05/6/7 - 09 - 2001.  SOA

The prevailing wind in the Aegean during the sailing season is the Etesian, or Meltem, which blows from the north and northwest. In an age where the ability of ships to beat against the wind was limited, a journey that took several weeks running before the Meltem could take several months running against it. Ships could be held up for weeks by a strong north wind, contributing greatly to the prosperity of strategically-placed ports such as Knidos. But the Meltem was a devil that ancient sailors knew well, a force they could anticipate. What happened when the wind changed, violently and without warning? Over the last few days, we have had a chance to find out.

Wednesday was our day off, a chance to get supplies, and for Tufan and Berta an overnight trip to Izmir for television interviews. We also said goodbye to our multi-talented Divemaster Guzden, who left to take up a university teaching assistantship in Ankara. Meanwhile, back at base camp, the sea was so calm that Orkan and Bridget spent most of the day free-diving. It was about midnight when the storm struck. Almost without warning, the southwest wind turned Millawanda’s sheltered cove into a washing machine, where waves over 3m high hit the cliffs with such violence that even the backwash was enough to swamp our sandal dinghy. By 1am we had the dinghy tied up in a safer place, but she was still taking in water over her low transom. At first light we tried to bail her out, but in the huge swell it was hopeless. The decision was made to rescue the outboard motor. Free-diving conditions were certainly less than ideal at this point but somehow we managed to get the outboard off the storm-tossed dinghy and onto Millawanda, and then up the cliffs to base camp, where Zafer gave the engine a thorough cleaning. It looks like someone’s beaten the hell out of it, but at least all its parts are still working. Those of us who spent any time in the sea that morning feel a bit the same way. 

The sandal dinghy was not so lucky. By the time we got the heavy water-laden shell away from Millawanda, she was literally crumpled. Attention turned to the diving equipment on Millawanda’s decks, which was in danger of being dragged overboard by the waves. It was time for another exciting swim! Then back to base camp to rescue O2 bottles and other equipment from the diving/loading platform, which was literally being torn apart by the sea. We were unable to save the table or the ladder, but did manage to recover the diving flagpole when it was thrown up and skewered another building. By mid-morning we had clearly done everything possible, and could in good conscience sit back and enjoy the sight of the doomed platform being systematically smashed to bits. Tufan and Berta were finally able to return today at lunchtime (Friday), but the afternoon’s dives had to be cancelled when the swell began to pick up again shortly after we anchored.

Until yesterday we have actually been extremely lucky to have such a run of good weather and calm seas. We are fortunate, also, that the bay in which we anchor for diving is sheltered from the north and usually flat calm; however, it must have been a death trap for any ancient sailing ship unlucky enough to be moored there when the wind turned. As it happens, there is a sheltered anchorage a few bays to the south that would have served in almost any weather, which only makes the number of shipwrecks in the southern lee of Cakil Burnu more puzzling. But perhaps we can imagine a heavily laden merchant ship struggling slowly up the coast, reluctant to yield even half a mile to the persistent north wind, even at the small risk of losing everything. After all, in the month we have been here, the southwesterly wind has struck only twice. No doubt it must have seemed like a good risk at the time…