Capo Rosso

Logbook entry by Captain Wim:

'You don't choose a helmsman, you take him with the ship! At first, he seemed quite suitable, but today I wonder how we made it this far. As a ballad singer, I would recommend him anytime, but I can't help feeling that the hobby sailor doesn't take things seriously enough. He seems mentally confused at times! He lacks physical fitness. His navigational skills - well, let's just say they're not great. It's a wonder our ship hasn't sunk yet...

So, it seemed fitting to give the harbor bard a lesson, and Capo Rosso, where we anchored, seemed perfect for that. 520 meters of altitude to the tower high up on the mountain...'

This morning, the captain surprised us with the idea of a team-building measure. Our goal for the day was to climb Capo Rosso, a viewpoint high up at the tip of a small peninsula below Piana. Since a true sailor never sets foot on land, he chose the Bondolino as his means of transportation. I had the honor of carrying him up the mountain on my chest. Everything started off well, just before entering the route, we received a tip from some passing land crabs that our choice of footwear - we were wearing trekking sandals - could be a bit more solid. Grateful, we returned briefly to the ship and felt well prepared afterwards. The admiral had explored a suitable route in the seafarers' handbook. It said that the route would be 'very easy' and could be completed in an hour. After an hour, we had completed 2/3 of the distance. It was a sublime feeling to carry the captain chest to chest towards Capo. However, the midday sun took its toll. More 'culture' formed between the smooth captain's chest, brushed by the sea breeze, and mine than in any organic yogurt. Damn! As iron-willed as I was to impress the captain, my thighs and calves felt why I prefer to stay at sea level. The admiral, who carried our marching gear, had seen better days too. At the foot of the last leg, the captain took pity on me and sent me up alone. But if I didn't return within an hour, I could just stay up there. In the meantime, he would wait at the foot with Admiral Curby (clearly more convinced of her performance) and have a milk meal.

What can I say: the guy who wrote that the route was easy should be nailed to the Southern Cross or sent up the Eiger North Face backwards. There was no sign of a hiking trail on the last leg, instead, we had to climb a desert of rubble, at the end of which the tower and a phenomenal view of the west side of the island awaited. My heart was pumping like the diesel engine of the Titanic and my t-shirt was wetter than the sea in a storm. Perhaps that was also the reason why the captain - due to my bad time - had some leniency with me. Maybe it was also the numerous photos that he liked, which I could take at the top of the tower, of the surroundings. Now, just an hour of chest-to-chest back and the team-building measure could be counted as a success.

Fortunately, we found a nice anchorage in front of a paradisiacal beach afterwards. The admiral and I plunged into the sea, and now the captain can rightfully claim to have held his greasy flippers in the second sea of his still short life.