Hermione the Whaler!

Santa Maria Navarrese is tucked away in to a spectacular corner of Eastern Sardinia. There aren't many large towns in this area due to those pesky pirates and  because of malaria in the past. This leaves the mountains and coasts relatively unscathed. The place gets its name from a shipwrecked daughter of the King of Navarre about a thousand years ago. She washed up here and in true tradition, built a church and planted an olive tree both of which survive today.

You can just see the olive tree behind the  large and picturesque information board.

Although a very pretty place it only had a couple of small, half closed supermarkets neither of which had any fresh meat to buy. Food being of utmost importance to the gastronomy of the crew of Hermy we decided that we would have to leave the lovely, friendly. little marina and make for a larger supermarket at Arbatax just three and a half miles along the coast. Well by Arbatax we meant Tortoli. The bus stop for Tortoli is at Arbatax and is running. The supermarket at Arbatax also doesn't do fresh meat.

The name Arbatax is more of a mystery. Mrs K was not convinced by my suggestion that it was from the tax you have to pay to enter the 'Arbour'. Most educated guesses seem to think it's to do with Arab pirates and that there is a defensive Spanish tower here. Arbatax being Piratese for 'watch out there's a Spanish tower there'!

We entered the harbour and despite several calls on the radio there was no reply. We decided to head for the fuel dock and fill up. The pump attendant seemed amused at my attempts to ask for five thousand litres but a bit of sign language got it down to fifty. He also mentioned that the marina channel was channel nine and the harbour authority was channel eleven. so a subtle change of channel and a crisp English reply was forthcoming. They even asked us if we would like to berth 'side to' so we did just in front of a pretty French sloop.

Now we are very proud of our Bromptons and you don't see many around in Sardinia so we were quite surprised when the French couple sprang off their boat with two Bromptons. Mrs K watched them carefully. The Frenchman lifted the folded bike from its bag and placed it on the floor. He then proceeded to unfold and assemble the bike in a calm effortless manner. There was no swearing, he didn't trap any of his fingers in the hinges, he did not cover himself in oil and at no time did he fall to the floor wrestling a multi hinged monster in a fit of anger at the designers. As they  rode off quietly and happily with both bikes remaining in their constructed state Mrs K's eyes turned towards me. I decided to do a bit of hull cleaning.

As to claims to fame Arbatax is a very small place, really the port of Tortoli up the road. It is also the terminal point for a narrow gauge railway that runs from Cagliari. When I say runs it doesn't in the winter but is generally regarded as quite spectacular when it does. The Arbataxians saw a bit of action in the war when on 23rd April 1943 during a bombing campaign directed at the Italian Navy the harbour was attacked and thirteen people were killed . Sadly four children and possibly two parents or grandparents as well.

The geology is interesting here in that the usual granite background changes to a red type of sandstone together with some yellow and a type of slate. These lads put it to good use.

The old lady fishing in the same pool didn't seem to mind.

We stayed a three days here as we were only paying 15 Euros a night and there was a bit of exploring to be done.

Mrs K does put me through my paces not only did I have to climb this old Spanish tower I had to cycle a mile to get here. Then another couple to Tortoli to stock up for our next leg which was again going to be devoid of Supermarkets. I don't mind cycling this time of year, I was only overtaken by one lycred up racer. A Lycretian I believe!

The trip down to Porto Corallo was a five hour trip with again little wind so Hermy had to motor all the way. The journey was punctuated with a pod of dolphins off the port bow just before coffee and then three whales off the starboard bow just before lunch. Again quite a distance off and an uncanny ability to submerge at the sight of a zoomed in phone.

Next stop was Corallo with not much there just an old doctor with an even older and, about to be scrapped, motor launch built in 1943 as an Air Sea rescue boat.

We stayed the night then made for Villasimius on the South coast. Mrs K struggling with our new expensive but as yet not leaking, hose.

The long motor was rewarded by three whales that agreed to be photographed, well at least by Mrs K.

I got a picture of Mrs K taking the picture!

