Sailing in the Mediterranean

It makes sense when you think about it. A sunny, benign climate, balmy waters without awkward tides and savage overfalls, beautiful – often majestic – scenery, layers of history piled millennium upon millennium, and the charms of the contrasting cultures hewn from such ancient processes. On the practical side, the cost of living and of maintaining a boat is generally cheaper than in the UK and you could sail there in a couple of weeks if you hurried. I write of the Mediterranean of course – the watery magnet that draws hundreds of British yachts southwards every year.

But is it all that it’s cracked up to be? Does the Mediterranean really deliver what its reputation promises? Naturally, there are no trite answers to such monumental questions but I’ve talked to hundreds of Med-based sailors in my travels and the vast majority admit that it took them by surprise. That’s to say that whatever it was they had imagined, the majority found when they arrived that the realities, good and bad, had changed their perspective. Most were disappointed at some aspects and delighted at others. Some felt very much at home, others had experienced difficulties adapting to its shifting rewards and challenges. Naturally, such responses can often be attributed to personal taste but it did seem to me that those who were deriving the most pleasure were the very same who had taken the trouble to plan their enterprise thoughtfully. Forewarned is forearmed, as they say.
Which is what this article is all about.

Know the environment

To risk stating the obvious, this virtually enclosed sea is a very substantial area of water, stretching just over 2000 NM from Gibraltar (above) to its eastern limits and being some 900NM north to south at its widest point. On its numerous island and scattered around its rim lie a dazzling variety of destinations – enough to satisfy a lifetime’s cruising, some would claim. The European shore is well populated and is comparatively wooded and verdant, whereas the African coast is less populous and drier, much of being the top edge of that sandy patch (actually about the size of the United States) known as the Sahara desert.

The Mediterranean weather can be quite unstable in winter but settles down with the arrival of spring. Hardly surprisingly it gets more than a trifle warmish in summer, and becomes generally hotter the further east and south you go – somewhere between 25°C to 30°C being typical but with temperatures rising much higher in certain conditions. And remember that this is the shade. In direct sunlight surface temperatures can become formidable. The bathing is sublime. Summer sea temperatures range between about 22°C to 28°C, again increasing as you sail eastwards.

Although the Med is said to be tideless this isn’t quite true. The Atlantic tides intrude into the far western waters and are there are a few areas – the Strait of Messina being notable – where local tidal effects are experienced. There are also currents that circulate in a roughly anti-clockwise direction. This movement is propelled by the evaporation of the seawater – a loss only partially replaced by rain and river waters. The shortfall, of course, has to be drawn in through the Strait of Gibraltar – hence the predominantly eastbound surface flow there.

For those of us in the UK who have boggled at secondary port calculations, suffered the frustrations of plugging into an adverse stream, or have failed to round a headland before a tidal door slammed in our faces, a tide free sea might seem like a blessing to be embraced with enthusiasm. But think again. A tidal stream can be our friend as well as our adversary, and which of us hasn’t taken advantage of one to carry us along a windless coast? And, believe me, you get a lot of windless moments in the Med, where reaching for the engine start key becomes an all too regular resort.

Indeed, it’s often said of the Mediterranean winds that you either get too little or too darn much – and there’s a lot of truth in this statement. Just last August we saw a mirror calm sea ripped to pieces overnight by a roaring tramontana, gusting 50 knots. It blew, on and off, for over two weeks, creating all sorts of havoc in anchorages and offshore. Then there are the thunderstorms which can be seriously entertaining. I heard recently from a friend who was weather-bound friend in Alcudia, Majorca (nice place, incidentally – exceptionally friendly marina) where it seems a succession of these meteorological muggers had mauled the place for three days, with the island suffering an estimated 24,000 lighting strikes over that period. Tranquil it might be for most of the time but the Med can cut up rough when it has a mind to.

But I wouldn’t want to sound too discouraging. There are plenty of blissful days to compensate. And, although we may not have tides to help us through the glassy bit, when near to land there’s our old friend the sea breeze. It’s mechanism is well know, so I won’t churn over the details at any length. Basically, the sunlight heats the land, which in turn warms up the air lying over it. The heated air rises and, in doing so, draws in more air from over the cooler sea. This produces an onshore breeze which tends to blow more or less perpendicular to the coast during the hours between late morning to early evening. On mountainous coastlines and in hill-flanked inlets the sea breeze can easily reach F6 or more so it’ll be brisk going for a few hours. But the good news is that it dies away as the day cools, leaving you a calm night to take your well earned repose. So, given circumstances that are not quite like the ones we know, what can we do to prepare ourselves?

