September 20th was a nice day, with scattered clouds, light winds and temperatures in the low 30's. We were anchored in Vlicho Bay on the island of Lefkada, a place that has a reputation of being one of the most secure anchorages in the Ionian Sea. Well protected from all directions, its thick mud bottom makes it an ideal port in a storm. Some cruisers have left their boats anchored in Vlicho bay unattended for weeks or even months at a time. In fact, we'd left our own boat at the Vlicho dock under the care of Horatio Todd for several weeks in 2009. The forecast was calling for only Beaufort 5-6 (17-27 knots) so in spite of the unsettled weather we'd been having for the past 24 hours, we were feeling quite secure. Little did we know we were about to be hit by the most frightening storm we had ever experienced.

Thinking back, there had been some signs that trouble was on the horizon. The previous night, we'd woken to a violent thunder and lightning storm that brought howling winds, rain and even hail. It's warm here at night, with temps around 28 degrees C, which means fans are on all night and all hatches are open. It's just part of how we deal with the heat. When the thunder started, I had hopped up to close all the hatches and then went right back to sleep, feeling satisfied with our position in the anchorage, the anchor and scope.

The next day, Bon and I decided to take a dinghy run into Nidri (the tourist town about ½ mile away) for some supplies. As we sat having coffee with George in the café across from his chandlery, our friends Ni and Krissie came along and told us that some big gusts had come through the bay and several boats had dragged anchor. They assured us that Aisling hadn't budged, but we decided to head back to the boat anyway.

At around 6.30 in the evening, thunder rolled ominously in the distance and it began to rain. I closed the hatches and took our big Canadian flag off the stern. A charterer ahead of us rowed out and dropped a second anchor in about 40 knots of wind. As the wind picked up strength, Aisling heeled over as though we were under sail. All the papers and books from the nav station slid to the floor and were soon soaked in coffee from the pot that had fallen from the countertop. Bon was scrambling around below trying to stow the computers and other breakable items and I yelled for her to turn on the nav instruments and running lights, hoping this would help other boats see us as the visibility dwindled. I started the engine and grabbed the wheel, getting ready to dodge any boats that dragged towards us.
The wind howled so ferociously that it drowned out the thunder, and I watched the wind speed display climb to 72 knots . The visibility was so poor with rain and spray that I could not see the bow of our boat or any boats to windward. It was especially unsettling to realize that there was a flotilla of SunSail boats at anchor around us. Boats beside us were sailing back and forth on their anchors and heeling over with their spreaders almost in the water. The water had turned pale green and now 4' waves were rolling toward us from the head of the bay, the wind whipping their tops off. It was hard to believe the waves could reach this height with such limited fetch-the bay measures only about a mile long and half a mile wide.

There was no time to be studying the wind instrument but I did look down once more and saw 00. I assumed that the force of the wind had broken the instrument but no, it was still working and when the winds started to abate the numbers came back. Later, Ni told me he had seen 96 knots on his instrument so I think the 00 was actually 100 knots.

Bon said the view from the door of the companionway was unbelievable, with mayhem all around and me at the helm peering forward intensely. She apparently asked me if I thought we were going to die and I responded with "I can't hear you!" . On the VHF, Bonnie heard a panicked woman calling "Mayday!Mayday! Vlicho Bay, Vlicho Bay!". She said it was terrible to hear the fear in her voice and to realize it was unlikely that anyone could help her, especially as she was unable to give a more detailed description of her location.

Dressed only in running shorts, a t-shirt and bare feet with the temperature dropping and the rain pounding, I was feeling almost hypothermic. Bon rummaged through lockers trying to find my foul weather gear, but since it hadn't been used in years all she could find was my old Helly Hanson sweater and a Columbia rain shell. But it made all the difference when I pulled the Helly sweater on: I started to warm up immediately even though I still had my soaked T shirt on underneath. At that point Bon also realized that I was on deck in ferocious conditions without a lifejacket or tether, and passed me my inflatable vest.

