Cutting the Dragon's Tail

by Lynda Chidell

  We reached Little Bitter Lake just in time. The first convoy of ships was coming up behind. It felt very strange to see so many huge ships at such close quarters, apparently steaming through a sea of sand.

  At Great Bitter Lake more ships passed us. We also watched, with interest, some beautiful Egyptian feluccas sailing with great efficiency. Three further packets of cigarettes were handed over at the canal station at the northern end of the lake. The stock of Sri Lankan cigarettes left behind by Lynda was proving valuable, especially as there was something about these cigarettes that never seemed to produce greedy demands for more.

  It was as late as twenty minutes to four by the time we reached our destination for the first day – a collection of mooring buoys at the northern end of Lake Timsah near to the large town of Ismailia. We rafted up alongside Amat Berani for the night. I think Ali was glad to leave us to return to Suez and his normal job as a crane driver. It had been a long day – we had only covered forty-five miles but, owing to the strong headwind and adverse currents, this had taken thirteen hours.

  Our pilot the next morning was called Salah Mohammed. He boarded at ten past eight, nearly four hours later than we had been expecting, owing to problems that had arisen concerning two southbound supertankers. Unfortunately, the wind was still strong and from the north. I had officially cleared out of Egypt in Suez, the plan being that we would not stop in Port Said, but would proceed directly into the Mediterranean. However, this was beginning to look impossible due to the adverse wind direction. When the northbound convoy started passing us from half past one onwards, I made contact over the radio with the captain of one of the ships (the Panamanian registered Pointe de Carsen) and obtained a forecast for Area Delta, which was: Wind north-east force five, locally six, moderating to four. I decided that this was not good enough and we would have to stop.

  It was dark by the time we reached Port Said. Salah Mohammed left us and a new pilot named Shaban joined us to guide Tin Hau to Port Said Yacht Club. We were the only foreign yacht there. At eight o’clock an immigration launch came alongside and the formalities were dealt with by a very courteous and efficient police major. I decided not to apply for official entry to Egypt again, and told the major that we simply wanted to wait for suitable weather before leaving. He understood totally. We could stay where we were and use the yacht club facilities as we pleased (the charges were E£6 per day). On departure we would just have to notify the policeman on duty at the yacht club gates, who would retrieve our passports.

  The highlight of what turned out to be a three day stay at the yacht club was meeting Commodore Hassan Luxor and his son, Ashraf. Commodore Luxor was a retired Egyptian naval officer, obviously of some note in Egyptian yachting circles. Like so many Egyptians, he was very courteous and helpful. Unfortunately, we were meeting him at the wrong time – just as we were leaving Egypt, rather than on our arrival. He very kindly gave us an autographed copy of his excellent booklet published the previous year, entitled Egypt for Yachtsmen.

  On Wednesday, 6th April, the forecast was slightly better – east-north-east, eighteen knots. I decided to go. Passports were retrieved, bills paid and we were free to enter the Mediterranean.

  We started off just after midday by sailing beside a long dredged murky channel leading north-westwards away from the canal entrance. It was good to be making way at long last without the use of the engine. The huge Nile Delta lay ahead of us just off the port bow, but, as the hours went by, we appeared to be clearing it. At quarter to ten the main part of the delta was about eight miles abeam and we crossed the twenty metre contour to enter the deeper waters of the shipping lane once more. By midnight the echo sounder was reading fifty-five metres. We ghosted along silently in the night with Number Seven steering and Darren on watch, the wind north-north-east, force three to four.

  I was semi-awake for the rest of the night, even though my watch started officially at eight in the morning. We were receiving rather an interesting and enjoyable radio station broadcast in English – ‘The Voice of Peace’. We never did find out exactly where it was based, but we think it was on a ship anchored near to the Israeli coast about one hundred and twenty miles away. Useful weather forecasts were given at regular intervals.

  It was such a joy to look all around us and see neither land nor ships. The sea below was a deep blue colour such as we had not experienced for a long time. I spent as much time as possible at the bow, listening to the gentle splashing of the bow wave, relieved at leaving another busy port behind. It was magic; and it went on for three whole days as we drifted ever closer to Cyprus in lighter and lighter winds.

