A Place of Warmth and Sailing

Day 47:

Friday morning I paddled from Portovenere to Lerici crossing the Bay of La Spezia. The weather was ugly, rain and a 15 knot South East wind, but with only a short distance planned I wouldn't need to worry about getting tired. I could handle the weather just fine.

I had word that their was a boat club, Erix, in Lerici and I was counting on them to let me stay there for the Sabbath, which is why I chose it as my destination. I had asked one of the boat clubs I had stayed with previously to call ahead and set me up.

But I arrived and it was not to be. They couldn't let me stay in their club house or in one of their many boats for insurance reasons. The man who had told me this was happy to show me a place next to the building where he said I could sleep since bums frequently do.

I hung around and chatted amicably with the members of the club and brought my situation to there attention. People where annoyed on my behalf and a group of them began talking in Italian about my situation. After some time of debate, phone calls were made and a decision was reached.

The sailing school one town over would be happy to host me.

Centro Velico Caprera, one of the oldest sailing schools in Italy is a great place run by kind people. The director who I met Saturday morning told me that it's one of the goals of the school to help marine travelers such as myself. I got a warm bed and a shower. While I stayed here I was delighted to be a guest not only of the school, but of the current program. Some 30 people, mostly children of all sizes, were having a winter sailing session over break. The air was constantly filled with the sounds of happy youths, and that along with the blessed radiators warmed my heart.

 

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Centro-Velico-Caprera/169176639774640

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Fake Out

Last night I was invited to a friend of my host's to make use of an internet connection and shower.  I chatted amicably with the 72 year old kayaker on all manner of subjects including his grandkids, his kayaking trips in the area and “What?  You've never caught a fish?” He asked me in disbelief.

“umm, no.  Not one.”

“But it's easy.”  He said. “All you have to do is drag your lure in the water.  Are you using a small lure? You need a small lure.”

“I am.”

“Well, really it's very easy.  I catch one almost every time I go out.”

I went about my business on the computer.  I can't say that his words, undoubtedly meant to encourage, had a heartwarming effect.



Day 46:

I had hoped today to paddle to the tip of the Five Villages area and then cut across the bay to Lerici.  I set out under a light drizzle and low visibility.  The mountains above me were steadily growing in sheerness and one in every three or so was dotted with a quaint village.



Some of the villages were right above the water while others were much higher up,sitting on cliffs that descended hundreds of feet to the waves below.  A boat ramp would invariably snake down the side of the rock to the water.  Kayaks and other small watercraft would be near the bottom.

 

Just past a village, with the sea and the wilderness around me I passed over a thick underwater rope to nowhere.  Maybe it washolding a buoy in place out at sea, or had long ago lost its purpose.  The wind had begun to pick up a little and it's always neat to watch the waves interplay with the rocks.  It's much more exciting to paddle close to shore.  My boat was pulled to the left, and then my fishing line reel snapped out from under the bungees.  It was still attached by a cord; I was extremely excited to grab it and release the cord so I could start reeling in.  This had never happened before, and I dared hope that I had caught a fish.

I believe I was saying “Holy shmoley.  Holy shmoley.  Holy schmoley.”  Through most of the process.  I would reel it in a little and feel the pressure against me.  Whatever had the other end of my line was fighting me in a way that said “You haven't caught a rock this time.”  When it was pulling hard I let it pull, and when it eased up I reeled it in a little more, recalling the strategy I read about in The Old Man and the Sea.

I didn't know if the fish was pulling me or the wind, but I was moving towards a rocky area where I would have to abandon the beast if it came to it.  Sometimes I would let some more line out, just to make sure the lure was properly swallowed, but always I would get back to slowly bringing it in.  The beast was now pulling more down than away from me, and then I could see the large rope I had passed over earlier.

And then I realized that I had caught the rope.  The excitement wasn't over, I had to save my lure.  There were eight Euro at stake here.

If I had to, I could always cut the line; the lure had the rope firmly.  It was important to me that I not capsize while fooling around with hooks and fishing wire so I tread with caution.  I had my pliers out and was prepared to cut the hook, it would be much cheaper to replace a hook then a lure.  Finally I pulled the old slimy green rope up on my deck and studied the thing closely.  I cut away the rope from around the hook and my lure was free.  Free to catch another rope another day.  Free to get caught in my spray skirt as it did right away.  Free.

