Rab, Croatia
17/07/2016
Beware of the bora, the north easterly winds that are the most threatening in Croatia. Fortunately, they are well forecasted by the various meteorological services one might use, so you often get good advance notice of any impending high winds. They are usually preceded by a scirocco, those being southerly winds that can also pack a wallop. Being here on the Dalmatian coast for the second time we have seen our share. The most recent one that just passed was one for which we took special precautions due to its anticipated severity.
Early in the week, the forecasts were calling for a bora to hit Thursday overnight with sustained winds in the 40 knot range, gusting to 60, over a 36 hour period. On Wednesday, the Croatian weather service issued a gale warning that winds in our area could reach 70 knots and in the notorious Velebit channel they could reach 90 knots - that is hurricane strength and 12 on the Beaufort scale. At the time we were in the Velebit channel completing our trip around the islands of Krk and Rab. We needed a plan.
These two islands offer numerous safe anchorages, depending on the wind direction, and we choose the one beside the old town of Rab; the reason being that we had been there before and were knew it offered good holding for our anchor with its muddy sand bottom and that there were three stout bollards well-placed on its northern shore - ideal for a bora.
We arrived on Tuesday afternoon after completing our circumnavigation around the island of Rab with plenty of time to spare for our preparations. Plan A was to tie to the westward-most bollard along the shore because it was in the middle of the shore between two small coves inhabited by small boats on moorings. It would offer the best shelter from winds that would curl around from these coves. Tying to shore offers the advantages of an anchoring point that won't drag and getting closer to the lee of the shore without worrying about swinging into it in foul winds. Plan B was to lie-to at anchor, of which we have five at our disposal: two on the bow, one on the stern, and two spares in the bilge. Plan C was the nearby marina in Rab that was charging 80 euros a night. Plan A was the one we ultimately executed, but if we had to choose plan B, I might have been tempted to chain our two bow anchors, a 25 kg. Delta and a 33 kg. Rocna together inline for 70 knot winds.
By Wednesday, boats in the anchorage had come and gone so that now we were able to anchor a couple of hundred feet away from our chosen bollard, but it was too soon to tie to it because the scirocco was still blowing and there would be some squalls from thunder storms that evening. Instead, we went ashore with the dogs to do a little shopping and to stretch our twelve legs. Later in the afternoon Maggie and I had a delightful swim while Wylie and Rosy kept watch. We had set our anchor towards the east, the direction from which the bora winds would commence, but that night we were struck by a squall from the west so strong that I was concerned that our anchor, or someone else's, might not reset in the new direction. In fact, a small powerboat did drag into the rocks between us and shore, but they were able to clear away after the squall passed. Of course this kind of thing always seems to happen in the middle of the night, but the squall soon cleared and we all passed the remainder of the night uneventfully.
The next morning was B-day, and we had much to prepare before the storm. The wind had died so I was able to easily paddle ashore with a line from the stern to our bollard. I have to say that as a mariner this bollard gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling when I look at it; it's about two feet tall, made of thick iron, set in stone, and looks like you could moor an oil tanker to it.
Our stern anchor has a rode consisting of 10 m. of chain and 100 m of 3/4 inch nylon, 3 strand rope. We used that and another piece of chain to make a two-legged bridle to the bollard from our two stern cleats.
The chain we used to keep the rope from chafing on the stone platform. Nothing was going to take us away! We winched ourselves tight to set the anchor while we undertook our other preparations.
Generally, that entails lashing down anything that might blow away or break loose in high winds: solar panels, wind generator, sails, ropes, the dinghy, etc. After the work was done, we all took a walk into town to visit friends who were talking shelter in the marina. When we came back we had another swim, made supper, watched a movie and went to bed early to get some sleep before the storm, which was expected to arrive at 1 a.m.
The bora was right on schedule and I had gotten up a few times during stronger gusts to assure myself that our anchor was holding since we were getting hammered by broadside winds from the east. If the anchor released, being only a boat length from shallow rocks, we wouldn't have a lot of time to drop stern lines and swing to anchor. The particularly strong winds at 4 in the morning got me out of bed again, and I didn't like what I saw.
To windward were two other boats that had tied to shore, a sailboat and a powerboat, the latter being farthest away. In the blackness of night, I could make out that the powerboat had broken loose from its line to shore and was now swinging on its anchor and that it had no lights on to indicate any kind of activity. We stared into the darkness through our companionway hatch to determine if the boat was dragging, but staring was difficult because the wind was howling and blowing spindrift into our eyes. I fumbled for our spotlight and shone it at the boat only to realize that nobody was at the helm and that it was, indeed, dragging towards us. If it continued it would drag out the anchor of the sailboat upwind from us and then, in the worst case, the two entangled boats would drag onto us.
I blew the shrill emergency whistle that we have at-the-ready to raise the alarm and kept the light on the powerboat. By now the folks on the sailboat had cast off the shorelines anticipating the powerboat and were standing by. Finally someone on the powerboat appeared in the cockpit, turned on the nav lights and checked their dragging. I cannot imagine what was going on inside the powerboat before this point, but now they were under power and picked up their anchor to clear out of our area. After some time motoring into the wind they eventually left the anchorage presumably sheltering in the marina. They were no longer my concern, but the sailboat wildly swinging on their little Bruce anchor one hundred feet upwind was!
We also stood by with our engine warming up, ready to cast off our shore lines. To prevent getting dragged into, the strategy would be to swing to anchor, thereby presenting a smaller target, and fend off the boats, or, if necessary, raise our anchor. The last resort would be to cut away our anchor if we were unable to raise it due to entanglement. These were my thoughts as I anxiously waited to see if the sailboat's anchor would hold.
Hold it did, and the crew kept a reassuring watch during the remainder of the worst of the blow. During a brief lull, they re-anchored downwind from us, and my mind was more at ease. Our anchor held and the upwind threats had gone. The only remaining uncertainties were whether the winds would strengthen beyond what we had already experienced, and would our anchor still hold.
Eventually, the winds swung around to come from the north, as was the forecast and for which we were ideally positioned, and they did increase. But, now we were in a relative calm spot surrounded by the tempest. From the two small coves one either side of us we could watch small water spouts pass by at a speed equal to or greater than I have seen jet skis travel. In the open water to the east of Rab, about a kilometer away, I could clearly see sea spray blowing past the entire opening of the bay we were in. Three large powerboats that I assume had had enough of a beating on the town quay during the night came out to anchor in the daylight to weather the remainder of the bora which continued on through the day and into the next one.
Sometime during Friday afternoon, I felt that we had been through the worst of the storm and was finally able to ease my guard. Last night was Saturday, the night after, and I slept soundly for the first time in three days. It felt good to have a plan and to have successfully executed it. But it is a lot to endure for the sake of a good night's sleep.
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| After the storm |
Branko
