Nidri, Greece
08 21 2000
Nidri to Spartahori
This was our first "solo" day, sailing without our instructional skipper, Ian. We sailed from Nidri to Spartahori without incident while we listened on the radio to chatter regarding another boat from our Flotilla having rammed a Coast Guard vessel.
Every group of strangers thrown together develops several sub groups. We attach characteristics based upon different criteria. (In our group, the "Italians" were the Party people. Their boat was admiringly referred to as "the Italians". A nod and a wink and/or a smile accompanied those comments...) These people were fun, and careless and beautiful. When the men in our group talked about the beautiful women in Greece, the women countered with: "....the Italians...." and the husbands became uncharacteristically quiet. The Italian men were sailing with young and beautiful Italian women. When one of "the Italian" men's portable phone rang during one of our briefings, it was said under breath (with a wink): ...it's probably his wife."
The Italians had hit another boat, but not just any boat, they had hit the Greek Coast Guard. The full details never made it to my ears and I really had other, more pressing things to focus upon. Yet I smiled. No matter how badly we messed up upon our virgin voyage, I doubted that we would top ramming into a Greek Coast Guard vessel.
And so we sailed.
We sailed around the mouth of our destination port, Spartahori, practicing jibes and tacks and chatting with Vaughan on the radio. He graciously offered to dock first and then help us into port.
Today was the day that would mark the end of our docking virginity.
It was a big day!!! We had been trained and retrained for this day, yet we always had our instructional Skipper to "backstop us"- if we failed, he was always there to prevent any disaster.
When we finally arrived, Vaughan, Helen, Tim and Michelle were already there waiting to help us.
Vaughan patiently waited for us to dock while his Amstel sat at the Taverna and headed towards the temperature around us-which was too hot. We readied the lines and anchor, searched for a proper berthing space, decided upon it, then spotted Helen, close to our chosen destination, pointing to Vaughan who was trying to catch our attention across the marina. Our interpretation was that we should not dock at the inviting open spaces near Helen, but rather, squeeze into a space near where Vaughan was waving his arms and shouting words that we could not hear.
Perhaps the fact that we could not hear his yelling was a good thing.
We readied our ropes and our anchor while doing 360's in the marina. Vaughan was waving and yelling but we still couldn't hear him. We could only see his frantic waving. I think he was telling us that his beer was getting warm and if we intended to take longer than the Lunar launch and landing that he wanted to return to the Taverna and finish his beer or perhaps start and finish reading all of the translated works of Tolstoy and then return to our docking position to help us.
I can only imagine what Vaughan was muttering under his breath, but we finally pointed the boat into the slip that he suggested backing into.
Vaughan guided us in.
A little to the left he motioned, then he motioned for us to go right a bit. I watched Vaughan signal to drop our anchor and I passed that command along to Janet, who did so. Although our anchor chain got hooked on our ladder and didn't properly let itself out, I made the decision to continue the docking procedure thinking that I would later row the dinghy out with the chain.
It was later that I would realize that decision was a big mistake.
Vaughan directed us in from shore, took our ropes and kidded us about his warm beer. I jumped into the Dinghy and began to row the anchor chain and anchor out to it's proper location. While sweating in the sauna like atmosphere, and wishing only to be able to jump into the refreshing waters, yet being unable, because the boat was not protected from bashing against the dock except for Vaughan's diligence of standing on dock and continually pushing our boat away from the dock each and every time it approached.
I began to row the dinghy out.
At this point, I'm at the edge of my short fuse, sweating like one does after the masochist who walks over to the hot rocks in the already unbearable sauna and pours more water over them. The mixture of sun screen and body sweat flow into my eyes, stinging like a rough rope run across a sun burned back, which is another frequent experience on this trip. Blessedly, not at this moment.
Yes, there are personal discomforts that could make this anchor dropping even worse, but mercifully, they don't incorporate themselves into this experience.
One does not count as a blessing that one is not being shot while being horse whipped.
I'm on a high because we just lost our docking virginity, but also physically uncomfortable beyond belief. I'm hot, sweaty, thirsty and cursing myself for the millionth time for booking this vacation from hell. I look up and realize that the current or winds have pushed the dinghy and myself over the anchor line of the boat next to us, and if I were to drop our anchor now, I would cross his anchor line.
I look up, and from the shore, Vaughan and Janet are choreographing the same fact to me. I'm worse off, not better, than when I stepped into the dinghy!! This is one of the many illustrations of my idiocy on this trip.
Now, of course, it's too late to jump back in the boat, and reverse out and start all over again, so I start to row the dinghy upwind.
On cue, the left oar breaks free from it's pivot and now I have but one useable oar.
I show what I believe to be incredible self composure, and re thread the oar into it's pivot.
Tim sees my dilemma and swims over to offer his assistance.
I begin to row again, and the oar removes itself for it's second and final time. I take the free oar and mock a puncturing maneuver with the oar, but later learn that this is viewed from shore as more than what it actually is.
Tim offers to join me in the dinghy and help.
I think he is crazy.
He's in the cool refreshing waters of the marina. I'm topside in the dinghy covered in sweat and out of date Greek sunscreen.
I suggest that he simply push the dinghy via his swimming abilities and he does so.
We finally properly position the dinghy and drop the anchor.
Tim swims away and I limp back to the boat via kayak paddling.
Vaughan is still keeping the boat from smashing onto the quay, awaiting my tightening of the anchor line and dreaming of his wasted Amstel.
I re board the boat and attempt to tighten the anchor line so that it will keep my bow from smashing into the quay.
There is no tension.
The line is loose.
As I frantically bring the anchor line in, I see the need to re dinghy the anchor and for a second time in order to try to plant it properly.
The nightmare is about to repeat itself.
God sees that he has heaped upon me more than is possible for one man to bear and the anchor finally grips, I tighten the anchor rope and all is well.
I am done, and Vaughan is headed for his Amstel and I jump overboard to my reward.
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