Flight from the Straits

Navy Training Ship in Syracuse Harbour

The time came to push on from Syracuse.  The stillness over the marina in the early morning was matched only by the strong winds and swell (not forecast of course!) outside the heads.  GS did well to rally but ensured the bucket was within arm’s length.  So we bashed and crashed our way north hoping that conditions would settle as we neared the protection of Italy’s big toe.  Let’s just say that not a lot of people were making this their chosen direction. 

Looking up & up at Taormina

Mt Etna, sultry in her cloud cover

After not much discussion and even less headway, we decided to call it quits and made for one of the few anchorages on this coast, Naxos, and set the hook in lovely sand (GS is SO over a glutinous, muddy anchor & chain) under the cliffs of famous Taormina.  Taormina perches high on the side of a cliff with amazing views over the Straits and some wonderfully green, if not steep, hilly, country.  We decided we didn’t need either another climb or to see more Baroque architecture (or churches) despite D.H. Lawrence having lived there, so our water view “up” would be just fine.  Besides that, we sat with an entrancing view of Mt Etna (possibly very clear because of the evil winds that day).  So we swam in quite cold waters and tried to eat a little after our bucketing ride – let’s just say waistlines are diminishing!

Charybdis in action

We left again in the early morning to escape the onset of strong winds and had a wonderful glide (under the iron horse) until we hit the Straits, where strong north-westerlies and an adverse current set up a challenging experience for "little” boats.  Cap’n Undertow skilfully guided us inshore (oh, so close) so we managed to lessen its effects; at one stage WJ3 was showing 7.3kts and only actually doing (speed over ground) 3.7kts.  We skirted Charybdis, watching the autopilot struggle against the pull from strong whirlpools & eddies and kept an eye on darting swordfishing boats.  

You can just see the man at the end of the very long bowspirit

Driver and lookouts at the crows nest

Driven like Grand Prix Maseratis – all speed and testosterone - these souped up and amazingly agile craft dash and dart after their quarry, sleeping swordfish.   Pity the swordfish that are skewered with a trident (possibly Neptune’s own) and any naïve tourist who potters in their path.  That of course was us!  Just as we thought we had escaped the worst of the rat race, we had a boat (at speed) on our clacker, just a tad too close for comfort.   An international incident (and broken boat) was averted but not before the high-riding skipper left us with a too close a bowsprit salute as a final reminder of who really owns these waters… 

Then it was on with more bashing into the wind – for several hours – to our next anchorage, Isola Vulcano.  Again, we were the only ones mad enough to keep up the grind.  Just on dusk, we settled into a very busy and exceptionally deep anchorage under the cloud capped and smoking rim of Vulcano.  The air is fragrant with the smell of sulphur gases and the bay rocks and rolls to the comings and goings of a vast number of commercial craft, but we didn’t care.  With the anchor set, we scoffed the last of our (almost hard tack) provisions and fell asleep, rocking in the swell, dreaming of the little whale (a pilot whale?) we saw heading for a tasty fish supper at the Straits.  “Watch out for those crazy men with harpoons!” GS had called in his wake.

Under smoking Isola Vulcano