Osprey Sailing Adventures

The last few days have flown by — and what a contrast. If only the Med was like this all the time.

We had a stunning two-sail north-westerly reaching passage from Kefalonia and Lefkada across to Nidri. It was the perfect sail to introduce Jennifer to Osprey. If I’d been able to put the spinnaker up, it would have been incredible. One day…

The wind died as we arrived under the shelter of Lefkada, so we motored the final hour into Nidri. Anchoring proved a little challenging in the crowded bay and we more or less ended up in the channel. Still, it turned into a peaceful night.

The next morning we met Takis from Yacht Shelter, who had made a new mattress for my berth. Using the dinghy, we transferred the mattress onboard before heading off for provisions.

From there we motored seven miles to Meganisi for another beautiful anchorage. At night the wind completely disappeared, leaving the bay utterly still despite several nearby boats.

From Meganisi we decided to take advantage of a strong wind day and sail back to Kefalonia. We didn’t start with a fixed destination — days begin late in the Med and I wasn’t yet sure whether we’d go offshore around Kefalonia or take the inshore route. We had around 70 miles ahead of us.

We motored in glassy calm down to the bottom of Lefkada before finally finding the wind. The choice then became whether to motor across the bay into a 15-knot headwind to reach the west coast of Kefalonia and sail south to Agia Pelagia, or take the longer eastern route with a far better sailing angle, flatter seas, but the risk of katabatic winds.

Would there even be wind on the west coast, or would we end up motoring 20 miles into a headwind for nothing? Or take the east coast, enjoy the stronger wind, and later find ourselves motoring into 25 knots? Comfortable anchorages are few and far between, and not always where you need them.

In the end I decided to “love the one you’re with” and take the sail while we had it.

We eased off the sheets and settled into a perfect southbound sail. 8 and 9knots charging along. As we came under Kefalonia the wind steadily increased to 22–25 knots, so we put one reef in, then two. It was the first proper wind Osprey had seen this season, so stretching everything back into place and finding all the reefing marks again took a little time.

The katabatic effect kept building and the idea of motoring around the next corner lost its appeal, so I opted to head into the tiny harbour at Poros.

The entrance was extremely choppy, and Jennifer had her work cut out fitting fenders and preparing lines in a 1.5m swell while I circled outside waiting for everything to be ready.

I’d called the harbour master ahead of arrival and he was waiting with a side-tie berth on the jetty. I simply slid alongside and the wind blew us gently on. It probably looked easy from shore, but in the shallow water and narrow entrance it was properly tense. The bow thruster was working overtime. The fenders were squashed.

Then the charter boats began arriving.

I have to say, I was genuinely impressed with how the harbour master directed some very novice sailors into their berths and raft-ups without anyone losing their temper. At one point we were both coaching a skipper on how to reverse under full power into his berth. The poor guy looked terrified, but he listened carefully, stayed calm, and made it in successfully.

It’s not often you can rely on a marinero like that.

He charged me €50 for a berth with no water or electricity — fairly extortionate — but he also refused to raft anyone alongside Osprey because, as he put it, “she’s too nice a boat.” I appreciated that.

The following morning we went for a walk and discovered an incredible cave restaurant where we had to stop for a drink overlooking the now glassy-calm sea that the day before had been a boiling cauldron.

Our final day was a long motor to Agia Pelagia Marina. Better than bashing into a headwind, we made easy progress around the coast.

I really must stop assuming that once you reach the harbour, the parking bit will be easy…

The entrance is extremely shallow and rocky, so I was slowly motoring in tight circles outside while Jennifer prepared the lines and fenders. We came into what should have been a straightforward berth with no wind and just 0.9m under the keel.

We got one stern line ashore with help from the harbour master. I’d instructed Jennifer to throw the second stern line to a helpful neighbour while I kept the boat straight using the engine and bow thruster — something I’ve done hundreds of times in many harbours.

The harbour master had other ideas.

