Recession - what recession?

Today I went for a swim in defiance of the severe rain warnings issued by the MET office. It was indeed bracing and a little choppy on account of the strong wind.  Hurray for character building English summers, I thought, and then felt glad that I was swimming back to a house (with shower and hot water) and not Impulse (without either of the aforementioned comforts).

The swim started well as I was moving with the tide upriver and I was still able to feel my limbs. Reaching a point where I thought it best to turn around lest my heart stop, I turned around and was promptly slopped in the face by a fat grey wave. Once my eyes had recovered from this salt fest, I saw a strange sight on the horizon. I am perhaps a low tech girl in a high tech age but I do still think of Dartmouth, even with its abundance of 1 million+ houses for sale and despite the fact that I had opened the door to a red ferrari passing that very morning, as a quaint little fishing village. So I was taken aback, not only by the mouthful of saltwater, but by the sight of a huge super motor yacht thingy entering the mouth of the river Dart. Not only that but it appeared to be heading right for me and although my rational self knew that it wouldn't possibly run me over because the water under me was far too shallow for it's huge draft, I started to swim quite rapidly shoreward just in case. Once safely perched on a rock, I watched this great hulk float by. Not only did it have a helicopter on the aft deck but at midships it had a full blown 007 speed boat twice the size of a tank and a sailing yacht bigger than Impulse. I contemplated waving but decided against it as they might think I was in trouble and feel obliged to skip drinkies and deploy the Bond mobile to rescue me. So I watched this super craft pass and wondered whether its owner had any inkling there was a recession on. Disgraceful behaviour, whatever happened to "we are all in this together"?

Addendum: I have since found a photo of the aforementioned beast as well as some astounding facts. For example, Le Grand Bleu is one of the largest motor yachts in the world at a length of 370 feet (114 metres). It's tenders include Sirius A, a 67 foot Sunseeker, and Bellatrix, a 74 foot sailing yacht - go figure!

(the lovely) Gorren Haven to (the muddy) Millbrook

The sail back from Penzance started rather hectic with a 6-7 and lumpy overfalls. We stood off the Lizard under these subsided which coincided with the wind dropping, the sun coming out and us bearing away to take the waves on the stern which made for a lovely evening sail.

We stopped in Gorren Haven at last light. The next day we collected mussels and whelks on the beach and ate bacon butties at the Palm Tree Cafe before sailing back to Millbrook where we cooked moules marinieres with our good friend Alexander Galliard.

In Millbrook we repaired and replaced a few things (trampoline, sailbag, split in the underside of the pod, engine impeller) and committed ourselves to having a new mainsail made by Ullman sails (ouch).

Impulse at the mouth of the river Dart

Running ahead by truck, I waited in Kingswear for Casper and fellow cruisers Mark and Sally to arrive on Impulse. Just missed their high spring tide acrobatics getting onto the yachtclub trots with Casper and Sally holding onto Mark's ankles as he performed a handstand on the mooring buoy.

Lafrowda Day, St Just, Cornwall

We left a very wet Scillies after multiple games of Canasta and a good British show of moaning about the skin puckering weather as well as the lack of wind. Anyhow, the latter situation improved gradually and by the time we arrived in St Mount's Bay we had something else to moan about namely that there was too much wind. We piled into the wet dock at Penzance just as a messy 8 was setting in and rafted 4 boats out from the tall harbor walls.

St Michael's Mount, Mount's Bay

We spent the next fun packed 48 hrs with St Just friends Anne Marie and Martin and little Alina, going to the annual Lafrowda festival which filled me with a warm 'wow the community thing still does happen' fuzzy glow (Casper's same glow fuelled by Tribute and pasty - see below).

Isles of Scilly

Arriving in the Scillies was like arriving in paradise - I know it's a massive cliche but this is how it felt as we coasted in on the early morning high tide with the sun shining, the sand beaming white and the water glistening turquoise with belts of emerald. I've never been to the Caribbean but this is how I imagine it (though clearly a bit warmer).

