30/7/10
After our days touring around, and using the car to do a massive pile of washing and a very serious trip to the huge hypermarket beyond the airport, we were still delayed by a mistral with 30kts westerlies and big seas forecast. It finally went down about 1800, by which time evening languor had overtaken us. Plus a friendly drop of wine with Marina (who'd joined us to pick up her crew in Olbia), and new friends Reinhardt and Crystal of Seatrac. They have been cruising these waters for many years and were full of helpful tips. They also endeared themselves to us by recognising Roaring Girl from seeing her at the anchorage in Portoferraio last September.
So on Saturday morning we finally extricated ourselves and set off for Arbatax. Our original intention had been to anchor under this extraordinary behomoth, the granite island of Tavolara. This is largely dominated by the military, but there is an anchorage at the south western tip which is reputed to be very beautiful. When we went past it was filled with the usual motor-yachts and day-anchorers, and we were happy to keep going.
Eastern Sardinia is a notoriously bleak coast, with few easy stopping points. There are reputedly glorious beaches, and it's probably a great area for a land-holiday, with splendid hiking in cooler months. From a cruising point of view, though, it's an area to get through.
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This entry should not be read by close family members and anyone of a sensitive disposition. It deals with a cruiser problem that we have heard about but had so far been lucky enough to avoid.
Sitting in Golfe Pero, we acknowledged that we had been boarded - we had a mouse. The short version of this story is that we caught it, it's now dead and the boat is extremely clean. And that the mouse was actually a rat.
The long version was a week of very hard work and several important lessons.
Rodents on board are very bad news. Quite apart from their inherent horridness, especially so close up, they eat electric cable. This can destroy your kit, and most frightening of all, cause fires. We started scrubbing in the food areas and gradually worked our way through the boat everywhere we saw droppings and - yes - chewed cable. We scrubbed with bleach and detergent, followed up with ammonia. Some experts seem to say that the ammonia deterrent is a myth, but it cheered us up. Over the next few days we dramatically reduced the scope of activity but it was still there. By now, though, we reckoned it was one animal, which was some comfort given the breeding rates of mice.
We christened our invader the alliterative Maurice, not least because we could think of several unpleasant people we've met by that name. At this point, we were chasing a mouse, remember. That idea was breaking our sleep and making us very unhappy, so we didn't get into worse scenarios.
On Tuesday, once the weather was good, we took off for Olbia, a real town where we could buy poison and traps. By Friday night we had scrubbed everywhere we had seen droppings and had laid 14 traps. That night we got him, in the humane trap, which was the only one big enough to hold him. He'd enjoyed the cheese and peanut butter offerings on the mouse traps, and let one off to our consternation. But the humane cage on top of the diesel tank had worked.
We drowned him, very thoroughly. (Put the trap, with rat in, in a weighted bucket and put it over the side. Do not try and let a live rat out of the trap!)
Now, we are still cleaning, monitoring very closely and setting five traps. But we hope that we're clear.
Lessons learned: (1) Act immediately on any signs of droppings or chewing. We both blamed Ross (most unfair!) and decided to spare each other our worst suspicions. We lost two or three days that way. (2) however unpleasant, assume the worst. Our mouse traps were laughably undersized for the actual animal. (3) keep traps aboard and fresh. We had some rat glue, which didn't work at all. (4) find the cabling it's munching on, and do everything you can to make it unattractive to eat. Monitor those areas particularly closely. (5) It's really important to do the cleaning. We've heard the argument that you're only moving the problem, but it's not only hygienic - you also learn where the b----r is moving and nesting. (6) We had a cat visit us (Spook of Margeurite) three times, but she didn't help. Maybe a rat was too big, or Maurice claimed eminent domain. (7) Kill it. We know of one cruising yacht who released a rat over a mile away, and it got back to their boat before they did.
And persistence eventually pays off.
Just after we realised our problem, Sarah's brother Jim postedthis ad on Facebook. We are glad to say the Corsican cheese is obviously stronger than cheddar.
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We are still in Golfo Pero, experiencing 25kt winds at deck level (our mast head anemometer isn't working), with lots of white caps. At the moment it's a westerly, from which we are quite sheltered, but if the forecast veer to a northerly comes in, we will have to be moving!
In the meantime, we are spying on other boats. This is the place you anchor if your boat is too big for Porto Cervo (which takes some doing - 72ft looks very small in there!) Also for that strange breed, the yacht support vessel. This is the large boat on which you keep your toys - the helicopter pad, and so on. You park that conveniently close to the fleshpots and take your main boat in to port for swanking about.
This is the biggest one we've ever seen. You can see the yacht on the side deck: it is about 38 or 40 feet long, and is some kind of racer. Last night, they put her in the water for an hour or so's sailing, and then brought her in again. As casually as we handle our 3m dinghy.
Pip took the pic through our monocular; hence the anachronistic black rim!
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Out the far side, there was no breeze at all. We hunted about, tacking off the coast, but even a bit further out, our maximum speed was 0.8 of a knot. We battled on, determined not to lower sail first. This is the competition, stuck in a wind hole but still gallantly sailing.
About an hour later, they furled the genoa and started the engine. We hung on for about 3 minutes - for honour's sake - and then did the same. Our rival went on to Golfo Pero, and we turned into Porto Cervo, playground of the rich and famous, the yachting hub of the Costa Smeralda.
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We aren't racers. Too lazy. Not good at the tactics. Roaring Girl is a heavy boat, full of stuff. Ketches don't do as well to windward as a sloop. Did we say 'lazy'!