First the heat!!!

Banish the blues

The visible spectrum of sunlight – the colours of a rainbow – has red at one end and blue at the other. And when the word ‘colour’ is applied to an object, it’s describing its visual perceptual property, by which it means how it appears to us. A red boat will look red because its surface is reflecting the red light in the spectrum and absorbing the others. A blue boat looks blue because… need I go on? Well, actually, I think I must. It looks blue because it reflects the blue light and absorbs the rest – most significantly the red.

Which is a pity, since red lies at the heat end of the spectrum (think infra-red heaters, infra-red being just outside the visible range) and, as a consequence, sailing’s traditionally favourite colour – blue – absorbs lots of it. This all seems to go against intuition. Although being the colour of fire, reds and yellows soak up less radiant heat than blue, the colour of ice. Of course black, which absorbs the whole spectrum, is the worst of the lot while white reflects all the colours and is by far the best.

And so it is that exterior colours directly influence internal temperatures. That pale blue non-slip you have on your side decks might do nicely in the UK , but not at lower latitudes. There it will quite literally becomes a heat-sink, hot enough to burn your feet while seeping down to raise the temperature inside. Hull colour is rather less problematic since, being more or less vertical, the topsides only face the sun fully when it’s low in the sky. But it’s still significant.

So, consider your colour schemes very carefully. Blues and greys are seriously unhelpful. In sunny conditions the blue on the foredeck shown (above right) would be very uncomortable to stand on – the grey could inflict serious burns. Greens are marginal, and white is as good as it gets – though the reflected glare can induce eye strain, snow blindness of a sort. A good compromise for decks is a pale beige, having just enough colour to highlight the non-slip areas while shrugging off the worst of the heat.

Of course, in port or at anchor, you can keep the sunlight off as much of the deck as you want by simply rigging awnings. And at sea a well designed bimini will at least keep the cockpit cool – even if you can still roast chestnuts on your side decks!

Welcome wafts

Recognising the global nature of today’s boating market, almost all modern yachts are as much at home in northern waters as they are in the Med or Caribbean. This can’t be said of many earlier designs, which were developed very much with local conditions in mind. For British sailors this often meant tiny bunker-like cockpits, meagre sailplans and abysmal ventilation.

We shall return to sailplans next but for now let’s stick with the ventilation. On the average yacht of twenty or so years ago this was often limited to the forehatch and companionway, with the forward and after ends of the hull being dead ends with no natural airflow through them. Even in temperate climates this is a poor arrangement, inviting mould spores to take advantage of the stagnation. But in hotter conditions it becomes absolutely unbearable not to have air flowing throughout the length of the boat – particularly as the bow and stern are where most of us are likely to sleep.

So it pays to take a hard look at your boat’s existing ventilation and see what can be done to improve it. It’s essential that you have some form of openings at the fore and aft extremities of the accommodation and a skylight or two over the main saloon seldom goes amiss. With after cabins, windows opening inboard into the cockpit well are very worthwhile.

Strategically placed fans are also a good idea, and are a particular boon in marinas where shore power is available to keep the batteries charged

Sails talk

Let’s face it, the actual sailing is not always of the highest quality in the Med. As we’ve already touched on, the winds are often light and boats designed for higher latitudes can find themselves seriously under canvassed, most especially when well offshore beyond the reach of those handy, if boisterous, sea breezes.

In those conditions, many older style cruising yachts are doubly burdened. They have lots of wetted surface area – unfortunate since skin drag is the major drag component at low speeds – and relatively small sailplans. Of course there’s nothing you can do about the former so you must turn to the rig if you want to improve performance.

A radical, though undeniably costly approach, would be a taller mast. A couple of years ago in Portugal I met a couple heading for the Med in their Nicholson 35. They had owned the boat for some years and had always thought it could have used more sail area. During a major refit they had taken the opportunity to replace the mast, adding a couple of metres in the process. It had transformed the boat, they told me, and they thought it worth every penny.

