CRUISING THE TYRRHENIAN SEA

by

Dick Herman

Getting There

Kenneth Grahame got it absolutely right when he wrote “There is nothing – absolutely nothing – half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.”  

Since I sail with the Potter Yachters, a dedicated bunch of small craft sailing enthusiasts who love their West Wight Potters, I had always assumed that meant small boats. After all, the smaller the boat, the bigger the adventure.  For me, it’s also that mixture of visual delight blended with the sensation of moving through the water with the wind in your face. And underwriting it all is the joy of making safe harbor when the conditions have been sporting and a sane person would remain in harbor happily nursing a cocktail or beer. 

Then it all started to change. Thanks to three Potter Yachter’s – Dave and Francesca, and Rob – I was introduced to Spinnaker Sailing and Bob Diamond. Bob had extensive experience leading small flotillas on bareboat cruises to interesting places and was a master mariner.  So why didn’t Carolyn, my long-suffering bride,  and I join them cruising the Tyrrhenian Sea off the Italian coast in September?  Although the three monohulls were booked, cabins were still available on one of the two catamarans. 

I had done some blue water sailing on a 44-foot sloop, and it seemed like a good chance to introduce Carolyn to a different style of cruising. So I plunked the money down. We soon met our captain, Alexander Ohlgart, along with Weihao and Sarah, and Paul, who was being checked out as a catamaran skipper. Missing were Paul’s wife Mary Jane and Dexter, Weihao and Sarah’s five-year-old son, who would also be going along. It seemed like a compatible mix for spending a week on board a sailing catamaran. Besides, Carolyn loves children. 

Now, it was just a matter of waiting until we would all meet in September in Naples, Italy.

The Gathering

The skippers and crew members started to trickle into Naples a few days before Saturday’s scheduled departure. Many checked into the Palazzo Salgar, a very nice hotel on the boulevard overlooking the harbor area and within walking distance of the ferry terminal. The hotel had been recently remodeled and the décor was very modern with great plumbing. 

The Spinnaker sailors were easily identified by the white woven bracelets Bob had given everyone to wear. Besides the bracelets, they all seemed to be wearing smiles. Bob sent an email around suggesting that we catch the 10:45 morning ferry to the island of Procida where the boats were moored. We would have some time to kill before the boats were ready around five PM, but it would be a good time to look around and have a leisurely lunch. For the record, there is no other kind in Italy. 

Bob obviously subscribes to the principle that we were all adults and could take care of ourselves. His job was just to get us going in the same direction the same day. That sounded like a Potter Yachter race. (See above comments about Potter Yachters).

Day One

Saturday dawned like a typical Italian summer day; sunny with expected temperatures around 90 degrees. That’s 32-degrees Centigrade for you purists. Most did a bag drag to the ferry terminal, about a fifteen-minute walk away. Being of a more cautious age, Carolyn and I called for a taxi. As the knowledgeable will tell you, a taxi ride in Italy is always a sporting adventure. This one was no exception. After a few Hail Mary’s and an “Oh, dear God” or two, we arrived safely.

We all dragged our luggage on board the ferry, deposited them in the baggage hold, and climbed the companionway to the passenger deck. The trip took a delightful turn when two groups of young ladies came through. One group had flower garlands in their hair and the other was wearing bright sashes. A very pretty girl in each group was wearing a wedding veil. Judging by their laughter and singing, they were on a brides’-out party to the islands. (Ed note: author’s comments about Chippendales were deleted as irrelevant.)

            The ferry departed on time and reached Porto di Procida an hour later. We mustered on the dock and followed Bob to the Sail Italia office, an easy ten-minute walk along the waterfront. As predicted, we had some time to kill before the boats were ready.  Carolyn and I found a nearby sidewalk café for lunch and enjoyed the people watching. It seems short-shorts are the raging style among young ladies this year. Alexander, Paul and Mary Jane, along with Weihao and Sarah arrived with Dexter.  Alexander started the paperwork with Sail Italia while they made a 30-minute hike up a steep street and down to a sleepy fishing village on the other side of the island for lunch.

It was a laid-back afternoon and the boats were ready ahead of schedule.

            Alexander led us aboard the Folegandros, the 46-foot catamaran that would be our home for the next seven nights. He quickly organized the crew with a gentle Teutonic thoroughness I came to appreciate. The first order of business was to fill out a detailed inventory and note any discrepancies. It was also a chance to learn about the systems and where everything was located. For a small craft sailor, it was like making the jump from flying a Piper Cub to a Boeing 747. 

            We all went our separate ways for dinner and Carolyn and I had dinner at a sidewalk café on the church square. The evening’s entertainment was a charity event that involved a lot of talking followed by a musical performance.

