Off Corse again!

Picking up where we left off on our cruise around whatever we find, we set off back to Corsica. Having circumnavigating Elba for a second time and covering the south and the north of Capraia, it's time to cross the Corsican channel again and head for Maccinaggio on Cap Corse.

After a fairly stormy patch we seem to have met a really settled period. Mrs K hit it off with the diesel pump attendant and he arranged for our berth at only 34 euros for the night. 

Maccinaggio is a quaint little port which despatched four boats in 1571 to assist in the defeat of the Turks at Lepanto. 

Having read this on a plaque I enquired if they had any winter storage space now with the four ships gone. They did but getting to and from Maccinaggio seems to involve a long walk, donkey trip and a boat ride so it may not be  deemed suitable.

Rounding Cap Corse can be a bit of a trial if the wind gets up so we were lucky with our settled conditions and the lack of wind meant the sails stayed furled and Hermy's motor got a thrashing.

Night at anchor in a lovely little bay called  Anse d' Aliso. Gave my loved one's bottom a once over and scraped off a few barnacles. Salt water does that to a girls bottom you know!.

Then a lovely night's sleep with only one other yacht at Anchor.

Next stop Saint Florent. A place I had not heard of but the faithful pilot book gave a good run down and pointed out that this was where the Martello tower comes from. 

Apparently Admiral Hood in 17 something came to help Pasquelle Paoli gain independence for Corsica and when he rolled up with his fleet he didn't have too much trouble despatching the opposition. All except those sitting in a small round tower at Mortello point nearby. 

He thrashed it and bashed it without much impression and eventually took it using Marines. So impressed with their resilience he thought we could use a couple of those in Kent just in case those uppity French ever made it across the channel.

I suspect Hood did not encounter the crosswind I did and did not enter his berth sideways. It was in fact a faulty dock that put me off as it is set at a slant. I did try to explain this to the unimpressed catcher of ropes but couldn't think of the word for spirit level.

Anyway Mr Heikell was right it is a lovely town. It was laundry day and armed with three large bags of washing we hit the Laverie. Now we didn't have enough coinage so Mrs K set off to buy some bread rolls. She returned with bread rolls, an Ice cream and a bit of a glow. Apparently when she tried to buy the rolls with a note claiming she had no change some handsome Corsican stepped in and bought the rolls for her. Hence the Ice cream purchase.

We put on the rest of the washing and Mrs K took the first load back to the boat to dry it on the rigging. I struggled back with the other two bags only to be told that a very nice, handsome Corsican man, seeing her with a bag carried it all the way back to the boat for her. A skip in Mrs K's step I see!

Damn Corsican's keep chatting up the wife!

After a bit of shopping we had a lovely beer watching the Boules match without any Corsican male intrusions and retired to our airer.

Now it had to happen eventually. After a quick walk around the fairly unimpressive citadel we decided to leave the slanted dock. Now I confess I had an inkling that all might not be well but the "It'll be fine" philosophy took charge and as we backed out we caught the dock line on the rudder which fed it nicely on to the prop giving a clunking noise I had not heard before. Boat preservation took over and I turned off the engine. Now we were adrift in the marina!

 What to do?

Mrs K reminded me of boat hooks and as we slid past a dock I was able to catch a chain and we secured Hermy to it.

Bugger!

"It's no good dear I'll have to go over the side."

Over I went with my trusty pen knife and saw that Hermy's rope cutter had made mincemeat of the dock line but it was still jammed in the rudder and had caught in the workings of the feathering prop.

I freed it all with several dives and emerged completely blue with antifoul all over me. I decided I had to confess to the Capitainerie and after failing to make myself understood on the raio I marched to the office and explained the situation. I think they are still wondering how in all this I managed a blue rinse in to the bargain.

Anyway we couldn't retrieve the end so we had to foot the bill for a diver. 80 Euros. Bloody divers!

Anyway no damage to Hermy and off we went to Ile Rouse with damaged pride again.

Still we were led to believe that Ile Rouse wasn't quite the ticket but we anchored off and took the dinghy in to a charming little town I think they call it Pasqualle Paoli's port. 

