Updates! We need updates…………!!

OK this may be a difficult one to write ‘cos, as several people have written to say, it’s been a long time since the last update. Much has happened and we’ll try to remember the bits that are interesting.
Most of the journey up to Belfast, Maine was stop-start as the promised wind either failed to arrive or blew far harder than was forecast. However we left you in Georgetown, S. Carolina where we stayed for a few days. The town is, I think, where the American Civil War started so Confederate monuments abound and the main street leading from the harbour has some lovely old houses.
Listening to the tour boats go by as we lay at anchor it seems obvious that many residents still think the war is being fought as references were regularly made about “….them damn Yankees…” but otherwise it was almost like being on a film set as mom and pop would drive up to the baseball pitch and unload junior who would saunter into the field and play some junior league game. We also met a couple who had been building a two masted, steel schooner for the last 20 years and it was still unfinished. At 67 he realised it was now too big for him to handle and he was getting to old and frail to handle her anyway. Each of the four boats he had built had been designed by an architect and none of them looked like the drawings provided. The schooner was no exception as it now had 3 masts, needed an additional 6,000lbs of ballast and he had raised the booms to ensure that any passengers would have clear headroom below them. Unfortunately the booms were now some 9’ (almost 3m) above the deck and there was no way to reach them to reef. Wandering the boat with him was quite sad really as it became obvious that many of the ideas hadn’t been thought out and the boat wasn’t very seaworthy. Make a nice floating home though……..

We left Georgetown and anchored outside before heading out to sea to clear Frying Pan Shoals. We’d met up with an American boat heading our way who thought the forecast we’d heard was for 20 miles offshore rather than inshore so the forecasted 35 knots of wind was not something to concern our selves with……………..
Nevertheless we decided that rather than head onto Cape May, several hundred miles north, we’d turn for Wrightsville and then a few hours later changed our minds again and headed for Beaufort. The reasons are varied but the former is surrounded by shallows and probably not an entrance to approach in a blow whilst the latter promised an “all weather entrance” We carried on. The wind and waves increased and about 20 miles from Beaufort we raced through a US Navy flotilla, apparently sitting at station but going no where. The radio crackled. A USN ship was calling us as, deeply reefed, we were thundering through the seas. “Were we ok as we appeared to be disappearing beneath the waves”? We assured them we were fine and everything was normal but thanked them for their concern. “Was there anything they could for us…….” Well, if they weren’t doing anything it would be nice if they could shadow us to ease the seas……………” We missed the first part of the reply as the loudspeaker erupted in laughter before, eventually; a voice said that unfortunately they couldn’t do that. Ah well.
We headed on for Beaufort, working out that we would get there with a few minutes of favourable tide to help us through the entrance. By now it is dark and the winds and seas are building from the beam. The entrance, narrower and longer than we realise is difficult to spot in the breaking seas. We pick up a pair of channel buoys and drop the jib leaving Hannah to roar on under double-reefed main and stays’l. We start the engine in case we need it and approach the channel. Through the first set of buoys but struggle to see the next mark. “Got it” as Bee sees the all important port marker. We crash on. And then glancing over my shoulder, Bee sees the black cloud to end all black clouds - from sea level to who knows how many hundred feet high- approaching very quickly and with enormous power. The squall hits us, lays us over and we lose the precious windward ground we had struggled to gain. Luckily the engine is running as its power allows us to keep in the channel or close to it as shallows lay either side. At one point it seemed touch and go and I asked Bee to contact the Coast Guard and let them know where we were. A pointless exercise as they assumed we were through the channel or… well who knows what. As we approached the actual entrance the tide had turned against us and we struggled to get through the narrows with the tide running at 3+knots. Anchored off the coastguard station where we stayed for several days, including one where we had a huge thunderstorm and the CG spoke of “nickel sized” hailstones followed by a tornado…… It was an interesting few days as we watched this parade of boats heading in or out but always en route to a marina rather than an anchorage.
Wed 21 May. Time to move on and with a bit of a decent breeze as we needed to head south to clear a headland before turning north. We motored south, watching a helicopter guide a stranded, but now re-floated tourist boat, back into deep water before rounding Cape Lookout and heading onwards. The forecast came in on Navtex indicating that the wind was going to increase and slightly head us. The usual debate followed as we tried to decide what might be the best option. We decided to carry on but spent several days drifting as winds failed or headed us.

Portsmouth Olde Towne

 The weather turned cooler, our average speed began to fall and we conceded that we were not to make Maine in one hit after all. The Chesapeake Bay called and we headed toward it as the forecast started muttering about strong northerly winds. We reached the entrance to see a parade of ships in a line leaving the bay. Now we knew this was a busy area but eight leaving at once was more than we needed and the thought came to us of how busy was New York going to be… Half an hour later as no bearings had altered between us and the ships we realised that we were looking at an anchorage and we relaxed. It’s a long way from the entrance to Norfolk and we finally got to an anchorage about 8pm on Sat 24 May, 249 miles from our last anchorage. Reminded us of anchoring off the container docks in Southampton. The following day we motored a little way down river to anchor between the towns of Norfolk and Portsmouth and discovered a small community of, mainly, ICW transitees. But amongst them lay the 114’ Baltic Trader “The Ring Anderson”.

Baltic Trader "Ring Anderson"

Baltic Traders have long been my favourite small ship and to see one so close and far from home spurred me to exchange greetings as we motored past on our way to the fuel dock. We fuelled up, filled our water tanks and bought ice. As we squeezed the last few litres into our water cans we were approached by a smartly dressed couple and the guy began quizzing us on our rigging. Who had served it, when was it last tarred, was it done with the mast up or down? We should have realised that the questions were not idle interest  but that he was sizing us up for the job of doing the same on his boat. He had a few slips around the corner, could arrange a shower and were we interested in doing when we had time. So we said we’d look at it in a few days, got the directions and headed back out to the anchorage where I wasted no time in rowing across to “the Ring” and blagging my way aboard. The boat had been bought by an American/Thai couple with 3 kids who hoped to sail her to Thailand. With little experience they were struggling to make sense of all the lines and tentatively asked whether I could help. Is the Pope a catholic……………? and so began a very satisfying, tiring and at times frustrating period as we gave them help, sorting out lines, dragging out sails and setting them. It would have been easier on a gaff rigged boat but the boat had been converted to a Bermudian rig in the eighties and had all the attendant gear of a flash charter boat. Much of it was no longer working or even completely there but we found boxes of blocks, ropes and wire and with little to go on except out of date drawings and very small photos we got most of the stuff done. The boat attracted a lot of attention and we tried to recruit other sailors into giving us a hand, mostly failing until we had got to a point where we could possibly take her out sailing and then suddenly we had a full crew and away we went! All in all it took a couple of weeks of hard work to get the boat to the sailing point and it was a great feeling as we headed up river and slowly got some of the sails up. As if this hadn’t been enough we’d also been round the corner doing the rigging on a small square-rigger at a great little yard.

