Rain, rain, go away, Missy Bear wants to play!
- Alix Titley
- Oct 22
- 6 min read
Updated: Nov 12
I don’t recall such a wet sailing season as 2025. Rain is a rare commodity on our trips, and yet the sheer deluge forecast in Marmaris in May forced us to seek shelter in a marina. We got soaked-through in our ‘wet weather’ jackets and trousers. They are lightweight and not designed for a biblical drenching. They, and we, took two days to dry out. We even put the heating on in the evening, and thoughts turned to soup or glühwein.
And now, in the autumn, we were in Leros sheltering from strong, southerly winds, with a ‘red’ weather-warning across the Dodecanese for rain and thunderstorms. Normally, we would get a hire car as soon as we arrived here, but we delayed it for 24 hours in anticipation of a day, down below in the dry, snuggling up with coffee and some streaming TV.
In the end, that lot of forecast rain and storms ended up passing south of us (over Kalymnos and Kos - storms are notoriously hard to predict with any accuracy). Our relaxing day evolved into boat-cleaning instead. Nevertheless, the Hellenic Weather Services had decided we were still on for some rain and storms the next day, but had downgraded it to an ‘amber’ warning. And we were woken by a heavy downpour and a storm, which continued on and off all day. And for the next few days, as well.
Sunday finally dawned bright and sunny, so eight of us yachties from the marina set off to walk across the hill to a bay on the other (east) side of the island. We enjoyed pre-lunch beers for the boys, and Aperol spritzers for the girls, followed by lunch at a favourite taverna. None of us fancied a post-meal dip in the sea though, as the breeze still felt a bit chilly.
Money Penny and Missy Bear had agreed to depart on the Tuesday, and we headed uphill (north) to the next island, Lipsi, on our next mini-cruise. The winds were still in the north the next day, so rather than continuing uphill to Patmos, we decided to turn left and reach westwards. We had a delightful sail across to the small island of Levitha.
Levitha is a lovely, rugged but desolate island out on its own, inhabited in the summer by a family who tend to goats, and run a taverna where the menu is anything goat or fish-related.
There is a sheltered bay on the south with mooring buoys, and this is a popular stop for charter boats from Kos. Local fisherman also hang out in the bay, and on the small jetty. The only downside – or upside depending on your mood - is the complete lack of internet access. It’s certainly not possible to check the weather, once you are there.
On the Thursday, with the wind blowing cheerfully behind us, we sailed downhill (southwards) to the butterfly-shaped island of Astypalea. We just used the jib. As always, Money Penny beat us to the island as their genoa is as big as Wales. Richard had been wanting to visit Astypalea for ages. It sits 25NM south-west of the western end of Kos, and is in an excellent position to hop to-and-from a number of Dodecanese islands in the main chain.
What a delightful island it turned out to be. The first night, both boats anchored in a narrow bay on the south-west (called Agrilidi), and we went ashore to explore the deserted lime kiln, which closed down in the 1970s. Other than a small church, there are no habited dwellings in the bay, and the goats roam free, although the main road passes up the hill at the end of the bay. We flubbed across to Money Penny for supper, and with the moon rising late, it was almost pitch black when we rowed back to Missy Bear, guided by our anchor light, and a bit of cockpit-light bling.
The following day, we motored around to Maltezana (now known as Malteser Bay). It is a small village with a wide, stubby concrete quay, long-enough to take four yachts alongside the west side, with the other side being taken up by fishing boats. There were already two yachts alongside when we arrived, but a friendly fisherman helped them move together to make more room for Missy Bear and Money Penny. Friendly yacht people, and friendly fisherman. And just up from the quay was a family-run taverna with great food. Three cheers for Astypalea.
It was such a lovely location that we opted to stay put for a second night, and to travel by public transport across the island to the main town. Astypalea runs a fleet of electric VW minibuses known as ‘AstyBus’. They run nine in the summer, but only two now as it's the autumn/winter. They run from 07:00 to midnight. You register your details on an App, select your ticket type (single or day pass) and then select your pick-up stop, pick-up time, and destination. The App tells you how long before the bus turns up. It is incredibly sustainable, and reduces the need to have a car. Skipper can also cross the island for dinner and have an ouzo, without having to worry about driving back.
Judith already had the app, and thus became our route-master for the day. Our first stop was the capital, the “Chora”, as always built up on a hill to protect against pirates. The Chora and its castle were stunning, Although Astypalea is officially part of the Dodecanese, it is much more like the Cyclades islands, with windmills and white, sugar-cube houses.
We strolled down the hill to the harbour, where we recognised two yachts, one we had met in Türkiye in the spring, and the other from Pedi on Symi recently (a CA member boat with an Australian crew, based in Crete). We all chatted for a while. Boating is a small world.
Our original plan had been a circumnavigation, but we didn’t fancy beating our way around to the north. Although more rain and storms were forecast, the fisherman told us that this was pretty unlikely, as Astypalea hadn’t had rain for three years! But we spent a third night in Maltezer Bay, and agreed to return to Agrilidi overnight, before considering heading-off early back eastwards.
Money Penny wanted to get back to Kalymnos, as they had family joining them later in the week. So they decided to leave left early in the next morning, with light winds and flat seas. They ended up motoring the later part of the voyage. We chose to stay, and apart from one clap of thunder and a light shower, it stayed dry but overcast at our anchorage. The storms also missed Kalymnos, but scored a bulls-eye over Leros, where we found out that a small landslide had flushed muddy water into the marina. No-one there could run their engines, for fear of sucking some flotsam in with the cooling sea-water.
Despite a continued ‘yellow’ weather-warning the next day, we had seen enough of our bay, and decided to weigh anchor. We had light southerlies, flew our code zero, and dodged stubborn tankers, who should have given way, but preferred to play ‘chicken’ with us.
In the distance, north west of us, the cumulus billowed upwards in fluffy towers, flattening out at height into anvil-shaped clouds. We consulted Windy’s excellent real-time satellite, and confirmed these were indeed thunderstorms. Fortunately, they were not over Kalymnos, but a little further away over Turgutreis in Türkiye, and tracking away from us.
We joined Money Penny once more in the bay of Vlychadia, Kalymnos, and agreed to meet later for aperos and cards. When I came out of the shower, I found that Skipper had sneaked off early in Ursa Minor to drink beer with Al.
The forecast was now showing breezy, but sunny weather over the next few days. Money Penny headed back to Leros the next day to meet family, but we elected to stay put and have a long, leisurely seafood lunch at Paradiso restaurant on the beach-front, at Skipper’s expense. Fifteen minutes later, grey clouds rolled over, and staff were helping us move our place settings inside to avoid the rain and the gusty breeze!! We chatted to the staff, and we said that, last year. we had been in shorts and t-shirts right up to mid-November, and swimming on our final day. They told us that the previous three years have been nice, but unusual: the seasons had recently melded from late summer straight into winter, with no autumn. But this year autumn was back in the Dodecanese, and following the normal pattern.
We woke early. The clocks had gone back at the weekend, and there were faint glimmers of light. We lay in bed, and listened to the steady “pitter-patter” of raindrops outside. “Oh, for heaven’s sake”, said Richard, “Should we head home?”
And so sailed back to base; no more playing for Missy Bear until 2026.
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