He picked up one of the four slime lines while I still wasn’t properly straight. It went under the boat and immediately wrapped itself around both the keel and the prop. I quickly reversed the prop and managed to free it, but just then a local katabatic gust arrived and suddenly we were sideways in the berth.

I used the bow thruster to bring us back around and asked the harbour master to jump onboard and help with the bow line.

Jennifer is tiny and there was no way she could physically pull Osprey forward alone. She took the now very tight slime line forward while they both hauled together — and then somehow it wrapped itself into the bow thruster as well.

At this point I could actually see the prop wash dragging all four slime lines up off the bottom as it stirred the silt beneath us.

Thankfully we eventually freed everything, although we still had one wrapped around the keel. The lines were brand new — bright pearly white only days ago — but now decorated with a rather smart royal blue patina from Osprey’s antifoul.

Once tied up I checked both the prop and bow thruster, there’s now even more reason to find a calm bay soon and get the dive gear out for a proper inspection. I just need the water to warm up a bit more.

We’ll be in the marina for a few days while I fly back to the UK for a family event. Jennifer is spending a few days in Athens before we return for the next leg, when Tony will be joining us.

I know two people who’ll be very happy to have our deckhand back onboard.

Time for a few days’ rest in Fiscardo… or at least that was the plan. Then my 10-month-old granddaughter Tilly arrived and suddenly a mini cyclone was aboard.

I had no idea there were so many places such a small person could poke tiny fingers. Out came the gaff tape to plug the cockpit drains. Suddenly the washboards became a baby gate, the companionway stairs were there to be climbed, and the chartplotter turned into instant entertainment.

Note to self: Raymarine instruments and babies are not a good combination. Somehow she managed to trigger a man overboard alarm that kept me busy for 10 minutes trying to work out how to cancel it next time I turned on the instruments.

Fiscardo, at the northern end of Kefalonia, really is a beautiful little town — waterfront restaurants, crystal-clear water and a wonderfully protected harbour. I’d booked five nights with visions of relaxing day sails with the family.

Thankfully the harbour master was kind enough to give us a perfect berth — stern-to the quay with front-row seats to all the anchoring dramas. In Fiscardo it’s remarkably easy to tangle anchors as yachts come and go with varying degrees of expertise. Boats come and go with incredible frequency and anchor fouling is almost guaranteed. A large Superyacht was the most entertaining.

On arrival I realised we’d laid our short anchor over our neighbour’s. I offered to reset it, but he confidently assured me he could always get himself out of trouble…

The next day the crew headed home and once again I was on my own. Then old mate next door left his berth and promptly went wildly across my bow trying to retrieve his anchor. There was never any chance I could lay mine without fouling his, he probably knew that. Soon his poor wife was left driving while he stood on the bow huffing, puffing and yelling instructions as he tried to manually lift my 12mm chain clear of his 8mm chain. She absolutely had no idea how to drive or control the throttle, so he was yelling back and forth. It was quite hideous to watch.

He was extremely vocal about the situation and eventually managed to drag up my anchor — only to drop it completely in the wrong place.

Now I had a problem. My bow was blowing sideways across two berths and, being solo, resetting everything properly wasn’t really an option. The neighbour on my port side offered to help with his dinghy, but instead we tied my bow to his and ran a line ashore just to keep me straight.

The following morning I met another Oyster owner who kindly offered his professional crew to help sort things out, but with my son and the mini cyclone arriving, I thought we’d simply head out for a quick sail and fix it underway.

My son lives in Australia and hadn’t been aboard before — in fact he hadn’t sailed since he was about seven years old. After a quick lesson in untying lines and hauling anchors, we eased out of the berth… until the anchor stopped dead.

We were fouled around a huge length of rusty old chain that had been peacefully sitting on the harbour floor until a superyacht snagged it earlier in the day and dumped it directly over my anchor.

No amount of pulling was going to free that mess.

