August 22, 2019
We awoke the following day feeling perhaps a bit dusty but with a sense of motivation - today was crossing day where we would make the hop from Monaco to Corsica. Only 100 nautical miles separated us from the mysterious island of Corsica, its mountains, national parks, and locals who consider themselves a nation apart from the French and very much espouse their own identity. We have both been looking forward to making it to Corsica since we first began brainstorming this trip, as neither of us have been and we'd heard wonderful things about its rugged beauty and interesting history. We have also heard that its conditions are far trickier and more changeable than elsewhere in the Med, with strong seasonal blows coming from both the west and east. Pretty much every person we've spoken to has maintained that weather-routing when sailing around Corsica is paramount, as the island is a bit of a wind funnel and conditions can deteriorate quickly. So it's safe to say we are approaching the crossing with a healthy dose of excitement and nerves.
Given the distance, we estimated the crossing would take approximately 14 hours - ideal for an overnight sail. The wind in the early evening was forecast to be mild, picking up later at night and remaining at a sailable yet comfortable Force 4-5 until dying away again in the morning. We reviewed our passage plan over breakfast, which had us weighing anchor and setting off south around 6 or 6:30 PM, expecting to make landfall off the fortified town of Calvi on Corsica's north coast early the following morning. We decided to take advantage of our last hours on the Riviera with one last run/hike along the coast. We headed to the nearest beach, beached the dinghy (in some decent sized waves which I think gave the patrons at the nearby cafe some interesting viewing pleasure), then wiped the sand off our feet and and set off to explore the last Sentier du Littoral we would experience on this magnificent coastline. The path began as what felt like a near vertical incline, taking us up the steep cliffs along the shoreline high above the sea. This was perhaps the most stunning cliffwalk we'd done yet - and it definitely ended up being more of a walk than a run given the steep and often narrow pathways that twisted and turned around the cliffs. Definitely not for the faint of heart!. We got some amazing footage of Florence bobbing below with Monte Carlo looming in the background. It was a fitting way to spend our last few hours on the mainland before heading to the French and Italian islands, which will be our final stops on the Med tour before again heading west in time to get Florence safely back through the Strait of Gibraltar and down to the Canary Islands before the fall weather picks up, making the Med much less tenable for a sailboat.
Once back aboard Florence, we did our final checks before embarking on our passage - engine check, rig check, systems check: check check check. We weighted anchor at 6:30 on the dot and began motoring out of the bay and into the open sea. Next stop, Corsica! Once out of the lip of the land, it was time for the moment of truth: would our mainsail unfurl and, if so, would it function? While we'd managed to deploy it since the attempted repair in Antibes, it hadn't really been tested, as our subsequent sails had been short day hops without much wind to speak of. This would be the first real test. We began the unfurling process with tempered expectations but managed to get the full sail out by making a few minor adjustments. All in, it could have been worse, and at least the full sail was now out where it could hopefully stay for the remainder of the crossing. The wind was light for the first couple hours, which meant slow initial progress, but it gave us time to appreciate what was a truly spectacular sunset as we left the French coastline behind and headed out into open water.
It was the first time we had done an offshore passage where we would spend hours out of sight of land since the crossing from Barcelona to Cassis, so we were excited but also hopeful our last month along the Cote d'Azur and Riviera hadn't made us soft (though we doubted that given the number of problems we'd encountered). Once the sun went down and we were enveloped in darkness, we could feel and hear the wind pick up as we turned on our radar and navigation lights. The wind was coming nicely on Florence's beam, which seems to be her favourite point of sail. We got out the full jib, as this is a much smaller sail than the genoa and easier to reef at night in case the wind were to pick up suddenly. With about 15-17 knots of breeze on our beam, Florence was crushing it, making 8+ knots. It seems the sail repair hadn't impacted her performance in any meaningful way, if at all! This was a big relief, as even though our priority is safety first, let's face it, we like going fast :) If you're not first, you're last! The overnight sail was brilliant - consistent winds that required very little sail-trimming for hours as we flew towards Corsica. I didn't manage to get much sleep on my off-watch from 12-4 AM, as my body wasn't used to the noise and slant that sleeping on passage entails. But I wasn't too bothered, as it was only a one night crossing, and anyone can handle an all-nighter every now and again. When I resumed watch at 4 AM, we were still buzzing along. As the sky began to lighten ever so subtly, I experienced what I had heard fellow sailors tell us about the approach to Corsica from the sea, that you can smell the island before you see it. Before I could see anything other than the horizon, my nostrils were piqued by a faint but crisp aroma of pines and citrus that could only mean we must be close to our destination. Sure enough, within the hour I could see the pale purple mountains of Corsica in the distance. I shouted Land Ho! and woke Stephen. It's always an exciting moment spotting land for the first time after a crossing, particularly after a night passage. As we sailed closer, we were both impressed with just how mountainous the island was. I had no idea its mountains were that imposing. While Corsica is a large island -, the 4th largest in the Med after Sardinia, Sicily, and Cypress - it is mostly uninhabited, with 2/3 of the island comprised of mountains and nearly half dedicated to nature reserves. The majority of its population cluster along the coastline, which is meant to be stunning, dotted with sparsely populated coves and beaches. We were excited to explore.