Initially we’d been asked to tar the rigging (teak decks!! Lordy lord) but it obviously needed serving before we got to that state so that’s where we began. The following day it rained and I lay in bed thankful that the rain meant I didn’t have to work as 1 day every so often is better than 2 days on the trot. A bang on the hull followed by a cheerful shout indicated that Cary, our temporary employer, thought otherwise and away we went to try and get the job done.

Redbird and Hannah

 It took 3 or 4 days and then we were offered more jobs and it looked like things could be getting out of hand so we made our excuses and left for the anchorage and the Ring. But having got all that sorted, rescued a boat that had dragged through the anchorage and stopped a few feet from us, watched a parade of sail and chatted with various passing boats we bade our farewells to Richard and Pin off the Ring and headed out. I forgot to mention that they were very keen on us taking the boat to Thailand with them as we had been the only sailors who had offered any support. Well support is one thing but, even though we had looked at the raised main and mizzen and thought “They’re not so big…” we’re not exactly over-qualified when it comes to running a small ship so my reply had always been an emphatic “NO” Finally on Sunday June 8th we headed out of the Chesapeake and began the journey north. We’d decided months previously that my 60th birthday would be spent amongst the folks of Belfast but even with superb winds there was now no chance of that happening. It was spent dodging fishing boats, drifting or motoring our way out of trouble. Daily mileages dropped to 48 and our average continued to drift downwards as winds failed to arrive. But in the midst of all this we experienced something that will remain one of the high spots of this cruising life. We’re way off shore, perhaps 100 miles or so off the coast and it’s a flat calm. Not a ripple, no swell or movement and we’re sat in Hannah looking with amazement at the stars clearly reflected in the sea. The sky itself was stunning but to see the Milky Way duplicated in this way was just magic and took our minds off the slow drift north. By the 15th our patience was wearing a little but at least we were closing on the Cape Cod Canal and rather than plug on against the ebbing current we turned and headed across it to what they call a Harbour of Refuge. In this case it was Port Judith and it’s nothing more than a semi-circular breakwater giving protection to a river entrance but it suited us down to the ground, allowing us to anchor in safety off the towns of Jerusalem and Galilee! This is the area of Rhode Island and as we set off the following morning many more boats were to be seen. We’d met Dennis in Grenada and he’d invited us to drop in and see him at his home in Martha’s Vineyard and though tempted we thought we’d do the visiting on the way back. Onwards we plugged into the canal and watched our speed pick up to 8 knots as the current took control and powered us northwards. It reminded us of an earlier time when we were heading up the coast. Our speed was a moderate 4 knots but noticing a group of sports fishing boats congregating some 400 metres to the sea-ward side of us we headed toward them. The reason being that the Gulf Stream, being warmer than the waters either side causes a massive up-swelling and fish gather to feed. On the surface long brown streams of weed can be seen marking the demarcation between Gulf and non Gulf. From our viewpoint it meant a sudden increase of speed to 7 knots as the all powerful stream took control. It is an amazingly powerful force but meanders about so unless you have access to the website and the knowledge of where it is on any given time it can sometimes be yards or hundreds of yards from where you last crossed it. Of course when the wind shifts to the north it is a place to avoid as huge seas are thrown up very rapidly. So into the canal and we emerge the other end to a darkening sky and a huge electrical storm and no wind. We drift around, get wet and then the worst of all conditions as a swell comes in from the SE and with no wind to steady us we roll around, gear chafing and legs going everyway as we stagger around. Finally my patience goes and we motor. And motor. And…well then we did get some wind – more than we needed and rushed around getting the genny and tops’l down before it hit us. But we’d misread the sky and it didn’t arrive so we sailed slowly on. Sometime in the night we switched back to motor and then out of the fog that had arrived we spotted a single white light! Something at anchor in 600’ of water? It wasn’t very probable but we slowed and moved closer. The fishing boat was still, silent, drifting and we assumed asleep but left a single light on to warn other vessels. We mused on this as we motored slowly through the night before following suit. Motoring, for us, is a chore as it requires one of us to be at the helm the whole time. In the early days we had a tiller pilot – an electronic bit of kit that steered the boat to a given course – but we were never very successful at getting it to work properly and sold it. So motoring means we go onto a 30 minutes on/30 minute off shift which sounds more desperate than it actually is. We don’t go particularly fast, about 3 knots but at least we’re moving. Once we get any touch of wind we shut down and let the sails take over and before long we’re in sight of Monhegan, Matinic and Matinicus Islands – the start of Maine as far as we’re concerned. We slid between Monhegan and Matinic, skirting the shallows and the lobster buoys,

opted not to head into and through Muscle Ridge, a narrow, rock and lobster pot strewn channel but plodded slowly on up Penobscot Bay. Bit of a domestic as we passed Rockland as I was all for stopping whilst Bee felt we should carry on. We carried on and eventually crept into Belfast Harbour at 4am in the fog. Managed to find an empty mooring buoy and tied up next to John and Mary’s boat, close friends from our last visit. We slept but were up early to make our way ashore and meet dozens of friends – most of whom looked younger but all pleased to see us as we were them. Alex T was in good form and assured us we could haul out next week. Just two weeks this time we told him. He looked but said nothing. The two weeks last time turned into 7 as we did more and more but this time we were only painting the bottom and the deck so two was more than enough……….. Onto the library, same old faces at the terminals and us still with an in-date library card. Met up with Kathy the Harbourmaster and gratefully accepted the offer of a mooring closer to the harbour. Back to the boat and moved in, then back ashore to find that Phil, another friend, was hauling his boat for a few days so we could use his pontoon berth until we too hauled!! From the farthest reaches of the harbour to alongside in 2 moves and 10 hours was just wonderful.
Well it’s now 4 weeks to the day since we hauled and we’re still on the hard. The weather has been brilliant if a little humid and we’d found an importer of the Jotun paint we used who could ship on the 7th July. In the meantime we scraped and sanded the bottom, ditto the deck and repainted the deck with a 2 pack primer, ready for the final coat and awaited the arrival of the paint. The date came and went and we eventually called to be told the shipping date was now, possibly the 18th……we cancelled and decided to use locally available paints. Bottom coating proved no problem but we hummed and ha’hed about the deck before opting for a Monourathane from Epifanes. I won’t bore you with technical details other than to say single pack onto two pack is ok but two onto single doesn’t work as the solvents in the two pack dissolve the “weaker” paints. So opting for a single pack meant we needed either to continue the trend or spend a long term removing all the single coat paint. Despite keying and preparing the surface well the new paint refused to cure and phone calls to Epifanes Technical people produced bored responses. 48 hours after we applied the paint the technical reason was “…it takes about 5 days….” When it still hadn’t cured after 8 days their response was the curing time needed 28 days and we gave up. A request for a small replacement tin was met with a blank refusal which was subsequently amended to a tin at ½ price. By the time it arrived we had had enough and spent two days scraping as much off as possible. A job that on one afternoon saw 9 people on the deck armed with scrapers and sanders, followed by a further day of orbital sanding to ensure we’d be able to get two pack to stick. A phone call to Jotun USA established that the paint we required was available from a plant in Texas for US$200….shipping would cost a further $150-200 and would arrive “sometime next week…” To over-night the product would be around $800 but we’d to organise that ourselves! We gave up, bought Pettit paint (a single pack) and got it on. Now all we need to do is sand back the anti-foul we applied -it’s time sensitive and we needed to splash within 7 days of applying – and get back in the water.
Pete and Lucia are still missing, idling about in the Chesapeake but claim they’ll be up here sometime soon whilst another English couple – Robin and Jackie are happily keeping us company as they labour on their Wylo on the other side of the local theatre and with luck we’ll all be heading for Nova Scotia after a wander around the delights of Maine.
Despite my determination not to do the Thai trip we left Norfolk with one topic of conversation. By the time we got to Maine I’d heard every facet of Bee’s argument for going and had almost accepted we’d be doing it. Needless to say many of the Mainers reacted with enthusiasm to the trip and we soon had more than enough to crew the boat. Things took a bit of a bizarre turning when we subsequently found out the boat was up for auction on eBay and the owners weren’t responding to emails. We eventually found out that they’d returned to Iowa to earn more money and had felt themselves trapped by the enormity of the task. Things have gone further down hill as the Ring is alongside but taking on water. Whatever; they were a family who were prepared to have a go and may even yet pull it off but it all looks uphill at the moment.
It’s interesting listening to the responses of the people who pass by. Aside from the many “…Beautiful boat…” we get a lot of “…but such hard work maintaining her…” Well I can understand that seeing us putting in long hours on a daily basis it appears that way but as it’s only once every two years it doesn’t seem that big a deal to us. But one of the jobs we knew we needed to do was create some sort of launch/recovery system for the anchor. We had, since we left Southampton, had to haul all 33kg of steel up onto deck using the jib haly’d. OK when the sea was flat but once we began moving about it was a case of holding everything at arms length in a desperate attempt at stopping the flukes carve chunks out of legs.