Day Two

            The weather Sunday morning held the promise for good sailing and we were underway after coffee and breakfast. Paul was at the helm most of the way working with Alexander on his cruising catamaran certification. It was an easy sail to the isle of Ischia, eight nautical miles away. I soon learned that maneuvering a big cat was a team effort and that jibing required coordination. 

            Dexter was an eager participant and scurried around the deck wearing a PFD. Sarah tried to look nonchalant but kept a sharp eye on his activities. The five-year-old soon bonded with Paul and was sitting beside him at the helm, scanning the horizon with binoculars.  

            Alexander found a cove on the south side of Ischia and we anchored near a dock and resort. We dropped the dinghy and I motored two groups ashore to go swimming. Luckily, two attendants were on the dock to catch us and helped everyone off the dinghy. Unfortunately, there was no space to tie the dinghy up and I watched the frolics thorough binoculars from Foleganderos. After retrieving the swimmers, Paul took the helm and we motored through a breath-taking rocky point to Port San Angelo. 

            The scenery was spectacular as we approached the crowded port. I remember thinking “We ain’t getting in there.” But Alexander had other ideas and backed the big cat into a narrow space for a stern tie. I was impressed. Later that evening, we all walked into the village for dinner. It was a perfect photo op and we posed for enough photos to claim bragging rights back in California. Again, the dining was great and we were wowed by a superb sunset. I remember thinking, “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.”

But I was wrong.

Later that evening, we were treated to a fireworks show in celebration of the Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary. It was a happy crew that hit the sack. 

Day Three

            I woke to the sound of a howling wind, rain, and the pounding of feet on deck around two AM. Mother Nature was not in a good mood. Things settled down after thirty minutes and I went back to sleep. 

            That morning, the sun rose over a sparkling clean catamaran. The driving rain had washed it down and the footsteps had been Alexander securing the boat. La Suerta, the 48-foot cat skippered by Len Ceruzzi, had not faired so well and the starboard side of the aft rub rail had been damaged during the rain storm. I assumed it was just bad luck, and Len quickly devised a temporary fix.

            Paul got us underway for the eighteen-mile sail to Capri, the fabled island of romance and the Blue Grotto.  The winds kicked up with approximately ten-foot swells, and we were under a single reef. Weihao, in his laid-back style, was always there to handle the lines and provide the sheer muscle power needed. Dexter was totally unperturbed and did his usual thing scampering around the deck, more than willing to help handle lines. Everyone did an excellent job of keeping an eye on him. 

The astute reader may have noticed that Mary Jane has slipped off the radar of this narrative. She is very quiet by nature and I belatedly discovered that she is a photographer par excellence. I hope she documented what happened next – an unscheduled hat overboard drill. 

            Alexander had gone forward to sort out a rigging problem when we were hit by a gust of wind and a line whipped off his red baseball cat.

He was willing to let it go, but Paul had other ideas. Sarah spotted it first and we came around as Paul maneuvered the big cat for a pick up. Sarah hooked it on the second pass. Considering the conditions, I gave everyone high marks. But I think Alexander’s critical eye was not overly impressed.  

It was on to Capri, but we had mutually agreed that it was not worth the $2800 mooring fee at Capri and decided to give the island a bye. So much for romance and the Blue Grotto.  (Ed. note: the $2800 is not a typo.) We snapped the required photos for bragging rights and practiced anchoring on the south side of Capri in the scenic bay of Marina Piccola before sailing for the mainland. 

Besides his skipper duties, Paul set out a very good lunch. I don’t think that is part of the cruising catamaran certification, but it should be.  Underway, Weihao took the helm for most of the way and made it a smooth passage. 

            The scenery was spectacular and what happened next qualifies as pure magic. Alexander piloted the boat into a beautiful cove near Point San Antonio and we dropped anchor for the night. After a few hours rest, a small lighter taxied us ashore for dinner. Getting on and off the water taxi was a bit tricky, but Paul the pilot made it easy. We were soon joined by a few others from the flotilla and made our way into the restaurant, the Concho Del Sogno.

            It was a rare moment and the setting, the weather,  the food, and the service all combined for a perfect evening. 

Day Four

            I awoke early to the smell of coffee and joined Paul in the main cabin. While Paul and Alexander laid in a course for Amalfi,  I played with the local charts, reminiscing about navigating a C-130 cargo aircraft years ago. 

            We cast off and were soon under sail. Alexander was putting Paul through the hoop, checking off items on the five-page certification process. By nature, I am a skeptic, but there was no doubt that Alexander is a first-rate captain and instructor. Carolyn agreed and said she felt very safe. I was further impressed by the way we had come together as a crew that included Dexter. He was always there, tugging on a line or lugging a fender half his size around when needed. 