Nice shops pretty harbour and a beach. We also had a lovely lunch of Corsican meats and salad, Tip top. 

We were also joined at anchor by what we are told is the largest sailing boat afloat. The Royal Clipper.

After a nice stop at Ile Rousse we set off for Calvi and join four other boats anchored off only to be told we can't anchor there by a man in a rib. I gaze towards the other boats and he picks up on my doubt but assures me they will be moved on too. 

He says we can anchor off over the other side of the bay or pay 20 euros for a mooring. Still smarting from St Florent, we bugger off and anchor for the night. Quite a pleasant spot with lovely clear water but about a mile from the town. Still after a fairly wallowy night we are joined by our friend the Royal Clipper who I note is not made to bugger off quite as far as us.

Still next morning with the wind getting up we go in to the harbour for the night for a well earned rest with no dramas.

Hermy in the centre of the almost empty harbour. It's a bit lumpy and creaky but easy to get ashore and explore the almost impregnably Genoese citadel. Well almost. Nelson captured it in 17 something but we haven't mentioned that as there are quite a few, very tough looking, Claude Van Dam type, French Foreign Legion soldiers knocking about and we don't want to upset them do we!

All alone again!

So six weeks of visits has come to an end and we are alone with Hermy again. Suddenly there is space on the fore deck as we return bikes and sails to the front cabin.

The weather at San Vincenzo abated and we slid across to Portoferraio. No twisters in the channel and anchor for a couple of days to provision up and see if the port there has any reasonable wintering costs. They'll let us know!

Next stop Porto Azzurro one night at anchor two in the port, as the weather is still a bit cloudy and rainy. Out come the Bromptons and we make the mad decision to cycle up to the inland town of Capoliveri, 5 miles up hill!

Mrs K shows no pain when cycling. 

There are many cyclists in Elba. I think it's because of the hills.

There seems to be a cyclists uniform of garish colours and some kind of tight leotard wear. Mrs K informs me this is Lycra and is to reduce friction. I could do with some of that in places as I do encounter a bit of chaffe during these ventures, particularly in the presence of salt and sand.

I wheezed my way up the hill, continually overtaken by old men dressed like Jane Fonda. I am sure one was our old friend Nobby  judging by the tightness of his attire.

We arrived, chained the Bromys to a post and explored what turns out to be a really nice town. It has a museum devoted to a sunken ship the 'Polluce' which sank in 18 some think when it collided with another steamer. There was only one loss of life but quite a bit of treasure went down. The nasty British found it and started to plunder it before the Italians got their act together and recovered many artefacts.

We also had probably our best meal here at a little modern bistrot.

We returned via a lovely little beach opposite Porto Azzurro at Naregno. Mrs K went in for a dip but knowing we still had a couple of miles to go back in the interests of chaffe avoidance I remained salt and sand free.

Brave lady!

Next stop was Marina Di Campo a bay and beach on the south side of Elba again waiting for the weather to settle. 

We decided to do a stern to against the harbour wall as there were no tailed lines and we had to use our anchor. The night was unsettling with little sleep due to the chop and the fear that Hermy would be blown on to the concrete doc. 

The boat next to us gave up and left to anchor in the bay at about 2am but we stuck it out. It was free for two nights and stepping ashore is always a good thing. Anyway the next day the weather didn't settle and a large yacht dropped his anchor over ours, came alongside, collided with Hermy, luckily causing no damage due to us all fending off. We decided it was time to go. We got the large boat to go out again and we made for the anchorage.

Much safer. 

Lots of thunder, lightning and hail.

Interestingly, in 1944 ish, this bay was the scene of Operation Brassard the retaking of Elba by the French, British and Yanks. Quite a battle with large casualties amongst the French, British and Germans. Apparently Hitler had said defend Elba to the last man. I wonder if he had dillusions of following in Boney's footsteps.

An early start for us (8ish) and off to the Island of Capraia after saying goodbye to some nice Irish people who anchored behind us.

A lovely calm motor over with a sighting of dolphins in the distance.

A little gem of a spot. again steeped in history with Corsairs attacking the island, Genoans building forts and towers and Corsicans laying seige. Even Nelson popped in for a short stay at one point.

