Share the Sail – Croatia

By Jessie Zevalkink, with comments by Bob Bitchin

(Indicated with “BBUC” For “Bob Bitchin’s Unwanted Comments.”) Croatia

The email thread began in the fall of 2019. Attached was fifty some enthusiastic crew who signed up to sail Croatia. Some new to Share the Sail, some vets. By the time spring of 2022 had sprung, our original spreadsheet was full of red marks, cancellations, relocations and refunds. The entire event had fallen off a few cliffs, given CPR, and been resurrected and reborn in at a new Dream Yacht Charter base, with new crew, new boats, and a collaborative appreciation for getting out of the house. For many, it was the first flight they had gotten on since the world by a millennial’s standard ended. BBUC: In the two years since the idea started, a few “little things” had occured. First and foremost, the COVID pandemic. For two years we’d all been stuck wearing masks, avoiding people, and not traveling. Add to that the fact that

The Skippers’ Meeting at Trogir Marina

The marina on a calm evening before departure

Katie, Jessie & Otis

our home and offices burnt to the ground in the middle of said pandemic, well, it just adds a little “flare.” And we hate flare! The final occurence was that we sold the magazine the Croatia Share The Sail would be on the original company, as we’d collected the money (and spent it during COVID - LOL!) Meanwhile in Trogir, Croatia...

On a Saturday afternoon, the cleaning crews flipped well over a hundred charter boats. The sun aloft, bake sail covers and canvas work. The dock was trafficked with carts, provisions, boxes, hoses, and tools. Ambition was in the air. One week of fully booked charters rumbled into the next from 9-5, captains and crews stepping on toes around 3pm. The whole operation, from my perspective, felt like Disneyland in comparison to where my family and I had just come from. My husband and I, prepared to captain separate boats for the event, had just spent four months aboard our rusty steel ketch born in the early 80s. We passed through the doldrums from the Sea of Cortez to Ecuador via the Galapagos, and for much of our journey, things like people who had answers, internet, hoses with water pressure, and monohulls with cockpits the size of an American living room were an anomaly.

We had six boats in total, a convoy of Jeanneaus and Benetaus. The controversial vessel was the Sun Loft 47, which was referred to as a Mono Cat, or crossover. Jeanneau’s attempt at designing an aerodynamic sedan with the comfort of a Suburban. It’s awkward, and its blueprint had one intention only – to be a charter boat. The cockpit does indeed share the experience of a catamaran. Two full-size tables wrapped in cushioned seating drop down to become sunbathing beds. Twin helms placed towards mid-ship, gave comfort but poor

visibility. The fiberglass and stainless steel structure that supported a full cockpit and galley enclosure and hardtop, meant you were required to “stick your head out of the window” to see your sails. But whosoever at the helm could be passed a cold cocktail, completely wind protected and within arms reach. There were aspects of the boat to laugh about, and there were creature comforts to appreciate. No one cared, and the ability or lack thereof of our vessels, that was insignificant. We were there for the company. The sea. The iconic “Game of Thrones” villages and the food.

On Sunday morning folks rose ready to sail. Between 9am and 11am, crews made last minute runs to the market. A bottle of tequila. Milk. Toilet paper. Chocolate. Captains realized their boats were missing items. A French press. Dinghy oars. Lines for dinghy davits. Snorkel gear. Every person on their own mission and no one to be found. Boat by boat, we motored out of the marina for a 25 mile hop to the Island of Vis.

BBUC: We had hired one local Skipper to help us find the best places to stop, and just before departure we had a skippers meeting and decided our route. After two years of planning, we’d pretty much planned this voyage at least three times..

A drone view would have captured the heavy boat traffic in and out of Trogir in formation, as if there was an air traffic control tower lining up planes to land and depart a Class A airspace. But whoever was on shift in the control tower, was drunk. Sails rolled out of their furling after passing the main marker, captains chose a tack and traffic split port and starboard. We had a stunning Sunday. Light and cool headwind wind. Gentle tacks and an occasional low RPM push through the lulls.

our goosebumps. The forecast for the week was great, but everyone had their eye on Wednesday when a stiff north-easterly was predicted.