Despite the reputation the Scillies have for difficult anchoring, we immediately found a place to anchor and were feeling rather pleased with ourselves only to realise, whilst eating breakfast, that we were nearly aground. We walked around the boat pretending we meant it and when we thought no one was watching we gingerly motored off to a better place blaming the error on the failure of the depth sounder to work amidst all the weed rather than our inability to work out tidal falls. On reading the pilot we noted that the fall is indeed huge in the Scillies and that the Spring tides we were at meant a 6 metre fall. We had a great time in the Scillies despite the almighty winds, as the following diary entries testify:

Wednesday 15th July
It blew hard to 37 knots last night and we were beam on to a grating little swell. The French boat next to us dragged anchor out to the rocks in the middle of the sound (thankfully not towards us) so, in between downpours, we threw in a second anchor (7kg Bruce). Slept not brilliantly but woke up to flat water and a warm sunny day. Plenty of boats leaving to make the most of the still stiff but not bone whipping breeze. This gives me the ‘we should be off’ itch but there is no point arriving in Penzance early as it’s expensive in the harbour there.

Impulse on Old Grimsby Beach, Tresco

Thursday 16th July
Yesterday we landed Impulse on Old Grimsby beach – third time lucky! The barometer flew up overnight and gave us a tranquil blue sky and calm water by morning. However, despite the perfect conditions and countless landing reckies over the last week, we still managed to beach Impulse on a less than perfect spot which not only saw us listing ungainly but, more importantly, that never quite dried thereby defeating the object of the beaching exercise entirely! This led initially to much cursing and was followed by much more cursing as work on the wind vane commenced and a socket end fell into the slushy sand only to be immediately sucked dreckly into the bowels of the beach. The evening was beautifully warm and quiet and tinged with pink the colour of summer sweet pea. I swam and Casper tended cooked sausages on the barbeque and we felt like this summer would last forever.
Now, however, it’s raining and not just a shower but the kind of fat rain that you can catch and collect to make water, so we are.

Galway to the Scillies

Three Sisters from the South

After being rained in for an entire 'pyjama day' in Galway, we were keen to leave on the fresh North Westerly. Once clear of the Aran islands (with their strange little walled fields and occasional donkey) we found ourselves out in an increasingly rough sea, aware for the first time that there was absolutely nothing between us and North America heading down this beautifully wild coast. The white crests were increasing in frequency and the waves becoming more and more confused, crashing into one another from different directions thumping Impulse under the bridge deck so violently that it made the chart table jump skywards. It was only a matter of time before I was wretching into a bucket and clutching a packet of water biscuits, leaving Casper to deal with things on deck. Seven hours later and we were seeking shelter in Smerwick harbour, the mouth of which was white with breaking water. By now fully reefed and losing ground to the wind and waves, we surfed in down large rollers towards the promise of a quiet anchorage. This took some time to find but eventually, to the South West of the bay, we dropped anchor, relieved, under the watch of the Three Sisters.

Looking out to America from the Third Sister

The next day we walked the length of the beach and up the third of the Three Sisters to check out the sea state beyond, which unsurprisingly looked calmer than the day before. We left that evening and sailed through the night with following seas and a Westerly wind, two reefs set in the main,  our destination Old Grimsby Sound in the Scillies.

Shakedown: Kingswear to Galway

The winds have been very kind to us - we left Kingswear on an easterly and had a nice little sail under screecher and main until the fog set in later in the day and the wind inevitably vanished. We motored into our favorite Hope Cove, catching two mackeral in the way. Fisherman Chris appeared out of the mercurial overfalls, rather we saw the silhouette of a huge sombrero with a man sheltering under it and guessed it was Chris. Taking up his invitation to supper we happily rowed ashore to the Watch House to eat mackeral and spider crabs (which I myself plunged, alive, into the boiling water, eek). Much taking the piss and merry talk of nets and lures.


Followed, a sweet sail on a flat sea (wind from behind) then a very fast approach to the fortress-like Porthleven to meet mother and friend. There was some confusion on entering Porthleven as the pilot indicates to go right into the harbour however the mouth is very narrow and the harbour walls tall and devoid of anything discernible to the human eye to tie on to. We settled for a mooring buoy (someone else's naturally) West of the pier and rowed in for food and the Harbour Inn.

