Sunrise on Thursday. The wind’s still blowing, maybe a little less (our wind sensor no longer works since we clashed masts.) The waves have eased. We slowly warm up and start peeling off layers – lifejacket, sailing jacket, fleece, cashmere jumper, long sleeved shirt. Jeans, socks and shoes are shed for shorts and bare feet. Bleary faces emerge from the shelter of sprayhoods.
At first light I take photos of the motor cruiser that hit us – the Ouzo Palace. (Yotties call flash motor cruisers Gin Palaces.)
He’s been anchored behind the Nidri Marine pontoon where we’ve kept an anxious watch on him all night. We see that he’s 100ft long. The Maltese flag makes us doubt that it’ll be easy to make an insurance claim (fortunately, our doubts we’re misplaced.)
Since the wind’s shifted slightly, we’re a bit close to Maximilian, the yacht now astern of us. As we’re about to take in some chain he calls to us not to worry, that he’ll let some out. “Did you see him hit us?” I ask. “Yes and I’m happy to be a witness. I’ll come over with my details.” His tender’s in the water with the outboard on and when he arrives he kindly offers to take John over to the Ouzo Palace to discuss the collision.
The crew of the Ouzo Palace say that the captain is diving to sort out something round one of his propellers. He’ll come and see us later. Our new friend is going to the bakery and brings us back a fresh loaf. We speak to Full Flight on the phone, which is when they tell us they heard the collision.
Just after 10am the activity around the Ouzo Palace stops and then, suddenly, they’re motoring out of the harbour! We shout and wave in protest as they pass us. They indicate that they’ll return. We’re sceptical.
We watch them and, just before they disappear round the headland, they appear to anchor. And sure enough, a couple of hours later, the Greek captain arrives in the RIB. His crew stays in the RIB while he comes onboard. He apologizes and explains that one of his propellers was fouled and he had little control. He’d hit several boats and had already made a report to the Port Police. He gives us his contact details and leaves.
I ring our insurance company to tell them about the 2 incidents. They’re sympathetic and helpful. We start a new section in our cruise notebook for the claims.
From 11am we take it in turns to sleep in the cockpit – 2 hours on, 2 off. At 1pm we have a bread & cheese lunch – our first food since yesterday lunchtime, but we’re not really hungry. Our stomachs are still knotted with tension. Boats are still dragging, moving, re-anchoring and in every cockpit there are still faces keeping a lookout. We manage tea and biscuits.
At 10.30pm, knowing we should eat something, but with neither of us feeling hungry or inclined to cook, I put together what I thought would be a comforting snack: Dark chocolate sandwiched between slices of fresh, crusty bread, with crisps, dried apricots and nuts. As a child, I’d loved these fresh pain au chocolats. Unfortunately, John just thought it was wierd!
At 3am on Friday morning I wake up (still in the cockpit) to find John also asleep and that the wind has finally died. I wake him and we crawl gratefully into bed in our cabin.
Exhausted, we sleep.