I wonder what Horatio paid for his berth?

Hermy is parked in front of the little pink house.

Off to Corsica next.

The Bennetts do Hermy!

Hiding from strong winds in Toga Marina, Bastia we had a chance to explore and find such locations as the Laundrette and a Le Clercs albeit not a very impressive one. 

Dropping son off at the airport gave us the chance to experience the bus journey to and from the airport. 

A dry run for meeting up with our next visitors and crew Mr and Mrs Bennett.

It is always a little concerning having none family crew as you feel a real sense of responsibility. 

They have come a long way to have a nice, safe time on your boat. Would they be seasick? How will they get on with moving about a moving boat? What about sea toilets? Water from a tank? Boat showers? Tippy sailing? Anchoring at night? Sleeping in bunks? creaky ropes? And it goes on.

Well we needn't have worried Julie and Martin fitted in fine.

So after numerous safety talks, life jacket fittings etc we prepare to set off on our first short sail to Santa Severa, Luri Marina via a lovely little lunch stop at Erbalunga.

Careful preparation to go. Mr Bennett assisting Mrs K on the fore deck. Mrs B in the cockpit ready to helm once clear of the harbour. Being watched makes you handle the boat with a bit more precision everything done slowly and carefully, your seamanship is at stake.

Released at the front we backed out very gently and headed for the exit. All was well, Even our new French friends were waving, rather enthusiastically from the dock, must have made a good first impression with them.

Although,  they did seem to be trying to communicate something, now what on earth could it be?

Hermy was still attached to her stern dock line and we were attempting to tow the dock, four moored yachts and a motor boat out to sea.

Mrs K jumped to the rescue and without the added embarrassment of wrapping it around the prop. We continued on our journey. Credibility in its usual place.

Erbalunga is a lovely little village with beautifully clear water. We anchored and went ashore on the dinghy for a beer with the only hazard encountered being the naked old man on the only other anchored boat, aptly named Saga. We named him 'Nobby'.

A beer, quick walk round and the crew swam back to the boat, carefully avoiding Nobby. Only marred by Mrs K, not wanting to be out done by her son, running in to a jelly fish leaving a nasty sting to her arm. Martin sensibly used both women as a jelly fish shield.

A gentle sail with Martin helming took us quickly to Santa Severa harbour where Hermy was the biggest boat.( I think I may have a sub conscious issue?)

 After explaining the winter tarriffs to the young and enthusiastic harbour master  Martin and I settled down to some almost fruitless fishing and then a nice meal at the harbour side restaurant. I say fruitless. Martin, and then I, caught what can only be described as an ugly fish each. Too ugly to be photographed. Both were returned to the sea. Ugliness has its advantages.

Next stop Elba.

A thirty nautical mile crossing. We are able to sail for the first two hours and we are unable to get Martin off the helm.

Even tickling doesn't work! 

I think he likes it. Helming, not the tickling!

Julie spots a pod of about 30 dolphins about 300 yards away. Motor sailing we arrive at Marciana marina on Elba.

We pay and are informed there are showers 200 yards away but despite the Bennetts following anyone carrying a towel they allude us and boat showers are the order of the day.

We then decide to catch the bus to the highest point on Elba, or at least the base camp. The rest of the journey requires stepping in to what can only be described as a canary cage attached to a wire in order to ascend on a cable cage affair.

We are convinced by the womenfolk that this is a good idea. "Think of the view!"

And what a great view it is.

Did we expect rain? did we bring brolleys?

No.

There wasn't a shopping bag to protect my hair!

Anyway a lovely lunch and a bus back down then a quick motor around to Porteferraio. 

Night at anchor then a cheeky run in to the harbour to chance our arm for a berth. It all works and we drop Mr and Mrs B to do the forts and Boney's place while we do a bit of boat cleaning and chores.

We then pop up to Boney's theatre which we had not seen before and what a pretty little theatre it is.

I'm a natural!

Now we knew the weather would  worsen and we had to decide whether we could make a run for San Vincenzo on the mainland or hide at Porteferraio and make Julie and Martin catch one of the many ferries to Piombino.

