Cruising

I thought another boys’ trip in a charter yacht would be fun,’ said the Skipper. ‘Would you be up for it? The second week in June if I can book a 50-footer on a good deal.’ Erm… I hesitated. Vivid memories

of the gale-infested charter holiday we took on the (literally) rocky horror show of the Swedish coastline – as immortalised in PBO January 2012 – flashed through my mind. Where was he planning to go now? Tierra del Fuego?

‘The Cyclades would be nice,’ he continued. ‘A crew with wives can take the boat south for a week, then the boys can take it back up north again.’ That sounded more like it. ‘Yes please,’ I replied. ‘Count me in.’ The Cyclades, south-east of mainland Greece and bounded to the south by the Sea of Crete, comprise many islands and promised splendid sunny sailing.

The Skipper had secured a favourable deal via LateSail.com on a Lavrion-based, Dream Yacht Charters Harmony 47. The crew comprised the Skipper’s usual motley mix of elderly miscreants. The Bosun abandoned his farm for a week; the Chef, a retired Seldén mast maker, got an exeat from his wife; the Anchorman, a retired brewer, jumped at another chance to push the magic button that lowers and raises the ship’s anchor. And I, Scribbler, made up the numbers.

Like many trips to the Med, ours kicked off in that venue once renamed Gatport Airwick by Terry Wogan, and we had to endure its crowded charms for an extra

Cycladesand gentlemenBeset by memories of rocks and gales on a previous charter trip, Peter K Poland is delighted when a Greek charter proceeds far more agreeably

couple of hours as we awaited the late arrival of our surprisingly expensive jolly orange jet. The crew changeover was to take place on the island of Santorini, but our plane landed so late that we missed last orders at the attractive restaurant perched on the cliff overlooking Vlychada Marina.

At least our grinning Skipper was awaiting us. ‘Follow me,’ he said. ‘Rimbaud is just over there.’ (This was our Harmony’s unlikely name: Rimbaud was a gay French poet.) ‘I’ve got food in the fridge.’ This turned out to be cold deep-fried squid that had been salvaged from overgenerous lunch portions and brought back to the boat in a doggy bag. We washed it down with Grouse’s best then followed it up with brownies which had been baked by the Bosun’s wife and waved through airport security checks. A classic Greek meal to kick off our Greek adventure.

More basic than beautifulOur 14m (47ft) home looked promising, but not plush. The accommodation was standard issue – double berth in forepeak, twin ‘over and under’ bunks in a small cabin amidships opposite a loo/shower compartment, an excellent linear galley in the saloon with a centreline bench and U-shaped settees opposite, and a drop-down saloon table. Aft was a decent chart table, another loo and shower compartment and two double cabins under the cockpit. The finish and trim were more basic than beautiful, and the

Cruising

A peaceful bay behind Poseidon’s Temple at Ak Soudian, just south of Lavrion

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From a greater distance, this town looked like a snow-capped summit on a volcanic cliff on Santorini

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me: always going where the wind is coming from,’ said the cheerful Skipper. Apparently, the meltemi – known by the old Greeks as the Etesian northern winds – had arrived early this year. This blast of northerly air results from a high-pressure system over the Balkans and Hungary and a relatively low-pressure system over Turkey. When the meltemi cuts in, northerly winds reach Force 4 to 5 in the afternoon but occasionally increase to 5-7, and stay that way for up to 10 days. So if you’re heading north in these conditions, it can pay to get going at dawn and leg it

An imaginative lash-up reattached the mainsheet, so we set sail on our first leg back up north, aiming for the island of Ios. First, we made a small detour into Santorini’s dramatic caldera, left by a volcanic eruption about 3,600 years ago – said to be one of the largest in recorded history. It was weird to be sailing through a giant flooded crater surrounded by volcanic cliffs. From a distance, one of these looked as though it was topped with snow until we got closer and saw it was a mass of white buildings perched high up against the blue sky.

