What a passage… 😮‍💨 (to Malta 🇲🇹)

Julie

At 3 PM, we lift the anchor in Poetto and head off to Malta, super excited. It’s a 320-mile sail to a brand-new country for us. The fridge and cupboards are packed with Italian treats, and the weather forecast looks great. The first few miles go smoothly. The waves start building slowly, but they’re coming from behind, so it’s not too bad. They are pretty tall though, way higher than we expected. We keep sailing under the headsail and set up the wind vane. Greg tries to set up the spinnaker pole with the headsail, but it all goes completely wrong. One of our windows nearly gets smashed and his hand ends up bleeding. Bad idea. We stash the pole away quickly and move on. By evening, our little oven comes to the rescue. We heat up the frozen pizzas we bought for the trip. With this kind of swell, cooking anything else would be a nightmare. Around sunset, rogue waves start hitting us. Most waves still come from behind, but once in a while a set rolls in that throws the boat in every direction. And they are huge. Some even crash above the cockpit. Definitely not in the forecast. And the wind? Supposed to be 15 knots, but it’s blowing 20 to 25 instead. At 9 PM, my watch starts. I crawl into my sleeping bag. It’s so cold with all the wind blowing in the cockpit. It gets dark fast, and the sound of those big waves crashing around is honestly kind of scary. Just before midnight, as I’m about to switch with Greg, a wave smashes into the cockpit. Luckily, we had the doors closed. Sleeping is nearly impossible. Cat food is flying everywhere, fruit is falling out of the nets, and inside the boat it’s a total mess. We’re shouting at each other out of frustration. You can barely walk straight with the swell throwing you around. At 3 AM, I’m on watch again. The floor is covered in dirt from the plants, which are getting tossed all over the cockpit. I just sit there, miserable, in my sleeping bag and life vest, thinking, “We’ll deal with this tomorrow.” This is not the trip I imagined. I try to nap in fifteen-minute chunks but get slammed into the cockpit floor six times. So annoying. At 6 AM, I finally crawl into bed, but I hardly sleep. By 9 AM, I give up and start cleaning. I find safer spots for the plants and scrub the floor with the deck pump. Much better. I try to make things a bit less chaotic inside too, which is still tough with the swell, but I manage. All day, we feel like zombies. Every time we do something inside—brushing teeth, using the toilet—we come out nauseous. We try to nap as much as possible, but even that doesn’t work. Even Greg feels seasick, which is a first. Luckily, the wind and swell calm down a bit in the evening. For the first time in a while, we can walk around the boat without being slammed into something. During my night watch, Greg sticks his head out the hatch to tell me Finn peed in our bed. Poor cat. After two days of camping on our bed, terrified of the waves and with the carrier ready just in case, he couldn’t hold it anymore. I saw it coming. I even tried putting him in the litter box earlier, but he just panicked and ran back to bed. Day 3 starts with laundry and trying to air out the mattress. The whole boat smells like cat pee. We fire up the watermaker and toss the sheets one by one into our mini washing machine. Greg hoists the parasailor. From a distance, we must look hilarious—blue sail up front, sheets flapping all over the deck. And finally, a dolphin shows up. Just one, but it’s massive and swims alongside our bow for a few minutes. That little visit honestly made the whole day better. We’ve actually been able to sail most of the time on this trip. The engine only runs now and then, and only for short stretches. On day 4, Greg nearly gets hit by one of those super fast ferries that go 30 knots. The AIS was working, but didn’t show its speed correctly, so we had no idea what it was doing. It ended up passing just 200 meters in front of us. Later that day, we change the plan. We’re supposed to arrive in the middle of the night, and that doesn’t sound fun. So we look for a safe bay to anchor in. We charge up our flashlights and get ready for a night-time anchoring job. Finally, at 2 AM, after dodging a bunch of fishing buoys, we drop the anchor. According to the chart, it’s a beautiful bay, but we can’t see anything. It’s pitch black. Apart from a single anchor light and a campfire on the beach, it’s total darkness. What a wild trip. We crawl into bed, exhausted but happy. We made it. What a relief.

Boat & Crew

El Burro

Swallow Craft Design Group, Swift 33

Gregory Ramis Ferriol

Owner

Finn

Pet, Male

Nelly

Pet, Female

Julie

Owner