We decided to make a run for it as the weather should come a little later on.

Didn't expect to see this baby in the Piombino channel.

Lifejackets on just in case it came our way but it didn't.

We arrive safely at San Vincenzo where the weather changed and we hid from wind and the rain in the boat with beer and cards.

Oh and a bit of reflexology. Our feet have never felt better.

Well we got them here with no major catastrophes by my standards and they were able to hop on a train to Pisa without issue. A successful mission in good company.

Mr and Mrs B.

Hermy Does Corsica

No.  Roller reefing systems shouldn't unscrew the forestay! This could be a serious problem and no doubt highly expensive. So brother's sailing is cut short by a day to hoof it back to Cecina in order to see if we can get it looked at and perhaps get a rigger to check the forestay.

Now the trouble with the Italian language is that I don't understand it. A google search shows a rigger in Cecina. Great. After several calls to a mobile which changes from unobtainable to engaged with no answer phone facility we take the Bromptons by the horns and Tony and I decide to find the office. Face to face is what you need. It can only be four or five miles away.

Anyway after circling several industrial estates on the outskirts of Cecina for what felt like forty miles, we finally find the place. It's all locked up. There is a sign which seems to say please leave all post with the guy next door. Nothing else.

We draw the conclusion they are on holiday. Knackered, we cycle home.

On a whim, but as originally suggested by Mrs K, we wander over to the yard at the marina where  I meet a very nice Itallian Cantiere.

" Do you speak English?"

 "No! French, German and Spanish."

I shy away from the 'what were you thinking' thought and suddenly realise that the older brother speaks Spanish. They banter on describing my problem with very little technical help from me and we come to an agreement that he will come and take a look in half an hour.

Sure enough an hour later he turns up with a couple of mates and have a jolly good look. Luckily one of his mates had better language choice advice then he did and spoke good English. 

Put simply they fixed the system by replacing a screw and checked the forestay which was sound. 

They also carted off the foresail for a quick repair too. Quick, well a day later than they said but very reasonably priced. Cecina  Cantiers are tip top.

It was time to return the old brother to civilisation. He had stood up well to the rigours of sailing, cycling,swimming, drinking and eating, for a cubicle dweller. He caught the train to Rome an hour before son and girlfriend arrived by train from Antibes.

We retraced our steps to Elba via a lunch stop at Barratti and dropped the anchor in Port Azzurro for the second time. The following day we visit the town, shop, fuel up and prepare for our run to Corsica a 32 nautical mile hop across the Corsica channel if we leave from the edge of the island, a small anchorage called Barbatoia. A slightly rocky night at Barbatoia. 

Then a lovely sail over.

Fore sail working perfectly.

Straight in to Bastia old harbour arranged by our on board interpreter, Chloe.

Bastia is a very pretty harbour lined with pastel coloured shops and buildings.

It has a Bastion on the hill hence the name and proper baguettes. It's good to be back in France.

Unfortunately Chloe has to leave us via a Ferry to Nice. University calls.

We decide to explore the East coast of Cap Corse. Son brings his usual different dimension to the proceedings.

This is what happens if you study physics at university!

The water seems clearer and we anchor for the night at Erbelunga a small village half way up the peninsula.

We had noticed the odd jellyfish and son managed to run in to one leaving a superb imprint of itself on his shoulder.

Jelly fish body art!

Next stop Luri Marina which has a boat length limit of 12 metres and Hermy draws some attention as we slide in to the tiny harbour at 11.5 metres.

In order to fulfil sons fishing needs we make several trips to a little shop which follows in the strong French tradition, of not opening, until finally it does open just before we leave. Joey managed to catch a good size bream using an over sized hook and bait he caught in the harbour. Dogged determination brings home the bacon.

Or rather the fish.

Then back to Bastia so Joey can fly home and we can hide from a predicted blow in Toga marina. 

And what a blow it was. 30 to 40 knot gusts for over 24 hours. Most of my time spent stopping Hermy self harming against the dock.

This sailing is really tough!

And expensive. This tiny beer cost 4 Euros. I think they thought we were tourists!

Next visitors Mr and Mrs Bennett!