Thankfully the harbour master spotted the problem and came roaring out in his RIB to help. It turned into a mammoth effort, but 20 minutes later we were finally free and heading off to find some wind. No need for a gym membership on this boat. My 6ft4 son was suitably impressed at how strong the harbour master was.

Unfortunately the wind had other ideas. After several failed attempts to find either flat water, breeze or a beach that wasn’t too exposed, we admitted defeat and headed back into harbour.

The next day the rain arrived, so we toured the island by car instead. Finally, on our last day, the sun came out and we considered another attempt at sailing — right up until a boat pulled alongside warning us about 35-knot winds and a nasty rolling swell outside.

Watching them hose vomit off their side decks convinced me it probably wasn’t the ideal day to take out two novice sailors and a baby.

So frustration turned into people-watching. The baby fell asleep for the longest nap of their holiday, we ate ice cream, had a BBQ, and finally relaxed in the sunshine.

I gave my son a quick lesson on using a winch before heading up the mast to do a couple of small jobs. I did briefly wonder whether he’d actually know how to lower me back down again… but thankfully it never came to calling for help.

All too soon the weekend was over and the family were heading back to Australia, a new crew arrived and it was time to face that anchor again.

The next day produced perfect weather conditions. The anchor came up without a hitch and we had the best sailing conditions for sail towards Lefkada and Nidri. Absolutely fabulous just a day too late for the family, This is sailing.

If you’ve been thinking about joining us onboard this year, now’s the time — we’re filling fast, with only a handful of places left between now and mid-September.

Our route takes us west from Greece to Malta and Tunisia, before heading on to Sardinia, Corsica, The Balaerics, Spain, and finally the Canary Islands in November. From there, we’ll cross the Atlantic with the ARC to the Caribbean, arriving in time for Christmas.

I only have four crew places available at any one time, so come and join Sally in helping get Osprey through the Mediterranean to The Caribbean . You’re welcome to join us for a week, a month, or even longer if you’d like the full adventure.

Tony has been tied up with business commitments in Australia this year, so he’ll be onboard on and off throughout the season. Not quite the year we originally planned — although I don’t think anyone could have predicted how 2026 would unfold!

In the meantime, I’m getting used to solo sailing an Oyster 56. I suppose it’s quite the testimonial to the boat that a 61-year-old lady can handle her single-handedly. I do get some funny looks when I turn up solo though 😂😂😂

If you’d like to join us for part of the adventure, visit Osprey Sailing Adventures for full details and availability.

Osprey | Come Sailing with Osprey Osprey |Oyster 56|2004 Sail with us and experience living life onboard a luxurious Oyster 56ft - Private Sailing with Friends. We are a middle aged Aussie couple who enjoy sharing experiences aboard our privately owned sailing yacht. Can’t escape just yet? No worries! You can still experience the ...

It’s been such a busy couple of weeks that I’ve barely had time to relax, let alone post on Facebook, but what a wonderful 9 days we’ve had aboard with a fantastic crew.

We all met up in Argostoli, Kefalonia for dinner on the first evening before provisioning the following day. Steve handled shopping with two ladies remarkably well — gallantly carrying bags, nodding enthusiastically, and producing encouraging comments at all the right moments. He was also delightfully easy to feed, happily eating absolutely anything put in front of him and complimenting every meal. Clearly very well trained!

We left Argostoli in hopeful search of wind, aiming eventually for Galaxidi and the ancient sanctuary of Delphi. Unfortunately, the Ionian had other ideas and the sails spent far too much time resting while the engine did all the work.

Our first stop was the beautiful bay of Antri in southern Ithaca. With no other boats around, we enjoyed the rare luxury of free anchoring in crystal-clear water surrounded by dramatic rocks and untouched scenery. Thankfully the night stayed calm because there certainly wasn’t enough breeze to move us anywhere.

