October 5th, 0:30
Lines off, we leave the harbor of Plataria in the bright moonlight glittering on the sea between Corfu and the mainland.
October 5th, 1:30
I lie down to get a bit of sleep and then take the watch in the morning.
October 5th, around 4:00 a.m.
I wake up and go on deck. Flo and Pascal are both still up and say that we have just been passed by a large cruise ship on both port and starboard sides. The AIS still has a few other vessels in view — a motor yacht coming toward us and a sailboat on roughly the same course behind us.
Pascal lies down, Florian a little later as well. I enjoy the calm.
October 5th, 6:15 a.m., 40°3’49.2″N, 19°37’54.8″E
The first morning light timidly appears over the rugged coastal mountains. Just before sunrise, a group of dolphins comes to visit us — first four or five gray bodies appear on the port side, then briefly on the starboard side, and then they swim away. I assume they weren’t having too much fun with us because we were under engine power.
Two minutes later, Flo came up, unfortunately having missed the brief spectacle.
October 5th, 9:54 a.m., 40°24’40.5″N 19°15’53.0″E
We pass the northwest tip of the peninsula in front of the bay of Vlora and Orikum in Albania. The wind has picked up significantly by now, but it’s still quite pleasant for us. The sailboat we saw on the AIS early this morning is still a few miles behind us.
October 5th, 11:49 a.m., 40°38’44.2″N, 19°15’39.4″E
Abreast of the mouth of the Vjosa, we have had beautiful sailing wind for several hours and are being pulled northward by the genoa at up to nine knots.
Because the weather forecast predicted strong winds for the night, we briefly discussed staying overnight in Durrës, Albania, but discarded the idea — according to the forecast, the wind gradient would decrease sharply toward the coast. Not long past Durrës, the sun sets again and we sail into the second night.
As the wind increases, we repeatedly look aft to see if our “shadow boat” is still there. It sails very differently from us — while we sail more or less flat before the wind, it tacks back and forth downwind and is still noticeably slower. Over the hours, it falls so far behind that it is barely visible on the horizon.
It’s quite strange — out there, especially in heavy weather, all sailors become a community: you watch out for the others, wondering if everything is all right on board.
October 5th, 20:52, 41°44’45.3″N, 19°13’9.2″E
Approximately abeam the border between Albania and Montenegro, we change course about 15° to port. The wind from the port quarter has now picked up significantly, and we are still sailing only under the genoa, now heavily reefed.
At this point, my memories become a bit fragmented, because what happened next felt elemental: we apparently sailed right through a thunderstorm. I suspect that with better weather routing we could have avoided it, but we had only looked at the wind forecast, not the short-term radar image.
The wind increased rapidly; the highest gust I recorded was around 40 kt, though I suspect at times it may have been close to 50 kt. The waves, by my estimate, were over four meters high, though it’s hard to tell with the moon only occasionally illuminating the scene.
At some point, the tablet we were using for navigation also failed. Or rather: it didn’t really fail, but since we were getting a lot of spray overboard, the screen was covered in saltwater and became unusable, and eventually a drop of water apparently pushed the navigation app into the background, and I couldn’t bring it back up. (The tablet actually has three mechanical buttons instead of the usual Android soft keys, but I couldn’t find them in the dark).
At that point, I had had enough of sailing. I asked Florian to start the engine and go to normal cruising speed, then I stowed the rest of the genoa. In the process, the sheet popped off the winch — I still don’t know how it happened. One moment there were three loops on the winch, the next the sheet was in my hand, running only to the left past the winch, then the wind ripped it from my hand. Although we had previously tied a secure figure-eight knot, it ran through the block and, as we later discovered, got firmly tangled on the railing at the bow. Luckily, because a sheet in the propeller would have been a real problem now.
Around that moment, Pascal stuck his head through the sliding hatch and asked if we needed help. Rarely have I answered “yes” so quickly and clearly, and even more, I told Pascal that it might be time for a “Mayday.” That was more due to my stress at the moment than an actual emergency. Quetzal was certainly being tossed around, and more than one wave sent a strong shower into the cockpit, but she was afloat, we were making way, and we had control of the course.
Our destination for the day was Dubrovnik, still about 80 NM from our current position. In wind and waves, we were making roughly six, maybe seven knots, so it would have been another 12 hours to Dubrovnik. However, the forecast predicted the wind would ease around midnight, which would have favored our progress. So we stayed on course, now all three of us in the cockpit — sleep was out of the question anyway.
October 5th, 23:46, 41°58’27.3″N 18°58’46.8″O
As midnight approached and there was still no sign of the weather easing — on the contrary, I think the waves even got higher (though again, hard to estimate) — we decided to head for Bar in Montenegro. At that time, Bar was almost directly abeam, so we turned 90° to starboard and set course for Bar.
October 6th, 1:12, 42°6’2.7″N 19°4’47.1″O
We reach the outer breakwater of Bar. In front of the brightly lit city, the harbor lights are hard to make out, but Pascal first brings us behind the breakwater of the industrial harbor, where we set out fenders and then enter the marina. At this hour, we wanted to moor with as little effort as possible, and Pascal decided that the easiest spot was at the fuel dock. To be honest, in those hours I was very grateful for his calmness and also that he made clear and good decisions until all lines were secured. I was so wiped out that I couldn’t really have manage it myself.
Sometime in the next half hour, we were secured at the fuel dock, out of our clothes, and in the bunk. And between mooring and the bunk, we also cleared the knot in the genoa sheet, so the sail wouldn’t flap any longer in the wind and get damaged.
I was extremely grateful for my oilskin gear, because under jacket, bib pants, and deck boots, I stayed almost completely dry, apart from the occasional splash that ran down my collar. I wouldn’t claim that there was no bad weather, but at least there’s clothing appropriate for it.
Our shadow boat reaches the harbor shortly after us, but enters the industrial harbor.