So feeling like a Nantucket whaler we entered Villasimius harbour and tied up. It looked a bit posh but it was out of season so should be fine. We went to the Capitanarie and were hit with a 45 euro a night bill. Well Mrs K wasn't happy. We deferred payment and went back to the boat to discuss it and looked at the chart. Just outside the harbour was an anchorage so I was dispatched to tell the  lady in the office that 45 Euros was too much and we were going. She had a rather unsurprised look about her that seemed to say that if you could afford to stay here you wouldn't be wearing that shirt or that hat. We slipped out and dropped the hook about 400 yards from the entrance where after a while we were joined by several other like minded cheapskates.

A very pleasant, calm, still and free night. Happy wife.

East about Sardinia

Setting off for the first voyage of the season is always a little scary particularly after last year. Luckily no holes this year and everything seems to be going swimmingly.

We were sad to leave Santa Teresa a lovely port with really nice people and very reasonably priced.

Bye Santa Teresa we love you!

Now it is a bit early in the season so weather can be changeable. We decided that we had done most of northern Sardinia so felt we should just crack on. We slid past the extortionate Cervo, we had visited by Renault Clio and had a rather substandard sandwich in the play port for the rich so Hermy wasn't interested in a visit. We plumbed for a little anchorage called Calle Di Volpe about five or six miles South of Cervo. We entered a rather rock strewn bay and managed to inadvertently glide over the one submerged rock Mr Heikell tells you to watch out for. Unfortunately all the warning signs had been removed and I only found out after I was safely anchored about 50 yards away from it.

Still 'all's well' and all that. We had a lovely calm, free night and set off bright and earlyish southwards. Spurred on by our successful night at anchor we picked another rock strewn bay at Brandinghi after passing Olbia and anchored with a view to cheat the Sardinian marinas out of another night. However after a couple of hours, I believe because of a hill nearby, the wind decided to go in a different direction to the waves and we began to roll. We were also a little close to a mooring buoy which had 'tangled around prop' written all over it. As the evening progressed I detected a slight variation in Mrs K's mood which had that hint of 'If you think we are bloody staying here you are very much mistaken'  about it.

"Should we move my sweet?"

"Yes"

We decided to make for the nearby but posh port of Pundaldia. A tricky entrance in a blow, made slightly more stressful as, on approaching the small entrance, Mrs K reminded me that it was Friday 13th April that blowy day. Once we were in it was fine. The usual lack of response to the radio led to a quick tour of the marina to spot the man waving his arms around and we headed for him. He guided us in to a slot and took Mrs K's lines. 

As we always go pointy end first the only way of stopping yourself stoving the pointy end in to the dock is to take up what is called the stern line tailed to the quay. This involves the skipper picking up a slimy, barnacle encrusted line that is attached to a huge submerged concrete block somewhere behind you. As your boat depends on it you forget the slimy barnacle encrusted bit and haul on this line with all you have got. The quicker you get it tight and secure the less likely Hermy will suffer damage. The trouble is you cover yourself in mud, slime and blood.  

a quick tour of the marina to spot the man waving his arms around and we headed for him. He guided us in to a slot and took Mrs K's lines. As we always go pointy end first the only way of stopping yourself stoving the pointy end in to the dock is to take up what is called the stern line tailed to the quay. This involves the skipper picking up a slimy, barnacle encrusted line that is attached to a huge submerged concrete block somewhere behind you. As your boat depends on it you forget the slimy barnacle encrusted bit and haul on this line with all you have got. The quicker you get it tight and secure the less likely Hermy will suffer damage. The trouble is you cover yourself in mud, slime and blood. 

Clearly the rich don't come out when there is a chance of April showers and nothing was open. No supermarket, no water as you needed a special adapter and you had to get this from the marina staff who were not around all morning. We decided to slide off and make for Caletta where there appeared to be more life.

We escaped the rocky entrance and missed the Turks Head rock and made our way South. It was lumpier than expected or forecasted and we headed out to sea to miss the Pedrami rocks which stretch out from the coast to about a mile and a half. We motored as the wind wasn't strong but the wave height was high and sideways on. We had thirteen nautical miles to go and I could see that the motion was not conducive to a happy wife. My efforts to  distract were met with the usual response of 'Why the hell am I on this boat with you?' When suddenly, looking to my right, I saw the huge back of a large whale which, right on cue, blew out a huge spray of water and submerged. Well Mrs K was placated. After thousands of miles we saw a whale. I was a little concerned that there may be others and that Hermy may try to mount one but there were no more signs of whales.

Despite my best efforts to grab my phone to get a picture I only managed to pop one off of an empty sea.