Well finally we have sorted something and Greg welded the whole thing up yesterday and we should find it all a lot easier. The only area of concern will be the momentum the anchor creates as it launches itself from the roller – whether it’ll swing back and carve chunks out of the bow rather than falling vertically into the water. We’ll let you know
Once of the earliest topics of conversation on our arrival in Maine was the forthcoming election. Everyone we have spoken to expresses the hope that the Democrat Obama will win. No surprises there but what staggered us was the number of people who mentioned, in an almost casual way, “….provided he doesn’t get shot of course….”
We’ve heard from Pete and Lucia who are happily moored somewhere in New York and loving every minute of it. They even think that city-haters like us would enjoy ourselves so, having promised ourselves we would visit sometime, we’ll probably call in on the way back south.
We were chatting to some friends and the topic got around to waste; how much is generated, how much food is thrown away. Two of the friends told us the story of how they’d been driving south and made a short detour to check out the skip that was used by a well known chocolate manufacturer. The factory and skip are opposite the local police station and “dumpster diving” as its known here is illegal. A quick look in the skip revealed boxes of chocolate thrown away; the sell-by-date had expired about 9 months previously. They very hastily began hurling as many as possible into their 4x4 before speeding away. These bars of chocolate retail for $4 each and they had just reclaimed……………………… 1100 bars! The majority of which have now been recycled to many friends around the state; none of whom have succumbed to food poisoning – more likely suffering from eating too much too soon (if our experience is anything to go by..)

Lastly, we spent a great evening with Jonathan and Chris who fed us and let us wander the land they garden. The house has long been Bee’s all time favourite so here’s a collection of dreams – hers not mine as gardening looks very much like hard work to me…but we did see the perfect “shack” for us…12’ x 16’ and essentially a room to eat, read and relax in with a simple sleeping floor in the eaves it exuded peace and quiet. Wonderful

And this from more friends- a room “knocked up” in a few weeks or so by David. It overlooks a small lake on the farm…… For those with long memories it’s where we went snow-shoeing on our last visit

On the way out to see Jean and David we pass this small waterfall. It never fails to delight and the light and water can be stunning.




Lastly. We went out to see John and Mary’s new place yesterday. They’d sold the farm and bought an RV to escape the Maine winters. John being John had a bunch of wood-working machinery he couldn’t bear to part with so decided to build a barn to keep it in….. Back home it would be seen as an extremely desirable detached property but, whilst they’re both very pleased with the result it’s seen as no big deal. Constructed over 3 floors with the basement for vehicles, the ground floor functions as a massive workshop and the addition of an attic and dormers has given them a perfect living space once it’s all insulated.

And finally. I write these last few lines on the eve of our re-launch (Friday 15 Aug). The anchor launcher has been completed and once we’re back in the water we’ll see what happens when we release the windless and the Rocna plunges free of its mount. It is offset enough to ensure the roll-bar doesn't foul the bowsprit and hopefully it’ll plummet into the sea when released rather than catch the bobstay or its momentum cause it to swing back into the hull…….-we’ll let you know, but this is what it looks like.

But whilst we were waiting for this to happen we had a conversation with a local guy, Jim Hammond who runs a diving company. Querying the length of time we were taking he looked askance when we said we’d applied for residency but seemed happy enough to have us as neighbours.

The following day we got up and the first visitor asked whether we got much mail?..............!! Peering over the edge of the boat we found Jim had expanded on our “threat” of residency and installed our very own USA Postmaster approved Mailbox (complete with red flag)….
We’ll try to keep more up to date    

Ain’t this the truth…………..

Loved this sign...

So here we sit with turquoise water lapping at the pontoon as a, not too, gentle breeze ruffles the water. A reef extends across the near horizon protecting us from the pounding surf as we rest up after our 5 day trip across the Caribbean Sea to the Dominican Republic. It could almost be idyllic……………….
We left Trinni on 4th Feb much to the surprise of the Customs who couldn’t believe anyone would leave the day carnival started but both us and our close mates, Pete and Lucia, were separately heading out. They were bound for Grenada and us for Martinique. It was always going to be a tough trip as the wind would constantly head us and the current was compounding the misery by pushing us to the west. Well we tried and we tried but as day turned to night and back again I felt my resolve weakening. We heaved to for breakfast which was when I noticed the line attached to the traveller had badly frayed. As this line operates via a sheave on the end of the bowsprit it meant I needed to shin along it like some sort of geriatric trapeze artist(eat your heart out Kevin!) with new line in hand whilst Bee controlled my rate of fall by keeping me securely attached to the boat with the foresail halyard. I realize as I write this that many reading this will not have a bloody clue what I’m on about but as this is a ramble not a text book-tough. If anything really interests you copy and paste the section to us and we’ll explain!! Anyway we got it sorted and tightened up the bobstay whilst we were at it and took the decision to abandon Martinique and head for Grenada. Of course because we weren’t going there we had given our “new’ and fairly up to date charts to our aforementioned friends leaving us with a 25 year old B&W photocopy to work our way into Prickly Bay about 10pm. We got in with no mishap, the only niggle being yotties who have expensive boats at anchor but are too “cool” to have an anchor light on. ‘course the next morning P&L came across, took us ashore, loaned us the money to clear customs and immigration and had us heading out to an anchorage someone had mentioned to them. Actually they’d told them it was pretty useless as there weren’t any boats at anchor…..!! Port Egmont is a largish hurricane hole. The mud is good and clingy, it has no marina and whilst the enclosing hills are now being built upon and the area being developed, for both of us we were made up with the place as we had it to our selves. True at the end of nine days another boat came in but as we were leaving the following day it was no big deal. Ten years ago it will have been wonderful and whilst, for us, the development has spoilt it somewhat at least many of the houses belong to local families and not just winter homes for Brits. So whilst we were there we’d catch a bus into St George, the capital, or ride our bikes into the place. Grenada is not flat by the way so riding represents a serious amount of exercise!! It was whilst we were in St G that Bee discovered a local bakery that sold cheese crozzys and decided they should become a staple part of our diet. Luckily whenever we frequently returned they either had few left or had sold out. Part of the reason for spending so long there was to sit out a serious amount of strong winds that were heading across Grenada and once they eased we headed out along the south coast and up the west coast for another anchorage for the night. We had just got ourselves comfortable settled when we noticed the distinct and unmistakable shape of a sunken boat directly underneath us. Luckily Pete dived down and realised it was the bottom of an old RIB and no real problem. As evening fell we were joined by another boat that we had last seen in Graciosa- Tony and Chris who now live on the Guadiana on the Portuguese side. 