The following morning we motored on towards Nafpaktos, with its stunning Venetian harbour sitting just beneath the great Rio–Antirrio Bridge. The harbour itself was too small for us to enter, so we anchored outside and went ashore instead for dinner and an evening walk up to the castle overlooking the Gulf of Corinth. Nafpaktos has centuries of maritime history behind it and was once known as Lepanto, famous for the great naval battle fought there in 1571.

Still no wind the next morning, so more motoring brought us to Galaxidi where we moored on the town quay. Galaxidi itself is a gem — a beautifully preserved old naval town filled with elegant captains’ houses from the great age of Greek shipping. The next day we hired a car and drove to Delphi, one of the most sacred and important sites of the ancient world. Set dramatically on the slopes of Mount Parnassus, Delphi was once believed to be the centre of the world by the ancient Greeks, home to the Oracle of Apollo where kings and generals came seeking prophecy before making life-changing decisions. It was an absolutely fabulous day exploring the ruins, temples, theatre and mountain scenery before wandering through the lovely hill town of Arachova, nearby.

Leaving Galaxidi for Trizonia, we once again optimistically hoped for wind… and once again found absolutely none. More motoring followed. We stayed on the jetty there before making the 70nm journey back under the bridge towards Ithaca. At one point we enjoyed about ten glorious minutes of gentle sailing before the breeze disappeared yet again.

After Trizonia we headed into Vathy harbour on Ithaca, one of the prettiest natural harbours in the Ionian, steeped in mythology as the homeland of Odysseus. Arriving there after another largely windless passage felt wonderfully peaceful, even if the sails had once again spent more time packed away than drawing.

The weather seemed determined to tease us for the rest of the trip. Every bay was either too windy, too exposed, or somehow completely windless once inside. Eventually we headed for Fiskardo for our final stop and, at long last, the wind finally filled in properly. We finished with our best sail of the trip — flying along at 8 knots under headsail alone — a perfect ending after days spent hunting for breeze.

Despite the endless motoring, it really was a wonderful trip with wonderful company, beautiful anchorages, fascinating history, and plenty of laughter along the way.

Finally, after 162 days tied to the dock in Preveza, I actually left the marina.

First challenge: getting the 20hp Yamaha onto the dinghy. Thankfully another Oyster owner and a gorgeous Brazilian guy from the boat next door stepped in to help us heave and shove the outboard backwards onto the dinghy. Huge thanks to Joe from Blue Eyes for the gallant assist — saving both my back and my dignity.

Originally, my first crew were due to fly in the day before departure, but a medical emergency forced them to cancel, which suddenly turned the next four days into a solo adventure heading down towards Kefalonia.

It was blowing enough to make me slightly cautious, so I also asked the marina to stand by with the RIB. The same guy who heroically shoved us into the berth in 40 knots back in November was visibly excited for Round Two. Thankfully his services weren’t required this time, and five minutes later I was tied up at the fuel dock topping up diesel instead of starring in another marina drama.

Leaving Preveza, I motored the six miles to Lefkada in absolutely no wind whatsoever. Not “light wind” — literally none. I had to keep the pace up because the bridge opening was at 2pm and missing it wasn’t an option. The run through the bridge and down the channel was gorgeous though, bright sunshine and postcard scenery all the way.

Once clear of the channel I finally got the headsail up and enjoyed about an hour and a half of proper sailing before anchoring in Nidri. Naturally, the wind arrived right as I entered the harbour, accompanied by about 50 Optimist dinghies racing around like caffeinated mosquitoes, just to make anchoring a little more “interactive.”

Marko came out to collect our old rusty anchor chain, and I settled into a peaceful night on anchor.

The following morning was grey and overcast but with a nice 15–20 knots forecast for the 50nm sail to Argostoli. Sounds perfect, right? Of course not.

As soon as the sails went up, the wind shifted behind me which meant boom preventers, poling out the headsail, and wrestling with an awkward rolly swell — all considerably more entertaining when solo. No matter what angle I tried, the boat rolled horribly and the sails slammed around like angry barn doors.