It goes without saying that this is step one should take cautiously, since there are associated effects on rigging loads and stability. Take expert advice if you’re at all unsure. And, in case you might be tempted to grab more area by extending the boom instead, remember that this could introduce some horrendous weather helm.

By far the simplest option is to carry a dedicated light weather headsail – once known as ‘drifters’ or ‘ghosters’ in the days before roller reefing reduced the traditional armoury of headsails. We use a Hood MP-G (for multi-purpose genoa), made from 1.5oz nylon spinnaker cloth and of bi-radial construction. This is set flying using the spinnaker halyard and has a Harken furling (not reefing) gear which allows it to be rolled up before dropping it to the deck. Being a genuine genoa, it’s a beating or reaching sail and is therefore a useful complement to an asymmetric chute for downwind work.

Auxiliary thought

Inevitably, you end up spending a lot of time under power. I reckon we consumed more diesel during our first season in the Med than we did getting the boat down there, and that seems to be the experience of many.

You will certainly need an engine you can rely on and must consider the availability of spares. The major manufacturers – Volvo, Yanmar etcetera – are well represented almost everywhere, as are engines based on common transport or commercial units, such as Ford, Mitsubishi and Kubota. For instance, Kubota engines form the basis for both Beta and Nanni marine diesels, and spares should be readily available. Sourcing replacement parts for older, obsolete models can be troublesome.

Since, for any given size and weight, modern diesels are invariably more powerful than older ones, replacement usually presents the opportunity to fit something with more oomph. The old two-cylinder Volvo MD2 series, once so popular in the 1960s and ‘70s weighed in at a lumpy 170kg (375lb) and delivered about 16hp. Contrast this with the three-cylinder Beta BD1005 which weighs only 150kg (330lb) and is rated at 28hp. I know which one I would choose to punch me through those calms.

To get the best from any engine you must choose the right propeller. We changed our two-bladed folding prop for a new three-bladed Flexofold. The old prop was fine when we spent so little time under power but came nowhere near cutting the mustard in the Med, were it was converting only about three-quarters of the engine’s power into thrust. Quite apart from the added boat speed, I’m hoping that the generally increased efficiency of the new triple-whammy folder will cut our fuel costs, thereby helping to fill the hole it left in my wallet.

Slinging your hook

If anything, you need bigger anchors and more chain in the Med than you do in Britain – a fact that many charter companies seem oblivious of. This is because much of the seabed sand blew in from the Sahara – courtesy of the Sirocco southerlies – and is very light and fine grained. And, since the surrounding coasts are hardly renowned for their topsoil, and there are only a few major rivers to bring sediment down from inland, there’s nothing like as much mud as we’re accustomed to. What’s more, in popular anchorages the bottom is repeatedly churned up by visiting yachts, so expect the holding to get worse towards the end of the season.

Finally, do yourself a favour. On anything other than the smallest boat, fit an electric windlass. Aboard a borrowed Bavaria in Sardinia, we once sought shelter in a tight little bay and made six attempts to get the anchor to hold. And failed. A change in venue brought better luck, but that’s another story. My point is that I’m convinced that a manual windlass wouldn’t have recovered the hook fast enough to prevent us dragging ashore. And I’m not sure my body would have recovered at all.

Domestic matters

I was once told by a long-term cruising skipper that, wherever you go, you find things pretty much the same – but completely different. And I know what he means. My first solo excursion to a French supermarket ended in humiliation. Having selected my provisions and patiently stood in line at the check-out I was crisply informed that I had no business being there, since I should first have weighed and bar-coded all the vegetables at the machines so thoughtfully provided. Under the pitying glare of a phalanx of local housewives, I was dispatched back to the aisles to do the job properly.

Journeying under sail is very much about adapting to constantly changing circumstances. And, although you can’t predict what might lie around the corner you can at least prepare both yourself and your boat to face the generalities of cruising in the Mediterranean – a sea flanked by countries representing a broad medley of cultures, each with its own practices, conventions, and social and regulatory rules.

Water

It’s generally accepted in northern Europe that if it issues from a tap the water is fit to drink. The further south you go, and the more remote the region, the less you can rely on this assumption. The water may be contaminated or brackish, or technically potable but heavily chlorinated. And many marinas claim that their water poses no threat, but it tastes foul because it’s being delivered in plastic pipes heated by the sun.