The following day we all left or we did after I’d freed up the throttle/gear lever which had gummed up with salt water. Destination was Carriacou about 35 miles to windward. I’ve written before about going to windward and how, for us, it represents the pits. Actually that’s true of most cruising folk but those blessed with ketches and in particular gaff ketches with long gaffs it represents a long day of despair. We motor-sailed the whole distance and still took the best part of 14 hours which included crossing an underwater volcano with an official exclusion zone…… Some boats were more willing to avoid the area than others. We arrived at the anchorage in the dark of course, although by this time Pete had kindly returned the pack of charts we had passed across to them in Trinni!! We dropped anchor at the back and then ate and slept before moving further in the following day. Carriacou is a pretty neat place and is, of all the islands we have seen, the most unspoilt. The bay had more than just the usual white plastic boat and we spent a few days visiting and being visited by a variety of people. Martin and Roma arrived and entertained us to FAR too much too drink and kept us up until the early hours and I spent a few hours with a 70 year old American who lives on a 60 foot Danish fishing boat and designs the most amazing houses for people. Not a square wall or corner to be seen but curves and arches abound. They really are something else. His other claim to fame as far as I’m concerned is he managed to persuade me to drink rum something I’d not done since 1966………. And the other couple who we became close to were Glenn and Ulrike. He rowed over to ask if we were someone else and we got chatting about DR and Haiti etc. The following day he rowed over with 3 hand drawn chartlets, complete with lat/long references of where to go.  Having used the DR one to get into here I can vouch for its accuracy. 

Of course both Pete and Lucia were leaving at the same time as Glenn and Ulrike and the latter were up and away before we had time to really say goodbye and then P&L were heading off and the crews of each boat waved a forlorn and tearful adios as we wondered when we would next see them.
We left a few days later with the intention of heading for the DR but thought we might just nip back down to Grenada and surprise G&L and hand over the lanolin I’d promised. Had a fast sail back down and eventually tracked them down to another quiet anchorage. Boy, were they surprised to see us. Not least because from where they were sat it looked as though we were going to pile up on the reef….remember those charts that had gone back and forth between us and Pete…well they were back with him again. But we didn’t hit the reef and enjoyed the few days we spent there with them. ‘ course it also gave Bee the chance to hit the bakery in search of cheese crozzies.

But time moves on and we had begun thinking of those wonderful northern anchorages that delight us so much and on 29th Feb we headed out from Hog Island, roared along the south side of Grenada yet again and then shaped our course for La Romana in the DR. Whilst we’d been in Hog someone had suggested a change to the gaff vangs that seemed to make sense and so I tried it out. The net effect was it seriously loosened the mizzen lanyards to the point that Bee was convinced the mast was about to fall down. Heaved to and dropped the main, changed the vang and then re-tightened all the lanyards. So that’s about 3 hours work there! Anyway it was blowing a bit and we thought we’d not bother with the main but just use the reefed mizzen, stays’l and #2 foresail. We had one of the best sails of our life. True the current was pushing us sideways but we still covered 110 to 130 miles a day, the boat remained stable and comfortable and the small sail areas made everything very easy. Not until we rounded Saona Island and the wind died did we bother with the main. A brilliant sail and it more than made up for the beats to windward.
Approaching La Romana we were a bit cagey to say the least. The only chart we have is a passage chart and therefore no use for close coastal work. We do have CMap on a computer that we’re able to use and looking at this suggested loads of water but no readily available anchorage. As we got nearer the clouds began to build up behind us and the wind strengthened. We headed toward the entrance with just the stays’l up and the engine running. The entrance was partially blocked or certainly reduced in width by a cruise liner moored up to the harbour wall and it was this combination of factors added to a sea beginning to run into the entrance that decided us and we turned and headed out for an adjacent island. The clouds came on rapidly and we were to be seen scrambling desperately into full oilies to escape the worst of the torrential rain. It came and went in short time and we rounded the island to find half a dozen charter yachts at anchor off a glorious beach populated by empty sun-beds ( a sight that reminded Bee of the war graves in France). Even with the rain the lack of punters on them didn’t make sense but what the heck we dropped anchor and still flying the Q flag we ate and kipped out, exhausted from the last 24 hours (when you first enter a country you need to fly a yellow flag-the letter Q-indicating you have just arrived a need to clear in). Before we slept we had looked at the weather that had come in on Navtex and found we were about to get a couple of combined fronts much as Britain is getting at the moment and decided we’d make an early start and get to Boca Chica before everything went pear-shaped. As we weighed anchor we noticed another cruise liner approaching the island and realised the purpose of the sun-beds. A lucky escape. The trip here was ok and the entrance moderately taxing. However the water is pretty stunning, enough for me to get caught out and find myself having to back off quite hard to get off the sand. The anchorage is no longer it seems as a new marina has been built, buoys laid down and whilst there are few cruising boats here (two) it seems a reasonable spot. It isn’t our style that’s for sure but DR itself is an amazing country. The people have been wonderfully friendly, advising us what stop to get off the bus, flagging down buses going the opposite direction and getting them to drop us off at the correct spot. 

 The marina staff try very hard and succeed in making you feel welcome and certainly the quality of fruit and veg is high, plentiful and cheap. At 66 pesos to the £ and 34 to the US$ we have bought avocado the size of small balloons for 25 pesos, 4 huge peppers for 100 pesos, a pineapple for 25pesos and a water melon the size of a rugby ball for 60pesos
The area we wandered around reminded me of the Ridley Road market in Dalston in the fifties. Except a hundred times or more vibrant, with an amazing cacophony of noise from competing traffic, street vendors and loudspeaker systems. We’d pass stalls heaped with shoes-hundreds of different pairs seemingly piled on top of each other, stalls selling nothing but underwear all interspersed (the stalls not the underwear) with a guy selling dvd’s. 