  In the end we were forced to start the engine, as in the light airs we were being pushed further and further to the west – towards the wrong end of Cyprus. Larnaca was our ultimate destination, but without the engine we might not even make Paphos – also on Cyprus’s south coast, but about seventy-five nautical miles to the west of Larnaca. During the course of the day (9th April) we alternated between heading for Larnaca and heading for Paphos, as the wind and swell varied.

  We started to pick up all the signs of land. First we saw a floating container, with only one corner visible above the surface – highly dangerous to shipping. Then we came across some tame land birds, followed by a swarm of dopey flies. When the flies started to die all over the deck, yet more birds arrived, drawn by the free feast.

  The coast of Cyprus was sighted at dusk. I finally made the decision to head for Paphos, rather than motoring for an additional eighteen hours to Larnaca. I preferred to wait for the prevailing westerly wind for an enjoyable sail along the south coast of Cyprus from Paphos to Larnaca.

  As we approached Paphos in the dark, a most amazing fireworks display commenced on the shore, such as we had never seen before. It was as though it had been laid on for our benefit.

  We entered the small harbour at quarter past ten. All was quiet – not a soul was around. I spotted a gap at the end of the pier where we could moor stern-to. This was to be our first experience of the ‘Mediterranean moor’, not quite so easy in the pitch dark, but at least no one would be watching. I picked a spot to drop anchor and reversed gently towards the pier, allowing for the light crosswind. Martyn was poised on Knot Often, slung in her davits right across the stern of Tin Hau. At the critical moment, he jumped down on to the quay (from quite a height), clutching the end of a mooring line, which he then made fast to a bollard. I engaged forward gear quickly in order to stop Tin Hau’s large rudder hitting the pier. Darren took in the slack on the anchor chain and checked that the anchor was holding.

  In this instance, all went very smoothly, but I knew that Knot Often would have to go. She would have to be replaced by a smaller dinghy, so that Lynda and I could carry out this manoeuvre on our own. There would have to be room to use the gates each side of the pilothouse; and we would need a gangplank.

  A few minutes after we had settled down, an official in a smart uniform ambled over to greet us.

  ‘Captain,’ he said, ‘You must be tired. I come back tomorrow. Late, because tomorrow Easter. You rest. Welcome to Cyprus.’

  With that, the initial formalities were over. After so many difficult encounters with officialdom, I was overjoyed. This was wonderful – we were going to like Cyprus.

  But what was that about tomorrow being Easter? The official had been quite sure; yet, according to our reckoning, Easter Sunday had already happened – six days ago, while we had been in Egypt. What was going on? Had we lost a week somewhere? It was some time before we worked out that the Greek Orthodox Church’s Easter usually takes place on a different day to ‘our’ Easter. By chance, we had chosen to arrive in Cyprus on the evening before the most important and celebrated day of the year. Hence the fireworks; and hence the reason for the official’s unwillingness to visit us at an early hour the next morning.

  My plan the following day was to get to Larnaca as soon as possible – by bus or taxi – to find out Lynda’s news. Maybe she would even be ther
e?

  But all my efforts to reach Larnaca failed. On Easter Sunday in Cyprus, it seemed, everything stopped. I had to be content with booking a ‘shared taxi’ to leave Paphos at the crack of dawn on the Monday. We listened anxiously to the headlines on the radio, which were all about the closure of Larnaca airport due to a hijacked aeroplane.

  The shared taxi journey went as planned, very comfortable and low priced. I have often wondered since why the shared taxi concept – a door to door service between key towns at fixed prices and semi-fixed times – is not widely used in England and elsewhere. My companions in the taxi included a couple of policemen about to take up their day shift at Larnaca Marina. So, on arrival there at about eight o’clock, I had no problems about not being allowed through the main security gates!

  The whole Marina appeared to be still asleep, with the exception of young Bruce from Aquilla, whom I encountered near to the shower block. It was Bruce who had helped to save Tin Hau in Aden. ‘Have you seen Lynda?’ he asked me. ‘She is on Windsong half way along North Quay. That way!’ he exclaimed, pointing.

