Birvidik

We transited the canal behind a large coaster at 08:00 the next morning. It was a spectacular experience, passing between walls 80 metres high cut into the limestone. At times the canal seemed barely wide enough for us, let alone the large coasters and liners that pass through. No wonder parts of the wall are covered in streaks of different coloured paint, just like the sharp turns by the ramps in multi-storey car parks. It would have looked even more spectacular had we passed through later in the day when the sun was higher.

We paid 173 euros for the transit, which works out at about 6 euros a minute, or 3 euros for every 100 metres.

Having paid at the other end, and having narrowly avoided being rammed into the quay by an unexpected current we motored the 15 miles to Korfos. We tied up to a taverna quay, where we had another seriously average and not cheap meal. The Met indicated a bit of a blow coming up in a couple of days' time, so we motored on the next day to Poros and dropped the hook.

The forecast the next day was still doom-mongering about force 7-8 from the South, so we decided to make our way over to the pontoon and tie up securely there. We pottered over in ideal conditions and tied up alongside the pontoon, the same as all the other boats. This was ideal for the forecast blow, leaving us secure alongside the leeward side of the pontoon. Having access to water again, we set about basic boatkeeping; sorting out laundry, hoovering the saloon, cleaning the cooker, shower and toilets etc. You didn't realise that cruising was quite such a glamorous lifestyle, did you.

At this point along comes the harbour official. "Good morrow, harbour official chappie" gestures Bob with a smile and a wave, expecting the usual cheery welcome and demand for money. The actual reply was a scowl, a grunt and a "You can't lay alongside. Lay out an anchor and go bows-to!" Then, as an afterthought, "Now!"

We thought this a little unreasonable. We could see the point if it was high season and there were boats backing up as far as Athens trying to get in, but this was Monday the first of June and there were empty spaces everywhere. However, being British, and therefore meek, law-abiding and deferent to authority, we complied with bad grace.

We made her fast and then went for a wander around Poros, which was a very pleasant and picturesque town. On our return, we found that the wind had increased and swung round, and Birvidik was attempting to climb nose first up onto the pontoon. The stern anchor had dragged. The pilot did mention that the holding was a bit iffy here. We pulled her back off and the anchor seemed to bite, but we fixed a couple of large fenders between the bow and the pontoon, just in case. Just as well because the stern anchor slowly dragged again.

During this time, it became apparent that few, if any, of the other boats had taken any notice whatsoever of Mr. Jobsworth's instruction not to go alongside. In fact, six other boats had come in and gone alongside.

This pattern continued over the next few days. The wind rose, the stern anchor dragged and more and more boats came in and laid alongside. By now they were rafted up two or even three deep and no-one took a blind bit of notice of Mr. Jobsworth. Take a look at the accompanying photograph. Note all the boats snugly laying alongside, not having to rely on a stern anchor in crap holding. Note there is only one boat bows-to, standing out like a sore thumb. Yes, bloody Birvidik.

The wind continued to climb to a 7 gusting gale 8 but at least it was now, as forecast, blowing us off the pontoon. We were, however, stuck. If the stern anchor had bitten then we'd have been in real trouble trying to get out in the restricted space, so staying put was the best option as long as the wind stayed from the South. If it shifted to the North and the anchor hadn't bitten it would have been carnage. We worked out ever more elaborate plans to reduce the worst effects should the wind switch. Luckily they weren't needed. Just as well as the wind continued to climb until it was gusting 45 kts at times (force 9).

Boats came limping in to try and hide from the weather and those of us already tied up formed chain gangs to help them in. The forces on the ropes were incredible. At one point it took 8 men pulling on 2 ropes, plus the boat's engine on full power to hold a 10 metre boat against the wind. Great care had to be taken to ensure that we all came away with the same number of fingers as we started with. The noise of the wind was so overpowering that all communication had to be by sign language, which is difficult if you're holding onto a rope like grim death with both hands.

In the middle of all this a large Ro-Ro car ferry arrived and tried to manoeuvre into position. It presented such a huge windage that it was virtually uncontrollable. On a couple of occasions it was carried sideways by the wind across the bay and started drifting sideways down onto the boats in the anchorage. At full power, judging by the smoke from the funnels, it just managed to claw itself off before mowing down the anchored yachts. It must have been terrifying for them. At its closest it got to what looked like 20 metres or so from the nearest yacht before a lull enabled it to power off to windward. After the second instance of this several yachts decided it was safer to raise anchor and face the gale at sea rather than wait to be crushed into the water by the ferry.

Then the wind rose even higher and the ferry got into further difficulties and looked as if it was going to plough into us, taking out three pontoons, about 30 boats, including Birvidik, and God knows how many people, including us. It just managed to claw off once more. After that it gave up and sailed back to Athens. I suppose there's a limit to how long its fuel will last under those conditions. In the middle of all this, Bob was helping boats tie up while Liz was on board keeping an eye on Birvidik. Not that there was a lot she could do should disaster strike, as became apparent when the snatch forces on the mooring ropes became so powerful that one of our backup lines ripped a fairlead off the boat, taking a large chunk of capping rail with it.

The wind eased a little that night and Liz doubled her dose of blood pressure tablets.

The wind eased over the next couple of days and we decided to water up and move off to the anchorage for the night before heading out for the Island of Kithnos.

As the wind had shifted again and was blowing us onto the pontoon, we let out the stern anchor line and tied up alongside. Then we winched in the stern anchor which slid smoothly across the bottom and came up as clean as a whistle. It hadn't bitten at all. This was true of all the other boats that tried laying out an anchor. I don't know what the seabed was, but I suspect greased sheet metal.

Never mind - the forecast is for light winds and smooth seas.

We'll see.