Katabatic winds, wild fires and ghost ships, all in one week.

Sleepy little Montenegro turned out to be full of surprises this past week. Some of them welcomed by visiting family, and one to two less so. Let’s chalk them up to the unpredictability of boat life.

Little did they know - my sister and her family arrive in Kotor.

My little sister, Bec, her husband, John, and their two teenage daughters, Ella and Tessa, arrived from San Diego last Saturday night for a week of summery, salty bliss. The question is, has it lived up to their expectations? 

To be fair, I’d say yes, and no.

‘Yes’ because most of the week has been as advertised with gin-clear waters and long days of sunshine topped off with delicious dinners onboard and Moritz Eis sorbets after. And ‘No’ because there have been a few unexpected challenges that may have tested their appetites for floating holidays altogether. Although it wouldn’t surprise me if some of the ‘No’ bits turned out to be family faves.

Katabatic chaos 

“The wind drops, the temperature falls, and soon after all hell breaks loose”, said our friend, Andy, a couple of months ago as he helped prepare us for a full sailing season on the Med. “I’ve had to bolt from restaurants half a dozen times leaving friends and family behind, tear out to the boat by dinghy, and do my best to avoid all the drama of dragging anchors and crashing boats”. 

Yeah, yeah. Lochness Monsters. Abominable snowmen. Katabatic winds. We’ve sailed on the Med quite a lot, that’ll never happen to us. 

Until…

We’d picked up my sister and her family in Kotor and spent the night anchored off Hercegnovi, close to the entrance to the Bay of Kotor. We wandered around the old town, loaded up on fresh bread, fruit and veggies and sailed south 15 miles to Sveti Stefan. Everything going to plan.  

Just one surprise really, the fingers of smoke wriggling skywards from the high reaches of the mountains that loom over the coast. Especially around our destination. We’re not completely silly and the wind had been blowing onshore in 5-10 knot sea breezes all week, so we were confident that the smoke would be blown away and the fire would be isolated by the shores of Shkodra Lake a few miles inland. 

Full steam ahead!

Sveti Stefan was every bit as charming as we’d imagined. Anchoring on sand in 8 metres of water behind the rocky islet of Golubini we had a perfect view of Sveti Stefan, once a fort and refuge for the locals defending themselves from the marauding Turks. And, more recently, a five star Aman resort hosting Sophia Loren, Sylvester Stallone and Novak Djokovic’s wedding guests. It’s since been shuttered altogether (not clear why that it) but is, nevertheless, neat as a pin and a stunning sight to see. 

Underage Americans drinking beer and G&Ts with naughty Aunty Jo.

We swam in 23 degree water, supped fizzy water and bathed in the sunset glow. All before things took a turn for the worse.

Wild fires

“What’s this you’ve put in the salad Jo?, asked my sister. “It looks like ash”. We’d been denying the growing presence of smoke for some time. The sea breeze had long vanished and faint hints of fire from 1,500m overhead had been loitering for at least an hour. Boiling pots and frogs and all that. There was no argument now, there was ash in the salad!

Which was precisely when the wind slammed down from on high in classic Katabatic fashion. Wham! Denser, heavier air falling fast  with the force of gravity and fanning the flames above. By the time it hit the water in front of us it was laden with heavy smoke, more ash, and gusting left and right at 25-30 knots. 

We encouraged the crew to go to bed and sleep in case we needed them fresh to help out during the night. Jo dozed fitfully while I stayed on watch as the wind built to 40 knots. What had been the shelter of the rocky islet in a sea breeze had transformed into the gnashing teeth of a monster with the violent reversal of the wind with the boat barely 10 meters from disaster. If the anchor dragged, if the bridle broke … 

Early morning getaway from the heavy smoke of Sveti Stefan.

We could have upped anchor and gone to sea to ride it out but we elected to have our engines on standby and keep a close watch instead. 

Raw eyes and throats like ground glass kept us honest as we sidled away at dawn to Jaz not five miles away where the air was clear and the onshore breeze was alive and well again. We could look back at the mountains over Sveti Stefan and see the smoke draped over the bay for the next 24 hours.

On the count of three we breathed a collective sigh of releif.

Ghost ships and close calls

Jaz turned out to be remarkably peaceful with all the beach bars closed by 9pm. Surprising given that it’s only a few miles from Budva, the well known bolt hole for well-healed Russians. Budva is worth a visit by day to see the old town, but that’s about it. Beating a retreat from the crowds and euro-doof we motored to Uvula Trsteno another five miles to the north west to anchor in peace.

Not much wind, so Bec and the family cool down with a deep-sea swim.

Sailing north the next day proved difficult with the wind coming and going on a whim. We persisted under full sail all the same  A large motor yacht steamed south some distance away. Ten minutes later and we and the motor yacht were on a clear collision course. Was anyone on the wheel? No. A ghost ship steaming towards us at 500m, 400m, 300m, 200m. Little choice but to fire up the motors to get out of the way. No amount of shouting raised the skipper from his slumber, or stupor, or stupidity. His guests on the aft deck, blissfully unaware of the danger, waved a friendly hand as we steered clear and they charged past. We replied with an abundance of hand signals and expletives. This is our third close encounter with a “professionally crewed charter boat” so far. 

One more flex

Mother Nature was not quite done with us. 

Last night was our final night on anchor with Bec and the gang. We chose somewhere suitably stunning, a small bay behind the tiny Monastir Sveti Vavadenje, a tiny island and church at the entrance to the Bay of Kotor. Half a mile north is Mamula Island, the former concentration camp used by Mussolini when Italy controlled the bay, and now a Four Seasons resort. 

Lil’ sis and me heading out of Lustica Bay.

We arrived mid-afternoon. The day boats dwindled with time and the fuckwittery (collective noun) of jet skis exhausted themselves doing their signature donuts and roared back to base, leaving us alone with one other friendly catamaran anchored 40 metres away. Sunset was mirror-smooth and magnificent. 

By 4am the wind was up. The waking up of the whole boat kind of up, consistently over 35 knots and touching 56 at one point. Thunder and lightning introduced themselves over the howl of the squall. Our friendly neighbours got friendlier dragging their anchor until they were only 10 meters from us, their only option to pull up their anchor and move away. 

We dropped more chain until we had all 60 metres out and our anchor held firm until the wind veered 180 degrees and eventually settled down a couple of hours later.

The simple things

You don’t need much to be happy on a boat. Good weather, good food, great company.  We’ve been spoilt this week with hours whiled away with family banter on the front deck, over lunches and dinners onboard, on a stand up board, or in the gigantic float tank that is the Mediterranean in summer. 

Ella, Bec, Tessa and Jo busy stand-up paddling.

Even the more challenging surprises are part of the fun. For us, at least. We must be getting used to expecting the unexpected. 

Smooth sailing until next time, 

Craig and Jo xxx