As the day wore on, the wind increased to 24 knots – from the north. ‘You know

KEA

SYROS

MAKRONISI

PAROS

NAXOS

IOS

THIRA

SERIFOS

MILOS

POLIAGOS

A Cyclades charter trip

KIMOLOS

SIKINOS

FOLEGANDROS

lack of a third loo had not pleased the ladies. But for us blokes, Rimbaud would do the job admirably. Besides which, no one spends time below during the day, and the sleeping arrangements were fine. Furthermore, at £2,500 for 14 days in June it represented good value, and Rimbaud’s lowish freeboard, slinky lines and sensible sail plan suggested good performance.

The ladies’ cruise from Lavrion had called in at Kythnos, Serifos, Sifnos, Folegandros and Sikinos before parking up in Santorini. By all accounts it had been an enjoyable island-hopping route, although a vertical crease in the bent boom suggested there was at least one tale to tell. ‘Ah’, said the Skipper, ‘that was the gybe.’ Apparently Rimbaud had been running downwind at around 9 knots when a change of course became necessary. As the crew executed the gybe, the tang on the mainsheet traveller broke, so the boom flew on its merry way before coming to a violent and abrupt halt against the shrouds. Close inspection revealed that the tang’s metal casting had been cracked long ago and was just waiting to let go. ‘If it’s windy, we’ll need to reef the mainsail early,’ observed the ex-mast-making Chef. ‘It would be boring to break that bent boom.’ Indeed.

SIFNOS

KYTHNOS

Cliffs protect the bay of Kalidhonikhi on Kea

An arid landscape encircles the anchorage on the northern tip of Paros

Kea

Paros

The good ship Rimbaud beside a bulkier-looking Océanis in harbour in Ios

Ios

Loutra••Merika

Ermoupoli•Gaidharos

•Santorini

Rimbaud, with tasteful crease in boom, stops to shop in Ermoupoli, capital of

Syros (and the Cyclades)

Syros

•Naousa

•Ios port

Vlychada Marina, Santorini: this is where the crew change took place, from the wives to ‘the boys’

Yoni Cove•

Lavrion •

Kalidhonikhi Cove•

The charter fleet was based here

Lavrion

KEY

Course with wives

‘Boys only’ course

0 5 10

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Cruising

their pretty pillion-perching girls around on powerful motorbikes. The Skipper visited the port authorities, and was told: ‘If you want electricity as well, it’s n2.4 a night.’ Crazy. Why so cheap when Greece so badly needs the loot?

As the sun set, the Skipper and I walked to the Lord Byron while Chef, Anchorman and Bosun took the bus. It was a panting but pretty climb up winding paths between flowers and white houses to the tiny, narrow streets on the hilltop, and eventually – up a little alley – there was the Lord Byron.

A jolly waitress said: ‘I bring you five different starters and five different main courses. All delicious. You share it out. And some litre jugs of red and white. OK? I bring desserts as well.’ It was a feast, the best of the week. If you go to Ios, seek out the Lord Byron. Five people, three courses, plenty of plonk and a lovely ambience – all for just n150 – is hard to beat.

New travellerNext morning, we told our helpful neighbour that we needed to go to Paros to collect a new mainsheet car from the agent in Parikia. ‘Not a nice place,’ he said. ‘Better to go to Naousa and take a taxi. This will save time, and you won’t have to risk a rocky channel on the way’.

So we aimed due north into a northerly wind, motor-sailing about 25 miles and passing between Naxos and Paros, then – hooray – eased sheets and turned left onto a rollicking reach. Rimbaud took off at

speed. When we entered the marina, Skipper hopped into a taxi. ‘That will be n22 to stay for the night,’ said an officious attendant.

‘But we’re just stopping for an hour to collect a spare part’.

‘Still n22.’ The moral? Avoid marinas.While we waited, we watched a German

sailor and his wife wrestling with their in-mast and admittedly ancient mainsail. It was firmly stuck as he violently tugged it, like the Skipper’s spaniel trying to wrench a shoe from his master’s grasp. It just ripped. Then he took to a bosun’s chair and tried to dig the fold out of the slot while his muscular, bikini-clad wife sweated on the winch. Chef helped the husband and I tailed the halyard as the wife wound the handle: definitely the better deal. The sailcloth tore vertically down the leech.