The town of Calvi and her large citadel welcomed us as we approached. We needed to find a spot to drop the hook so we could try to get some sleep before exploring the town. Somewhat annoyingly, the bay up to a mile off the town and marina is a prohibited anchoring area, with moorings for small boats only. We went to the western part of the bay to find a spot for Florence to take a well-earned rest. Thankfully, the bottom of the bay was all white sand and the water perhaps the clearest blue we'd seen yet. We dropped the hook in about 5 meters of water so clear that we could see the anchor chain in its entirely snaking along the bottom of the sea bed. A nap would have to wait - we were diving in!
After a glorious swim, we felt rejuvenated and more keen to get ashore and explore the town than to attempt a nap. So we downed a pot of coffee, gave our faces a few invigorating slaps, and boarded the dingy for the mile-long journey into town. We puttered into the little marina and found a place to store the dinghy. Thankfully no one tried to charge us for the privilege. Maybe Corsica is more laid back than mainland France? We were keen to explore the citadel that is the town's main attraction, though we were both too starving to think about attempting that hike now. First things first - sustenance. On first glance, Calvi seemed a lovely town, if quite touristy. The first few streets back from the marina were all sidewalk cafes offering the same specials, bars, and many many souvenir shops. We found a little table on a sidewalk and took a load off, eager to get something in our stomaches before we passed out at the table. We decided to go local and try some of the typical Corsican specialties. We opted for boar stew of some sort served over pasta. It was interesting... I regret ordering a cocktail, as after my white night, even one drink had me a bit loopy. I think Stephen was enjoying my unintentional comedy as I babbled away nonsensically. Fed and watered, we began our walk up to the citadel, which was no small feat given its altitude and our low energy levels. There was a big statue of Christopher Columbus at the base of the citadel, which didn't seem especially out of place given the town had as much of an Italian feel as a French one. We learned the town and most of the island were loyal to Genoa before they were ceded to France, and Italian is an officially recognised language. Corsica was in fact ruled by the Republic of Genoa from 1284 until it was ceded to Louis XV as part of a debt repayment. It was subsequently annexed to France in 1769, the same year some geezer by the name of Napoleon Bonaparte was born in the island's capital. The walk up to and around the walled old town of Calvi was seriously cool. You could almost imagine you were a resident of this often-besieged town, forced to live your lives behind the citadel's thick walls, always lying in wait for the next impending attack from the sea.
Once back on the boat, we were more than ready for a nap, figuring we could spend the next couple days exploring the rest of the town and its surrounding beaches. We were wrong. We checked the forecast on Windy and saw that the picture had changed pretty dramatically. We saw on the map wind surges of up to 50 knots sweeping down the Gulf of Lyon and heading straight for us - this must be the dreaded mistral everyone had warned us about. The mistral is a strong, cold, northwesterly wind that blows from southern France into the Gulf of Lion and across the Mediterranean, often reaching Corsica and Sardinia. It apparently produces sustained winds often exceeding 40-50 knots and sometimes reaching 115 mph. Yikes. These mistrals are more common in winter and spring, although perhaps we had been naive to think we were in Corsica early enough to avoid them. We'd barely been on the island a few hours and here was a whopper heading right for us! The whole west wide of Corsica was clearly no longer a safe place to be. We had 2 days until the mistral reached the coast, so we had to make tracks to get to relative shelter on the east side of the island, which would involve a long sail down the entire west coast of the island before crossing through the notoriously tricky Strait of Bonifacio at the bottom of the island, the pinch point between Corsica and Sardinia where strong winds get funnelled through to create often treacherous conditions. It appears there would be no rest for the weary on Corsica. Given how exhausted we were, we didn't think it prudent to set off that evening for an overnight sail in unfamiliar territory. We decided to get some sleep and to take off the following morning at first light.
At daybreak, we were up and sucking down coffee as we weighed anchor and pointed Florence west. We had roughly 100 nautical miles to cover in about a a day and a half before the mistral wreaked havoc on the whole west side of the island. Going east to get to the other side of the island was not recommended, as you had to sail all the way around Cap Corse, which is apparently a sailor's nightmare as there are no bail out points should conditions require. We waved goodbye to Calvi after an all too brief visit and began motoring down the west side of the island. We have definitely realised that when people describe wind conditions in the Med as feast or famine, they are not exaggerating. Here we were attempting to outrun a mistral that would bring winds of 50 mph, yet we had absolutely zero wind to assist our flight. Conditions were dead calm as made our way south. Has the Med never heard of a happy medium? It seems not, so we put Florence's engine to work as we looked wistfully at all the lovely and rugged anchorages along the west side of Corsica we would not get to explore. No matter - the mission is to get to the southern tip of the island and through the dreaded Strait of Bonifacio before this mistral hits. Go Flo Go!
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