Eventually I gave up pretending this was enjoyable, started the engine, and motored on while hanging on between swells around the north of the island.

After seven hours and only 35 miles, I admitted defeat and ducked into a beautiful little anchorage called Atherous Bay. Luckily there were no other boats, so I managed to secure the only visible patch of sand according to Google Earth. Anchored in 10 metres, there wasn’t much room left anyway.

It was slightly rolly but calm enough until about 9pm when a sudden 20-knot breeze arrived out of nowhere. I immediately assumed the universe was preparing a full night of anchor terror… but thankfully it disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived.

The next morning I woke to sunshine and discovered a gorgeous little classic yacht had somehow materialised overnight directly in my patch of sand. Neither of us could work out how he’d missed both me and my anchor. Apparently he never saw my lights, panicked when the depth suddenly changed, and just threw the anchor down immediately. He later apologised before elegantly sailing off anchor and out of the bay.

Then came the chain locker saga.

The plan had been to rearrange the new 120m anchor chain with crew onboard — partly as a teaching exercise, partly because “free labour” is one of sailing’s great traditions. First fail.

Then I planned to do it in Nidri with Marko helping, but Nidri’s thick mud meant I really didn’t fancy dragging 120m of fresh chain through sludge. Second fail.

And as every sailor knows… the boat never forgets.

The problem is the anchor locker slopes away from the windlass, so the chain doesn’t naturally fall neatly into place. If it isn’t carefully stacked, eventually it jams and refuses to drop properly.

In Nidri there was no wind, so recovering the anchor slowly wasn’t a problem.

In Atherous Bay, however, there was 15 knots blowing me steadily towards the beach, meaning I had to drive the boat while raising anchor and somehow deal with the chain pile-up at the same time.

So there was only one option: drop all 120 metres of chain out and then, metre by metre, shove wet, salty, smelly chain into the far corners of the locker using hands, feet, and whatever dignity I still had left.

I can control the windlass from the helm, but that’s not particularly useful when the chain refuses to fall where it should.

So up came the chain in 10m chunks — push, shove, heave, repeat.

To be fair, it actually went surprisingly smoothly.

I only broke one nail.

Naturally, the wind died completely the moment I finished.

From there I motor-sailed — again with almost no wind — into Argostoli where the next crew, Pamela and Steve, were hopefully waiting.

Unfortunately Steve had missed his flight connection in Athens thanks to a customs hall computer failure that stopped anyone being processed. He eventually made it to Argostoli at midnight after a long haul flight from the US to Athens, 7 hour journey on 2 busses and a ferry to arrive at midnight.

Meanwhile I anchored in the bay and met Pamela ashore for dinner, ready for them both to join the boat the following morning.

In a funny twist, the little classic yacht from Atherous Bay sailed into Argostoli later that evening as well. The next morning as I was heading into the dock to pick Pamela and Steve up, Harry — the owner — recognised me, and we ended up floating around for five minutes chatting as yachties do about where we’d come from and where we were headed next.

Pamela later summed it up:

“When Harry met Sally… by boat.”😂👍

Happy 60th Birthday to my Partner in crime, My deckhand and the man who keeps me entertained.

I love you to the moon and back, not sure Osprey can get that far…. Looking forward to having you back onboard soon.
❤️🎉⛵️🍸🍺🩷

My time in Preveza is fast running out… but apparently not before squeezing in a few more “character-building experiences.”

Most of the boat upgrades are finally done — cue triumphant music — except for my new mattress, which is still somewhere in the mystical land of “being made.” So, more instructions, more confusion, more fun.

The new dyneema topping lift (spare main halyard) also arrived… too short. Which is particularly impressive given they literally had the old one to measure from. That takes a special level of creative incompetence. After much passionate Greek debate (volume definitely replacing accuracy), a new one was made. Slight issue: it’s stretchier than I’d expect from “top-of-the-range performance rope,” so the jury’s still out.