            The sail to Amalfi went smoothly and I was a very happy camper until I saw the harbor. To say it was small and crowded is an understatement. A small boat motored out and a harbor pilot, a very pleasant middle-aged man, climbed on board and took the helm. He stern docked Foleandros with the zest and speed – emphasis on speed – of an Italian taxi driver. Apparently, they both have the same certification process. The fenders were out, but they were untouched by dock or neighboring hull. I was impressed. (Ed. note: author’s comment “see above comments on taxi drivers” was deleted for being redundant.) I remember going into town that evening for dinner, but was still in state of shock. Carolyn assures me it was an excellent dinner.

            It had been an exciting day

Day Five

            The weather forecast for Wednesday called for another warm day and fair winds. After a leisurely breakfast, Alexander suggested we could either go ashore and enjoy the delights of Amalfi or go for a day sail with him and Paul. We all opted for the day sail. Personally, I wanted to learn more about handling the cat.  I was not disappointed as Alexander put Paul through a series of man-overboard drills under power and sail. As usual, Paul made lunch for the crew. 

            That afternoon, Paul practiced heaving-to. Most of the crew used it as an excuse to practice open-ocean swimming. They were soon flopping around in the water like a pack of happy otters while Alexander circled them like a watchful mother duck.

            Docking back at Amalfi was not as hair raising as the day before, but I may have been getting used to Italian protocols.  That evening, a very happy crew wondered into Amalfi for dinner.

Day Six

            We cleared the harbor at 8:30 AM for the 20 NM sail to Sorrento. It was going to be a full day for Paul and I was eager to get involved. Needless to say, I was learning a lot from Alexander, all on Paul’s dime. We practiced heaving-to and getting out of irons, which can get tricky in a cat. From the conversation, I gathered that Paul would do the docking at Sorrento. I remember thinking “This could get interesting.”

            The approach to Sorrento from the sea is picturesque – make that striking – better yet, magnificent.  The city sits on top of a cliff overlooking the sea and took my breath away. Then I started looking for the stairs. It was going to be a breath-taking climb. But first, Paul had to get us into the crowded dock. 

            I split my attention between Alexander and Paul, seeing who could be the coolest as Paul played with the twin screws, maneuvering the cat in a very confined space. I thought the docking went well and said so. Alexander seemed pleased but was non committal. But the real show was about to begin. Len Ceruzzi was bringing La Suerte in under one screw after losing the portside propeller. The harbor pilot maneuvered around the big cat in a small rigid inflatable, pushing first on one hull, and then darting around to push on the other. Alexander later confirmed my suspicions that it was an uncoordinated effort, to say the least. But Len made it with a style that would have made a sardine canner proud. 

            After the excitement had died down and sufficient cocktails consumed, we made our way towards town for dinner. That was when I learned a wonderful Italian word – Ascenore. There was an elevator to the top of the cliff!  It was well worth the one Euro ticket. I did note a few brave souls puffing their way up the switchback stairs, practicing their breathing skills.

            Even though it was a Thursday evening, it seemed as though the entire population of Sorrento was out for dinner. We wondered through picturesque lanes looking for  a place to eat. Alexander finally found Accento, an out of the way, charming restaurant. Again, the dining was superb. Maybe the Italians are onto something about Thursday nights.

            Carolyn and I later made our back to the marina after becoming separated from the crew. Mea culpa. I joined Bob Diamond and the Potter Yachters on Marilyn, one of the monohulls, and we spent a pleasant evening reminiscing about the cruise and swapping sea stories. 

Day Seven

            The winds were kicking up and we cleared the marina just after eight AM for the 18 NM leg to Procida. Paul set a double reef and we were soon logging 8.5 knots, cutting through low white-caps. As predicted, the winds set down around 10:30 and it was a smooth motor-sail into Procida. We arrived just after noon and Alexander used the time to have Paul do more docking practice. He was getting very good at it. We tied up for the last time and went through the drill of turning the boat over to Sail Italia and packing up.

There was a definite poignancy in the air as we made our way through the port and over the hill to the small fishing village on the far side of the island for a last dinner. 

Back on Folegandros, we said our goodbyes as every one but Carolyn and me had an early departure. 

Reaching an End

            I woke in time Saturday morning to say goodbye to Weihao, Sarah, and Dexter. Everyone else had left and Carolyn was still asleep. I sat alone in the cabin drinking a last cup of coffee, savoring the past week. Friendships had been made, the sailing had been better than expected, the scenery fantastic, the dinners superb, I had learned a bunch about sailing a big catamaran, and Paul had earned his certification. 

The memories rushed back and I couldn’t help smiling. On the last day as we neared Procida, Dexter had been sitting by Paul at the helm.  “Are we near the end?” Dexter asked.

            Paul answered, “Yes, we are.”

            “Why?” Dexter replied.

            The five-year-old had it absolutely right.

© 2019 Richard Herman

Photos: Mary Jane Hack