Three days of perfect sailing before lightning, squalls, and one or two WTFs.

Sailing along the Albanian coast suddenly turned spicy and sparky in Himares. Eyes-wide with adrenalin, we managed the unfolding drama without injury or damage, and only the odd expletive.

Zeus puts on a lightshow for the ages in Himares, Albania

Cumulus clouds are the fluffy, innocent, cotton ball kind. They show up as part of the normal sea breeze cycle - air warmed by the earth rises, cools and condenses at altitude, and cool air rushes in from the sea to fill the gap - perfect for sailors and beachgoers alike.

Cumulonimbus clouds, on the other hand, are a different story altogether. Huge columns of warm air rise so fast they punch through cumulus levels to make agitated fists and odious monsters in the sky. Troublemakers for sure.

This particular afternoon, they gathered in numbers high above the mountains over Himares, for the Albanian National Cumulonimbus Convention. By 3pm they were looming over sunbathers, blocking the sun and stifling the sea breeze. The calm before the storm.

A few days earlier

We’d been watching the weather carefully for a suitable 3-4 day window to help us south from Tivat in Montenegro to Albania. Thursday, we decided, was the day.

Anchored peacefully in the Bay of Kotor, the evening before departing for Albania

We left the Bay of Kotor for the 40 mile sail south to Maljevik near Bar on the southern border of Montenegro. There we’d “check out” with immigration and customs and leave for Durres in Albania, another 55 miles away, to “check in”. Clear skies and the dominant nor’wester at 10-12 knots helped us along under full mainsail and spinnaker. Perfect conditions to introduce Avalon and Emmy to handling bigger sails from the bow.

We were anchored by 5pm, enjoyed Avalon’s Beef Fried Rice for dinner around 7pm, and had the entire bay to ourselves for the night. Peace out.

The paperwork can be painful in Montenegro so we got the exit formalities over early the following day. Weighing anchor at 7am we motored to the Customs dock in Bar.

Dovidenja Crna Gora. Paperwork done.

A quick lap of the Port Police to get our passports stamped, the Harbour Master to complete boat docs, and Customs to reassure them we weren’t trafficking anything more than good will, and we were off again. This time to Durres, the best port in the north, to enter Albania where our agent, Illir (Ill-ee-ah), was waiting with entry documents stamped and ready to swap for EU80, cash please.

Agents are compulsory in Albania. They’ve carved out a nice little niche between the immigration bureaucracy and sea gypsies like us, keen to see Albania before it’s over run, over polished and over priced like Croatia. Fair play to him. Albanians have endured a tumble dryer of turbulence for the last 50 years, without respite.

Years of hardline communist authoritarianism in the Stalinist style, finally and painfully gave way to a chaotic democracy and full throttle, ungoverned capitalism. Enter the conmen, hucksters, speculators, chancers, the IMF and, of course, warring tribes of organised crime. What could go wrong?

Just about everything.

So down trodden, insulated and vunerable were the good people of Albania, that a full 2/3rds of them invested in sketchy pyramid schemes, some even selling their houses to do so, in the first few years of ‘liberation’, and lost the lot.

A third of Albanians have left. Most of them economic refugees looking for a better life elsewhere. Those that we’ve met have been, for the most part, very welcoming. Illir was certainly one of them. Friendly, chatty and generous with his recommendations and introductions to people and places further south, and happy to have found his groove.

Perfect sailing conditions - 15 knots with spinnaker flying

Durres to Vlore

Another perfect sailing day unfolds with 15-18 knots from NE to NW and a slight swell gave the spinnaker and full mainsail another workout. Making good time south at 6-7 knots we made it to Vlore by 6pm, anchored, ate and slept like babies, despite the concerted attacks of 100 DJs from beach bars up and down the strip 200 metres away.

Things get spicy - Vlore to Himares

South of Vlore the Albanian coastline is at it’s most striking. Mountains, two or three rows deep, pressing at the coastline. Many of them dappled with some of the 750,000 bunkers built, back in the day, to defend Albania’s pure brand of communism from would-be diluters.

Avalon practicing her rope coiling skills with 50 metres of spinnaker halyard, before the wind picks up

We headed out early and picked up a budding breeze - a little unusual to find this much wind so early in the day. Hmm.

By 11am the wind was a boisterous 20 knots and we put in a reef to make the boat easier to handle before heading downwind. Good thing too - it kept building to 25 knots with regular squirts of 30. The sea state changed with waves 1-1.5m starting to roll with us and we sailed goose-winged (mainsail lashed out one side, jib lashed out the other) for hours, comfortably doing 7-10 knots.

Then it just stopped. Cold. Odd. Ominous. So we motored the last 7 miles to Himares and anchored firmly, or so we thought.

Despite the tension in the atmosphere (the CAPE that we discussed in the last post was off the charts) the first night was uneventful. But the second…

The Albanian National Cumulonimbus Convention

Four separate thunder bolts a few seconds apart

The sea breeze dropped to nothing and zephyrs of colder air drifted in. Clouds were stacking themselves higher and higher, Jenga-style, and the last traces of fluffy cotton turned the grey of wet cement.

Emmy suggested we pull up the dinghy in case the wind whipped up. A great idea, and we battened down the hatches just in case.

An hour later the wind and rain made their entrance coming at us from all directions in the turbulent lee of the mountains. We were swinging around wildly on our ‘firm’ anchor. “Look, the neighbours are dragging,” I said as the 75’ motor cruiser’s anchor had obviously broken loose and was bulldozing sideways.

Wait.

We were moving with them. Was our anchor dragging too? The visibility was terrible in the driving rain but the depth sounder shower 42 meters and we’d anchored in 10. Yup, we’re dragging.

Action stations

Emmy - please get the anchor up when you’re ready.

Avalon - would you keep an eye out for other boats and obstacles as we move closer to shore and try to re-anchor, my sweet.

Jo - darling, look at the satellite pics of the bay to find us a big sandy patch (best holding for anchors) closer in.

Me - hold the boat steady with the engines you #*%@ing idiot!

See? Not a single expletive so far.

Ten minutes later we’d re-anchored in what we hoped was sand, and in a slightly more protected position. The wind and rain came in waves for a few hours as part of the warm-up act.

As night fell, the main attraction took the stage. Sheet lightning turned jet-black darkness into flashes of daylight. Bolts of lightning, some simple, others much more complex, crackled and boomed all around us. We counted the seconds between light and sound to tell how far away they were.

One hippopotamus, two hippopotamus, three hippopotamus, four hippo… boom! Close enough.

Avalon and Emmy went to bed around 10pm so they’d be rested if we needed them. Jo and I stayed on deck until 1am to keep an eye on things. Two more bigger boats dragged their anchors and went to sea. We held firm until things blew over and the convention came to a close.

Sun’s out again

You can tell the coast has cleared by the boats heading out after a storm. The fisherman are first to get to sea, their livelihoods depend on it. Next the day boats, cruise operators and themed boat tours are back in high rotation.

The southern Albanian coastline approaching our next anchorage

We dawdled a few miles south to Kokoma Bay, inching closer and closer to Corfu.

Everything is back to normal, for now.

Smooth sailing until next time,

Craig and Jo and Avalon and Emmy. xxxx