Since the meltemi showed no signs of letting up for at least a week, so that we could cross the Aegean Sea to Greece, we had no reason to hang out in the Güllük Korfezi anymore. Having explored all the anchorages of the Korfezi that we'd intended to, we decided to move on, to see some of the more "touristy" places to the south of us, that many of our friends have been cruising in and telling us about, at Bodrum and beyond. We'd have plenty of time to head back north again, if it looked like the meltemi was going to take a break. Or so we thought.


South from Didim


September 16, 2023

Today we left the Güllük Korfezi, bound for places farther south.

We chose an anchorage that looked like it would provide good shelter from the strong northwest wind, which was blowing at a consistent 15 to 20 knots. As we headed out into the windy, choppy Aegean Sea, we were very glad to be going south, rather than north! Even so, we hugged the Turkish coast as much as possible, to minimize our exposure to the wind and waves.

After a four-hour trip, we arrived at our chosen anchorage. In the Navily app it's called Karaincir; in the Pilot Guide it's called Aspat Koyu. Whatever its name, it's a wide bay with a sandy bottom - lots of room to anchor, and good holding - near the town of Akyarlar. It was nice to be able to see the bottom through the water again, after the murky water of the Güllük Korfezi. We dropped Obama in about 30 feet of clear water, with 150 of chain to help him dig in and hold well in the strong wind.


Modern Turkish homes

On shore, the beaches were packed with umbrellas, lounge chairs, and people. Motor boats towed "hot dog" floaties behind them, loaded with thrill-seekers; they criss-crossed the anchorage in their attempts to dislodge the riders who were hanging on for dear life. It was a busy, vibrant scene.

Scanning the crowded shore, we didn't see an obvious place where we could bring the dinghy (plus, because of the choppy waves, it would be a wet ride to shore), so we enjoyed our time on Awildian, which we were happy to do. Over the next two days, we took care of small chores; read; worked on a jigsaw puzzle; perused the weather forecasts, looking for a break in the meltemi; played cards; called our friends, Alison and Randall (on sv Tregoning) to wish Alison a happy birthday. Basically just living our lives in a beautiful place.


Our neighbor, Aegean Clipper, at sunrise


September 18, 2023

"I AM SO DONE WITH ALL THIS WIND!!!" So began today's journal entry. The meltemi had been blowing for weeks, and it had gotten old. Really old. I was fed up with the constant whooshing, the choppy waves, the salt on every outside surface of the boat, the continual glances at the boats anchored near us (especially the ones upwind of us) to make sure they weren't dragging. I longed for the peace and quiet of a calm day.

Ready for a change of scenery, we pulled up our anchor and moved to a bay a few miles farther east, toward Bodrum. We were hoping to find a nice little town there, with a quay where we could easily tie up our dinghy, and maybe enjoy a meal at a restaurant. It didn't seem like too much to ask, with three different anchorages located in the bay.

But finding the right place to anchor turned out to be a bit like the situation of the chairs in "Goldilocks and the Three Bears:" it was hard to find one that fit "just right." The easternmost anchorage, Regia Mare Beach, looked promising for a restaurant dinner, but it was crowded with local boats, all on moorings; no one was anchored, probably because the water was so deep. A couple of moorings were available, but since we didn't know their provenance, weight limit, or structural integrity, we passed them up.

The westernmost anchorage, Bağla, was also full of local boats on moorings, in deep water, so we passed it by.

In the end, we opted for the middle anchorage, inexplicably called "Javelin" on the Navily app (more recently renamed Kargi Koyu). After cruising along the shore, keeping outside of the marked swimming areas,
hoping to find a reasonable spot to drop Obama, we discovered that the only suitable place was near the only other anchored boat in the entire bay. We felt bad for anchoring nearby, but there was a good reason why we were both there.


Some of the swimming areas where we couldn't anchor

In the afternoon, Eric was watching the windsurfers scooting around the bay, enjoying the big wind. One of them seemed like a beginner: he fell off the board a lot, and had a hard time getting back up and going again. The whole time, he was getting blown farther and farther away from the beach. He had passed us awhile back, and was farther out to sea now. Eric could tell that this guy was getting tired. Eventually, he struggled back up onto his board one last time, and waved toward shore, hoping to attract the attention of the windsurfing concession, so they would send the boat to tow him in. He waved, and waved, and waved. No one came, and he was getting blown farther out.

