Logbook – Lefkada · 13 October 2025, 15:30
After three months and two weeks of preparations, Selene finally left the VLICHO boatyard. The renewed furling system, the mainsail ready — almost — and the loyal autopilot “Ennio” carefully tested. We left the Eucaliptus pontoon at 16:30, with a gentle southern breeze promising an ideal crossing towards Meganissi.
Once bow to wind, the mainsail rose smoothly and in all its majesty despite the absence of a couple of battens. Full, silent and powerful, it pushed the boat on a wide beat. The genoa, fully unfurled, followed the rhythm, capturing the 8–knot breeze with ease.
The short passage to Spartohori Bay turned into an experience of pure freedom: flat water, Selene gliding steadily at 5 knots, and the sensation of having regained a rhythm I had missed for seven years.
The first day ended with deep satisfaction and the certainty that Selene will be ready to face the challenges of the 2026 season. A boat that speaks to the heart and confirms, mile after mile, that she was the right choice.
Premise: this section contains no photographs and is a digression prompted by the invasion of technological devices that condition our lives in every aspect. The reason for my presence in Kefalonia – Fiskardo – on October 14 was a desperate attempt to get back online after phone issues that, unsurprisingly, also deprived me of the camera. In any case, before casting off, I felt something was missing. With Alexis, my trusted electronics specialist, I had already decided on an upgrade many considered unnecessary: wiring, from bow to stern and into the cockpit, a remote control system for the anchor windlass.
Some said: “All you need is a €20 Wi-Fi remote from Amazon.” Easy, yes. Cheap, certainly. But for me — who never places anything on board without risking it vanishing into a locker — such a device would have had a very short life.
The choice was different: installing a handheld device, extracted from the control panel above the chart table, removable when needed, with a dedicated socket near the throttle in the cockpit. Solid, screw-mounted, always within reach. Cost: €200 · Investment-to-safety ratio: 1 to 1000.
A clear and unfortunately immediate example of why that decision mattered. After spending the night in Spartohori (Meganisi) under torrential rain, I wake up wrinkled and head straight for Kefalonia. In Fiskardo, I berth under difficult conditions and, out of sheer habit, without using the remote control from the cockpit: little space, plenty of onlookers, and the need to pay out chain several times to avoid collisions. Result: my anchor hooked onto another boat’s chain on the seabed.
When it’s time to leave, I finally connect the remote in the cockpit, release the double stern lines and start weighing anchor. We’re almost done, when the chain suddenly stops: it won’t drop back into the locker. The boat is stuck, exposed to public scrutiny in the middle of the small harbor, under the ironic gaze of British retirees at the cafés.
Checking the problem at the bow, I realize I have someone else’s chain caught on my anchor. And right then — precisely then — the local down button meant to slacken the anchor tension decides to stop working.
That’s when, fortuitously, a young couple from Singapore on a tiny electric dinghy notices the scene. Without hesitation, their small craft passes under the chain snagged on my anchor, while I hand them a bright yellow line, which they run beneath the jammed chain. She looks up at me, smiling, and gives a thumbs-up — a gesture I won’t forget.
From on board, I easily take a turn with the yellow line on the bow cleat and rush back to the cockpit, grab the brand-new wired remote: the anchor drops immediately, responding perfectly. With a serrated bread knife, I cut the tensioned yellow line with the other boat’s chain hanging from it. Within moments I’m free to resume my course, leaving British humor a little less sharp than expected.
Had this happened in an isolated bay, with no help, strong headwind and rocks just a few dozen meters astern, without that wiring the outcome could have been disastrous. The wired remote turned a potentially serious incident into a story told lightly.
Logbook – Kalamos · October 16, 2025, 11:00 pm
Arriving in Kalamos with no moon, just before midnight, felt like stepping quietly into a place suspended in time. I already knew the harbour, but seeing it like this, wrapped in darkness and rain, carried a different feeling: familiar, yet at the same time mysterious.
I was coming from Porto Leone, three miles further south. A beautiful bay, but too deep for me to feel comfortable staying with thirty metres of water under the keel and the weather deteriorating. Better to weigh anchor, giving up a morning swim, than to spend a sleepless night between doubts and sudden gusts.
In Kalamos I found safe shelter. Alongside a 45-foot catamaran — huge, yet clumsy when compared to the clean lines of Selene — I secured my boat under pouring rain. A return to the past, with dear George, innkeeper and friend from my skippering days, reminding me that the sea is not only effort and trials, but also encounters and roots that never break.
Logbook – Vathi, Ithaca · October 17, 2025, 08:30
After the fine sail from Kalamos, which gave us moments to remember, here we are in the harbour of Vathi, sheltered in the legendary embrace of Homeric history. I’m in Ithaca — the real one: the land of Odysseus and the suitors, of Penelope and her weaving, of waiting. You could call it the island of patience which, in my case, has found its reward in a lifelong dream, now symbolised by the gentle name of Selene.