 Wandering between all this – apart from the punters – were guys striding around selling small items from trays, women with large plastic bowls crammed with peeled oranges and small children toting small house shaped boxes who worked as shoe shine boys. You might think there would be little call for this in a nation where most people wear flip flops or trainers but we saw a young kid vigorously buffing some dudes trainers in an effort to improve his punters street cred. As the, apparently, only representatives of the white race for miles we experienced no harassment or hard sell and we simply wandered around collecting the shopping we needed, which included large ½ gallon pots of drinking yoghurt. I mention this – the harassment not the yoghurt- as by one of those curious coincidences that have a knock on effect we met up with Bee’s brother Paul yesterday. He is on a cruise with his wife Keren and her parents. They had sent us a text saying they would be in the DR at the w/e so we met up. Of course had we not backtracked to Grenada to see Glenn and Ulrike we would have been long gone from here when the text arrived. Interestingly their experience has been one of hassle as the cruise ship organises trips to tourist spots and touts abound. Guess there is a moral in there somewhere…..And a further glorious benefit was an email from P&L saying they hope to be in Haiti soon, meaning we may well meet up with them before we both head north. There is a down side to life in the DR - it takes a little getting used to seeing security guards sat outside buildings armed with pump-action shot guns, of power-boats being driven at 30 knots plus through the moorings and the music which is pumped out at very high volumes. Not just bars but small grocery stores seem to have a need to block the doorway with large speakers, music at volumes so loud that conversation is impossible. But that aside, we feel very positive about the place.
So tomorrow we head out for Ile d’Vache a small island off the SW coat of Haiti. Frank, the part owner of this marina, describes the place as“National Geographic 1950” so we’re looking forward to a bit of piece and quiet before the next bash.     

JAN 2008

Is it really 2 months and 3000 plus miles since we updated..!! It seems so and in that time we’ve moved from Europe to Africa to the Caribbean; wilting as the weather grew hotter and hotter... 

 We left Porta Naos on Nov 23^rd -2 days before Bee’s birthday- and headed south to Fuerteventura and a few days later were on our way to Senegal and the port of Dakar. The journey started with big seas and squally conditions and gave us a far too strong a memory of Greenland, leaving us under no illusions that we have not really recovered from the experience; more of that later. We settled down into the familiar pattern of long passages although this was one was frequently interrupted by the appearance of ships moving north or south along the coast. Obvious really once I’d bothered to look at a passage chart and see that we were crossing or running parallel to the route from South Africa and beyond up to Europe. Two incidents stand out from the trip: in the midst of a squall we heaved to and found ourselves surrounded by ships heading north. Visibility was poor; the waves were high and the chances of us being seen were small. I call up on the VHF warning the nearest vessel to our position of our whereabouts. The ship in question is about 3 miles away...the vessel that responds states he is 13 miles away and will steer clear when he is closer...we give up trying to contact and reef rapidly whilst keeping a beady eye on the nearer ship. It passed safely. The other overall impression of the trip is the poor visibility caused by dust particles blown out from the coast and desert. A ship passed us in broad daylight and less than a mile away and we hadn’t seen it until the last moment. In our terms a mile is the last moment as the things are frequently travelling at 20 knots are more so a mile is a frighteningly short 3 minutes to get out of its way. 

The trip down, apart from too many ships and a lack of wind for the much of the journey, was fairly uneventful. Toots caught her first flying fish of the trip although by now the count is well into double figures and we drew ever closer to Dakar.

Our first sighting proved to be a bit of a shock as it brought to mind the south coast of England, green hills and neat houses. As it happened the last 15 miles or so took hours as we were headed by the wind and the tide set against us.

Made it eventually of course to find a crowded anchorage - 60 or more boats, of which only a couple were not French. Back when France had “owned” Senegal they had set up a sailing club and it was still in existence but obviously now run by the Senegalese. It’s a sort of mixed blessing as it does, undoubtedly, serve as a European enclave, a bit of colonial peace within the country but it also creates or re-enforces the “us and them”. Many of the boats were going no where as the French owners had settled down and found the lifestyle to their liking but from an outsiders point of view we found the anchorage poor; rolly and exposed it easily became uncomfortable. Whilst you can anchor for free, to use the yacht club facilities including the access into the local village you needed to pay 15,000 CFA’s (ceefas) for a week.

It sounded a lot but turned out to be19 euros so we forked out. We registered with them and I was given precise instructions and how to get a cab and book in down town. Walking out of the yacht club and into the dust track that passed a road I was struck by the similarities with eighties Goa and found myself in a mêlée of taxi-drivers and prices....Agreed a price and a detour to get some money and eventually found myself outside the Port Police office. The cabbie decided he should come in with me having warned that I should not pay anything as a bribe. I should point out that the pilot book warns that the police will ask for a “present” on completion of formalities and sure enough he did. I declined; he became more persistent and the cabbie grew anxious and suggested I pay up....I declined and with relief (on my part) the policeman threw our passports and papers across the table and I was free to go. The cabbie was very subdued as we left the building and drove quickly away and suddenly became elated, laughing and “high fiving” me repeating my excuses for not paying the police. Customs were no problem as the fee is set at 5000 CFA and no “present” is expected. I really do not do bribes very well and yet it seems to be a way of life here. Talking it over with a variety of other yotties there doesn’t appear to be an easy path to follow although as the initial bribe figure the police suggested was 500 CFA or about 35p they felt I was taking principles a bit far. In defence I would say the guy did up the price to 5000 but it is still very little money. Back to Dakar to find Bee hanging on for life as the wind had got up and the fetch had built up causing Hannah to plunge up and down. It died down of course but returned regularly each day to cause angst. Ashore we wandered the local town, walking along the sand road which we discovered had a tarmac surface lurking underneath 6 inches of sand. A sand we had noticed on deck, covering the leading edge of all lines and halyards, and generally making Hannah look unkempt. We showered ashore, doing our washing at the same time. Used the local internet “café” – an hour for 250 CFA and bought fruit and veg from a local stall for the crossing. The anchorage was really a huge bay and the village where we were anchored - Hann- supported a very active fish market where, each morning a mass of colour would assemble to buy the just landed fish.

The fishermen use pirogues and they vary from a hollowed out tree to large, perhaps 25 feet or more, capable of carrying 8 or 9 people. Very often the crew would be dressed in a bright yellow oilskin jacket which seems incongruous in Senegal but the boats have little shelter and it can be cool and damp overnight. Almost all boats, as with fishermen everywhere, have large outboards and only the smallest one man boats have a single paddle which the guy uses alternate sides to propel himself along. We sometimes found them “anchored” nearby when we awoke – a fire burning gentle in the boat to enable them to make a breakfast drink.