Eric decided to go get him, so we lowered our dinghy and went to see if he wanted a lift to shore. Not surprisingly, he did. He spoke English, which was helpful, as our Turkish wasn't all that great. He hopped in, and we towed the windsurfer sail and board alongside as we made our way toward shore. He was very appreciative, and asked if we wanted to join him for a coffee or a beer, but we said, "No thanks, just pay it forward. You can help someone sometime." Our usual response.

Later, I had a look at the weather forecast, which I do several times every day, when they've been updated. Well, well, well...this was new: According to this most recent update, it now looked like the meltemi might ease up in a couple of days - but not in the part of the Aegean Sea where we were; only farther north, near Ҫeşme. If we could get to Ҫeşme within two days, we could clear out of Turkey there, and comfortably cross the Aegean Sea to Greece. IF the forecast proved accurate, that is.

The downside was that Ҫeşme was more than a hundred miles away, to windward; to get there, we'd have to bash into the current meltemi the entire way. Not a happy prospect, but with the meltemi looking to quickly ramp up again after this short break, and us needing to get to the Corinth Canal before it closed for the year on October 1, we knew that this might be our only option.

Sigh.

We made plans to leave the following morning.


The big mosque and neighboring homes

Hello!

I've created an animated travel map - with pictures! - summarizing our explorations of the Güllük Korfezi.

You can see the animation here: Awildian's Adventures in the Güllük Korfezi

If you move your cursor near the top of the frame in the animation, you can explore each of the places we stopped, one picture at a time.

Be sure to turn the sound on (lower right corner).

Enjoy!

The Güllük Korfezi


Anchorages mentioned in this blog:
1 = Iasos/Isene Bükü
2 = Harapli Koyu
3 = Fevzipaşa
4 = Didim Marina/Turnali Koyu


Harapli Koyu 37°16.505'N,27°29.955'E

The next day, we pulled up our anchor and left the ancient city of Iasos, heading over to another one of the "finger inlets," Cam Limani, to an anchorage called Harapli Koyu. Harapli Koyu is a beautiful spot, a wide open bay, with a crescent of sandy beach, backed by pine-covered hills.



There was no one else around, save for two off-road vehicles parked under a couple of trees at the campground about a mile away.



We spent two days at Harapli Koyu, enjoying the serenity and the scenery.



We went swimming, we took walks along the trails beneath the fragrant pines,




My happy place, among the trees

and we hung out on Awildian.



Our 36th wedding anniversary happened while we were here. We marked the occasion by looking at photos from our honeymoon and early married years, reminiscing. It was fun, to see those really young people, who are now us!



Eric posed this question: "If we hadn't chartered a boat for our honeymoon, would we be living like this now?" (We'd explored the San Juan and Gulf Islands of the Pacific Northwest aboard a 27-foot C&C sailboat for a couple of weeks. It was my second time sailing, ever.)

It's a good question. Of course, we can't know the answer, but we both suspect that some seed of this lifestyle was planted way back then.



Incidentally, according to Google Translate, Harapli Koyu means "ruined bay" in Turkish. I never did figure out what was "ruined" about it.

Unless it was the ambiance, which was definitely ruined by the hordes of biting flies that descended upon us during daylight hours. These flies were stealthy, too: they looked just like house flies, but they packed a nasty chomp.

They originally had us fooled. We thought they were just annoying; we didn't know they were out for blood, until they landed on us and began biting. Samurai Eric did all he could with his fly swatter, but he's only mortal, after all, and was eventually overwhelmed.
Fortunately, way back when we were still in Italy, we'd planned for just such an occasion: buying a doorway screen, extra screen material, and velcro strips. Once we'd deployed these, we were able to keep most of the vicious, bloodthirsty bastards on the outside of Awildian. Eric could easily deal with any intruders.


Fevzipaşa 37°21.75'N,27°19.33'E

We left Harapli Koyu bound for an anchorage near Didim Marina, where Awildian would have his biweekly tank pumping appointment the following day. We chose the spacious, well-sheltered, but not-particularly-scenic bay near Fevzipaşa.



