Serendipity
- Jun 2
- 6 min read
Over a fortnight ago (May 14), after returning from lunch at Kardamyla (Chios), we arrived back at the port of Marmaro to discover that Missy Bear’s blue, rubber welcome mat was missing. We assumed it had blown overboard. So, I donned my mask, snorkel and fins, and went for a quick search and rescue mission. But to no avail.
We arrived back at the same port yesterday (June 1), and almost at the same position on the quay. As I was washing the sea-salt off the boat this morning, I peered through the clear harbour-water, and I happened to notice a blue, rectangular shape lying on the sea-bed. Surely that could only be one thing!? So, I donned my diving gear again, and sure enough, in about 4.5m of water, I recovered a rubber mat. I climbed up the bathing ladder, and placed the mat on the bathing platform. And then I turned it over. Sure enough, it had a white "Welcome" wording . But it wasn’t Missy Bear’s! It’s in good nick, so we’ll keep it. You lose some, you win some…
We were now on our way back south. We had spent our last night in Moudros bay drinking Retsina onboard a French Django yacht moored next to us. Djangos are sporty French yachts - manufactured in Brittany – and the French couple were adventurers. We chatted away in French: their round-the-world adventure had been curtailed by Covid-19, when the Panama Canal had been closed. So, they never did cross the Pacific. Their boat had no creature comforts, so she erected a small plastic picnic table in the cockpit, while he cut slices off a large, dried sausage, with his sailing knife. Very French. As we had an early start the next morning, we made our excuses before even more Retsina was offered.
Missy Bear made a great passage back to Lesbos. We covered 54 NM, maxing out at 8.4 knots boat speed, in 21 knots of wind on the beam, and with two reefs in.
When we arrived back in Molyvos, there were no other boats in the harbour and no-one to help take our lines. We lined up four boat lengths off a large, yellow bollard, dropped the anchor, and then First Mate came back to the stern as I stopped the boat a meter or so from the concrete quay. With the classic throwing technique of scattering chicken feed, she lassoed the bollard. Now we were secure we could step ashore to tie-on our two stern lines.
We went to the same bar we had visited on the way up, and the owner remembered us, and even remembered what we drank (an ouzo for me and a dry white wine for Alix). We played cribbage as usual, and then returned to the same restaurant as before.
Previously, we had been the only customers, and the owners seemed overly grateful that we had chosen to eat there. This time, it was a Turkish national holiday and all the hostelries were swamped with Anatolians. She now seemed stressed, partly because the internet and card machines were not playing ball. Nevertheless, the grilled Gilthead Bream we were served was simply delicious.
Despite us lifting the passerelle before we left for supper, a cat had managed to leap on board. How do I know? The next morning, I spied paw prints on the solar panels, and a nest of ginger hairs on the top of the Bimini!
The large fishing boat had arrived back in and parked not far from us. One of fishermen, who had clearly been out fishing all night, was passing the time of day, by… fishing off the quay! He had put a small anchovy on a line, and was trying to hook a Mullet, I think. To my mind, fishing is not just an obsession, it’s an addiction, like gambling. “My next cast will be my lucky one!”. One sailing friend, who shall be nameless (Al), once “caught” Missy Bear from the stern of his own yacht, in his crazy haste to satiate his addiction.
We motored around to Sigri, on the west coast of Lesbos, and anchored up in the southern bay under the Turkish castle. I heard a strange, but memorable warbling, and looked around to see a flock of European Bee-eaters fly over us. I also noticed that we had shredded one eye of the Greek courtesy flag, and one end of the pennant line had fallen to the decks, leaving the flag stuck at the first spreader. So, I climbed onto the boom, and teased the flag down with the end of the extended boat hook. We repaired the eye, and I re-hoisted the flag. All ship-shape again.
We spent a windy day at anchor. I tied the boom to one side, so it would not overshadow the solar panels. Missy Bear yawed from side to side, riding to the anchor in the gusts. I watched the amps – on my solar charging app - increase and decrease, as the angle of the panels to the sun changed constantly.
I threw some stale bread off the back. I swear there had been no birds around, but within seconds, tens of squawking, flapping seagulls appeared from nowhere, and devoured the lot before the small blue Bream got a look in.
In the evening, the conditions had calmed, and I went out on the paddle board. I noticed immediately that I was snaking from side to side with no directional stability. That could mean only one thing – the fin was not in place. I had not locked-in the “quick-release” triangle of plastic, and it must have worked loose and dropped out. Darn! The fin is heavy-duty plastic, and would have sunk. So, again, I donned my search and rescue gear and went looking. But we were anchored in 6-7m of water, the fin was black and the bottom was covered in dark-green sea grass. I could not see it at all. I would have to buy a replacement on line, and have it shipped to our next island Chios.
That night we saw the moon rise from Remezzo restaurant, where I treated Alix to a lobster supper. And the following morning just before dawn, I peered out of our cabin window to see the same pale, golden ball set. It was one day shy of a full moon.
As conditions were calm, I dived off the back for my morning swim, and almost immediately spotted the black fin lying on its side way below me. I took three or four deep breaths to load up my lungs, then duck-dived down. I wanted to get it first time! And success! What serendipity.
We sailed around the south-west corner of Lesbos, along the south coast, and then into the very narrow entrance channel of the immense Gulf of Kallonis. There are even port and starboard channel-markers to guide you in, which is quite unusual around this part of Greece.
We anchored up just off the tiny, remote village of Apothikes. There were a couple of serious ocean-going yachts already moored there; a steel-hulled one, and a large Finnish Swan. This was just going to be a short stopover before we crossed back to Chios the next day.
When I was out paddle boarding, up a couple of shallow rivers that empty into the village bay, I was very fortunate to see a Black Stork fly past me. I thought about grabbing my Go Pro to snap it, but I decided to enjoy the moment instead. I never did make it up the rivers, as they were very shallow; the fin dug into the sand a couple of times, and tried to somersault me off the front of the board.
Later that morning, as we sailed southwards, we kept a close watch on a cargo ship that we knew would pass close by. It eventually passed our stern and a few minutes later, we both got a distinctive whiff of ‘farmyard’: the ship was transporting livestock from northern Greece to Aqaba, via the Suez Canal I assume, and the aroma of cows seemed very strange and out of context.
The wind was southerly and we eventually sailed into the huge wind-shadow of Chios. We furled the sails, and burned some diesel instead for the last hour or so. We tied up alongside at Marmaro, and I checked in with the extremely friendly Port Police who I had met before.
The port is sleepy, and I think the police like to chat to me. In Moudros (Lemnos), I had spent a while talking to the uniformed chap about Gallipoli. He liked history, like me, and was very knowledgeable. I mentioned the fantastic little Italian WWII museum in Leros, but he had never been to Leros.
Conversely, the lovely Port Policeman in Marmaro (Chios) had never been to Lemnos. When I mentioned the role of Moudros Bay in the campaign of 1915, he was totally ignorant and had to Google it, but thanked me for sharing. The truism that “you never realise what’s on your doorstep”, seems to hold out here in the Eastern Sporades.
That includes a welcome mat and a paddleboard fin…
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