The Aegean — Athens to Turkey in a kayak
May 20, 2018. Wind NE 10–15 (Day 9)
The crossing is brutal. We leave at 0400 in 10 knots of wind and one meter of swell. Manu has trouble turning around in the bay and almost washes up on the rocks. The dark boiling water shows us no sympathy. Our headlamps are mere freckles on the moon.
Chapter One: The First Domino
“I’ve been a skipper for seven years and what you are saying is impossible,” The round-man’s ego is showing. He lounges back, as I nod and tell him it is good to hear what he’s saying. Manu and I are in the wrong place.
Our budget is meager and In order to find gear for our trip across the Aegean we exercise all options in Athens. We go to boat yards, haul outs, rowing clubs and anywhere an old kayak might hide. We want to borrow kayaks or find fixer-uppers. An easter egg hunt in a city of five million. It would be one thing if there was a big culture of sea kayaking here, but there isn’t really. Which is crazy, because the Greek islands are uncomparable.
So we end up in front of the round man who runs charter sailboats for “bougies” (bourgeois), no closer to our free boats.
Quick geography lesson. The Aegean is the waterbody between Greece and Turkey — the same sea that Spartans crossed to lay siege on Troy. Freckling the south edge of the Aegean is the Cyclades, a smiley face of islands linking the Athens Peninsula with southwest Turkey (Bodrum area). In the archipelago there are hundreds of islands, each one a different cupcake.
Borrowing boats:
The recipe for borrowing kayaks in a foreign country is as follows: be keen; email any leads (kayak clubs, rental companies, and kayak shops), and post friendly, ambitious requests on local paddler group pages (facebook) with photos; and walk around town for hours asking boat-related people. Below is a post I did for a winter trip in Sweden (which is another story).
This post had me a boat, gear, and a place to sleep in hours. Athens is different.
After eight days scouring the Greeks, the only kayak shop in town (Cannibals Kayak House) agrees to sponsor our journey. They are happy to help and share resources. People of the water are friends indeed.
A couple old plastic red-bellies are loaded with oats, spaghetti, and oranges. I look for the stray kitten I was hoping to take on the trip, but it is hiding among beach boulders, or dead. I later confirm that a kayak cockpit in the Aegean is no place for felines.
We leave the lights of Athens behind. 450km to go.
May 11, 2018. Wind SE 10 knots (kn). ~Sun unless stated otherwise.
Our first evening paddle is surreal. Hundreds of gulls cut holes in a purple sky. Pasta for dinner on an easy fire. We sleep above a cave where we park the kayaks. One bunny sighted.
May 15, 2018. (Wind S 5 kn)
Four days in. We spend the morning collecting ourselves and fixing a broken rudder cable.
On Skinny Island we find the remains of an old society. Goats rule the buildings and biology here. We conduct our daily one-hour meditation in a dilapidated church that crumbles at the seams, held together by a nameless, supernatural force.
We leave late and get to Kea Island even later. We feel sheepish in town asking coffee shops if we can refill our 24 crumpled water bottles (at least two of which we have used as pee jugs). The plastic problem is hard to circumnavigate.
Its 2300 when we leave town restocked with food and water. We are heading to a small beach around the corner to camp. Its dead calm out, and we navigate by shadows and the absence of sound. Phytoplankton explodes under our hauls and we holler in delight —magic is everywhere.
May 18, 2018. Gyaros Island (Day off)
Manu’s tent is transformed into a sweat lodge. The process is intense. After the hot rocks shed their wisdom, I slip into a shapeless void while floating on my back in the bay. Time and space melt. I can not describe it. When I emerge to the surface world I am shivering and surrounded by bioluminescence. I crawl up to the fire where Manu cradles flames with his bare body. I collapse beside him
The next morning we leave the old prison behind (until 1974 Gyaros was a center for exiled political prisoners, additionally the island was used for exiles in the Roman era).
Halfway through our crossing to Syros (20km) a WWF zodiak that monitors Gyaros’s seal population swings by and offers a ride. “Manu and I have a rule about rides… Every one counts.” Hitchhiking is beautiful — an art form in humanity.
Conservation in the nation:
The Cyclades is a tough place for many species. Vessel traffic and unmonitored fishing activities has left many populations extinct or dwindling.
