Storm troopers
The nation held its breath as Ellen MacArthur heroically conquered the ultimate in extreme weathers during her 71-day, record-breaking round-the-world voyage. But for one Guernseyman and his girlfriend, riding out Tuscan gale-force winds while at anchor was bad enough. D'Arcy Brimson reports on his own perfect storm
The nation held its breath as Ellen MacArthur heroically conquered the ultimate in extreme weathers during her 71-day, record-breaking round-the-world voyage. But for one Guernseyman and his girlfriend, riding out Tuscan gale-force winds while at anchor was bad enough. D'Arcy Brimson reports on his own perfect storm THE wind tore through our boat's rigging, affirming its presence with a shrilling cry. It sounded like a wild call, a living thing, moving recklessly about on deck.
In these Mediterranean latitudes the local salts can identify the changing traits of the wind. They give it different names, assigning it personality influenced by the track it has travelled.
The 'Tramontana' my girlfriend, Tara, and I were feeling bore a chilling air, a memory carried from its origin in the mountains on the mainland. Coming out of the north-east, it had blown up a short, steep sea, similar to conditions you can experience in the waters between Guernsey and Herm.
The boat danced about in the confused swell, snatching at both her anchor chains. Occasionally the motion fell into a rhythm. Strong gusts plucked at mast ropes, slapping them against the wooden spar. For the first time we were experiencing gale-force winds while at anchor. It's a sensation I won't forget.
We heard stormy weather was brewing after listening to the Italian forecast on our ship's radio. These broadcasts are very different from the friendly, human tones you receive when tuning to local VHF bulletins.
In the Tuscan islands it was a synthesised voice recording warning us of strong winds.
Silently, the sky carried the same message. Long streaks of wispy cirrus were the first clue to what was in store for us. Leathery-faced old-timers would have been glancing expectantly towards the heavens and debating ancient weather lore, perhaps the most appropriate traditional rhyme being, 'Mackerel skies and mares' tales make tall ships carry short sails'. We reduced our boat's windage and it wasn't long before dark cloud formations built overhead, foretelling imminent change. Since choosing to spend our time on the sea, we had become more attuned to these natural signposts.My partner and I had left Guernsey after deciding it was time for the sea gypsy within our souls to be set free. The dream of balmy days in azure warm water was luring us south.
Limited finances meant that we were voyaging on a vessel only a little longer than a racing dingy. We became accustomed to and enjoyed cruising on a small boat, a boat destined to carry us down the Biscay coast, port-hopping along the Atlantic seaboard of France.
Years before I had surfed ocean swells in the same waters on a 1960s-style board, which at 9ft was as long as our boat was wide. Comparing Courtchu to an open day boat you might see tacking about in Havelet Bay is a little misleading. She is actually a deep, heavy, sailing vessel resembling the oyster-dredging craft used for generations on the Falmouth fisheries.
Her classically-shaped, black hull and varnished spars would not have looked out of place when Nelson set anchor in the same waters, off Elba, that we were now sheltering in. Our backdrop was the green, wooded slopes of that mountainous island, the highest peak rising straight from the sea to more than 3,000 feet.
Before the unsettled spell took hold, we had circumnavigated Elba, stopping off for nights in picturesque bays. This kind of sailing does not involve the planning and pilotage that local shores require. Close in, the water remains very deep and there are few unmarked dangers.
It means a popular hire-boat culture exists and many people charter a vessel, simply driving it to a favourite spot without any prior nautical knowledge. While lots of visitors to Elba hire boats, one of our reasons for anchoring was to save money on marina fees, giving us the opportunity to splash out and hire stylish Vespas.
We had buzzed about, taking in the culture and topography inland. A narrow, bumpy road led us up a mountain pass with a parking space hidden among tall pine trees.
This had been an advanced stepping stone for the ascent of one of the peaks. It had been a 20-minute ride to escape the sweltering heat of the beach but at this altitude, the air seemed lighter and more refreshing as we set off on an invigorating hike. Wire cables attached to the rock in tricky sections made the way accessible for walkers lacking confidence on steeper ground. The summit rewarded us with views over the Tuscan archipelago, a patchwork of islands sandwiched between Italy and Corsica. From our panoramic vantage point it was easy to imagine the exiled Napoleon looking towards a distant French coast planning his return home. During these trips away from our floating home we felt sure she was secure lying to her anchor. But back on board when the gale struck, our confidence ebbed and we took turns sitting lonely watches.
Dressed in oilskins, we hunched in the hatchway and spent time regularly checking reference points on the land to ensure we were not dragging. Several other yachts had drifted towards the shore, their crews struggling on deck to regain safe holding.
Off-shift sleep was constantly interrupted by turbulent movement and noise as the boat laboured in rough water. Our lack of rest played mind games with us. Late in the night, stars began to tumble from their constellations, dropping towards the earth. As moments passed, the falling meteorites became a flock of gulls, swooping like phantoms through silvery beams of moonlight.
The mobile phone rang, breaking the spell. It was my parents calling to let me know how their holiday was going. Modern technology sometimes has a strange way of challenging perceptions of time and space. I was instantly connected to a place experiencing much calmer weather conditions and they were now linked to my stormy environment. It felt surreal.
A flashing blue strobe announced the arrival of the Italian Coastguard. Cutting through the darkness, a high-powered searchlight trained on boats in the anchorage; the patrol was checking how people were coping with the challenging weather. For a time they paused, assessing a boat that earlier had broken free. Now it was being buffeted by waves on the nearby shore.
During the night these Italian guardians inspected the anchorage on several occasions, their comforting presence lifting our spirits. Like stowaways, we hid below deck for a couple of days, stranded while waiting for the wind to ease.
Finally we felt confident enough to undertake the 15-minute row ashore for fresh provisions. We made the journey in record time, keen to be earthed on terra firma.
Despite the uncomfortable sensations we endured sitting out rough weather, the experience never detracted from our Mediterranean sailing adventures. After all, ships may be safe in port, but that's not what they are built for.