Crookhaven

Next day on around Land's end with one then two reefs in the main. The sea was lumpy and confused even though the tides were moving with us.
The passage across the Celtic sea was uneventful (which is a good thing). The weather and water kicked up as we approached the Irish coast, passing between Fastnet Rock (to port) and Cape Clear. The seas and wind were both following as we sceamed on North Westward with a doubly reefed main and headsail. We tucked right in behind a long finger of land at the South Western most end of Ireland, which protects the village of Crookhaven from the vicious bursts of wind and water blowing in from the Atlantic. Once anchored up East of the bay, we ventured ashore to satisfy the hunger and thirst that come from passage making (with fish chowder and a Murphy's, naturally, and not that 'foreign muck' from the East side). Grand, grand.
We spent the next week(ish - I lose track) making it up the Western Coast towards Galway. This part of the coast is utterly astoundingly flabaghastingly beautiful in a rugged, sparse, majestic, dramatic and green sort of way. The most notable stopovers included Adrigole, a very sweet and quiet little anchorage with cows grazing down by the edge of the water and rolling hills envelopping the whole.

Groovin up Bantry Bay, 11kn and hoonin!

This was on the Northern side of Bantry Bay which we stormed up and down in a few hours of blissful sailing in conditions that Impulse was made for: pancake flat seas and a stiff wind ahead. We also enjoyed Derrynane, with its difficult approach but sweet beach and elfin woods. Impulse tugged at her chain here as the Easterly blew a 7 and we collected water in the bimini overnight it poured so. The best anchorage was undoubtedly landward of Inishvickilane, one of the isolated Blasket Islands.

The majestic Skelligs

Reputedly the home of the fairies, it certainly emanates a magical quality. We arrived in last light, the island towering above us. Atop this black mountain, a herd of deer gathered, only their sihouettes discernable to watch our approach. We awoke the next morning to an otherworldly place where we were uninvited guests, strangers in a mercurial world that is home to creatures living on both land and in water. Puffins pleased us immensely with their clown-like faces, wide eyes, waggling bottoms and swift exits seaward. Dolphins made me laugh and shriek like a fool, approaching quickly in bounces to then show off in the bow waves riding white tummy to white tummy, spinning under one another, chancing at biting a friend's tailfin. The whales kept a respectable distance, moving carefully through the thick silver water, measured and steady as a clock.

Galway we approached with ease, mooring outside the dock and waiting for the gate to open. We hazarded upon a goldmine of a restaurant (Ard Bia) beneath the Spanish Arch happily eating and drinking amidst a crusty, arty decor of original carved wood panels, elegant French floor tiles and the occasional art deco piece (enter red vinyl sofa). Each candle stick was overcome with years on years of dripping red wax. Every shelf was heavy with dusty bottles of wine, jostling for the picking. Just beyond the squatt and red rimmed doorway, the hard arsed Galway vibe slipped a little further away with each sip of full bodied Corbieres, with each taste of carefully balanced flavours, tarragon, citrus, fennel, the notes of summer - elsewhere.
This is not to say that we did not like Galway - far from it. The city has stacks of gritty charm. At night time the carfree streets are alive with music: saxophone, (angry) samba, electric guitar space jam and so on. I've seen this elsewhere but not with so much grit, so much attitude. The Galway regulars are easily set apart from the tons of tourists here as they dress with determined indifference to any one trend. Each one is an orb of individuality and this is underlined by their appearance.

Then on to Aoife & Kevin's wedding. We managed to blag a shower at a local hotel beforehand (Galway harbour welcoming yachts but bizarrely not offering any shower facilities) which I'm sure fellow guests were thankful of. Undoubtedly, Casper and I managed the most unorthodox wedding attire - Marie, a friend from school, put it succinctly on laying eyes on Casper's black jacket, jeans and Keen's and my migraine-inducing maxi dress: "oui, c'est original". Anyway, scruffy or not, we had a blast and were enthused by the generosity of spirit that Kevin and Aoife's family offered us.