Drifting into antiquity

I WAS dozing in my bunk, surfacing from the bleary ocean of sleep, with Laranda lying off the beach in the stunning bay on the south east of the island of Elafonisos. The island the ancient Greeks called ‘The asses jaw’.

We were both having a rest, Laranda and I, after a stormy crossing of the Aegean from Santorini to Cape Malea. With the wind and sea on her starboard quarter, there had been no stopping her.

For most of that crossing, all through the night, I was tied in the cockpit to avoid being thrown out of it. The sea was running fast and passing under us without coming aboard. But I had the tiller lashed with some slack in case a pesky wave might try to heave us round and broach us.

With only her storm jib, Laranda’s port deck was mostly under water the whole time, the old girl was flying.

Early in the morning, off Cape Malea, a huge wave heaped up and took her out of my control and gybed us, but the main was tightly furled along the boom and she handled well to come round and settle to her course again.

The Kythera channel is known for its rogue waves and heaping seas, it has claimed many ships; but we rounded the cape and found respite in the bay the ancients used as a staging point on their voyages around the Peloponnesus. There was no Corinth Canal in those days.

At times the crossing had its hairy and frightening moments, but it was exhilarating and satisfying. My face and beard were caked in salt and the wind was still blowing hard when we tried to anchor in the bay.

Each time we tried, the