Then the Skipper returned with his new traveller, fitted it to the track and off we went across the bay to an attractive anchorage, complete with a little boatyard, a taverna and a monster superyacht swinging on its anchor. After a swim, Bosun took over Chef’s duties and excelled himself with a huge spag bol made from homegrown beef he had exported to Greece in a deep-frozen lump in his hand luggage. Copious quantities of Greek red washed it down while owls serenaded us from the shore.

The next day kicked off with our customary cockpit breakfast: cereals, bread, honey, jam etc. Then things went wrong. Chef had left his Kindle on his bed in the forepeak, and Anchorman knelt on it in the process of retrieving his anchor winch remote control pad. Another Kindle bit the dust: poor Chef had secretly been trying to finish 50 Shades of Grey. Then the WC pump in the aft bog seized solid, so Skipper had to sacrifice some of his priceless home-grown Umbrian olive oil to free it. To complete the early morning

for as many miles as possible before life gets too lively. Not that early morning rising would be on this crew’s agenda: late nights and leisurely breakfasts were more our style.

With Rimbaud leaning into a brisk beat, a reef went in to protect the bent boom. Cockpit-operated single-line reefing worked well once we got used to controlling every string on the boat with just two winches and an unmarked array of clutches. Also, the reefed mainsail set well, unlike the shapeless in-mast furling jobs. These are convenient, if they don’t jam, but don’t give good windward performance. The Chef, however, complained about the motion. ‘If you lot want lunch, you’ll have to heave to,’ he shouted from his galley kingdom. So we did. And the first of many excellent cockpit lunches – dressed mixed salad, hard-boiled eggs, miscellaneous salamis, crusty bread and chilled white plonk – emerged from below and slid precariously around on the fiddle-less cockpit table. Over the week, many of these lunches were enjoyed and many a lap was anointed with wine and salad dressing. Such are the joys of open-air meals under sail.

Pretty portAfter our windward thrash, the screaming engine (‘it’s a new propshaft bedding in,’ the Skipper had been told) fired up and took us into the pretty port on Ios. Anchorman made his inaugural drop, and Rimbaud reversed into the quay in the nicest harbour on our cruise. ‘There’s a nudist beach around the corner,’ said Skipper and Chef hopefully, but we decided it was unfair to frighten the young and beautiful with our creased, sagging torsos and miscellaneous bits.

Instead we asked the young Greek Skipper of an Océanis beside us where the best restaurant was. ‘Lord Byron,’ he replied emphatically. ‘It’s a nice walk up the hill behind the town, or the lazy can take the bus.’

Beforehand, there was time for a stroll around the harbour to an unspoilt beach, watching local lads whisking

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This beautiful temple is a short taxi ride away from the port of Lavrion

ABOVE A ruined temple just visible on the slope above the beach… a scenic spot for a swim and a lunch break

BELOW Abandoned construction on new houses in Kalidhonikhi at the northern end of Kea

Practical Boat Owner 583 February 2015 • www.pbo.co.uk 85

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dramas, Bosun set fire to the cooker by leaving the egg carton on top of a lit burner, producing a hideous smell and cracked roast eggs.

Then off we set, to windward again. Rimbaud’s beating ability became clear when Skipper activated VMG on the plotter. At one point we found we were making minus 0.69 knots. Maybe there was a current? Either way, shallow keels are good for wriggling into harbours, but even better for sailing upwind sideways.

We eventually trundled into Ermoupoli, a big port framed by pretty buildings. Then it was anchor down, reverse onto the quay and time to shop. Chef wanted a fresh chicken for supper plus onions, spuds, greens etc, and located a Carrefour. However, it only sold deep-frozen lumps.

‘I’m not going to cook one of those,’ he moaned, so Chef and Bosun organised separate chicken-hunting sorties that headed off in different directions. We ended up with two chickens. ‘I’ll roast them both,’ Chef said: ‘One hot for tonight and the other cold for lunch tomorrow’.

