How to go on a sailing cruise on Lake Maggiore

It often happens to tell of adventures, regattas and crossings bordering on the verisimilar, “salty” experiences, so to speak.
Fewer, however, happen to talk about lakes.
Yet sailing is certainly no stranger to the lake tradition, and we are not just talking about dinghies.
Just think of the Centomiglia del Garda, rather than the many sailors who, of the lake, any lake, make their ocean sea.
We are reminded of this by one of our readers, offering us no small opportunity, to be told about the lake by those who, after all, know the lake.
Here, then, is a glimpse of the lake to remind us that, in the end, all we need is wind and water, and little more.

How to sail on Lake Maggiore

First, though, a bit of context: we are on Lake Maggiore(Verbano, or Lagh Magior, in dialect), Italy’s second largest lake by surface area, divided between Piedmont, Lombardy and Switzerland.
Basically, a navigable area of over 200 km², mainly narrow and long, averaging 3.9 km wide by over 60 km .
Our brief history will take us up it, starting from the southern shore, in Lombardy.

Cruise on Lake Maggiore

Her desire to see them arose when I was telling her how the Mazzarditi regatta, done with friends, had gone.
She was not particularly interested as I told her about gybes executed with jibs under a huge gennaker, or the exhilarating sprint finish at night, or even the 8:00 a.m. pre-start Gin Tonic to get us pumped up.
However, when I told her about the impressive sailing passage between the rocks of the Castelli di Cannero, I bewitched her: my wife Alice made me realize, as only women can, that I should take her there as soon as possible.
But let’s proceed in order; we haven’t introduced ourselves yet.
We are Francesco and Alice, two young people who love nature and being carefree.
We are sailors.
I have been trying to be one since I was a child, while she was infected a decade ago.
We are freshwater sailors, sailing on a splendid example of a Nicholson 33, restored in every part by my father Fabrizio.
He who in his time infected me with this wonderful “disease” called Sailing. Heart and Soul, this is the name of the boat (Fabrizio is the third owner, but fortunately the name has always been kept) accompanies us on splendid sailings.
She is fantastic, fast, solid, physical.
A boat from another era.
I won’t go any further in singing its praises, also because Alice is anxiously waiting at the dock: Cannero and its castles are waiting for us! The boat was prepared in the days leading up to departure just as you “sailors of the sea” also do: we load water, diesel fuel, restock the galley and check the equipment.
We depart from Lisanza, a hamlet of Sesto Calende the last town south on the eastern shore of Lake Maggiore.
We turn our bows to the north and begin our long upwind journey up the basin, here very narrow and shallow.
We manage to put in our stern Arona, Angera and its Rocca Borromea overlooking lower Verbano.
Doubling Ranco, the lake opens up quite a bit, becoming majestic.
In the distance looms the rock towering above the Hermitage of Santa Caterina.
We try to sail to it, to this simply magical corner of the lake.
The monastery is already evocative by visiting it from land, but being able to admire it from the boat has something extra.
We see tourists taking pictures of us from the loggia, nice to know that we will remain in their memories.
Noon approaches and with it comes hunger and the end of the wind.
If in the morning normally blows from the north the Tramontana, often brisk, in the afternoon from the opposite quadrant comes the Inverna, gentler and milder.
On hot days like those of summer it can take hours for this to happen.
So we take advantage of this for a refreshing dip and a bite to eat as we motor on toward the destination of our first stop: Feriolo, at the end of the gulf of the Borromean Islands.
A small harbor well set back, with a small village behind it that offers several small restaurants to take refuge in for dinner.
Here there is a guarantee of a quiet night, without waves and protected from the winds.
A real cakewalk.
Before sleeping we always do a weather check and with our eyes look for a match with what we see over the mountains. As expected we had a very sweet night, ninned by the gentle movement of the boat.
Early in the morning I take a dip in the clear water to wake up, breakfast and then we set sail.
We go out on the slack with a light breeze, which just beyond Pallanza, becomes a brisk north wind.
No problem, a hand to the mainsail, we roll the genoa a bit and head upwind to sail up the lake.
Here we pass Laveno, which is mirrored with Intra on the Piedmont shore.
The two towns are linked by numerous daily ferries.
Their route is a kind of “equator” between the lower and upper Lake.
The latter windier, greener more austere with the high mountains towering above it.
We skim off Caldè, called the Portofino of the lake.
It deserves a visit, but we have quite different plans: we want to, indeed must, go to Cannero.
We have wanted to do this for years, but various unforeseen events and commitments have always gotten in the way.
As the day goes on, the wind drops, so today too we are forced to arrive by motor.
Not too bad.
We finally moor in Cannero harbor and make friends with our boat neighbors.
We go to the beach and plan the next day, also booking the restaurant and related buoy for the following evening.
We see the castles in the distance and dream in anticipation of tomorrow’s sailing and the picturesque passage between the rocks.
After dinner we take a walk through the downtown streets and begin to feel fresh wind coming down from the mountains.
Nothing much we think-we go to sleep.
A couple of hours pass, and that wind that was pleasant just now has turned nasty.
It has messed up the lake, the sky and especially our plans.
The lake has turned nasty, the water is sprayed by 40-knot gusts.
The boat needs care to stay safe at the dock.
I add fenders, reinforce the moorings.
I am restless.
I scan the black sky.
Lightning flashes everywhere, but not above us.
I push her away from the dock under the fiercest gusts.
We tilt.
That damn wind blows right across.
Hours pass and morning comes: the wind finally drops in intensity.