Aside from the villages, there was nothing but the woods and the rocks.  At times the rocks took on many different colors, reds and beige and black intermingling with each other to give way to the green woods at their tops.

And then above that another final rock white peak would look out over all.  I could not take many pictures because around noon the wind picked up and turned into a solid headwind.  I stayed as near the cliffs I could to escape the full force of it, but this provided its own set of challenges.

 



The headwind continued to pick up and the time came when I decided that I would get offthe water at the next opportunity.  Shortly after I made out a house halfway up the cliff and what might have been a way down to a rocky beach.  I studied the surf for a while before moving on.  The conditions weren't so bad that I would risk my boat in a tricky landing.

Later I saw a better beach, and above it five or six abandoned shacks that might have been from the beginning of the last century.  I didn't have enough food or water to camp out, so I paddled on.



The mountains grew more and more impressive, sporting exciting looking sea caves thatwere larger and deeper than any I had seen yet.

At the end of the peninsula I was traveling along I would find a port.  Just after that were a couple of islands.  I didn't know if the mountains ahead were islands or part of the mainland.



I hadn't seen a village for a while when I could make out a huge castle above me.  Wallsalong the top of the cliff ran to an old church above an outcropping from the sea.  It was an impressive fortification.  Around the church what I thought was a small gully turned out to be the sea before the first island.  I could make out the port.

The water between the island and the mainland was not rough as I expected, but a flat and safe harbor.  My wild ride had come to an end.  The port had a couple of emergency rafts, a few small fishing boats, and a line of sleek sailing racers that looked set to begin a race around the world.

In the port’s offices I scored the code to the shower room and an invitation to sleep on the floor.  I went back out to my boat and pulled it up onto the pier as I usually do, and saw my fishing line was caught on something.

As best I could make out, it was hooked either to the emergency life boat not far from me, or more likely, the life boats anchor rope.  I leaped from the pier into the life boat and walked to the stern as I continued reeling in.  I could make out the anchor rope and my line went down to it.  There was something shiny down there too big to be my lure.

A fish was there, and it was hooked on my lure.  The line was wrapped around the anchor rope many times, but not caught on it.  Some time in the craziness of my day I caught a fish and didn't notice.  I pulled it with me who knows how far, and when I finally stopped, Samson made one last wily effort to flee only to find himself getting pulled closer and closer to the anchor rope.  There he gave up, for when I found him he had no strength.

I gutted, scaled, and named Samson.  A great creature turned into a tasty treat.

Groaning: The International Language

Day 45:



The water was flat, at times glassy.  I could see in it the clouds and the mountains swaying back and forth.  I could see in the east a place where there were no clouds, a place where the sun showered its glory on the sea.  It looked like a good place, a far away place.  Closer and to the south there was a small opening in the cloud cover, and a great ray of sun poured through, as though angels might descend in the heavenly light any moment only to discover whether or not they could swim.



Towards the end of my day I was paddling along an exciting cliff face, made mysterious bythe occasional sea cave.

There were several other fishermen on small motor boats in the area, this could have been a good sign, as in “This is a good place to try your luck Dov.” Or a bad one “Ha ha, you have no chance of competing with real fishermen.”  At one point I saw a bunch of fish splash from just beneath the surface, so I circled over the area.  There's no way the fish didn't see my lure.

Fish:  “Hey, I don't remember seeing you around here.”

Lure:  “Bite me.”

Fish:  “Fine, be a snob.  We'll see how fast you make friends.”



Cloud cover aside, it was a great day to kayak.  I pulled into the small port inMonterosso.  A few fishing boats and a lifeboat shared the small harbor with me.  One of the sides of the inlet had a low wall and I pulled up aside it to get out.  It was an easy exit, but after a good day’s paddle there’s nothing like a series of death groans to give satisfaction while debarking.

“ughhh, uoowhth.  Egggggahhh.”

“You kayak from Barcelona?”  The man asked me.

What man, where did he come from.  And could he tell how far I had come just by the quality of my groans?  No, the boat club I had stayed with the night before knew I would be coming here and had called ahead.

A former Olympic paddler who now runs a hotel here was happy to let me stay in one of the rooms free of charge.

boat location: 44.145097,9.646966

Stepping Out of the Shower

This morning I woke up in a house surrounded by the feel of grandparents. Not my grandparents, but somebody's, and the house felt like it.