From there it was a short spin to the deserted cove at Gaidharos, a dramatic and narrow cut with cliffs on each side and a small beach at its head. Squadrons of seabirds screeched, wheeling around and standing on the cliffs, glaring at us. Shades of Hitchcock, but without the pretty blonde. The meltemi funnelled down the cove and we wove from side to side at the end of our chain, just clear of the shallows beneath the cliffs.

Chef excelled himself with chicken, vegetables and gravy: a cockpit-consumed feast in an empty anchorage. And all washed down with red, then bedded in with post-prandial whisky. Cruising doesn’t get much better than this.

A stonking reachNext morning, we were rudely awakened. It was not a dawn chorus: more a dawn cacophony as serried ranks of gulls screamed at us from the cliffs. Then we upped anchor and set sail to Kythnos, which was to the west, so Rimbaud enjoyed a stonking reach in a lively sea. Not surprisingly, lunch (the spare chicken) became a spilling session, and as we sailed into the pretty port of Loutra and parked stern-to, the wind was still rising.

It was time for a swim, and on the nearby beach there was a pool at one end. Joining the people lounging in it, we discovered that the water – flowing from an underground stream – was hot. An elegant, bikini-clad old lady told us it was good for rheumatism, arthritis and getting pregnant. What? ‘My father was a doctor and said this was true,’ she added. Two pretty nymphs were lying in the stream, watched by two concerned blokes so… maybe? Meanwhile, Skipper swam in the sea with his mobile phone in his pocket, as is his wont, then washed it out in the magic stream, but sadly to no effect. In the

evening, we randomly picked one of several restaurants in the village – the wrong one, as it turned out. You can’t win them all.

The next day dawned with more strong wind, which meant a long beat to Kea. We headed to the southern end and a bay called Yoni Cove – an amazing spot, with shelter beneath huge multicoloured cliff

formations. Rimbaud swung to the anchor off a beach with an old temple on the hillside above. Then, lunch over, we had a long beat in 20 knots of wind up the coast of Kea to Kalidhonikhi Cove at the top. This is yet another pretty anchorage, and to celebrate our arrival Skipper and Bosun swam ashore to the taverna to take cocktails. The barman told them that the many half-built, sad and abandoned houses on the slopes above the shore were ‘because of the crisis’. Meanwhile, Chef prepared Spanish omelettes with improvised ratatouille that was consumed as a full moon cast a silver path across the sea, straight into the cove. Magical.

The next day, it was back to Rimbaud’s Lavrion base on the mainland. A good breeze sprang up from the north, and there was plenty of west in our course. Our last sail was perfect, therefore, even if my favourite sun hat flew off and landed in the sea, and Bosun declined to turn round and rescue it. Then we rounded the point of uninhabited Makronisi island and jogged gently home as we consumed the last lunch of the holiday.

Back in harbour, the customary ‘post-charter check’ took place. Bent boom apart, all was deemed in order – then it was off for an evening meal in the teeming town and back to the boat for final nightcaps. Sleep, however, was a problem. The racket (music?) emanating from the clubs and bars along the quay was appalling and lasted long into the

small hours. ‘It’s normal,’ said our taxi driver the next day. ‘It’s against the law, but

owners persuade the police to ignore it.’Peaceful nights in Lavrion apart,

however, cruising the Cyclades makes for a great holiday and is highly recommended. The distances between islands are long enough for a good sail, yet short enough to make the next port of call in ample time for evening sherbets. Sheltered and scenic anchorages abound, overnight parking in a harbour (apart from in a marina) is cheap, restaurants are good value and it’s always easy to find shops for provisioning. The locals are friendly and most speak good English. And you have a wide choice of yachts of different types, sizes, ages and prices. Chartering does not get much better.

A full moon cast a silver path across the sea, straight into the cove. Magical...

A Cyclades charter trip

RIGHT Chef (left) tells Bosun (right) how to carve his epic roast chicken feast at a secluded anchorage on Gaidharos, just east of Syros

ABOVE The picturesque harbour of Loutra on Kithnos island, with a hot spring pool on the beach to the right