We followed the headland around to Komiza on the west side of Vis and picked up a mooring ball. My boat arrived first because I am not shy with a diesel engine, and well, It was my first time running a boat with in-mast-furling and a self-tacking-jib. It took me a while to accept its simplicity, and trust that it wasn’t all going to break at once. I had watched the maintenance guys on the dock the day prior. Panicked, sweating, and overwhelmed at the amount of fix-it jobs they had to complete before the next departure. We swim, we play, and we launched the dinghy while the rest of the boats get situated. Two men come over to collect cash for the mooring ball, $250 kuna, roughly $30 USD. The Bob and Jody Boat, along with twenty other charter boats arrive. The Bob Boat took a few laps to collect their mooring ball and drop their boat hook over the side in the process. I took the dinghy over to a) welcome them, and b) give them shit and on my way my outboard quits out. Fuel vent, fuel on, position neutral, choke out, I went through the steps again and again and it wouldn’t start. I craned over the transom to find the prop wrapped with the painter. I untangled the prop wrap sheepishly and decided not to give The Bob Boat shit for dropping their boat hook. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been cruising, there are endless opportunities to look dumb. Who was I, to think I was a more experienced cruiser than to wrap a prop? BBUC: In our defense... Oh hell, there is no defense for dropping our boat hook. But I have to admit, seeing Jessie wrap her prop did kinda make up for it! On Monday we had a light sailing day planned. There was a blue cave four miles away and the town of Vis just around the corner. Our crew decided to enjoy a slow morning before heading off, and we were happy to be the last to depart. By 11am we were ready to drop the mooring ball and the engine wouldn’t start. It clicked over but did not catch. Our volt meter read 12.5, plenty of juice to start an engine. I played around with the battery isolators. I checked all the connections. I played around with how I was pressing the start button. I stuck my head in the engine compartment and listened over and over and over again. I dug out the boat manual and was completely convinced that I was just doing something dumb (again) or that this 2020 Sun Loft was just smarter than me and the problem was very simple. I surrendered to my cell phone and called Dream Yacht Charter base, and they responded by sending a mechanic out. We waited until 3:30pm when two mechanics jumped on board with a volt meter. Our starter battery read seven volts. We left base the day before, with a soon-to-be-shot starter battery and were incredibly fortunate to still be on a mooring ball when it died. They replaced the battery and left. I felt better, knowing that I was not just doing something dumb, knowing that the Sun Loft was not smarter than me. And then I felt worse confirming my fear of sub-par maintenance on the companies behalf.

BBUC: The plan, as usual on a Share The Sail, was to sail individually (making for some fun races) but the first night there were four of the six boats anchored, and two tied up to the quay, and Jessie awaiting repairs.

We join our flotilla the next evening on the island of Pakleni Otoci. It’s limestone foundation held a cartoon-like shape with round corners, soft edges, bays shaped like chubby fingers and toes. You could dip your bow around any corner to find deep water and rocky shores.

At the helm and beneath our cockpit enclosure we did a lap around the mooring field. It was busy. Big boats, small boats, charter boats, fishing boats. We arrived at rush hour and we are not alone in lapping the bay to select the perfect mooring ball. We spotted one on the easterly edge, swimming distance to shore. I maneuvered through traffic and lined us up for the chosen ball. My crew did a beautiful job with hand signals and communication. We secured the boat and were stoked to swim.

The locals came collect our money, $450 kuna this

Oh Boy! 45 knots of wind. Now we’re having adult fun!

time ($65 USD). Some of the girls and I rowed over to The Bob Boat to say “hey” and “cheers.”