Epic battle to get the tiniest bit of air out of the water system which has been a battle since last season. If you’re familiar with boat plumbing it’s that annoying little brrrrp that runs for 2 seconds too frequently. It usually takes 100 litres of water running down the drain to get it to stop until it finds it way again. Like Chinese water torture it works perfectly during the day and just as your nodding off to sleep brrp…. In desperation I sort the advice of an experience boaty and together we poured about 10 hours and $$$$$ down the drain trying to find it. 🤞it appears to have stopped for now….

The lithium batteries upgrade — oh joy of joys — New lithium batteries finally arrived! Slightly pricier than the ones originally ordered, but better quality, so I’ll call that a win. Installation was a dream, everything just switched back on. Since I’m still in the marina, they hadn’t really been tested… until the day I confidently turned off the battery charger, assuming they were full.

Spoiler alert: they were not.

Naturally, this revelation came on the exact day I decided to raise the mainsail and send myself up the mast. I gathered a merry band of helpers and spectators, although our strongest volunteer — conveniently 30 years younger than the rest of us — was operating at reduced capacity after a spirited evening on the turps.

Because boats, much like elephants, never forget.

So there I am, halfway up the mast, attaching the sail to the track, when the electric winch suddenly dies. Dead. Flat batteries. Meaning the hungover Hercules below now has to haul everything manually. Honestly, poetic justice. Once I finally installed the battery software on my phone, problem solved. Technology: useless until suddenly essential.

By then, of course, we’d started late, the wind had arrived right on schedule, and wrestling the mainsail into the stack pack became an Olympic event. Mission postponed.

Still, bit by bit, I’ve got the sails on, rerun the halyards, and transformed the deck into what looks like a spaghetti festival of ropes — but we’re getting there.

Things were finally shaping up. First crew due in a couple of days, passage planning underway… and then boom: family emergency, crew cancelled. It’s genuinely awful for them, and I hope they can rejoin later, but for now it means I’m going solo for the first 4–5 days. Because apparently easing into this adventure was never on the cards.

Picking up the gas bottle was a real win, I cycled the 4klm to the gas shop to collect my 10kg bottle, trying to balance it on the back of the bike the shop owner offered to drive me back in his van. So we loaded the bike and the bottle and I didn’t have to take on the Greek roads with a full gas bottle precariously hanging off the back.

Then came the true boss battle: Greek bureaucracy.

Last year, I handed in my boat papers to avoid winter cruising tax. Smart move… until this year, when timing became everything. I’d paid for May, not April, because I planned to leave May 1st. Sensible, right?

Wrong.

Wednesday afternoon I discover Friday is a public holiday. Offices closed. No papers = trapped in marina until Monday = daily marina fees. At the same time, I also discover the marina’s “monthly” rate is actually 30 days, not a calendar month, meaning I suddenly need to leave on the 30th or pay extra. 3 days = 1/3 of a monthly rate …..

A mad 5klm dash to Lidl on the bike at 8pm to grab a few supplies, then cycling back in the dark on the Greek roads with potholes, loose dogs and unlit cars was evening entertainment different from tv on my own.

So naturally, Thursday became a real-life Greek obstacle course: three days’ worth of jobs, provisioning, gas bottles, picking up a Bluetti power boxes, and an epic bike ride tour of government offices.

Three hours later — after much classic Greek administrative theatre involving multiple people, overlapping opinions, and the loudest voice winning — I somehow got my papers back without paying April’s tax… provided I stayed one more night in the marina.

A miracle.

This was made even more dramatic by the fact that Greece had launched a shiny new electronic system the day before… which absolutely nobody, including customs, could use. End-of-month chaos, cashier closes at 10:30, panic everywhere. One sailor I know paid a four-figure sum to an agent and still can’t leave until Monday.

I got it sorted for €15.

I deserve a medal. Or at least a very large Soda water.