An email from Cooya –an English boat we were meeting up with- warned they would be longing getting there than anticipated and our enthusiasm began to wane. They did arrive one fine morning and it was great to see Mike and Eilean with their newly recruited American crew member, Kaz. Cooya was built, I think, in 1911 and by now is in Brazil whilst M and E return to Scotland to celebrate significant birthdays with family. We toyed with the idea of heading south to the Lower Saloum with them but in the end decided we’d head off across the Atlantic for Tobago. Mike kindly printed off some grib files, before they left, which indicated favourable, consistent 20 knot winds and we slipped out of the anchorage at 08.00 on the16 Dec. That night I began to feel a bit shivery and flu like and Bee began to worry.............and worry. It appears that malaria can be confused with flu like symptoms and with 2500 miles to go now was not the time to get it. Whatever it was. As our route took us close to the Cape Verdes we decided to call in and get a check. Such innocence! Such naivety. Having cleared in, we headed for the hospital. We queued and eventually we were told we needed to pay 1500 escudos to be processed. That’s about €14. Off to the bank we go and then back to the hospital. Waiting and waiting. The hours pass and Bee heads back to the boat as by now the night is only an hour away. Soon after she leaves I’m ushered in through the doors and find myself in another smaller queue and then within half hour I’m seen by the doctor. A quick check and she sends me for a blood test. I wander the corridors and find the clinic and the inevitable queue. 19 people in front of me, mozzies in abundance and suddenly I’m out the door and heading for Hannah. Can’t be bothered to wait – I’ll return tomorrow. Walking down the unlit and unsavoury road that leads to the anchorage a car suddenly screeches to a halt beside me. The window comes down and the guy seems to be offering me a lift. I decline, as I’m only 300 metres from the dock where the dinghy is. He becomes more insistent and pushes open the door demanding that I get in. Throughout he has kept up a torrent of words in various languages and I suddenly realise he’s warning me that the road is very dangerous and should not be walked at night and whether I need it or not I’m getting a lift.

Back to the hospital the following day to find last night's “overlong” queue of 19 had now reached triple figures and bedlam ruled. The English principle of queuing for your turn was unheard of and we really needed Lucia to show us how to deal with it. But we got there in the end, had my blood test then hung around for the result. Name is called and I’m handed a bit of paper. More discussions and we’re directed back to where the saga began 24 hours earlier... Different doctor this time and because I hadn’t reappeared last night the paperwork had been filed. Asked to wait whilst it was located I couldn’t help but wonder how come all hospitals seem to employ the same colour schemes? Called back in to be told the test were all clear and I didn’t have malaria! Back out on the street to change the excess of escudos back into euros we passed a familiar looking face and acknowledged each other with a smile and realised we “knew” each other from the hours of waiting in the hospital queue. The bank we chose had a queue as well and we joined it. The minutes turned into an hour but we were getting close to the front. We were at the front and now we were at the counter!! “Can we change these escudos into euros?” we asked. The teller consulted someone senior “yes” they could be changed but not by us as we didn’t have an account there.... Back into the street and into a travel agent to ask where we could change money. A phone call produced a man with a fat bum-bag who calculated what we had, gave us what seemed to be the official exchange rate and we were back on the street within minutes.

This time around Praia, the capital of Santiago, seemed far less threatening and we thoroughly enjoyed our brief stay there; the thriving fruit and veg market; the town square when wi-fi is provided free of charge and the enormous mix of races that make up the local population. Evidence is around that investment, of some sort, is happening with the appearance of huge billboards advertising/warning of time share apartments although little sign of work starting as yet. But the second visit proved far more enjoyable than the first even with the health business and should we ever embark on a journey down that neck of the woods would return.

So we set out, having checked the weather, on Dec 22^nd looking for a fast crossing with settled conditions. Hours out of Praia the wind dropped and although we toyed with the idea of returning we were buoyed up by the forecast we seen. Why do we do it? The second day out we managed 31 miles in 24 hours and despite sending out texts to my son Pete and sister Tish to get us some weather info we still went nowhere. Luckily the texts came back with the info moments before we drifted out of range and despite the info the reality was zilch wind but the response from both was appreciated. And then came one of those nonsense moments that really make you question why on earth we do this. Fed up with drifting we decided to head for a tiny anchorage on Brava, one of the western islands of the Cape Verdes. We motor-sailed in 5 knots of wind and about 4 miles from the anchorage the wind picked up and headed us so be began tacking. Still it increased and we thought, “Great-lets turn around and head across” So we did and a couple of miles later the wind died. So we turn again and motor back. The wind picks up. And up. Daylight begins to fade and with the anchorage being very small and unlit we decide, once again, to turn around and cross. A couple of miles later the wind fades and dies.................. We pick a point on the chart some 6 miles away and agree we’ll motor to there to clear the land and some 4 miles out we pick up the wind and we’re away. With a little regret as both Brava and the adjacent Fogo looked interesting places to visit and friends we met on the last trip, Nigel and Jude, left from Brava and loved the place.

Despite the forecast we’d checked we found the winds to be fickle and light. The sailing we had done on this trip had shown us that if conditions were good we would expect to easily cover 130 miles in 24 hours and yet we never managed more than 113 and far too many days were below 100. We seriously questioned what we were doing to the point of dreaming about living on a canal boat and spent hours reading a magazine, comparing prices and dreaming. Some days, of course, were brilliant. Blue skies and a pleasant 4 or 5 knots but more often the sky was grey and overcast and winds light but seas lumpy. For any boat crossing in these conditions life is unpleasant but for a gaffer with heavy spars it becomes a nightmare. Gear gets chafed and one morning I wandered forward to find the jib had “wineglassed” around the outer forestay. Attempts at pulling it down got nowhere and we had to devise a safety harness attached to halyard to enable me to inch along the bowsprit so that the sail could be unwound and brought down. We subsequently discovered that the starboard sheet had chafed through. Another time we found the bobstay too loose and I needed to crawl along the bowsprit clutching spanners to tighten everything up. Sat astride the thing, up to my knees in ocean as Hannah rose and fell in her forward motion. Warm seas though. But these were minor incidents compared with what lay ahead. We had been trucking along under main and genny. The genny wasn’t filling properly so I decided to change it for a smaller, steadying sail. Bee went forward, as usual, to make the change as we rolled along under lumpy seas but light winds. Bee must have made a 1000 sail changes so is used to the foredeck and how sails and halyards work. Except this time. Releasing the halyard she began heaving the genny down and suddenly found herself on her knees as the block came down very quickly and, as Hannah rolled to the swell, gathered momentum and smashed into her forehead. She called out and I looked up to see her crouched on the foredeck, blood streaming down her face, her t-shirt rapidly changing colour and the deck and sails with blood on them. Rushing forward I was horrified at the damage, Bee was more horrified that I’d come forward without anything to staunch the flow and sent me scuttling aft for a cloth. “It looks worse than it is” she informed me whilst continuing to gather in the sail and true to form once we’d cleaned up the mess, found a self igniting ice-pack to calm down the bruising and got a couple of Ibuprofen down her she claimed to be ok. However her head still bears the scar, the sails still carry the stains and I don’t think I am ever going to forget the moments of fear I felt when I saw her kneeling there with blood everywhere.