Day 44:

Today some sneaky little punk stole the sun some time before dawn. God, in an effort to buy time while he was looking for it, threw a sheet of clouds over the sky hoping that nobody would notice the absence. Having recently spent a good deal more time under the heavens than most people, sensitive to the slightest abnormality, I have not fallen for this simplistic ploy.

It was a cold dark day, if day you could call it.

I trailed my new lure, hoping that god would be too busy looking for the sun to notice I was fishing. Maybe today I would catch something. But it would seem that the force against me is greater then divine, no fish for dinner tonight.

I paddled to Sestri Levante. My host from the night before told me that while I was at sea he would contact the paddle club here and ask them to meet me at 3:00.

The distance was not far, though it would have been to the next port, so I was there at two. And nobody met me at three at the spot I had been told to wait. But at 3:15 as I was ready to move on, I saw another paddler out on the water moving at a good clip. That was odd, I thought. You'd have to be crazy to be out paddling on a day like today.

I called to him, but he did not hear me. I followed him and eventually got his attention. Yes, he was looking for the crazy kayaker from Portugal.

“Barcelona.” I said. It was wonderful to meet him and he seemed happy to meet me. Tonight I'll sleep in the clubhouse of the Leaga Naval Sestri Levante. I met a bunch of them and they're super cool folks.

I was slightly surprised when I stepped out of the shower into my bedroom, and found a class on navigation beginning there.

current location 44.270003,9.393868

I Saw a Goat

Day 43:

This morning I searched Nervi for a chart, a toothbrush, and gas.  I have now left my old chart.  I am almost out of gas for my stove, and I had lost my old toothbrush in Switzerland.  I found a toothbrush and got directions to a store that would sell me gas.  The gas store was closed since it's Monday.  The Marine shop which I hoped would sell me a chart was closed for the same reason.  “Monday is a reason to be closed?”  You might ask.

I don't know, but it sure makes shopping a task.



Today I paddled from Nervi to Rapallo. The sun was out, and I basked in it.  I haven't paddled under the sun in a long time.  The mountains where bright and the hills were alive with the sound of music.*  It was a nice day.

 



I paddled around a large scarcely inhabited peninsula.  Once on the outside of it the headwind picked up, but itwas not intolerable.  Large cliffs overflowing with green woods shot above.  Interesting stone formations were everywhere.  Atop one rocky peakthere was an old tower with a great view of the sea, and shortly after there was a tiny village at the base of a mountain.  The buildings in the village must have been very old and I got the impression that the only access to this place was sea access.

Later I saw a goat.

The next tiny village, maybe five buildings including the church and the castle, was flying a red cross flag and had a few tourists wandering about.

 

What's that?  More about the goat?  OK.



At first there was only one, a white fellow with mighty horns and a wise face.  He had a beard that looked kind of like mine only a lot better.  I imagine that this was no ordinary goat, but a goat king.  Lord of all the goats of the peninsula.

The other goats that appeared one at a time afterwards were neat looking, but none so impressive as the first.  They were climbing along the cliff face and eating from the grasses and plants growing from the rocks.  I noticed them when I stopped for my own lunch and was staring at the cliff, only to realize that there was a goat in front of me staring back.

Paddling around the second corner of the squarish peninsula I fought against a wall of wind, and once past it the wind calmed a little but the surf became fairly rough for a while with waves frequently spilling over my deck.

Finally I was approaching the town of Rappalo.  I kept my eyes open for the kayak club.  I had a phone number to call when I got there.  The number was given to me by Banjo, and whoever was at the other end was expecting my call and would hook me up with a place to stay for the night.  I thought I saw another paddler in the distance, it looked like another row boat of the sort I had seen the day before but I wasn't sure.  The boat disappeared behind some rocks, not to reemerge.

I asked a fisherman for directions to the club.  He was sure it was somewhere around here, but didn't know where.  I approached a port, and from around the corner came two kayakers.  Their boats where small and unadorned.  The sportsmen were a couple in their golden years who spoke not a word of English.  They were headed to the kayak club, so I followed them back the way I came.  They showed me to a changing room and when I was done helped me move my boat to a safe place.  They invited me to sleep over.

* I don’t think he means that literally. ~ ed.