Caletta was fine except it was really difficult to determine where you should go. They seem to have space both in the yacht club and the port but there are no signs as to what you should aim for and no one is listening to the radio. Our first two attempts landed us on pontoons with locked gates. Our third attempt put us pointy end first with a stern wind on to a concrete dock. Lots of slip slop slapping and a night worrying about blunting the pointy end.

Caletta town was alive and kicking and we provisioned up after a surprisingly cheap beer at a bar. The next day we decided to dig out the Bromptons and make for Posada the pretty medieval town on a hill just north of Caletta that we passed on our way in.

Surprisingly the bikes were good to go and we set off intending to have lunch on the way.

We think we went the long way and of course it was up hill. The village was spectacular if a little closed and we walked right to the top of castle Della Fava only passing one cafe. This rock was apparently inhabited as long ago as 4000 BC and saw various comings and goings from the Romans to the Spanish with loads of pirates in between. No time for basket weaving here.

I realised at this point that I had been pushing Mrs K hard and that we now needed food or there would be trouble. We descended to the little empty cafe and ordered a Caprese salad and what we thought was a Calzone pizza. 

The cafe had a lovely roof terrace and we could look up at the castle and watch the birds flying around while we ate. Also visitors to the castle could look down on us eating as they caught their breath. Mrs K said that we were a good advert for this little cafe. I had just balanced an olive oil and vinaigrette soaked piece of tomato and a similar lump of mozzarella cheese on a piece of crispy bread as she said this and as I looked up the tomato fell from the bread on to my tea shirt. My, all too late, counter tilt meant that the mozzarella followed over the other side leaving two greasy tramlines down my front. I can tell when Mrs K is reconsidering what she has just said.

A shorter return journey and a nice lie down on a sandy beach restored our energy.

Next day we ventured further on the bikes cycling to Siniscola inland which was quite run down although we had a lovely sandwich at a cafe. So from there we decided to make for Santa Lucia the other end of Caletta's white sandy beach. The route was very countrified with an abundance of flowers shrubs and trees.

 There were also little enclosures with long haired sheep sporting tingly bells and an almost cartoon like protective white Labrador type of dog usually sitting amongst them.

We didn't quite make it to Santa Lucia as our bodies, particularly my bottom, could not face the down hill followed by the inevitable uphill return journey so we made for a beach bar on the sandy beach and Mrs K had her first paddle.

The weather looked settled and the next harbour had to be Santa Maria Navarrese about 40 nautical miles away as the only other harbour on the way was Gonone which by all reports looked a little dodgy in a blow. We set off after we discovered that our spare gas bottle had not been renewed at the end of last year. Clearly on my forgotten list of things to do at the end of last year causing a mad dash in to town before breakfast and we set off in very still calm conditions.

Silky but no sailing.

Hermione Does Sardinia

Standing in a car park in Santa Teresa Di Gallura on an April afternoon listening to Mrs K laughing like a drain signaled to me that we were back to our exploration of the Mediterranean. As we approached the cars Mrs K had pointed out that there was an identical Renault Clio to the one we had hired from the airport and 'was I sure that the one we were heading for was the one we hired?' I was in the police for thirty years I could identify the finer parts of cars. I wasn't just fooled by the colour and above all I had parked the bloody thing. In triumphant gesture I pressed the unlock button on the fob as I approached my chosen Clio. The lights didn't flash  but there was a reassuring but undermining plimp plomp from behind me. This was the moment I felt we were back!

Mrs K calmed down after a while and we continued our week of readying the boat and showing Granddad the finer points of Northern Sardinia. I had been concerned that Granddad might struggle with a week living on board the boat getting on and off our precarious plank, the one he had liberated from a skip four years ago. I needn't have worried, despite being eighty years old and with only his left eye having full mobility he was remarkably nimble. Each morning we lay in bed as he jumped up made the tea, ate a banana and left for a morning constitutional. Each morning as he clumped along the deck to the plank we held our breath as there was a pause as he reached the plank. Each morning there was an anticipation of a crash and a splash but no, each morning he made it.