During the night the wind blew steadily until three in the morning. Every skipper in the harbour did their duty, reinforcing mooring lines. Selene woke up in the rain with two large fenders strapped to the transom: not elegant, but reassuring. Thankfully, they weren’t needed. Forty metres of chain and a 15 kg Delta kept the bow well oriented into gusts estimated around 30 knots. A careful choice of berth, along the left-hand quay when facing the sea from the village square, did the rest. Sleep delivered its reward.
Yesterday’s passage was exhilarating: under genoa, first on a broad beat, then reaching off Atokos, and finally on a broad reach into Vathi. A crossing that clearly showed what Selene is capable of. Moving, convincing, full of promise.
Now I’m ready to head back to Nidri. The three-day test ends with real satisfaction. In a few days I’ll return to Athens, to everyday life, with a clear programme of work and commitment to what I’ve promised Alexandra. Nine months remain until retirement, but with one certainty: I’ll have time to refine every detail and bring Selene to her best form, exactly as she deserves.
Morning finds me tired, yet clear-headed. After three days of sea trials, the body demands rest while the mind keeps moving. The return from Vathi to Nidri unfolds between rain showers and sudden breaks of light — a rhythm of fronts and openings, a reminder that the sea rarely offers uninterrupted calm. Selene moves steadily, as if she too sensed that this is not a simple return: it is the end of a cycle and the quiet beginning of another.
Off Skorpios, the sky opens. A faint but sharp rainbow stretches from one island to the next. In that short arc I see months of work, hours of restoration, nights of fatigue, and choices still to be made. It feels like the sea offering a signal: you can move forward now.
The idea of acquiring three First 21.1 boats is on hold. Good hulls, yes — but not suited to the kind of tourism that Lefkada attracts today, increasingly oriented toward comfort rather than pure sailing. I've realised that value does not lie in the number of boats, but in the quality of time spent on board. Selene, the First 34.5 restored piece by piece, is no longer just a boat: she has become a floating school, a place to pass on what the sea teaches best — respect, attention, and freedom.
I no longer sail alone. Beside me are Gianni — clarity, structure — and Khairi, pure energy and years of experience in marine tourism. Two different but complementary travel companions, perhaps the key to turning a personal journey into a shared project.
The aim is to train a new generation of local skippers — island kids who can turn the sea into both a calling and a profession. Teaching them to manoeuvre, read the wind, and stay on course — at sea and in life. This will be the true legacy of Lefkada First: not a school for tourists, but a workshop of skill and dignity.
The short videos filmed these days will be the first chapter of this renewal — fragments of a journey that does not end in Nidri, but starts again from there, with more hands on the helm and a clearer direction.
Selene in the yard during Valentina’s visit – moments after hoisting the mainsail.
From the Vlicho boatyard to the Eucalyptus pontoon – the moment when dreams take form.
First sea trial – a perfect route blessed by the wind.
Passing Episkopi with Mitika on the horizon – the Ionian at its most authentic.
The first mile heading south. Weather shifts, but the crew keeps its spirit high.
Windy night in Vathy, Ithaca. Gusts, mooring lines in tension, and the sea breathing all around.
Stopover in Ithaca. Rain and wind, yet a harbour that feels like home.
Return to Lefkada. Sailing through rain and light, with a rainbow over Skorpios.
Eight authentic videos from Selene’s sea trials after the restoration: mechanical checks, sail testing, manoeuvres, passages under wind and rain, sunsets over the Lefkada channel, and a stop in Vathy (Ithaca). Finally, the return to Lefkada — a narrative that blends seamanship and poetry.
These eight short visual logs tell the story of the birth of the Selene Sailing School: real moments of sea, learning and freedom.
Fair winds and good viewing.
Some boats are born with a destiny written into their name. The First 345, designed by Jean Berret in 1984 for Beneteau, is one of them: a project that blends French sailing elegance with the solidity of Europe’s classic boatbuilding tradition.
Selene is the three–cabin charter version, created to offer balance, space and reliability. A solid yet lively hull in full fiberglass with a sandwich deck, conceived for training and cruising alike. With a cruising speed around seven knots, she reminds you that respecting the wind is enough.
Upwind she holds a natural balance; at the helm she responds with precision and grace. The 64 m² sail plan moves her five tons effortlessly, while the wide cockpit invites shared maneuvering. Inside, warm woods and harmonious volumes evoke the timeless spirit of traditional sailing.
“Not every boat needs to be new to teach. Some, like the First 345, keep doing it simply by sailing.”
A project that blends speed and familiarity: graceful on the water, warm below deck.
At sea, man becomes simple again.
The water absorbs the weight, the wind carries away what burdens the mind.
Nights at anchor, the gentle sound of mooring lines,
the changing light on the bow —
these are the things that quietly restore the soul.
Under sail, you immediately understand what matters and what you can let go.
Water does not teach.
It reveals.
That is why we follow slow routes,
knowing that each morning, before a new island,
a different version of ourselves may be born.
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