So now, finally, I can semi-relax. One more marina night, then anchor out until departure on Saturday. Deck wash, final checks, nervous glances at all the shiny new systems, and the growing realization that my “shakedown cruise” may involve me gently questioning every life choice I’ve ever made.

And now… weather.

It’s blowing a proper hoolie. I was woken at 4am by creaking dock lines and enough wind to keep things interesting. Not terrifying, just enough to ruin plans and keep me from Friday farewell drinks.

Because heading out solo to anchor in 25 knots — with new anchor chain, untested batteries, a new bow thruster power bank, and an engine that “probably just needs a good run” — feels less like sensible seamanship and more like auditioning for a maritime disaster documentary.

So… another marina night it is.

Honestly, all I want is 2–3 calm days to gently test everything while sailing to meet the new crew.

Will I get them?

Given Greece’s recent performance… I’m not exactly betting the house on it.

This week in Preveza has been highs and lows, my birthday and party on the boat with great friends was lots of fun and I received constant messages and videos from family all day, I felt very loved. Greek Easter a week after Easter was a 4 day festival, mainly based around food, pot smashing, fireworks and church bells at midnight.

Since then it’s like Greece has suddenly come alive, people are on the streets, the shops cafes and restaurants are all open and there is a vibrancy around, plus it’s getting warmer. The weather has been beautiful.

The challenges, well it’s 10 days before I leave Preveza and we still have no Lithium batteries. Since arriving almost a month ago I’ve been given 3 different arrival dates for the batteries we ordered and have paid for 4 months ago, and still no sign of them. So Vassily has been scouting different places to find 2 24v 300amp lithium batteries that will fit in our box so we don’t have to move the batteries for the bow thruster engine and generator to a new location. Which is also extra cost and time to do.

As of this moment he has maybe located 2 in Athens which can be here Friday. Or we go down to 2 x 200amp so we can keep everything in the space and maybe trade up to 600amp at a later date…….that leaves only 3/4 days to instal the system, test and complete everything.

The second problem is the engine and generator are throwing water out the dry exhaust occasionally, I have an exhaust situation. The mecanic doesn’t think it’s an issue but my guru in The Uk Andy says it is. So today I’m getting my girly grease pants on and following the exhaust system through to see if there is a blockage or a problem.

I sent a diver down to check if the water outlet was blocked by mussels . Apart from being ripped off on his cost (quoted €40 for a video and inspection). I’m charged €104 for a 5 minute video and to stick a knife into the seacock and scratch it around. He did find my sunglasses which I dropped last week. Definately a case of see a big boat and double the cost.

We also have a water pump issue where the fresh water pump is not turning off due to air in the system. I’ve been chasing air leaks and wasting water all week. Water is €10 per 1000 litre so it literally feels like I’m throwing money down the sink. With some advice from a friendly cruiser and chat gpt I think I’ve located it to the aft end of the boat, namely the Loo. So more investigation on that today.

On the subject of loo’s the harbour smells like a sewer and occasional bad wafts are appearing, the water is so dirty you can’t see a hand in front of your face, but also when batteries are dying they “Offgas” which also smells like sewer so I’ve been madly trying to check if the batteries are bad but I think it is the harbour.

All these challenges while still putting the boat back together. This weekend the sails go on, the halyards are done, The boom bang is back on. No repair needed it never was meant to hold the boom up, a label or part number would have told me this but it’s just a plain unmarked tube. I’m waiting for a new topping lift as the old one was looking worn.

At the same time I’m also planning our next big maintenance schedule in October where we haul out ready for the Atlantic crossing. The place we had planned to go with a mecanic we like now cannot lift us as their crane is broken and we have to look for a new location, find someone we trust, hope they get the tricky jobs done in the short time we have of 1 month or we can go to the Oyster Yacht Base where we will get it all done with no fuss but it will cost a huge amount more.

This is boat life, the ups and downs. It always comes down to the wire on days left in the marina….