  I couldn’t get there quickly enough. Again, there was not a sign of life on the long line of boats, moored stern to the quay. Except on one boat, where someone was sleepily emerging from the cockpit. My heart skipped several beats. It was Lynda!

  We ran to hug each other – it was like something out of a film. But this was for real. It was a truly wonderful moment. She looked so much better than when I had last seen her just out of hospital in Port Sudan. We both felt overwhelmed by emotion.

  Lynda soon asked the practical question: Where’s Tin Hau? I was glad to be able to give her the news that we had made it to Cyprus in one piece and without any damage, the only slight problem being that we were in Paphos, not Larnaca. We made plans to return to Paphos that day.

  ‘When did you arrive?’ I asked.

  ‘Yesterday,’ she replied. She had seen the hijacked plane, but her flight had not been affected. She had been welcomed by several friends from the ‘Sri Lanka fleet’. Aquilla had arrived safely on 26th March; Dick and Bonnie of Windsong (who had immediately offered to have Lynda to stay) had arrived at the end of March, followed by Mike and Karen of Tola (who had received a tow through the Suez Canal), Ted and Barbara of Top Knot on 2nd April, and Noel of Sundancer III on 5th April. There was also news of many of the boats equipped with ham radio.

  I went to the marina office and met Glafkos, the Marina Director, who had been nothing but encouraging and helpful in all the correspondence I had had with him. More detailed arrangements were made about Tin Hau’s stay at the marina, including the haul-out by travel-lift. We anticipated spending much of the summer ‘out of the water’, attending to the long list of things that needed doing.

  Mike and Karen decided to join us in the shared taxi back to Paphos. It was their first wedding anniversary and they fancied a break away from Tola. We invited them to stay on Tin Hau, possibly sailing back with us to Larnaca.

  Darren and Martyn had looked after Tin Hau well in my brief absence. They had started making plans for their departure, having booked berths on the ferry, the Europa, due to leave Limassol at about midday on the 14th. As it was the 11th already and the weather was still not suitable for a passage to Larnaca, it was agreed that they would leave us from Paphos.

  On the morning of the 14th, the time had come for Darren and Martyn to step off Tin Hau for the last time. We said our farewells. ‘Blancmange will never taste the same,’ were Darren’s last words. They had achieved everything they had set out to, and had played an important part in getting us all back to the Mediterranean safely. We were sorry to see them go and grateful to them for all their help.

  Mike and Karen had left the previous day and so Lynda and I were alone once again. Since the wind was now favourable, we decided to pull up the anchor and get sailing immediately.

  Four hours later, we were under full sail and sailing happily towards Larnaca when a large ship appeared on the horizon coming towards us. I turned on the VHF just in case it should be needed. A few minutes later, to our surprise, the radio crackled to life: ‘Tin Hau, Tin Hau. This is Europa. Over.’

  The Cockney voice sounded strangely familiar. ‘Europa. This is Tin Hau. Channel eight. Over,’ I replied.

  It was Martyn! He and Darren had managed to get on to the bridge of the Europa. When Martyn had finished telling us what it was like to steer a big ship and what Tin Hau looked like from on high, we were close enough to wave to each other. It must have seemed very strange from their point of view, seeing their home of four months sailing past.

  Lynda and I carried on at a good speed into the afternoon and night. By half past two we were approaching Larnaca and we started making our preparations for arrival. As it was still dark, we decided to anchor outside the marina until there were some signs of life ashore.

  At nine o’clock we turned the engine on. We had been noticed by the marina staff and given instructions on what to do. Our life at Larnaca Marina was set to begin. Tin Hau was about to receive the tender loving care she deserved.

  After that, Greece, Turkey and the lovely islands of the Aegean were now well within our reach. Our dream boat had been built. We had taken her to the Mediterranean. Soon we would be in the position to realise the third and final part of our original dream: to make a living by giving others a holiday afloat they would always treasure.

