Time for winter closure.

Sitting out the weather in Riposto gave us the opportunity to try their lemon cake and make use of their fish market but time was clanging away. We had 140 Miles to go and Mrs K, being organised, had booked our flights for 31st March. Ten days and Sicilies winter seems to produce bad weather in three day batches so we could have a problem. Also Hermy was well overdue for something to go wrong. I could see the tension in Mrs K's brow.

The best weather predictor is looking at the fishing fleet. If they are all in then no one should move.

The weather cleared, the fishing boats moved and it looked like we would get two clearish days. It seemed we were going to have to do some long hops in order to unfurl Mrs K's brow.

So Saturday looked better and we left Riposto having managed to get a bit of a discount on our nine day stay and we waved goodbye to Mount Etna.

And set off for a 45 mile romp through much higher than predicted swell. Using Hermy's mainsail we managed to counter the effect of some of the rolling but as usual as soon as the sea sees you coping it messages the wind to change direction so that it's coming from exactly where you are going to. In this case Syracuse.

After much calling on Channel 11 we entered the Grand Harbour with permission and were given our allotted 'stern to' berth on the town Quay. Thanks to a quick chat with some Aussies when we visited with the Smiths we knew the score. But we hadn't stern to-ed using the anchor for a while and there was a cross wind. A potential marital conflict in the making. So not having a remote anchor windlass control Mrs K would have to drop the anchor from the bow at the given moment as we reversed Hermy towards the concrete dock at speed to counter the wind. Then she would have to leg it the length of the boat across a deck strewn with obstacles, grab a stern rope and leap off the cluttered back at the precise moment before full astern, or forward because we were going backwards, came in to play to prevent pulverising the back of the boat. Oh and of course the quay is lined with tourists watching, hoping to witness that inappropriate yell, that crashing ,splintering sound of fibreglass meeting concrete and the commencement of divorce proceedings. Probably all on video ready to go viral across the world. 

Well it was like a master class in 'stern to-ing' it all went swimmingly. Mrs K, gazelle like, dumped the anchor and hurdled her way to the stern like Jesse Owen, picked up a stern rope and leapt off the back like Paul Hogan in Croc Dundee II. I contributed by not getting my astern mixed up with my forward which is no mean feat while watching your wife being Tarzan.

All safe and sound and the sighing, disappointed  crowds deleted their videos and returned to their beers and Cappuccinos.

The great thing about Syracuse is that it is free for five days. You don't get water or electrics but Hermy can cope without for a few days if it's just us two. We weren't quite prepared for the surge during the night accompanied by the sequential slurping and hissing as the waves ran along the underneath ledge of the quay.

Adding to this was the rare agreement of the weather apps that seemed to be saying if you are going anywhere in the next few days it had better be tomorrow. So we plotted for our longest run yet of 60 nautical miles round to Ragusa. A ten hour trip. If we go by eight we will be there for six while it's still light. Great. But I hadn't planned for the fuel man being forty minutes late so it was a half nine get away. Damn! Should have fueled up yesterday. Mrs K gave that look a husband gets when he has failed to plan adequately.

We left Syracuse in a bit of a hurry and we were nicely waved off by a fisherman who was probably telling us the fuel man won't be there for forty minutes and made our way out in to the Ionian sea.

As we approached Cape Passero we looked back and saw the unmistakable view of the 'V' of an approaching official vessel intent on speaking to us.

As usual they were very polite and spoke good English. A few questions were asked as he matched our speed. " Where are you going?"  "Where have you come from?"  "How many people on board?"

And what sounded like a bit of a non nautical, moral question "Is that your wife?"  I toyed with the answer of "no just a bit of yacht totty on the side." but felt that it may not translate well and I didn't want to be towed back to a Syracuse church to confess. They left us satisfied and shot off in search of more interesting prey.

Soon afterwards we and a lovely display from a group of dolphins around the bows which Mrs K managed to film while clinging to the bows.

After a nice shot of my foot and another of the hood I managed to get this one.

Feeling content Mrs K returned to the cockpit to continue listening to 'Love songs' when a nice lady wrote in about how her husband was the nicest person alive and called him her sweet lamb. I asked Mrs K if she ever saw me in terms of a sweet animal. She thought about this and just said " Sweet toad." And then laughed uncontrollably.

As we began to round Cape Passero marking about half way we were about a mile out heading to a waypoint when Mrs K spotted something in the water.

I was heading directly for it a crab pot? A bit of debris? No a few divers towing buoys, some not near the buoys. No boat cover. Very dangerous. Probably plundering.

We ploughed on after I was sure Hermy wouldn't liquidize any divers, Those air tanks could really damage a prop.

The Malta strait seems to be where all Jelly fish go for the winter.

Ragusa marina loomed up in the dark and we picked out the entrance lights and were met by a marinaro who led us to a berth. He insisted on doing all the paperwork despite me telling him I had to put the Spaghetti Bolognese on.

Anyway Ragusa was a lovely place a nice small marina town with a lovely live aboard group and more importantly it was very near to where Inspector Montalbano was filmed. We cycled to Punta Secca and visited his pretend home.

Well we have watched nearly all the episodes now and I think Mrs K's inbuilt attraction to short bald policemen is coming out.

Of course Ragusa isn't in Ragusa it's twenty odd kilometres up the road on top of a mountain.

In fact there are two, Ragusa Ibla and Ragusa Superior. After it was destroyed in the 1690 something earthquake, apparently half of the survivors liked the slightly higher hill next door so rebuilt there creating Superior. They now look down on Ibla.

Despite Mrs K having suffered an hoovering injury to her back and hip we walked up to Superior but then fearing bus stop errors we walked back down again to the stop we knew.

The electronic  weather looked fine for the final 36 miles but once outside the marina the real weather saw short choppy seas with head on wind reducing us to five knots so seven hours later we arrived at Licata.

Lead in by a conveniently returning fishing boat we made for Marina Di Cala Del Sole where they were expecting us and berthed us near to the showers and bins, supermarket nearby. Great. Marina staff lovely and very helpful. And a nice live aboard community too.

Licata is a truely Sicilian town. There really doesn't seem to be anything touristy although there is quite a bit for the tourist to see. Mount St Angelo shows off its 16th century castle but with a little exploration there is evidence of habitation going back thousands of years. The archaeological museum which can take a bit of finding is superbly set out with some fantastic finds. It also has clear English explanations for the dumb Englishman which is much appreciated.

It is not entirely unheard of that a boat arrives and then immediately runs back to Ragusa. I think this is a mistake although initially ramshackle, Licata grows on me by the day. I have even started to like the dog strewn streets. Not strays but just lying around barely raising an eye lid as you pass. 

Mrs K has been engaging in Yoga to heal her hoovering injuries and the liveaboards here are great with happy hours and barbecues, lovely.

       

       

Well that's it for 2018 Hermy is ready to sit the winter out here while we head back to Blighty to get our fix of being home. 1,638 nautical miles covered this year. 3,897 since we set off from Gillingham in 2016.

See you next year.