The wind was blowing from the south east in morning, lining up a perfect downwind run to Korcula, twenty kilometres away. I walked through the forest up to a bunker on top of the island for a view of the conditions. It sure was blowy, but nothing crazy, and the waves looked big, but manageable. The only issue was the visibility was poor, I couldn’t see the island 20kms away, and you never really know what it’s going to be like at sea until you’re out there.

Now I felt conflicted. One voice in my head didn’t want to do this crossing, but another said ‘What could go wrong?’ and told me I’d be a failure if I didn’t do it. I was angry yesterday because I didn’t even want to come across to Mljet and have to do these crossings, but I felt pressured by that voice. It made me angry that I’d bowed to the pressure. I paddled to the Western tip of the island because I knew from the forecast an epic downwind would line up, but I was anxious because part of me didn’t want to do it, and I knew the next day I’d have this inner battle.

If you never challenge your fears and get out of your comfort zone, you’ll never grow, never get the feeling of achievement of doing so. But where do you draw the line? If you keep pushing the limits, you will eventually find the edge.

If the fear comes from dangers that exist in your mind alone, then it must be good to challenge them. Yes big waves are intimidating forces of nature, but I’m in a surfski and the wind is onshore- if I fall off I can just get back on.

In the end I decided to stay put on Mljet, but I grappled with this inner conflict, and I did feel like I’d failed for not confronting my fears. But in a way I want to get used to that, because otherwise I’m just a slave to my ego. Plus I think the dangers were real, not just in my head.

Instead I sat in my tent thinking about life. If you are searching for some clarity, I can highly recommend sitting in a bunker while stuck on an island in the middle of a storm.

Next to my bunker a narrow path had been carved through the rock leading to a mysterious tunnel. I went inside and followed it for about fifty metres, passing one empty domed room, until I reached some steps going down.

Dead ahead was a ladder going up to a steel door, and the tunnel branched left and right, so long my head torch couldn’t reach the far ends. Let’s not get lost down here I thought. Coming off the tunnel were many similar rooms, clear apart from coils of barbed wire, wooden boxes, and empty barrels. I explored this network, deciding to overcome my fears this time – the savage who’d been living there for years, eating rats to stay alive, wasn’t following me, and probably did only exist in my mind alone.

That didn’t stop it feeling creepy, but it was surprisingly clean and dry down there. Just a few bats, rats and massive spiders that dropped from the ceiling when my torch light fell on them.

Leading up from the tunnel were five staircases, and at the top of each were artillery platforms looking over the sea. On one I had the surprise of coming face to face with a massive gun mounted on some tracks so it could be wheeled in and out of cover.

There was no information on this bunker, but from some research online, apparently the gun is a German FlaK-37, caliber 88 mm anti-aircraft gun, and I’m guessing the bunker was built in the Cold War.

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I left in the morning with a breeze coming from the West. I’d built up this crossing so much in my mind now that I decided to paddle to the nearest land 12kms away, even though this meant I’d be paddling an extra 10kms to get to my end destination.

Light winds were forecast, but after paddling for half an hour the sky to my right amassed a great black cloud. I paddled away frantically but it bore down on me and eventually I slowed to conserve energy, accepting that I’d be swallowed up, and I’d just have to deal with whatever came. That morning I’d been woken by booming thunder, and I was terrified this cloud would bring lightning with it. I braced as the front approached, a wall of mist, the surface of the sea whipped with white horses. Oh fuck, this could be bad I thought. I lined my compass bearing up as the torrential rain arrived, reducing my visibility to metres, and took a sip of my glucose before the first gust of wind hit me, and I tightened my grip around my paddles. I was now at the mercy of the sea.

The rain stang against my face and blew in a curtain over the sea as I was pushed south east, back down the channel I’d come from. I had no idea how long this wind would last but just kept paddling, trying not to drift too far.

Luckily the front passed, and I was left cursing at myself for paddling over to bloody Mljet. At the same time, as I now fought against a headwind, I beat myself up over why I didn’t do the downwind yesterday instead of wasting all this energy.

One thing I could agree on was no more island crossings. The weather forecast is too unreliable, the winds too unpredictable and strong, and the whole ordeal of these crossings far too stressful – I was left feeling completely drained.

After several hours of battling the wind through rain showers, I arrived in Korcula where I bought a slice of pizza from the bakery and ate it standing by the square, shivering miserably. It looked like a pretty medieval town, but I needed to get changed or keep moving to stay warm, and I chose the later because my numb mind lacked the cognitive power to think where I’d camp here.

The sun came out and I was paddling downwind, when something odd happened.

Behind me the sky was blue, and although ahead was a heavy black mass I thought ‘that’s ok, the wind is on my back, so that cloud must be moving away’. Yet I felt the air grow cooler and no, it was coming towards me! The waves died and suddenly I was paddling in to a headwind. I sprinted for the shore as biblical rain arrived, and was lucky to find a beach club shelter where I camped that night.

Never before have I seen two weather systems clashing like that – absolutely amazing! I realise most of this post is about the weather, but it’s playing quite a central role in my life at the moment.