With 130 feet of chain in a depth of about 19 feet, our 30kg Spade anchor was holding well. Although I had the engine on, I had it in gear only intermittently. I was hesitant because I could not see where I was going and was afraid I might dislodge the well-set anchor by driving over it. Other boats were dragging past us but fortunately none came down directly on us. On some of these boats, the jibs had unfurled. Remembering the sound of jibs flapping uncontrollably in the wind during Hurricane Juan, and knowing the toll this could take on a rig, I tightened the jib sheets immediately and checked the furling line.

As I watched for other boats I remembered the dinghy had been floating at the stern (with outboard attached) and turned around to see all two hundred-plus pounds of it flying in the wind. A few minutes later it was upside down in the waves, although still tied on. We watched as our dinghy seat, oars and the dinghy bag containing our pump and running lights floated away, but there wasn't a thing we could do. The bimini overhead was ripping away from the frame and flapping ferociously, but I could not hear it at the time since the sound was drowned out by the roar of the wind and rain.

None of us are sure how long this lasted. My sense was 30-45 minutes, Bon thought less than 30 minutes and Ni thought it might have been as much as an hour. It seemed like a lifetime. Eventually the wind abated and as the visibility improved, the toll in the anchorage became apparent. The sea was littered with flotsam. There were boats partially sunk with only the bow showing. In the boat yard on the other side of the bay, about two dozen boats had tumbled from their cradles like dominos.



The shoreline was littered with boats (I saw at least 8) many masts had come down and jibs were in shreds.



Numerous boats had their anchor chains tangled and were now tied together. We later heard that a man had been washed overboard and drowned; another report said he had not drowned but had fallen, hit his head and died . A woman had been trapped inside a catamaran that had flipped, but she was rescued by a diver. Unbelievably, the boats anchored in Tranquil Bay less than a mile away had not experienced the high winds at all.



After a few attempts, Bon and I managed to turn over the dingy. It was not easy. The motor was still attached and the cover had even stayed on, but I later found a loose spark plug had let water enter the cylinders. (On a positive note I flushed everything out with a can of WD40 the next morning and it started after a few pulls, although it's not running as smoothly as before.)

We watched in disbelief as a sailboat came through the anchorage, picked up all the SunSail charterers with their luggage and evacuated them ashore. I wondered what would happen if the wind hit us again with no one aboard the boats, so we decided to lift our anchor and move to a safer spot. On the way, we managed to pick up one of our oars, plus another oar that was not ours. We felt a bit better knowing that we could at least row to shore if the outboard wouldn't start.

When we finally got settled in a safer location, we both felt like we needed a stiff rum, but of course we didn't dare, in case the wind came up again. Instead, we consoled ourselves with big bowls of the quintessential Canadian comfort food- Kraft Dinner! We always keep a supply onboard for emergencies like these.

The next morning, the crew of the yacht Ethel mounted a lost and found effort in the anchorage and arranged to have all the found items placed on the dock of Demetrius' taverna. The rightful owner of the oar we had picked up was located, and in return we were given a bent oar that would do in a pinch. Later, Bonnie went out with Ni and Krissie in their dinghy, searching for our lost oar and other gear. They didn't find any of our things, but picked up a boatload of treasures, all of which were added to the pile on Demetrius' dock.

We know how lucky we were to have escaped with only minor losses. We learned a few lessons from the experience, not the least of which was that it doesn't pay to underestimate the danger a thunderstorm can present. Also, always have out lots of scope, get the life jackets on early and keep the dinghy gear tied securely to the dinghy. One upside of the event was that our lines are now sparkling clean. The force of the rain and winds was like a pressure-washer.

A U Tube Video at the following link shows footage taken from shore during the height of the storm and the aftermath. Vlicho storm video by Alex Kokkinis

We are now lying at anchor in the bay at Siracusa, Sicily with thunderstorms continually rolling through. We find we've become a bit hypersensitive to the thunder. We've heard that the ancient Romans had a rule of thumb that all their ships were to be back in port by the end of September. Now we think we know why. Pizza ashore tonight, Porto Marina di Ragusa tomorrow!