We spent the afternoon doing glamorous boat jobs, including sucking out the contents of the "sumps" of each diesel tank, to check for water and sludge. Some other Leopard owners had reported that their fuel tanks had rusted out, due to water collecting in the sump. Since this would be a disaster, but one that was easily averted by preventive maintenance, we thought it would be a good idea to check the sumps. This job necessitated first removing the mattress, sheets, and pillows, from each aft cabin bed, so we could access the top of the fuel tank (located under the bed platforms), specifically in this case the valve on the sump pump hose. Awildian is outfitted with a pumping bulb in each engine room, that allows the sump area of each tank to be pumped out. When Eric pumped the sumps, the diesel was clean. Yay.

Because every job on a boat actually requires at least three jobs (The Fixing Trifecta), Job #2 was tightening the scads of hose clamps on all the fuel lines, because whoever had "tightened" them last hadn't done a good job and I - the Hose Clamp Queen - can't abide loose hose clamps, especially on our fuel lines. Job #3 was reassembling the beds.

Didim Marina & Turnali Koyu (AKA The Didim Marina Anchorage) 37°20.543'N,27°15.998'E

The next morning, after enjoying another beautiful Mediterranean sunrise, and before the sea breeze came up, we took Awildian into the Didim Marina. Didim Marina is huge, and new, with wide fairways, nice pontoons, and a posh fuel dock. Posh because it has plenty of space to dock; competent, helpful attendants; permanent docklines; and lots of cushy fenders. We cozied Awildian up to the fuel dock, where we had his black water tanks emptied, and his diesel tanks topped up.


The posh fuel dock

Because the marina office - where Eric had to do all the paperwork for the pump out - was far away, on the other side of the marina, the fuel dock attendant called a shuttle. A few minutes later, a large golf cart arrived, and whisked Eric away. On his way to the marina office, Eric got to see much of the marina grounds, which included a pigeon loft in the center of a field. A pigeon loft! I'd seen tight flocks of pigeons flying fast and purposefully above some of the anchorages; maybe they'd been racing pigeons.

Another thing that Eric mentioned, was that, based on the number of Turkish boats in the marina that were registered in Delaware (and out and about), you'd think that Delaware was a city in Turkey. Delaware-registered boats are very prevalent in Turkey. It's not uncommon to encounter a boat flying an American flag, with a home port of Delaware, a Turkish name, with a crew who speak only Turkish and couldn't point out Delaware on a map. The Turks are registering their boats in Delaware for the same reason that other non-Delawarans do: to keep from paying tax on the boat in their home country, and because registration in Delaware *was* cheap and easy. Recently, the rules have changed: now, in order to register your boat in Delaware, you have to prove that you will use it mainly in Delaware. I'm not sure what the owners of American-flagged Turkish boats will do from now on. They'll have to come up with a different scheme.

With Awildian's tanks appropriately empty and full, we headed to the anchorage near the marina entrance, from where we planned to do some provisioning. Reviewers on Navily gave conflicting reports on whether boats were allowed to anchor at some of the places closer to the town, so we opted to drop Awildian's anchor here, and take our dinghy around the corner to the main town.


A view from the anchorage

We stopped for lunch at a little kebap (yes, that's the correct spelling) restaurant, before walking down the street to the grocery store.


A bit of Turkish lunch



Not far away from where we had lunch was an interesting statue of Medusa. Interesting because it wasn't the image of Medusa that we usually think of - the snake-headed monster who would turn you to stone if you gazed upon her - but rather a likeness of her before Athena gave her the new hairstyle. Apparently she was quite a babe back then.

The Medusa "before" statue:




The explanation:


I'm going to spare you the social commentary I considered writing here, but I will say that it was damned shitty of Athena, to punish Medusa for being raped by Poseidon.



At the store, we loaded Rolly with groceries and walked back to Awildian, where hordes of flies greeted us! Welcome home, humans! What is it with all the flies in Turkey?! Lately it felt like the entire country was made of dust and flies.

We deployed our door screens again, but by now many of the flies were trapped inside, so I opened the screens to shoo them out. The majority of them took the opportunity to bugger off, so they didn't have to experience the wrath of Eric's fly swatter. Fortunately, most of these flies weren't the biting variety, but we still didn't want to be sharing our space with them.

Since the meltemi showed no sign of letting up during the next week, there was no reason for us to hang out in the Güllük Korfezi any longer, waiting for a chance to jump across to Greece. Having seen all the anchorages we wanted to see there, we decided to venture a bit farther south, to see some of the anchorages in the more "touristy" parts of Turkey, that most of our friends had visited.