“Our job is to have a presence on the water,” says Christos Papadas, WWF Greece, Research and Field Team Coordinator. Gyaros Island is one of few birthing sites for the Mediterranean Monk seal, one of the the most endangered marine mammals on earth (1)
May 20, 2018. Wind NE 10–15
The crossing is brutal. We leave at 0400 in 10 knots of wind and one meter of swell. Manu has trouble turning around in the bay and almost washes up on the rocks. The dark boiling water shows us no sympathy. Our headlamps are mere freckles on the moon. It dawns on me the Manu needs much more practice and this is all new to him. He gets sea sick halfway through the crossing as the sun is rising. He struggles with determination. The wind is pushing us into open water and picking up. I can not imagine what this is like for him. His first real trip of any kind in a kayak.
We make it, but barely. The south point of Rinea Island greets us with a headwind. Manu stumbles out of his boat onto the beach in an exhausted state of awe. A dead sea turtle is being digested my maggots meters away.
Clothes off we set-up shade, eat lentils, swim, and pass out. Its 1130.
May 23. Wind NE 15 knots.
These crossings are as different as the islands they take us to. We flop this one too and end up 15 km off course because we couldn’t see the island we intended going to. That’s what we get for so blatantly not using navigation equipment.
May 24. Wind light to NW 5. Total distance to date: 208 km
My wrist is in pain. In the morning I seriously consider my ability to complete the trip. in Naxos we refuel, connect with the internet, and savor some human interaction.
May 28, 2018. Dark.
Cave on Iraklia Island. Manu and I hike to a cave while we wait for the ceaseless winds. The idea is to meditate a full ten hour day in the cave
I write by candlelight. Its 0630 and I’ve spent two nights down in moist isolation. Very dark, very quiet. only dripping and the occasional mystery sound. My mind is fierce and deadly like wolves in a winter forest. My meditations are going as well as they can. I search my body for subtle sensations, observing with equanimity and the notion of impermanence. All is arising and passing away.
June 1, 2018. Winds North 30 kn
It’s our third full day trapped on “the tongue”. Today the sea is in turmoil — the windiest day yet. The tongue is a small sandy spit that licks out of the small island we call home. Manu and I have been eating well (two hot meals a day) and keeping high spirits. To be stuck in the clutches of nature’s rhythms demands you to observe your own rhythms.
White horses surge over azure blue. The tongue catches the whitecaps like snowflakes on a blizzard day.
Standardized Pee-Test:
While trapped on Antikeri Island (the tongues owner), we invent a very neat decision-making tool: The pee test.
On the end of the tongue, I stand and pee perpendicular to the wind. The distance the pee travels with the wind before hitting the sand is measured and calibrated to sea state. At the peak of our stay on the tongue we hit 4.3 meters.
1 meter — doable (Beaufort 2–4)
2 meters — dangerous (Beaufort 5)
3+ meters — don’t try it (Beaufort 6+)
June 2, 2018. Amorgos Island
0445: The standardized pee-test comes in at 40 cms. It’s a go. As we bid “merci beaucoup” to the tongue we paddle into the aftereffects of a four day storm. The red sun rises while the swell oscillates.
0800: We survive the crossing. 1.5 to 2 meter swell and 6–8 knots of wind. Amorgos Island greets us with a parade of goats. We eat our last orange.
1045: Aqua-poop. Offshore winds. We’ve found paradise. Small-stone beach, secret caves, topless women. We meditate in the shade and finish the last of the oatmeal (adding the last of the flour and cookies). The bellies of our boats desperately need a refill.
1130: Snorkel through the cheese hole.
1200: We find local companions (Leo and his dog Bebo). Leo whips us over the island in his Subaru showing us the local trails and squirrel stashes (grocery stores)
1300–0100: The rest of the day is a blur of internet connecting, food stocking, island exploration and a fancy restaurant (Leo has been showing us off a bit). We get back at 0100 and pass out under the full weight of the moon.
June 6, 2018. Wind South 10 knots. Heavy fog
I have never done a full-on fog crossing, and I am worried. I betray my confidence to Manu, “We just stick to the compass bearing, plus… The fog will lift.” As soon as we are out of sight from Glaros Island, doubt creeps in. What if the fog doesn’t lift? What if my compass is wrong? What if we have entered an alternate dimension!? The latter is how it feels. The subtle reference points — wave direction, compass bearing and faded sun — do little to anchor reality.
The mist alters time and space. It’s down to 75 m visibility. The crossing is five km to an island that is only 15 m wide in the direction we travel. My idea is that if we end up south of the island we will feel rebound waves, and if we end up north we will feel the lee.