Certain jobs take some building up to and one on my list was bleeding the fuel system on the engine. Diesel has to be clean and filters have to be replaced each year but, as yet, the engineering community have failed to make this simple. Taking a filter off, despite plastic bags and tips about draining water separators beforehand, will always result in diesel bloody everywhere. Of course on my boat all filters are on the 'not accessible' side of the engine. The difficulty is made worse because it involves being in a space that prevents turning or unfolding limbs for longer than old bones can tolerate. Spanners become unreachable, necessary bits are left in the cabin and much swearing ensues.

However this time I was determined to get it right, make it easier than normal, efficiently speed up the process. Granddad had his tea and banana and left for bird watching duties without a hitch. I was up and breakfasted Mrs K and myself. Everything was cleared away and I laid out all the necessary tools and parts in the order they were needed strategically placed in the kitchen area. I was so confident I had even included the replacement impeller on the list. I was just warming up my old limbs to avoid the inevitable cramp when Granddad returned. 

"Do you know what? I could really eat some toast this morning!"

After a reasonably successful, if not slightly 'toast' delayed, maintenance session the engine started, water pumped around it and out of the hole it should. Marvelous! 

Having spent October in Santa Teresa we were not sure that we would have much to do in the week we had Granddad on board but Sardinia in Spring is quite a different place. Walks around the Nuraghe settlement amongst the many lovely flowers, trees, rocks and wildlife was surprisingly pleasant.

We didn't make any references to this being where the villagers buried their old.

The flowers were quite unexpected in their colours and numbers. Reds, yellows, purples, well that exhausted my flower identification skills, I believe some were called Orchids but I think I missed this biology class all those years ago. 

We even saw a turtle lying in some water but Granddad didn't have his hearing aid in and explained that tortoises don't live in water so it was probably a terrapin or a turtle.

Next stop was Capo Testa and this time we managed to find the old Roman quarry near to the beach. This apparently being the lost Town of Tibula. Judging by the number of chipping marks doing anything with granite looks like bloody hard work.

I couldn't quite understand how after such hard work this column and the others were left lying around. You got the impression that some poor old Roman stone mason was happily chipping away when he was approached by a centurion who said something like.' Haven't you heard mate? We are all leaving. Masons got laid off yesterday. Leave it there so that future generations of tubby tourists can pose for photos on it.' Come on Caesar needs you at a place called Londinium apparently the sewers are shocking.

With Granddad being eighty we thought we would drive him to Castelsardo which is a castle on a hill and test out his hill climbing qualities. And what a steep hill it was. Nevertheless he made it and had a lovely tour round the inside which is dedicated to basket weaving. Apparently not attacked enough this castle. My pre tour research about the Doria's and Charles V unearthed the one fact that

interested Granddad which was that Eleanor of Arboria despite being a diplomat, warrior, respected leader and queen of Sardinia for many years was the first person to create a law protecting wild birds. We found a heroin for Granddad!

On Granddads last day we decided to visit the Island of Caprera. Part of the Maddelena archipelago. Of particular interest as it was the home of Giuseppi Garibaldi the famous Italian General credited with unifying Italy, well almost, in the 18 somethings. 

As we approached Palau town centre to get the ferry across to the islands we were stopped by a man wearing a reflective jacket who asked if we wanted to get the ferry. We dutifully said yes and he waved us over to a parking slot next to a ticket booth. Now I haven't been married to Mrs K for twenty four years without spotting when she smells a rat. We approached the ticket man who quoted 53 Euros for the car and three passengers. Mrs K was having none of it and she said we would think about it. I have had many a request thwarted with this phrase. 

A quick trip round the corner to the official booth in the centre for booths revealed the true cost to be 43 euros. Anyway a quick, disorganised, loading of people and cars and a short ferry ride with an equally disorganised disembarkation put us on to Maddelena. It was then a short drive across the causeway to Caprera and the home of the great General. I am not sure what it is but someone's home seems to be a measure of them and this humble residence, exquisitely preserved, was clearly a reflection of why this guy was generally regarded as great. A fantastic spot with lovely views where he indulged his love of plants and wilderness.

The tree he planted to celebrate the birth of his daughter.

He retired here and died here. He even had a small sail boat to sail over to Maddelena when he needed a few stores. What more could you want?

Granddad was eying up this set up. He wasn't allowed to try it out.

The week went quickly and we deposited Granddad at Olbia airport for his return home. We then battled the Italian bus service back to Santa Teresa to begin our 2018 voyage.