Of course not all available water will be undrinkable. Some of it is excellent. The problem is that often you just don’t know. The trick is to take your lead from the locals. Ask around and use your eyes. And if the quayside supermercado is stacked to the eaves with bottled water, you know what they think about the mains supply.

Although our own strategy varies from place to place, we often find ourselves filling the tanks with what’s available, purifying it as best we can, then using it for washing and cooking – and sometimes making tea. The water we drink untreated almost invariably comes in 5 or 8 litre plastic bottles and is reasonably inexpensive. Incidentally, the empty containers are very useful. Marked with a felt tip pen to distinguish them from the untainted stuff, we always take a few empty ones ashore with us in the dinghy just in case we spot a handy tap.

Activated carbon filters plumbed into your galley supply are an unqualified boon. They won’t remove bacteria, viruses, or salt but they will take away the plasticky taste from your pipes and also that of water purifying chemicals. Combined with purifying tablets, dropped in the correct proportions into the water tank, they provide both palatable and hygienic results.

And for those that want to get involved in desalinisation there are reverse osmosis watermakers. Whereas these were once the preserve of larger yachts, compact 12V units are becoming increasingly popular. But they do need regular attention and are perhaps more suitable for long-term, rather than intermittent use, since it’s a bore taking them out of service every time you go home. Early models were heavy on electricity, but development has brought improvements. For example the Katadyn Power Survivor 40E produces a little under 6 litres per hour and draws just 4 amps. As a bonus it can also be operated manually in emergencies.

Electricity

Although marina charges are typically very attractive during the winter months, they tend to peak savagely in the high season to take advantage of holidaying boat owners and charterers. This means that the months of June through to September become prohibitively expensive for those on extended cruises and most relinquish their berths to spend the summer moving on and generally fending for themselves.

Denied the benefits of regular shore-power, boats must become electrically self-reliant. Larger yachts might fit independent diesel generators, but few under about, say, 12m LOA would want to sacrifice the space or the payload. Small to mid-sized boats usually seek other solutions.

Perhaps the most effective strategy is to be frugal with electricity in the first place. Wasteful appliances should be hunted down and banished. Notorious culprits are poorly insulated refrigerators and inefficient lighting – both fruitful areas for improvement.

Generously sized battery banks lie at the heart of a good system, and many older boats fall short in this department. But, of course, batteries are only storage devices – you can only take out what you have already put in – so sooner or later you will be calling for reinforcements in the form of additional sources of supply.

As we’ve already touched on, the Med has more that its share of light winds. This means you should expect to spend a lot of time under power – not exactly what you came for but great for charging the batteries. And when such opportunities present themselves, you should make the most of them. This often requires fitting a more powerful alternator and an electronic ‘smart charger’ – a computerised regulator that boosts output and, with some types, optimises the charging regime to suit your choice of batteries.

Then there are alternative sources of power – notably solar panels and wind generators, as discussed in the Power from the Planet article in the Reading Room. Many cruising yachts fit both, and in so doing achieve total self-sufficiency. In the 7 years since we left the UK we nave never used shore power to charge the batteries – though do use it for fans and heaters when alongside. It just shows what can be done with an efficient system.

Before we leave this subject here are two tips for making yourself very unpopular in an anchorage: firstly, fire up your diesel generator and leave it running while you go ashore to escape the noise; and, secondly, allow a noisy wind generator to howl overnight. 

Holding tanks

There is currently no legal requirement for visiting yachts to have holding tanks, but that doesn’t mean you might not fall foul of local regulations. Spanish law makes it illegal for its own flagged boats to discharge effluent in their territorial waters (up to 12 miles offshore and therefore practically unenforceable) while Turkey has been known to dole out hefty fines to anyone caught polluting inshore. Understandably, most marinas demand that crews either use holding tanks or their shoreside facilities.
Despite the fact that municipal sewerage treatment isn’t always as it might be – the whiff  of dodgy plumbing hanging over many an otherwise idyllic setting – it’s not unreasonable that sailors should cooperate as much as possible. Bereft of the scouring effects of vigorous tidal streams, the potential to ruin the very qualities we value is considerable. 

Communications

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However, mobile phones can prove expensive (and the tariffs are constantly changing) across national boundaries. If you receive a call on your UK phone while, say, in Spain, the caller will simply pay the inland rate while you will be charged for the links through to the Spanish network. Likewise, a call home will also incur a hefty premium.

