In my last post, I noted that we were anchored just outside the harbour master and police dock in Zelenika, enjoying one last peaceful evening along Montenegro’s jagged, majestic coast, before checking out of the country en route to Croatia. The water in this anchorage was deep – 52 feet – the deepest we’ve anchored yet. With only 200 feet of chain, we could only manage about a 3.2:1 scope. A scope of 5:1 is often recommended as a minimum, with 7:1 or even more being preferred. Not ideal, but our options in the area were very limited!
All afternoon, we watched boats jostle for spots at the harbour master and police dock, eyeing those massive black cargo fenders bolted to the high concrete dock, infamous for leaving impossible scuff marks on unsuspecting pleasure boats. We also paid attention to the bollards, located on the dock at least 6ft from the water’s edge, requiring that a crew member jump off to secure a line. Accordingly, we adjusted our fender heights and scoped out leap points beyond the life lines, ensuring we’d be able to dock without a scratch. We were ready. Or so we thought…
That evening, we admired the arrival of EOS, a jaw-dropping $10M+ Sanlorenzo 96ft (29.1m) superyacht belonging to US billionaire, Barry Diller. We looked her up online, dreamed a little, then checked the forecast: light winds, 15% chance of showers around 5am, nothing serious. We set alarms for 6am and tucked in for a good night’s rest.
But the weather gods had other plans.
At 11:20pm, the first gust hit.
Then another.
And another.
Our instruments climbed – 20 knots … 30 … 40 … then 50!!!
The air turned electric. Rain whipped through open windows, and hail hammered the deck like bullets. Thunder cracked above us as lightning slashed the sky in perfect sync – the storm was right on top of us! Thankfully, Doug had chosen to sleep in the salon, given our relatively low anchor scope, and was already scrambling into action. I joined him barefoot, instantly drenched, adrenaline surging as we raced to close hatches and ensure the boat was secure.
And then – it happened.
Our gennaker started to unfurl.
Just a few feet at first, a silent threat. We knew: if it let loose fully, we’d be in serious danger – anchor dragging, rigging damaged, possibly even knocked over. With lightning flashing and hail stinging, we threw on our lifejackets, clipped in our tethers, and crawled forward. Twice I was blown sideways, my tether yanked tight like a leash holding back the sea.
We fought the sail back. Then it unfurled again. Tethered in, we lunged for it once more.
I won’t lie. I was scared. Truly scared.
At some point, I grabbed my phone, hands shaking, and texted Buzz and Evan. I needed someone to know where we were. Someone to watch us on the Automatic Identification System (AIS) used by boats and our Predict Wind Follow Profile. Someone who knew how to look if we disappeared from the map.
The storm didn’t ease. Not for hours.
We spun on our anchor in the dark as lightning split the sky and the wind howled at over 52 knots (the highest we saw on our boat systems). But somehow – our anchor held. Kora held. And so did we.
Around 3am, the squall finally began to break. Doug insisted I get some rest. I peeled off wet clothes, still trembling, and burrowed deep into the bed covers. Doug collapsed in the salon.
At 6am, groggy and still a little damp, we surfaced again. Around us: chaos. A motorboat overturned. Another half-sunk. A jetski tossed onto the shore like a child’s toy. (Later, we’d see a monohull beached on the shore in a nearby cove.)
We pulled down the gennaker and used bungy cords to secure it to Kora’s trampoline so that it could dry before being stowed. Then we hauled up the anchor – so deeply dug into the sand we had to overrun it to break free – and eased into the harbour master’s dock. A tight squeeze, but Doug’s work in the skipper chair, coupled with Karen’s pre-set fenders and a bold leap over the starboard bow pulpit, made it flawless. No black marks. Just relief. We checked out in 20 minutes flat, then headed straight for Dubrovnik – a day early. Extra time was needed to dry out, assess damages, and get some sleep!
Yet, the drama wasn’t quite over. Rain and thunder stalked us across the border. More hail. More lightning. For a while there, we steered from inside the salon using the autopilot remote. The sky just refused to let up.
But finally – Dubrovnik. More massive black cargo fenders bolted to the high concrete dock. However, this time the broader spacing made for a much easier docking situation. And, besides, we were now pros. It took 45 mins to check in, and then we headed over to the marina – our home for the next three nights.
Damage report:
- A torn gennaker – looks like just the luff (front edge), so repairable.
- A bent starboard spreader strut.
- Several new scratches – mostly minor – the worst being one deep nick through the gel coat.
- Two bruised egos.
But we’re okay. We’re okay!
We’ve since had a rigging expert onboard who cleared us to raise the main. Fantastic news! The rigger was from North Sails, the maker of our gennaker, so he was able to look at the damaged sail as well. The repaired gennaker will hopefully rejoin us in Split, or possibly later today in Dubrovnik. And Kora? She’ll get her cosmetic touch-ups, including a full repair of the bent spreader strut, and a few gel-coat touch-ups when we haul out for winter.
That night could have gone very differently. But it didn’t. And for that, we’re thankful.
To Buzz and Evan – a huge THANK YOU!!! For watching over us, even from afar.
To the anchor that held, the tethers that kept us safe, and the morning light that reminded us we’d made it through…
We sail again in a few days!