Alongside their boat, we looked back at ours to find our entire mainsail still up. My jaw dropped to my feet. We just lapped the mooring field during rush hour, and picked up a ball without having a goddamn clue that we never put away the headsail, I wondered why I was feeling unidentified pressure at the helm. Not a single person on our boat noticed, and as much as I can blame the enclosure and hard-top on the Sun Loft, there was no one to be embarrassed for but me.

BBUC: As every sailor knows, the best part of cruising is watching others mess up. We’d wondered why Jessie left her mainsail up. When she arrived at our boat you should have seen the look on her face when she looked back at her boat and saw the sail up!

Jody deep belly laughed, and we rushed back to our boat and rolled the mainsail into the mast. Thirty minutes later, another Sun Loft came cruising into the bay, looking for a ball.

It was my husband, who has been sailing since he was a small boy. He eats, breathes, and smokes sailboat, they are his life, and boy, does he despise mistakes. At the helm and inside the enclosure, he steered around the mooring field, full mainsail up. My God, the pleasure I took from that moment…

BBUC: LOL!!!

The water clarity was remarkable. Deep bays allowed sailing close to shore, and dozens of islands gave the sea protection from waves. When the land warmed up the sea gulped in hot air, we had 15-20 knot afternoon sails. Between the islands the air accelerated and on an average day it was truly the Disneyland of cruising.

The British Virgin Islands of the Mediterranean. Easy, breezy, wide open. But the next day was Wednesday. The day the forecast went from “nice” to “not-so-nice,” but the forecast didn’t really matter because these boats were being captained by the kind of sailors who’d earned their position at the helm from crossing oceans in high seas to the standing waves of the Great Lakes. We’d seen it all, you know? How bad can it be? Plus, Jody had a gorgeous private dinner planned for the entire group on the island of Hvar. We needed to be there.

We departed together Wednesday morning. It was going to be an upwind beat, we were expecting 20-25 knots. We were prepared for, and excited about a feisty day, and it started off exactly that. Three of us stuck pretty close, the others not far behind. Two of us in Sun Lofts had a nice match race with single reefs and a beautiful 20 knots on the beam. The Bob Boat took off with full sail and peeled away from us with benefits of holding a course

much tighter to the wind than the Sun Lofts could. Around the easternmost headland of Hvar, we had roughly ten miles to tack through two islands before turning towards our destination. By 10am we had a consistent 30 knot blow. I reefed conservatively, as my trust in the rig maintenance and in-mast furling was slim-to-none. In the moment, I fully appreciated the under-sized rig and small sail plan of the Sun Loft, it was actually challenging to become overpowered, therefore challenging to mess it up. By the time we had 35 knots of headwind, we were triplereefed and the engine was on to help hold a course into the wind. The other boats Getting ready for a great got smaller and smaller feast in Vrboska in the distance. My entire crew had a great time. My 1.5 year old son, Otis, wanted his mother at an incredibly inconvenient time. Mommy could not, and would not, leave the helm. The girls took turns with him down below, closing the door to a berth so he couldn’t see me. The weather wasn’t letting up, and it was not forecasted to. We were tacking back and fourth at this point with wind in the high 30s and low 40s, the spray stung my face, the lee side of the cockpit at water up to my knees and wasn’t draining fast enough. I was waiting, waiting, waiting for something to break. I stood at the helm, part of me really enjoying it, part of me terrified of the rig failing. “If there is no improvement in ten minutes, we’re turning around,” I told some of the crew. It was only getting nastier, and the masochist in me wanted to make it to our destination, but the mother in me knew it was stupid. We were the first boat to turn around and seek shelter. BBUC: Now, I gotta admit, we did not expect that much

Hail, hail, the gang’s all here!

wind. By the time we were past the “no return” spot in the channel, it was blowing 40-45 knots fairly regular. Not a bad thing when you are on your own boat and know the rigging, etc, but on a charter boat, we were kinda waiting for something to break. Our Skipper, Drew, and his wife, Kali, were used to these conditions as they deliver boats across the pond. The sail was, to say the least, “An Adventure.” By the time we pulled into the anchorage for the night we were ready to drop anchor.

