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.