Marina at Kinsale Harbour, County Corkdolphins came to say hello.
Cornish mizzle stole the Longships and
kept me in near-blindness as I sailed deep
into Penzance Bay. Shore lights merged
with flashing lights from a line of trawlers,
and the pinnacle of Michael’s Mount was
lit up like a fiery volcano. Best of all was
what was happening all around me.
Dolphins fed lazily on the fish fleeing the
trawlers, and neither the rain nor 39 hours
at sea could spoil the moment.
When I woke at 0545, frankly I wasn’t
sure if it was Christmas or Easter. Pippin
skinned the Lizard on the tide over bumpy
seas at 8.4 knots, not enough to keep
ahead of a well crewed French yacht, lee
rail kissing the briny.Wind in the 20s and quartering waves
made for an exhilarating afternoon sail.
Pippin stormed along, her sails straining.
Tiring, I reefed the main before another
squall brought Cornish rain, and ended in
Cawsand Bay, inside Plymouth’s wide
mouth. Here, I anchored in 10m of quiet
evening water and tucked into my
penultimate Fray Bentos pie (Steak & Ale).
Pippin and I were getting along just fine.
The next day I picked up a mooring high
up the Tamar, opposite the derelict
Crooked Spaniard’s Inn at Cargreen,
where there used to be a thriving industry
ferrying flowers to the foreigners on the far
bank. The Tamar divides the masters of the
Cornish pasty from their pretenders on the
eastern bank, and
was mentioned by
Ptolemy in his 2nd
Century Geography.
Its name is said to
mean ‘Great Water’.
Here I joined Pete
Goss and his first
mate, Tracey, for a
night of beer and
yarns. I’ll whisper it
here, but I like pasties
from whichever side
of the river they come.
Back in Cawsand
Bay, I weighed anchor
at 0100 and struggledin the darkness through moored yachts
out into the Channel. The passage plan
was simple and the Hydrovane held Pippin
on course 135 ̊ for St Peter Port, across a
horrid beam sea. The pre-dawn air was so
cold I donned thermals, gloves and hat –
in August! A huge sunfish waved its
flippers and two dolphins came to check
us out; the Channel was busy and trawlers
seemed drawn to me. Eventually Les
Hanois Lighthouse emerged right where it
should after 80 nautical miles. Pippin was
going like a train, though I motored the last
few windless miles, and anchored in
Fermain Bay on the east coast of
Guernsey to await the tide.
Across the sea, a weather front loomed
ominously over Jersey, from whence most
things of an unpleasant nature come (I’m a
Guernseyman). Close by a terrier barked
excitedly in a small boat as his fisherman
master hooked a biggie. All around, the
familiar gull chorus sang of home and my
French neighbours waved as they rowed
ashore from their British yacht.
You don’t go to sea and not learn. Of
course, a long trip in an unfamiliar boat,
particularly an older one, invited difficulty.
But I came home knowing much more
about Pippin’s strengths and weaknesses,
and with genuine pride in her prowess as
a sailing boat. As an added bonus, I felt I
was a better sailor with a Hydrovane; you
have to listen carefully to what the boat
and wind are telling you.
I’d resisted the siren calls off Land’s End,
given up, turned around, suffered
breakages but Pippin and I are a team
now, and at ease with each other. I think
we’ll journey well.‘Haggis and potatoes soon simmered on
the stove, in the steamy wheelhouse’
LEFT Aerial view of
Cawsand Bay near
Plymouth
RIGHT Tranquil
harbour at Kinsale
BELOW Rounding
Kinsale HeadGUERNSEY TO FASTNET ROCK
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