A tight squeeze in Sivota

Continuing on from where we left you, we were awaiting the storm in Vlicho bay. Anchor set deep, food and beer consumed at the Vlicho Yacht Club. The last time we were here, it was due to blow from the south, but instead blew a strong gale from the west. This time, we anticipated the storm from the north-west. Being at the bottom of the bay meant if we dragged the anchor, we would end up in shallow mud. Also, the fetch across the natural harbour (such as it was) could have made for a bumpy night. I have sat in the cockpit during a north-west storm in Vlicho, watching solar panels fly off the roof of a house on the shore. The wind can funnel through this bay quite dramatically, and the venturi effect can increase the wind speeds considerably. Not so, this time. We expected north-west, and it blew from the south. The perfect place for that would have been on the quay wall in Spartochori!

Anyway, it wasn’t as bad as our previous encounter, so we upped anchor the next morning headed for Sivota. As this whole area is now extremely busy, it is essential to call ahead everywhere and try to book space. We had an interesting experience the last time we were here, on Brexit Day. I’m not of a mind to repeat that experience. We couldn’t raise anyone on the phone at Stavros’s restaurant so we couldn’t find out if his pontoon was booked out. Again, given that the alternative was a night in Vlicho bay again, we decided to take our chances.

To get to Sivota from Vlicho and Nydri, you have to sail down the very pleasant Meganisi Straits. We came here once by car, and was amazed at how short a drive it is from Vlicho to Sivota, compared to an hour or so under sail/motor. The wind was barrelling up the Meganisi Strait, and it’s not particularly wide so we decided against sailing down. Lots and lots of boats were sailing towards us, using the strong breeze to their advantage. It’s tough being the “motor” boat because you miss the fun of sailing on a downwind sled run through the channel. Also, you have to stay clear of all the boats who are sailing. This also raises the question - why are they all going in the opposite direction…? No matter! Onward we go, fearing nothing but quay walls.

At the bottom end of the Lefkas peninsula, we turned west to head for Sivota and were met by a series of squalls and Irish-style rain. My two crewmates abandoned me for the dry cabin. No point in all of us getting wet! The entrance to Sivota is hard to make out even at the best of times. On this day, it was shrouded in rain clouds and mist. Finally we managed to get someone on the phone, and yes, we could reserve a spot on their pontoon! They asked how long we intended staying. At that point, the consensus was somewhere between “six months” and “forever!”. We tentatively said “two days” and they agreed. Usual arrangement - eat at their restaurant, and have a free marina berth with water and electricity. Not a problem as it’s a fabulous restaurant and we’d eat there even if we weren’t on their pontoon.

As we entered the harbour, the weather cleared up. Out came the fenders and dock lines. But just as we approached the pontoon, another squall hit, and I did an about turn. I motored back out again, conscious of the fact that there were at least three or four boats behind me, who now fancied their improved chances of a berth. Really, if I haven’t said it before, the Ionian is way too crowded. It is no longer a pleasant experience.

I motored long enough for the rain to stop, swung around again, and aimed for the pontoon a second time. When we last sailed in here, Taverna Stavros was the only enterprising restaurant who had purchased a pontoon for their prospective customers. As mentioned previously, not everyone follows the unwritten rule that you patronise the establishment that paid for your overnight facilities. As we approached, I was amazed to discover that there were any number of pontoons, now. In fact, it’s hard to get in anywhere because they’re so close to each other. It feels like Sivota bay is now one large marina. Unusually, there was no-one on the pontoon to take our lines, as we approached. There was a spot near the end, so I once again drilled the new member of the crew on the operation of lazy lines and stern-to mooring. I swung around, and gracefully (if that’s the appropriate word) backed up on the pontoon, trying to maintain a straight line. Nikea has a staggering amount of prop walk, and she will generally go anywhere but the direction you want. I have discovered that the key is to make sure there is a solid amount of water flowing over the rudder, which means giving the engine a second or two of “welly” in reverse. This works really well at showing Nikea who’s boss, but it also attracts a lot of nervous heads from neighbouring boats. They peer out their companionways, wondering what manner of eejit is coming into the tranquil harbour, at full speed. It doesn’t take much, though. A second or two to get enough water to influence the boat direction.

If I say so myself, I did a fabulous job of backing up to the pontoon, stopping just short. My crew took lines ashore, and I took the lazy line to the bow. Just then, of course, I encountered the personification of one of my many nightmares. On the other side of the pontoon, was the guy charged with taking one’s lines. He was in an inflatable dinghy, motoring madly in our direction, and waving his hands. It would appear, it seems, that he wanted us to drive out again and reverse into a tiny spot much closer to the shore. I doubt my Laser II would have fit into that space. One minute, I was salivating over that beer I would have in the very near future. The next, I’m abandoning a perfectly-parked mooring to try and squeeze a 36 foot boat into a space fit for a dinghy.

He jumped onto the pontoon, and pointed to the tiny slot farther in. We retrieved our lines, dropped the lazy line back into the water with a sadness which could only be described as “infinite”, and motored out. I then started to back up between the prominent bows on one pontoon and the prominent bows on our pontoon. The 90 degree turn I would need to make to slot into this tiny berth wasn’t worth considering. Oh well. Onward, ho! Rather than stand on the pontoon as usual, awaiting my stern, he jumped on board the neighbouring boat farthest from us, and made his way to their bow. I guess this is a typical experience for the guys who manage this now-crowded bay. When I came close to him, and attempted to get the bow to swing out without benefit of a bow thruster, he grabbed our pushpit (the chrome bars at the stern). He man-handled the the stern around while we fended off the bow of our other neighbour. We managed to perform a 90 degree turn by sheer force of will, rather than using the engine or the imaginary bow thruster we don’t have. Slowly we crept back, forcing an opening between our neighbours. It was quite the squeeze, and I would hate to be reincarnated as a fender, under those circumstances. We were so tightly packed in, that I could imagine us popping out like a cork, should our stern lines come free. We arranged and rearranged our fenders (and our neighbours fenders on both sides) until we had what we felt was the most secure arrangement. Another storm was forecast, but frankly I doubt a hurricane could have budged us.

Today is our second day here, and even with a few squalls, it has been very pleasant. We will need to move again on Monday, and our enthusiasm for dodging storms is at an all-time low. I think if I mention anchoring in Vlicho bay one more time, I will be consigned to the dinghy without an engine, and with enough food and water for at most, three days. In the meantime, however, dinner upstairs at Taverna Stavros this evening, a carafe or two of wine, and all is right with the world.

Now, I just hope I remembered to isolate the engine battery…