And then one day I happened to come up for a quick look round and spotted a sail on the horizon!! We have never seen a sailing boat when crossing so we watched with some amazement. We pondered whether to call them up but moments later were receiving a call from them! Even more amazing the voice was one we knew well as we’d met Paul and Lyn on several occasions and had shared several bottles of wine with them over the last few months. Paul managed to spoil it by proclaiming they were a slow boat but had been averaging 6.5 knots and had taken 3 or 4 days out of us already! We were not impressed and will fine him heavily when our paths next cross. They had left from Mindelo, further to the north from our departure point and had had too much wind for the first 10 days or so. Lucky him we could only think. We promised to call at daybreak but it was obvious that we he was leaving us behind and we shared a quick word before they disappeared from sight. But they did inadvertently inspire us to create a booming out pole out of a boat-hook, fire hose, a short length of line and two carabiners and our speed improved a little.

Eventually, of course, all journeys end and on Wed 16 Jan we crept into Man O’ War Bay, Charlotteville, Tobago some 25 days after we left Praia. To our immense surprise and joy Pete and Lucia were still there although they had begun to worry a little at our non appearance. They’d arrived in the early hours of Christmas day and had had a relaxing time. Tobago is a wonderful island although a week was enough for us. Charlotteville is a small village that has a thriving fishing community but has also become more tourist orientated. Small houses dot the heavily tree covered slopes and walking anywhere involves serious effort. The capital is Scarborough about 25 miles away at the other end of the island. You catch an infrequent bus or a more regular maxi-taxi. We caught the latter and spent the journey being serenaded by a gospel tape. On a loop. As Bee said, the sad thing was that the other passengers knew all the words. The journey back was the opposite. A young driver who could only drive with his foot hard down, engine screaming and racing up behind the vehicle in front before recklessly overtaking or slamming his foot on the brake. And those he did overtake would in turn pass us as he regularly pulled over to the numerous roadside stands to pick up roti or beers or whatever else his passengers might require. And the music..........loud, repetitive and featuring “Party Animal” the track that seems to have taken over the airwaves and is played relentlessly, frequently repeated. But Charlotteville offered swimming and clear water. So Bee snorkelling around suddenly calls across to me (but quietly) “I can see money-how deep are we”?)Too deep for either of us she swam across to Pete and Lucia to recruit them. Two dives later we had US$80 between the two boats! And we later found a French guy who had found another $20. Unfortunately the water clarity deteriorated after that and no further treasure was found. Tobago has also been a useful source of kero for us as it is sold loose and, like diesel, costs a mere TT$1.50 per litre. We exchanged the euros we got in Praia for TT$ and got 8.60 per Euro so fuel works out around 11p per litre. Think it was about 90p a litre when we left Southampton.. In the end though we were glad to leave as a swell rolled through the anchorage and sleep became difficult.

Although we hadn’t intended to we ended up sailing down to Trinidad' partly to liaise with Pete and Lucia, here to collect an American visa and partly to catch up with Steve and Lyn plus Katie. They had left Southampton the year before a trip to Denmark so it would be 6 years since we had seen them. AND Katie being a new addition it would be good to see them. We booked in at Chagoramas before moving round the corner to a quieter, music excepted, anchorage and met up with the crew off “Fair Grace” Expect them to figure a lot over the next few months as they had, independently, decided on a very similar route to us and as we get on so well will probably cruise together for much of the time. The anchorage is free but access to the shore, via the yacht club costs so we opted to leave the dinghy on the beach or tied up at a night club when we took to land. We replaced the toilet pump- a problem that had plagued us for the last week leaking despite everything we tried- and briefly caught up with Steve who was still at work. Lyn and Kate were down the town so we opted to return the following day. A shout of “Hannah” from a fast moving rib the next morning alerted us to the visit of Lyn and a very shy Katie and we spent an hour catching up, repeated the following day when we visited Melika (their boat) and met all three of them. Their saga continues still but they’re beginning to see an end in sight and hope to set off on their interrupted journey.

Fair Grace (FG) and Hannah left the anchorage for a couple of days cruising amongst the islands, spending the first night in Turtle Bay on Monos. Few people live there but the shoreline has, perhaps, 7 or 8 summer homes around the bay. Very quiet and a lovely anchorage. The following day we headed further west toward Venezuela and anchored at Chacachacare Island. The island had been used as a leper colony for well over a hundred years and it was only in the late 1960’s that it ceased to function as one when the cure for leprosy found its way there. A fascinating place; many houses are still standing-particularly the ones where the nuns slept. All the houses have been vandalised but many are simply falling apart as the jungle overwhelms them. The hospital pharmacy had phials of something in abundance, hospital records lay strewn across the floor and the hospital itself had metal bed frames lying around. All in all a sad if thought provoking place and, for the most part, a silent anchorage. Local boats do come there bringing holiday-makers. Some bring huge speaker systems too.....!!

But we’re back in Chag. waiting for a favourable wind to take us north to Grenada and further up the chain and preferably before the carnival starts in a few days!!

Not all who wander are lost.....

It’s been 3 months since we wrote up the web page and in that time we’ve covered, slowly, some 1200 odd miles and seen some of the varied coastline of our own country for the first time. In the early days of this trip, when libraries were more common, there seemed little point in writing as the journey felt somehow tenuous, as though it wasn’t real – possibly because everything was familiar

The drama started as we left Quayside at 6am, casually reversing out of the berth and into the river without checking we suddenly found ourselves confronted with a tug towing a ship up to the scrap metal yard and just made it across the river to avoid them before settling down to the trip. The days that followed saw us exploring the local anchorages, so familiar to everyone else in the yard and so foreign to us, before seizing the easterly wind and heading on down to Poole. Leaving the anchorage the next day and chancing our luck over a narrow and shallow piece of channel under power, Bee who happened to go below, shouted up that the engine temp. was very hot. Unfortunately this coincided with us running aground and me trying to reverse off. In fact I had just succeeded when she called and as her next shout was to warn of smoke coming from said engine she had no choice but to switch the engine off. So we promptly drifted back onto the mud and lay beam on to the channel, effectively blocking it….. Perhaps unwisely we opened the engine cover but eventually we established the smoke was, in fact, steam but as we blocking the channel used by a local ferry we contacted the HM and got ourselves towed out of the way. In the end the problem turned out to be a jubilee clip that had come adrift and shed the coolant. We repaired, refilled and headed into the harbour for the night. A very swish, varnished yacht lay near by and the owners came along to see us, remarking in passing that the boat was Bloodhound, owned previously by the Duke of E and we were welcome to look her over tomorrow. However the visit didn’t materialise and we left heading the following day for the West Country. 

We arrived at Dartmouth around 2am in a blow, with no large scale chart, hearts thumping and crashed through the narrow entrance and into comparative quiet. As it was still dark and we were unable to locate any visitor’s buoys we tied to a vacant MOD lump and slept for a few hours before heading upstream. Eventually we settled on a buoy opposite a viaduct where, over the next few days, we were entertained by the tourist steam engine bellowing photogenic clouds of steam through the trees as it made its twice daily journey.