September 2023

Our next stop was
Isene Bükü (Iasos) 37°16.962'N,27°35.367'E

Isene Bükü is a large bay near the ancient city of Iasos, at the head of the fourth, and easternmost, "finger inlet" of the Güllük Korfezi. The archaeological site of Iasos is located on a short peninsula separating a narrow inlet to the west, and the wide bay of Isene Bükü to the east. After taking a short cruise around the inlet, whose entrance is marked with the remains of an Ottoman castle, and whose shores were crowded with visiting yachts stern-tied to the shore, and local fishing boats bobbing on moorings, we opted to anchor instead in Isene Bükü, which was devoid of other boats.


Lots of space

The next morning, I took our kayak for a paddle along our side of the Iasos peninsula, floating on the calm water. I could see birds flitting from bushes and branches on shore, and hear them calling.



Eventually I beached our kayak, and scooped up a handful of beach sand for our collection. Here, it was composed of small pebbles, with bits of marble, and other pieces of ancient structures, thrown in.



I followed a cow track up from the beach, into the interior, where I found groves of ancient olives trees, their thick trunks braided and gnarled.


Old olive trees

Also scattered around the cow pasture were ancient ruins! Here and there, among the cow pies, thistles, and olive trees, crumbling structures stood...





...or lay.




Not in a park or an archaeological site, not tended nor curated, but just hanging out in the cow pasture,





silent sentinels - some falling apart, others in pretty good nick - remnants of prior civilizations from hundreds or, in some cases, thousands of years ago.





I spent a couple of hours wandering among the olive trees and ruins, imagining the lives of the other people who had lived there, and what the structures must have looked like in their prime.





And birdwatching. I saw quite a few birds, including a new one for me, a Red-backed Shrike (Lanius colluris).


Red-backed Shrike (Lanius colluris)
Photo from eBird

When I paddled back to Awildian, I could hear the dulcet tones of Eric playing his bass. He usually wears headphones, and only plays out loud when I'm not around, so I don't often get to hear him.

The next day, Eric and I took our dinghy around the end of the peninsula, past the Ottoman castle, and into the narrow cove on the other side.

Scenery along the way...





Remains of the Ottoman castle in the harbor entrance





We spent the next few hours exploring the "official" Iasos archaeological site, which was fascinating.


Map of the site



Layers upon layers upon layers of civilizations, from the 3rd Millennium BC until the 16th Century AD, all built in the same place, one on top of the other.


Ancient ruin, modern lizard

Unlike the feral ruins I'd seen the day before, these had been excavated, studied, curated, and prepped for viewing.




A modern dog

The newer (only centuries old) structures included a classy amphitheater,





whose stone seats had carved lions' feet - some even with claws! -



and a big civic area, with dozens of columns.





The older structures included many watercourses and drainage culverts, criss-crossing over and under each other.



There was even a sleuth of archaeologists (yes, that's the actual collective noun for them) hard at work excavating new discoveries while taking refuge from the searing midday heat beneath a large tarp.




Old and new



If you'd like to learn more about Iasos, this is a good place to begin: https://turkisharchaeonews.net/site/iasos

September 8-16, 2023

Where is the Güllük Korfezi?


Anchorages covered in this blog post:



#1 Ҫukurcuk Cove The gateway to the Güllük Korfezi.

#2 Paradise Bay 37°19.151'N,27° 27.989'E

We began our exploration of the Güllük Korfezi the next morning, setting out for an anchorage with the enticing name of Paradise Bay. Arriving a few hours later, we anchored in the pine-ringed cove that was every bit as picturesque as its name would imply.



Though Awildian was the only boat for awhile, the bay began to fill up with tourist-laden day boats as the day progressed, and as many of them were tying their sterns to shore, we decided that it would be neighborly for us to do the same.

We got out one of our spools of bright-orange, floating, polypropylene rope that we use for this purpose (once or twice a year), and loaded it into our dinghy. Since Awildian already had his anchor down, all we needed to do was take the rope to shore, tie it to a rock, tie the other end to a cleat on Awildian's stern, then take up the slack. Eric did the rock-tying honors this time, while I paid out rope from the spool.



Later, I put the kayak in the calm, but not particularly clear, water and paddled to shore. Along the way, when the water was shallow enough that I could see the bottom (less than six feet or so), I kept seeing these odd-looking creatures on the bottom. They were black, shaped like worms, but BIG (some of them were a foot or two long), and had tentacles around their mouth. I later learned from Google that they're "worm sea cucumbers" (Synaptula reciprocans), kind of like benthic vacuum cleaners.