After what seems five km, we stop and listen…
Audible waves crashing! We follow our ears. Land ho!
June 8, 2018. The big crossing
Wiggly water squirms under our hulls. The weather window is in place, but will not calm fully until later in the day. The crossing from Levitha to Telendos is 40 km — the biggest yet.
We’ve cooked a full pot of pasta and it is stored under bungees on the top deck. This crossing will take patience and a keen eye for “biggies” — cargo vessels. Tanker track lines braid through the strategic Aegean, bottlenecking in certain areas.
Vessel traffic:
We had been warned. Vessel traffic is a huge concern for kayakers in the Aegean. “It’s a war out there!” George Karpathios — owner and operator of Aegean Paddlers — explained when we were in Athens. He elaborates, “…the coast guard doesn’t want to recognize paddlers because it would mean enforcing and creating safety regulations (namely a lookout at all times on tanker vessels).” So kayakers in the Aegean tread in gray water, not officially recognized as a vessel by the coast guard, and not expected or planned for by vessel traffic. In short: don’t get hit. This requires a couple tricks and resources:
VHF Radio: A hand held radio lets you communicate with all marine traffic via channel 16. if you were seriously close to collision, you could call in your situation/ location and hail the vessel.
Collision calculation: To calculate if you are on a collision course with a ship, watch the background behind the vessel (an island for example). If the vessel is faster than you, the island will shift in view behind the ship (the vessel will “eat” the island as it moves forward); if you are faster than the vessel, the island will shift in view in front of the vessel (it seems the vessel is moving backward); and if the island does not shift in view at all, it is on a course with you!
Local knowledge: Typically vessel traffic and ferries travel on set routes. Look them up, and understand that the typical speed for tankers (bulkers) is 13–15 knots, where ferries and container ships travel around 22+ knots. Smaller vessels like sailing boats are mobile and attentive enough to dodge you (but don’t count on it — most ships are engaging their autopilot religiously).
Horizon scans: When on long crossings keep a habit of conducting horizon scans every 5 minutes or so. Once a vessel comes into view, try to identify it, the direction of travel, speed, and potential for collision. In my experience, big vessels are always faster than you think, rarely would I ever try to speed up to pass one. Its easier to stay where you and let it pass you by (as long as you are out of its course).
June 10, 2018
Im naked. Manu is cooking breakfast pasta while the sun bounces off a flat sea. There is only 20 km to go before we end the trip. The big crossing went fine. We ended it in the stars and collapsed into a deep nameless sleep, I wake up with a swollen lip due to a mystery bug.
Breakfast Pasta
1) Cook up pasta on fire with 50% salt water
2) Strain
3) Add cookies, jam, raisons, and whatever else you got
4) Prepare your palate
5) Tell all your friends
6) Reapeat steps 1–5
June 10. Later that day:
The trip is over. Manu and I hit town at 1430 and empty the boats. Mangled, plastic bottles are extracted from all crevices. We pay two local boys a euro and a rusty multitool to wipe down the boats. It’s boiling hot.
Greek pizza is our reward for finishing the 400+ km’s.
Our final paddle is pretty amazing. Kos Island is a tourist metropolis and it is gearing up for the summer season. Umbrellas line the beach. Manu and I paddle by in disbelief, eventaully embracing the reality (see photo).
Turkey is just 5 km away. Military and coast guard boats patrol the border diligently. This is as close as we can come in kayaks.
Tourism and islands:
Many of the Islands in the Aegean are scarcely inhabited due to access issues, but many have been transformed into money machines. For better or worse, this takes its toll. I flip and flop on this intersection of conservation, access, and tourism, and have settled with the idea that the perspectives we have on places and people matter. How we do something has weight and our intention creates feedback cycles.
Our society is more mobile than ever. The oceans that once held back all but the adventurous, colonial, and enslaved is now wide open. Not only has this disturbed our ‘sense of place’, but it has impacted many cultures and environments irreversibly. We have left our reverence and respect for geography behind. Kayaking is not possible for everyone, and I don’t think people should not fly to these islands for vacations, but I do believe that a small amount of human-powered transportation goes a long way.
Take a walk, hire some kayaks for a day, bike to work. Plan small trips without motors. Develop a notion for distances and the environment that holds you, you will be rewarded.
A big thank you to George Karpathios of Aegean Paddlers, and Stavros Georgarakis of Cannibals. We will pass on the good will and good waves. Thanks for keeping us safe.