Two of six boats made it to our planned destination that evening. Four of us ultimately turned around, and reconnected in the town of Stari Grad, which was by land, a two mile taxi ride from our dinner reservation. One boat nearly lost their dinghy, another boat had an entire section of canvas rip off in the gust, and someone else’s job block ripped off the deck. I was so exhausted by the time we reached Stari Grad and my poor son still just wanted to be with me. It was also my first time docking in the Mediterranean, which requires reversing in stern to a cement wall, picking up bowlines and walking them forward to secure the bow. The opportunities to mess up are boundless. It is reversing your boat into a tight parking space, typically with a crosswind, and likelihood of wrapping your prop. I’d be lying if there was not a huge source of anxiety as a first-timer. In the end, it went beautifully and I was proud of us. It had been a hell of a day, the relief of safety was huge. My face and lips stung with windburn for days after.

Stari Grad was a terrific diversion. We organized

The fleet anchored at the Blue Lagoon

taxis and everyone made it to dinner. There was an entire restaurant set up just for us. Overflowing wine. Bread fresh out of the oven. Charcuterie boards were works of art. Fish leapt from the sea onto our plates. We laughed about our long and strenuous day, discussed our decision making, the things that broke, how freaked out we were and how much fun we had. Guests were thrilled to mingle with other guests and grateful to spend time with Bob and Jody, because in the end, we were all there for Bob and Jody. It really was a gorgeous dinner, and worth trying to beat upwind in 35 knots for.

BBUC: Jody had worked for months setting up a special dinner in Vrboska with a couple named Ante and Kate Stipisic. (She just bought a Harley!) They used a friend’s restaurant right in the marina called Ruzmarin, owned by a man named Domagoj Kraljevic. It was a perfect evening, and everyone attended. The meal was unbelieveable, with a full six courses and plenty of local wine!

The remaining two days were slow and relaxed and the weather returned to gentle. Return day was 5pm Friday, but it wasn’t just us that had to come back to base at 5pm Friday. It was a dozen other charter companies and a few hundred other boats returning to the same base. All boats needed to be fueled up and back at the dock and I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. At

Our last night, a feeding frenzy on the docks!

3pm there must have been six boats reversing into the fuel dock at the same time, another twelve preparing to reverse down a long fairway into their slip, and another twenty on there way down the channel towards the marina. There was a lot of raging rpm-ing, bow thrusting, and shouting. On some boats too many chefs in the kitchen and on some docks not enough staff to facilitate. It was absolutely chaos and I trembled as I lined us up to reverse down a long narrow fairway. I didn’t want to be the one who messed up. I didn’t want to be the woman who messed up. Opportunity for disaster was inches away in every direction. A man in a dinghy directed me all the way in. To our right there is a boat fully sideways and out of control in the cross wing, everyone “OOOOHHHING” and “AHHHING.” In front, another boat was reversing and, like me, needed speed to steer. Behind me is a boat pulling out forward. In this moment there was no room for error. I kept my speed up, began my reverse turn and slammed it into the designated space after having a yelling match with a guy on the dock who told me I was in the wrong space. It was (aside from watching my husband also leave his mainsail up in the mooring field) by far the most exciting and satisfying moment of my week.

On the final evening we had a leftover’s party at the dock, nearly sinking the stern of a Sun Loft with people, booze, and food. We will all be looking forward to the next Share the Sail, wherever it may be held next in the world. It’s a memorable social event that truly requires a go-with-the-flow attitude from everyone involved. With so much admiration for all the years Bob and Jody have been facilitating Share the Sail, It was a pleasure to be a part of their grand finale. Where would you like to see Share the Sail take place next?!

BBUC: We are thinkin’ maybe New Zealand, or The Great Barrier Reef of Australia? Email us with your ideas!!