Worm Sea Cucumber (Synaptula reciprocans)

I had a really nice walk on shore - among the pines!




I saw quite a few rocks that I'm almost positive were petrified wood, resembling the cross-section of trees that had lived and died millions of years ago.


Petrified wood?

I had fun imagining what the forest was like, when those trees were standing tall.



One of the fun things about walking around in foreign countries, is encountering signs that you can't read. As I was writing this blog, I finally got around to translating the signs in some of the photos. The results can be interesting.


"You can hug me"


"Green path"


"Forest is not a WC. Take your shit inside."

OK then.

Sadly, scattered among the trees and rocks and strewn along the shore was a shocking amount of trash.







We enjoyed a couple of days at Paradise Bay, and then we were ready to continue exploring.



This time I took our kayak to shore and untied the stern rope, while Eric spooled. As we were pulling Obama up, the chain rumbled as if it were running across something hard, and Obama suddenly snagged. Uh oh. Knowing that fish farms had been located in Paradise Bay at one time, I was worried that Obama may have been caught on some leftover equipment, but after Eric drove forward over the anchor, it started to come up again. Phew! We may have dodged a bullet: when Obama broke the surface, he was trailing some long pieces of old electrical wire. Something was definitely down there!

#2 Kaptan Han buoy 37° 20.441'N,27° 28.524'E

It was a short trip (less than two miles) to the buoys owned by the Kaptan Han restaurant and marina. We'd decided to go there because it would be a good spot to sit out some strong wind that was forecast, and because we had a hankering for a restaurant meal.



When we arrived, we scoped out the mooring ball situation: some big orange ones and some smaller orange ones. We decided to take one of the smaller orange ones, figuring that the big ones were for some of the large fish farm boats that shared the cove. As Eric slowly maneuvered Awildian toward the mooring ball, I was perched on the front of the trampoline with the boat hook, ready to grab the loop on the ball, when I spotted a dinghy coming toward us from the restaurant. He stopped at the mooring ball and said, in broken English, "This one is not for you." He pointed to one of the large orange balls. "This one is for you." Then he helped us tie to one of the appropriate orange balls, which was nice. He told us that the mooring was free, and we told him that we'd be in for dinner later.


It will be a short dinghy ride to dinner

During the afternoon, I spent some time looking at the weather forecast, to see when we might have a break in the meltemi, that would allow us to cross back to Greece, on our way back to Montenegro for the winter. I'd been pouring over Windy (the weather site we use) for a couple of weeks already, reading the tea leaves, trying to tease out a few days that might make a reasonable passage across the Aegean Sea.

We didn't want to end up too far south in Turkey, because we had to come back north, on our way to Montenegro, and we also now had to stop in Athens for a chat with a rigger about procuring the hardware to support a Code 0 sail that we hoped to buy for Awildian.

I was feeling slightly antsy, because we had a bit of a schedule (ugh! The "S" word!). We were planning to take a shortcut from the Aegean Sea to the Ionian Sea via the Corinth Canal. The Canal, which was still being repaired after having suffered a major landslide a year earlier, had opened on June 1, was scheduled to close on September 30, and would not reopen until the following Spring. If we didn't transit the Canal, we'd have to travel around the bottom of the Peloponnese Peninsula, a trip that would add many miles, and quite a few days, to our plans, as well as exposing us to some potentially rambunctious weather or unfavorable wind.

Things were looking like they might calm down in the Aegean later in the week, so I lined up an agent to clear us out of Turkey in Didim, and another to clear us into Greece at Athens, just in case. I researched how to pay for the Corinth Canal (it's easy, all online). I was all set, should the forecast continue to shape up. (Spoiler Alert: it didn't.)

At 7 pm, we took our dinghy to the restaurant, which consisted of a small kitchen building, and a large wooden dock, on which a couple dozen tables were arranged. An area of wooden steps, where dinghies could be tied, ran along one side. A man, who would also be our server, held the dinghy painter while we got out, and after we tied the dinghy, he led us to our table.

Seven o'clock still being early for dinner by European standards, most of the tables were empty, but one was occupied by a group of people that included a yippy lap dog. Forming a hopeful halo around the table (and the cause of the dog's yipping), were a dozen or so skinny, scrappy-looking cats, some of whom were munching on bits of fish that the humans had tossed from the table.