So, it pays to box clever. Most cruising sailors buy local SIM cards as they move from country to country, meaning that all incoming calls are paid for by the caller. Keeping your contacts updated on your latest phone number can be achieved in various ways – perhaps by recording it remotely onto an answering machine at home, posting it onto a website, or by texting those who you think would want to know.

For those who only need to make contact occasionally, internet cafes abound – sometimes as dedicated businesses but also often embedded in restaurants and bars. Typically a couple of euros will buy you at least half an hour’s broadband access. This is usually enough for most purposes and you can often enjoy a cool beer while you’re at it.

Another way to use the internet is via Wi-Fi – a jaunty term that describes Wireless Local Area Networks (WLANs) designed to link compatible computerised equipment together by radio waves. Such networks could be limited to a single room – possibly an office – or could encompass a much larger area – say a marina or even a whole town. Every network contains at least one Access Point (AP) providing a broadband connection to the internet. These doorways to the worldwide web are known colloquially as ‘hotspots’.

Commercial hotspots are spreading like a rash. Common locations are hotels, bars, airports, schools, libraries … and marinas. Some make modest charges, others offer the service free to their customers. Either way you will almost certainly need to acquire a password to make a connection. But then there are unsecured WLANs, often in private dwellings, which might also yield an informal path to the internet. All you need is the gear to make them work.

My laptop has an integrated wireless facility which works fine on my network at home but isn’t man enough for life afloat. Even in marinas that I know have hotspots I’ve experienced difficulty establishing a connection. This is probably because the surrounding forest of alloy masts, each festooned with stainless steel rigging, makes a poor environment for propagating radio waves. Then, often at anchor, range can become an issue with the signal from distant networks being too feeble to function.

The solution is simple: a more sophisticated Wi-Fi processor and a bigger and more sensitive antenna mounted as high as is practicable.

The improvement is nothing short of astonishing. But be careful when buying the equipment. Not all computer setups will accept external antennas and the antennas themselves need choosing with care. Without dipping to deeply into the principles, their ‘gain’ is measured in decibels (dB) with anything from 3dB to 15dB units being standard. The higher gain antennas simply ‘focus’ on the signals more narrowly which makes them unsuitable for the imprecise rock-n-roll world of boats. Think how difficult it is to use very powerful binoculars at sea, and you’ll get the idea. I use an 8dB antenna which seems to be a good compromise. 

Health

For Europeans, the old E111 form that granted EU residents health care in other European Economic Area countries was withdrawn in January 2006 and has since been replaced by the European Health Insurance Card (EHIC) – a credit card sized rectangle of plastic. This entitles you to receive the same level of medical treatment as any citizen of the country you’re visiting – at reduced cost, sometimes free. In the Mediterranean this currently includes Cyprus (southern), France, Greece, Italy, Malta and Spain. The card is valid for between three and five years and can be used in the event of accident or illness, including any chronic or pre-existing illnesses.

A welcome safety net though this is, it clearly leaves a lot of gaps, so most people would be wise to consider comprehensive private insurance – not just to cover those countries outside the EEA, but also such issues such as repatriation costs, should that be judged necessary.

Holiday type travel insurance usually won’t do. Many policies classify sailing as a ‘hazardous sport’ and won’t cover it at all. Those that overcome their reluctance usually limit you to venturing no more than 12 miles offshore. And there often time constraints – no more than 31 days being common.

It’s important to find a specialist insurer who understand what cruising is all about. For example, I contacted Bishop Skinner, who provide a range of marine related insurance for RYA members and others and they had three travel different policies – one for single trips, another for multi-trips, each of no more than 45 days, and another healthcare-only package that might suit boat owners. More importantly, along with other marine insurers experienced in such matters, they also have the insight not to get hysterical when you mention long passages

Logging off

Finally – keep some sort of journal. Not just a navigational log, but an account of your day-to-day experiences on a rolling basis. Perhaps the most valuable currency exchanged between cruising sailors is information. For our part we collect business cards, brochures, town maps and menus – often heavily annotated with our comments. We may never pass that way again but we’ll certainly meet others who will – others who would appreciate a name here, a telephone number there.

To keep it all in our heads would be impossible.

And how about further afield? Try... Sailing Across the Atlantic