Can we squeak through this weather window from Cyprus to Türkiye?

Sailing from Cyprus requires good timing. The wind usually blows from precisely the wrong direction. But there's a window opening and we're off. Two hundred nautical miles. Casting off, 6am tomorrow!

Boat jobs are never really done, but we’re in good shape for the first sail of the year.

Our second season sailing around the Mediterranean starts bright and early in the morning. The wind has blown stubbornly from the west since we got back to the boat two weeks ago. Once or twice it would veer to the north, load up with icy air, and howl across the xyz sea to beat itself to pieces on the sawtooth rocks of the Northern Cyprus shore.

Most unhelpful.

All we need is for the wind to get bored and restless, to start feeling predictable, type-cast, and taken for granted. Then slam a door, have a little tanty, and act out in the opposite direction to prove a point, just for a day or two.

Too much to ask?

Well, it’s happening.

Tomorrow.

0500 - Alarm goes off.

0530 - Dressed and chugging Nespresso.

0545 - Meet with nice Northern Cyprus Customs officials to clear out.

0559 - Rubber stamp hits the paper.

0600 - Set sail.

That’s the plan.

Paperwork is done. Boat’s ship-shape. We’re already tied up on the Custom’s dock, that strange place between being somewhere and being on your way to somewhere else. Like an airlock on a submarine, or a spaceship. We’re sleeping here tonight.

It’s all going to be fine, as long as the forecast holds. And as long as we leave on time.

We’re sailing from the white dot on the eastern end of Northern Cyprus to the blue dot in Türkiye. Left - the wind is building from the east as we leave and peaking at 25-30 knots early on Friday morning. Perfect. Right - 13 hours later on Friday evening and the wind comes back in from the west. Tough going.

If we average 7 knots of boat speed, it will take 30 - 35 hours to get across. About the same as a flight from London to Sydney on China Eastern, with a five-hour layover in Shanghai. No more sleep, but a lot more fun. If the wind goes west before we make it, it’s going to take a lot longer. And get bumpy and uncomfortable. Let’s focus on the 7 knots of boat speed. Yes, we can! Yes, we can!

Not that we’re racing, or pushing the boat hard, or testing our luck.

Although the forecast says there will be fog. Which could be tricky. We have an air horn at the ready, although there’s a bit to learn. You can’t just hit the horn to make a lot of noise like taxi drivers in New York. When it’s foggy, there are rules.

As I write, Jo is studying the International Regulations for the Prevention of Collisions at Sea, Rule 35 - Sound Signals in Restricted Visibility.

To wit:

“In or near an area of restricted visibility, whether by day or night, the signals prescribed in this Rule shall be used as follows:

(a) A power-driven vessel making way through the water shall sound at intervals of not more than 2 minutes one prolonged blast.”

Me - ‘There are only 11 parts, (a) through (k), to get your head around. Shouldn’t take too long.’

Jo - ‘Might be easier to learn the tuba’

Me - ‘I’m sure you’ll have them mastered by morning.’

Jo - ‘No need for that alarm then. Fog horn practice will keep us up all night.’

Nothing like a good night’s sleep before a big sail.

Wish us luck!

See you on the other side,

Craig and Jo xxx