We enjoyed a really nice dinner, on the Kaptan Han restaurant dock, and we soon had our own hopeful dinner companion.



As this was only a couple of days before our anniversary, we decided that it would count as our anniversary celebration.


My dinner companion for nearly 40 years

The next morning, as the fish farm boats began moving out of the cove to begin their day's work, we went to untie our lines from the mooring. When I prepared to release the lines holding us to the buoy, I discovered that they had spent the night tying themselves around each other and the buoy, creating what our Australian friend, Annie, would characterize as a "dog's breakfast" - a real mess. While I was at the helm, Eric, who has a longer reach than I have, spent about ten minutes hanging off the front of the boat, successfully untangling everything so we could slip away to our next destination.

September 2023

When we left Cemetery Bay early the next morning, our destination was one of the anchorages on the peninsula across from Samos Island - either: one on the north side of the peninsula (Anchoring Option 1), or one of the two small anchorages on the tip of it (Anchoring Option 2, circled in yellow). Since it was only about 1pm when we arrived at our first option, we carried on, pushing through the wind that funneled along the narrow passage, right on Awildian's nose, of course. The rest of the time, we enjoyed a beautiful, sunny windless day.


Cemetery Bay to Port St. Paul

For some of our trip, we traveled quite close to Samos Island, which is part of Greece, the waterway between the two countries being particularly narrow there. We could see Coast Guard boats from both countries patrolling the skinny waterway between the Greek island and the Turkish mainland, occasionally calling each other on the VHF to remind someone who'd strayed across the border to get back on their own side of the invisible dividing line.

Situated between Anchoring Option 1 and Anchoring Option 2 is a big, beautiful, crescent-shaped bay, with clear water and a sandy bottom. Named Dip Burnu, this juicy spot used to be an anchorage, but it's been appropriated by the Turkish government and is now off limits due to the presence of a military base. Bugger.

That left Anchoring Option 2 - Port St. Paul and Port St. Nikolao - two small coves on the tip of the peninsula. Both required careful piloting around islands, shallows, and obstacles, to reach them. Based on the expected wind direction, we chose Port St. Paul and, using both chart plotters, our printed pilot guide, the Navily app, and our eyeballs, we carefully and slowly motored around the two islets located there (Taysan Adasi and Su Adasi), watching for rocks and shallow spots.


Port St. Paul and Port St. Nikolao

Fun Fact for History and/or Bible Buffs: Port St. Paul apparently got its name for being a spot where Saint Paul, on one of his boat trips along the Turkish coast, supposedly took shelter, to give his rowers a break from slogging north against the meltemi. See? The meltemi has been a pain in the butt for millennia.

The water stayed deep until we were between the two islands, when it shoaled quickly. Standing on Awildian's trampoline, looking down into the clear water, all I could see were lush plains of sea grass, dotted here and there with small, bright turquoise sand patches. These sand patches were too small for me to accurately drop Obama onto; I needed something bigger. As Eric continued to bring Awildian slowly forward, I scanned the sea floor in front of us. Eventually I found some large sand patches that I could work with. When I told Eric that we were over a suitable sand patch, he brought Awildian to a stop, and I dropped Obama down through 20 feet of clear water, onto the sand. Bullseye!

When the anchor was set, and we'd turned off the Things, we stood on deck, taking in the stunning beauty and peaceful silence of the place.



Port St. Paul is a smaller anchorage than we usually prefer, but we hadn't had much choice. Still, we'd found a place to anchor where Awildian had plenty of room to swing 360 degrees, and plenty of water under his hulls. We were both well aware that, right over there, not too far away, was an area of extremely shallow water, marked with a couple of floats.

The water was calm, and clear as glass; I wasted no time in putting our kayak into the water, and my butt into the kayak.


Port St. Paul, from the kayak

What a gorgeous place to kayak! With the towering mountains nearby, I felt as if I were kayaking in the Grand Tetons, or Yosemite.



On a far shore, I saw a few horses. I remembered reading somewhere that wild horses lived here. I paddled a bit closer - close enough for me to see them better, but not close enough to worry them.


Wild horses

I would have loved to scoop up some beach sand from this place for our collection, but as I looked around, I saw no beaches, just big rocks and red mud.


