in a different way . We have AIS in board which is an automatic system to display other boats on the chart plotter in the cockpit. It’s a fabulous system and you see boats on the screen many more miles away than you’d ever be able to see at that distance in the day. It relies however on the other boats having the system installed. Commercial boats are required to have it, but it’s optional with recreation and small fishing boats. 

That means you need to be extra careful, particularly sailing near to the coast, where fishing boats are more active during the night.  To see them it’s all about getting used to the dark and being aware of what you’re trying to see. All boats at night should be displaying their navigational lights. These are actually tiny little lights but designed to visible over many miles. The colour of those lights can also tell you which way the vessel is moving across your track or towards or away from you. You get used to training your eyes to comb the water, picking up a tiny spec of light that shouldn’t be there. With Pérdika rising and falling to the rhythm of the waves, you might see something one moment and not the next. You get used to looking hard and your senses come alive in the dead of the night. 
Racheal and I do four-hour watches. That usually means I’m on watch 10-2pm in the morning and Rachael does her shift from 2-6am.

Out at sea the moon and stars become very visible, there is no light pollution from land and you see the night sky incredibly clearly , or at least in this part of Europe with very few clouds. You can see remarkably well in the silver light of the moon. Time passes quickly as you search for who else is out there and follow their passage against our own.    Come daylight the wind was building quickly as was the sea. Strong winds are less of our problem with our type of ocean-going boat, but the wrong sea state can make things very uncomfortable.  We’re still learning how to read forecast on wave heights, direction and frequency.  Get the forecast wrong and you literally feel like you’re inside a washing machine, as you’re thrown around by the waves. On this occasion I think we had it about right albeit the wind was stronger and the waves bigger than I’d initially predicted. There was only one moment as a rogue wave drenched me in the cockpit that I wondered if things were building to something much worse.  As it turned out we had a heck of a ride -strong wind in the right direction and a lively, but manageable sea.

The wind continued to blow into the second night at sea. We’d initially calculated to arrive in Porto Corallo, Sardinia at 7 am. but we were making such good speed we were now going to arrive earlier. The wind was also due to drop as we approached Sardinia’s coast.  By 3am land was in sight and the wind had eased to a gentle breeze. Modern forecasting is pretty good these days and we’d timed our passage well.  At 4 am. we were arriving at Porto Corallo Marina but the pilot book warned us of the potential of a large swell in the entrance which can make entering the marina a bit tricky. As it was still dark, we decided to anchor in the sandy bay outside the marina and wait for day light. A wise decision as it turned out, as a boat coming in the night after us struck the rocks and holed its hull . It was a beautiful 70ft Oyster (the sailors amongst you will know how gorgeous these boats are). The boat was saved by the quick action of the marina staff who got the yard’s crane driver out of bed to come and hoist the front of the boat clear of the water . The first we knew about it was waking up the next day to see a beautiful boat held half suspended in the crane.  My heart went out to the skipper, it’s the sort of incident all skippers dread.

We planned to stay 3 nights in Porto Corallo and delighted in the lack of swell at last. It’s a very sleepy marina, in the middle of nowhere, no bars or shops nearby. We loved the peace and quiet and ended up staying a week, I think neither of us realised how much we needed to recharge having been unexpectedly unsettled with leaving the familiarity of Greece and having many nights of broken sleep.