Tower of the Winds, Athens, Greece

 

Sweeney Erect

By T.S. Eliot

And the trees about me,

  Let them be dry and leafless; let the rocks

Groan with continual surges; and behind me

  Make all a desolation. Look, look, wenches!

Paint me a cavernous waste shore

  Cast in the unstilled Cyclades,

Paint me the bold anfractuous rocks

  Faced by the snarled and yelping seas.

Display me Aeolus above                                   

  Reviewing the insurgent gales

Which tangle Ariadne’s hair

  And swell with haste the perjured sails. 

Sailing is often described as "long stretches of boredom punctuated by episodes of shear heart pounding terror." I had one of those moments of terror trying to escape the gale force winds of the Meltemi in the Cyclades. I anchored in what seemed to be excellent shelter in the lee of Spinalonga Lagoon. Spent a restful, blue-sky day at anchor and planned the next leg of my passage to Turkey. Discovered late that evening that the large wind shadow of the hilly shore was perfect for creating 70-knot katabatic winds. Spent a stressful night staring at my wind gauge as the boat tacked back and forth around my anchor.