But like any sailor, spot a similar boat going in the same direction and inevitably one tries. As we sailed east, past the passage leading to La Maddalena town, a very similar boat emerged, at the time sailing on mizzen and genoa alone. We found the freshening breeze first and were soon bowling along at a good 5 kts. The other boat saw us and hoisted their main. We were on. No worries about heeling; we cranked in the sheets and pushed our old girl to do her best. It still wasn't very fast, even on the flat sea, as the breeze remained light and we were close-hauled.
Much to our delight, on a straight course, we kept our lead. Slowly we turned into Passo di Bisci, the half-mile wide strait between the eponymous island (no landing permitted) and the north eastern tip of Sardinia known as Cap Ferro. We tacked and tacked and tacked to weather through there, hauling on sheets, watching the depth, a sharp eye out for rocks. Very hard work in the heat, but eventually we were through. This is the lighthouse on the cape, very close in. We were still in 12m of water.
No, we wouldn't have done it without the competitive spur. That's what engines are for.
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We had a lovely calm night and in the morning dawn, this cormorant was fishing around the boat.
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Once back at Roaring Girl, quite a breeze had whipped up. The park police came by and while we were speaking to them, Pip noticed that a small power boat was in great trouble on the rocks across the bay. The police went shooting over there but didn't have engines strong enough to get them off. Eventually (and it felt like ages), the lifeboat arrived and towed them off, revealing scratches in her topsides, and who knows what trouble below the water. They proceeded slowly, lifeboat towing stricken motorboat, towards (we presume) La Maddalena. Five minutes after leaving the rocks, the lady of the boat was back on the foredeck, working on her tan.
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One of the boats already ensconced was this pretty Norwegian flagged cutter, Lila. Her skipper-owner swam by, towing her dinghy, on the bow of which posed her pretty dog Ross, awaiting his walk ashore. That's one way to keep both yourself and pet fit!
Marina came aboard for a drink - indeed many. It was past midnight before Pip drunkenly rowed her home. It was a lovely serendipitous meeting: Marina is a Dutch goldsmith who lives in northern Norway. She has recently bought Lila and is still adapting her for her planned cruising. In the meantime, she has a family of four friends staying with her. Even after two weeks on a 35' yacht they're all still friends, which takes some doing! The friends, two youngsters (one son and one friend) and parents also live in northern Norway, working at the Polar Institute and Tromso University. They were all great people and for all of us, new conversations were welcome. Of course, they (including the boys) spoke excellent English, which was shaming but just as well as we have neither Dutch nor Norwegian to our names.
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After a snorkel, we sailed off our anchor and out of the pass on Monday lunchtime. We scooted, close-hauled, out of the Gulf and far enough north to leave the National Park and empty our holding tank. From there we turned south. As we rounded Isola Caprera, gradually altering our heading, the wind followed us. We remained close-hauled for another two hours, until we rounded the bottom point of Isola Rosso and turned in for the bay called Porto Palma on the south of Caprera.
Fifteen minutes later, we were sharply whistled at by safety boats as a shoal of racing dinghies turned towards us. Whoops! We hauled down the sails and finally turned the engine on.
In the little bay itself, there are a few buoys. When we got there all were taken, so we anchored and lounged on the foredeck, pretending we weren't casting the evil eye at other boats so they would leave. Two other boats (one Italian, one French) came in and dropped hooks in amongst the bouys, causing consternation. We stayed alert, and were rewarded when the yacht nearest us stowed his outboard, pulled in his sun shade and eventually departed. We pounced, getting a rope on the buoy very quickly and earning a plethora of filthy looks from the rest.
In the end of course, lots of the day-boats departed and everyone was snug by the time night fell. Prompted by our newest friends (see the next post), we finally fished out our hammock and got it rigged up at last.
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There is nothing ashore except the remnants of the resort. You can leave your dinghy on the main beach. Alternatively, we went in east of the big jetty. There we anchored Bridgit off the beach - our new arrangement for security and protecting the outboard. Then it's very simple to walk round to the main beach and access road.
Around the coast, easily reachable by dinghy or by swimming ashore, the outcrops and tiny coves make for magical snorkelling. In greater depth (say 7m plus) the water is not as clear as around Dead Man's Strait, but the relative lack of people is lovely.
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We got very languid in Cala Nord and stayed three nights. We made friends with fellow CA members June and John on Blue Bayou, and shared wine and anchorage tips.
To avoid the hordes during the day we went for an explore around the tiny islets of Barrettini and Cocelli The east coast of Isola Barrettini suggested a possible anchorage but when we got there it was deep with some fierce toothy rocks. We were 40m from their fangs while still in 20m of water, so we went on to the pass between Corcelli and Piana, where we could see another boat. They were snugged in with a line ashore, which was holding them bows to the easterly swell. That's the way to manage this lovely spot, but we were a bit uncomfortable so after a short look around, we moved on. The rocks of Corcelli include this beautiful pink flush, as bright as we've seen anywhere, and you get a good view of the lighthouse.
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From Cavallo, we had a splendid, fast sail south east to the archipelago La Maddelana, famous as a playground for its beautiful beaches, clear seas and myriad coves. It is all national park, with a permit required for navigation (available online), and different zones where activities are regulated.
En route, of course, we passed from France to Italy, leaving French waters for the last time in the planned future. (All plans can change.) This meant handing our French courtesy ensign. As you can see it has done sterling service. Yes, the French ensign should have a red vertical stripe as well! If we do go back to France, we'll need a new one.
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