No sandy beach here, just rocks and red mud

Also, biting flies accosted me anytime I came near shore, even after I'd sprayed myself with bug spray. I found the best approach was to avoid them, by staying toward the middle of the waterway. So, none of St. Paul's sand for us.


Awildian at Port St. Paul

When I got back to Awildian, Eric and I jumped into the water to cool off. After dark, we turned on our underwater lights to see if any fish came by. There were tons of them! Later, we lay on our backs on Awildian's trampoline, looking up at the dark sky, in the clear, calm night, finding constellations and marveling at the Milky Way.

Shortly before dawn the following morning, a strong breeze came up. It was from the opposite direction than we'd set Obama in, which meant that he'd have to reset himself in the new direction. In a snug anchorage like the one we were in, having an anchor that could reset quickly and efficiently was important. I happened to already be up when the wind started, and I watched Awildian's track on our chart plotter, as it moved from one side of the anchor circle to the other. When it reached the opposite side of the circle from where it had been, an arc began to form along the circumference of the circle; Obama had seamlessly reset himself in the new direction. We're very happy with our Sarca Excel anchor!

Just so you know, we always have a GPS-driven anchor alarm running, in case Awildian's track does extend beyond the circle that we've set (which would indicate that we're dragging). If Obama hadn't been able to reset quickly enough, the alarm would have sounded and we'd have had to do something.

When we set out from Port St. Paul a little while later, we put both sails up to use the wind for propulsion. But this turned out to be just a tease, because the wind died soon after. We took the sails down and motored the rest of the three hours to the Didim area. Along the way, we passed dozens of fish farms. Sprawled along the coast for miles, these were a prelude to the massive aquaculture operations that occupy much of the Güllük Körfezi (Güllük Gulf). Sadly, while providing lots of fish for human consumption, without contributing to overfishing, these operations have contributed to muddying the water in the Körfezi; water, which, in older cruising guides, was described as beautifully clear.


Port St. Paul to Didim

As we approached the peninsula that marked the northern edge of the Güllük Körfezi, we chose an anchorage from one of three small coves on the tip. We opted for the westernmost cove, Ҫukurcuk, because, in addition to its name sounding like someone sneezing, and despite having a sewage treatment plant on a nearby hill, it looked like it would offer the best protection from the forecast wind. The water in Ҫukurcuk Cove was murky green, with areas of lighter and darker green. Assuming that the lighter areas were sand, and the darker areas were weeds, we dropped Obama in 15 feet of light green water. He held right away. Probably sand.


We shared the cove with several dozen local fishing boats

Anchoring finished, I walked to the back of Awildian, to have a look around at our surroundings, and happened to see a long, thick (about 1.5 inches diameter), green plastic rope trailing from underneath Awildian's starboard transom. Uh oh. "That's not good," I said, which brought Eric over. Together, we peered over the transom for a closer look. It appeared that the rope was caught around Awildian's rudder, rather than his prop (this is a good thing), and wasn't attached to the ground anywhere (another good thing). Eric put on a mask and snorkel, and thick gloves (the rope had quite an ecosystem living on it, some of its members sporting sharp shells), grabbed a knife, and went into the water to see if he could sort things out.

A few minutes later the rope - maybe ten feet long - was off of Awildian's rudder and on his transom, and we were discussing what to do with it. I didn't want to just throw the rope into the trash, because so many creatures were living on it, the rope clearly having been in the sea for quite some time; neither did we want to just toss it back into the sea, where it might be a hazard to other boaters.

Eventually, we came up with a compromise: I got into our kayak and towed the rope to shore, where I tied it to one of the submerged rocks in the shallows. It was now in the company of many other marine-life-encrusted ropes, along with plenty of other human-generated detritus that was strewn along the shoreline. This was definitely not a pristine piece of coastline. Now the rope wouldn't be a hazard, and the critters could live out their lives.

When I approached Awildian after kayaking, I saw Eric through the now-closed sliding door: his arm cocked, his hand gripping a fly swatter, he stood motionless, laser-focused, taking aim at one of the many flies that had begun visiting Awildian soon after we'd arrived. Glancing at the sewage treatment plant looming on the hill, I tried not to think about where the flies' feet had last been. Suddenly, with lightning speed, he struck with a controlled ferocity and precision that brought to mind a skilled martial artist.

Eric wielding a fly swatter - this will always be one of the iconic and enduring images I carry of him, my Fly Swatter Samurai.