  PART FIVE

  The Eastern Mediterranean

  Lynda Chidell

  1. A Summer on Land

  Larnaca Marina probably has one of the biggest floating communities in the Mediterranean. Apart from boats belonging to local sailors, and boats laid up for the winter, there are so many permanent live aboard cruisers that the marina actually becomes a village for the winter.

  Because of an incident some years prior to our arrival, the marina was protected by a security system which only allowed access to permit holders and their guests, who had to be signed in. The marina was administered from an office block which also housed a convenience store and small bar/restaurant.

  There was a single building devoted to other facilities such as laundry and ablutions. The centre of this unit housed an enormous circular counter around which was arrayed a huge bank of lockers. These functioned as mail boxes and storage for toiletries and the like. The counter came into use at weekends, when the yachtsmen held a book swap. During the rest of the week, it acted as a discard table where one could leave anything for which one no longer had a use, but considered too good for chucking. There is no saying so true as that which declares ‘one man’s junk is another man’s treasure’. Seldom was anything left on the counter which did not quickly find a new home. One had to remember to warn visitors not to leave valuables there – it was very embarrassing on one occasion for a yottie to have to advertise for the return of his visitor’s coat and handbag!

  The winter village did not generally start to disperse till the end of April. The marina was bursting on our arrival and the only berth available was right at the end of the north quay – the most exposed position in the marina. Although it was lumpy, we realised we were not going to have to endure it for long as we were scheduled for haul-out just as soon as a suitably large hard-standing became available.

  Meanwhile, we had the time to get to know our new location and get bearings on such diverse places as the best timber merchant, chandler, paint supplier, restaurants, sailmaker, supermarkets and so on. Given the size of the town and the distance between some of these, it became obvious that we would need some form of land transport. Initially we hired a moped, but eventually invested in a pair of folding bicycles, which grew to be invaluable for every land-based activity.

  In the event we had only a week to wait before Tin Hau was raised and transported by the marina travel-lift to her new place on the tarmac hard-standing. The most anxious moment was when the keel appeared out of the water; we were dying to see what – if any – damage she had sustained during her hours of reef bashing
down in the Red Sea. All that came to light were a few slight scratches in the paintwork, which hardly reached bare metal! This was the first time we had seen her out of the water since her launch way back in March 1986. David had been scrubbing her bottom religiously at every opportunity, and we were pleased that she did not look totally neglected.

  It was our intention, apart from the obvious scrubdown, repaint and re-antifoul, to make a number of changes to things with which we had never been satisfied, or to rebuild things we had got wrong. For four and a half exceedingly hot months (forty-three degrees centigrade in the shade) we laboured to carry out extensive interior renovation work in the cabin area. We made major changes to the plumbing system to make it safer, replacing virtually all the through-hull fittings with standpipes, to which valves were attached above the waterline. We had had nightmares about the dissimilar metals used in stopcocks, valves, inlets and outlets. Large scale metalwork improvements were made to the exhaust system and dinghy davits. Deckboxes were removed and replaced with stainless steel framework, and deck seating was added.

  We had lived so long in fear of flooding the engine through forgetting to close the exhaust valve, or blowing the whole thing by forgetting to open it before turning on. The solution was simple, but needed the facilities of the marina to carry out the work. A stainless steel tubular loop was built to carry the fumes up and out through the deck, then back down again to rejoin the original exhaust port. The deck seating was built over the loop, so it was not even visible. Most of the new steelwork was done to replace excessive corrosion areas with stainless steel, or to change the design so that no corrosion was likely.

  We had the sails off the masts for the first time since launch, and they were taken to a part-time sailmaker called Louis, who patched them where necessary. More importantly, he added pockets at both ends of each batten position. One of the enduring problems had been the snagging of running rigging in the batten projections at sail edges. We decided to try out PVC waterpipe in graded sizes instead of bamboo battens. The larger diameters were reserved for the higher battens, the smaller for the lower. Each batten was sleeved in a length of larger diameter pipe at the point where it came into contact with the mast. We also took the opportunity to add chafe battens to the opposite side of the sail (see Figure 5).