From there onto the Yealm, Fowey and then Helford to meet up with Nige and Jude, fellow cruisers from our last trip. They live overlooking the Helford in an idyllic spot and the first night we rowed ashore we were greeted by a garden of wild primroses,bluebells,daffs and wonderful smells.

Toots came with us and spent the evening wandering around with a tail in the air with happiness. A gathering of their friends and family included us and the Sunday afternoon was taken with a boisterous game of football from which two stars emerged – Bee as the top scorer and Dyson, who at 70+ was a powerhouse of defending. Great afternoon. 

We also met up with Brad and Jo, Isaac and Ruby from Lilly B. and spent the evening chatting, drinking and catching up. A last job was to help bring N&J’s boat down from Gweek and onto their buoy opposite their house. The channel to and from Gweek is tortuous and shallow even at high springs and had me wondering how the place ever became so popular. Actually, like many of the “names” we visited, it surprised us by being much larger than we’d thought and, possibly because of that, we were under-awed by the whole place.

We’d also snuck a quick trip into Falmouth and up the Fal which was probably our favourite place. We stopped at the Marina at Falmouth and decided to go looking for Steve and Marilyn, last seen in Nova Scotia but every where we called had no knowledge of where they were although they claimed the name to be familiar. Finally calling at a swish yard and getting the same answer we were directed to a smaller, cheaper yard across the river. As we pedalled through the propped up boats we spotted Spray Venture and banged imperiously on the hull, raising a startled Marilyn to peer over the side to see us grinning and cavorting at having finally tracked them down. 

Onto the Scillies. Much has been said about the islands and everyone we spoke to enthused about them but they did little for us and although we stayed perhaps 10 days it felt as though we were filling in time. We had such interesting trips between islands as fog descends within minutes leaving you peering around listening for sounds that stir the heart and emotions – surf, engines or the bell on a buoy….. Curiously weeks later I was reading a sailing book written in the 1880’s and the author too felt they were over sold and hadn’t lived up to the hype.

We had a couple of longish journeys ahead: Scillies to Wales and Wales to Scotland. Longish in that they offer few places to hole up and the first one crosses the Bristol Channel. We opted for Milford Haven as it had an easy entrance and wasn’t too far east. MH was a revelation and once the industrial section had been left behind we found ourselves meandering along a wonderful river, between woods, rock, fields and sheep. True the tide runs hard but we had a number of great anchorages and to ourselves. MH also offers free pontoons at various points and we tied up to one a few miles in from the entrance readying ourselves for the push north but there is little to recommend this particular one as a swell works its way in and the boat can roll heavily. The journey north took us through the islands of Skomer and Skokholm where the tide rules and puffins abound and we anchored in a small bay to await the return of the favourable tide and then onto Fishguard for the night. The wind was light and variable the next day as we headed off for N Wales. Plans changed and changed again as the wind dropped, veered and the tide turned. A decision to round Anglesey was aborted as we realised the tidal gates would be all against us and we’d spend the next 3 days battling seas and then Bee spotted a little bay called Port Dinllaen and less than 15 miles from the southern entrance to the Menai Straits. Both Reeds and Libby Purves (whose book “One Summer’s Grace” we dip into for bits about the area we’re in) write Dinllaen off as an anchorage for poor holding but the Rocna we bought before we left has been everything we could have asked for. Little we did we know the big test was about to arrive. Cruising along into the last two miles before we turn Hannah was hit by a gathering wind as the pleasant Force 4 escalated to a 7 in minutes and that was protected by the adjacent headland. As we turned into the bay and thus into the wind we dropped the main and crept in under motor………….and crept………..and finally dropped the anchor. 40 metres plus of chain screamed out, the anchor bit and Hannah came up head to wind happily and we rejoiced in our good fortune. It blew hard that night but we remained in position and slept soundly. Well that’s not quite true ‘cos ahead lay the southern entrance to the Menai………and the wind was SW meaning we were heading into the entrance on a lee shore. The channel shifts and the buoy positions with it….was I nervous………too bleedin’ true I was. Should we go in under sail or motor (I chose motor- mistake as we rolled badly) and my nervousness was accelerated when I misread the buoy sequence and headed inside instead of outside of the first mark. But half an hour later we were in and in calmer water but the only two anchorages looked distinctly iffy and we opted for the marina by Caernarfon Castle. A fine choice as we were not only treated very well by the Berthing Master Mark but he has reams of very useful info on the entrance but also on the Menai Strait itself, the traversing of which depends a careful timing. Luckily a couple of local boats were heading to Conwy and offered to show us the way and the following day we all left in convoy………except we nearly didn’t as I completely misjudged the effect of the flood tide on the narrow entrance to the harbour and found that despite full revs and a tiller hard over it was quite obvious we were going to T-bone the wall on the other side……….how strange that  time stands still in these moments as, engine now going hard astern, we waited to see if we would avoid disaster – snapped bowsprit, boat pinned up against a wall before being swept into a  shallow area whilst the Monday morning loafers looked on………. But we did back off, we did get everything under a control and we did slide smoothly through the entrance under a visibly nervous berthing master. The trip up was uneventful after that until we cleared the two bridges the wind picked up and we were faced with a series of mast shaking gybes as we followed a snaking channel. By now all but one of our escorts had left us and we followed him across his favourite shortcut…the depths dropped and continued to drop and still our man ploughed on his gaze glued to his chart plotter, following his boats progress on the screen as we careered along behind him. He knew his stuff, knew our depth and led us safely, if a little worriedly (on our behalf) to the entrance of Conwy. The very smart marina had been primed for our arrival by a friend who also happens to be a policeman and so we closed the entrance and called them…. wind is gusting, entrance is narrow, marina is FULL of expensive, white plastic and there isn’t a lot of room to manoeuvre……..I chickened out and we headed upstream and picked up a municipal buoy where we remained for a week visiting Lindy and Mark and Lindy’s parents, David and Mary Ann before heading north for Scotland via the Isle of Man. 

Not much we can say about the latter other than our departure from Port Erin coincided with a growing wind that had us embayed and Hannah clawing her way out under heavily reefed main and straining engine, burying her bowsprit before aiming for the moon and all on board wondering what on earth we were doing…

We arrived at Loch Ryan after a frustrating trip, a theme that has been common actually as the engine hours will confirm. Loch Ryan has Stranraer at its head and we anchored for a few days before heading in. The Harbour Master turned out to be from Yorkshire and moved boats around to accommodate us. The harbour is being dredged to put in a pontoon for visiting yachts so we had to time our arrival and wait until the dredger had headed off to sea before entering. We stayed a few days as I wanted to head off to say final goodbyes to a friend who had died and say a quick hello to Pete, Sarah and Evan plus various other people I hadn’t seen for almost 30 years.

That was about a month ago and since then we have wandered around the west coast of Scotland, found somewhere to winter (Campbeltown on Kintyre) had a quick cruise around Arran and up the Kyle’s of Bute before heading around the Mull of Kintyre on up to Gigha.

From there an exhilarating sail up the Sound of Islay, between Islay and Jura, where our speeds under a reefed mizzen, stays’l and spitfire reached an exhilarating 9+knots thanks to 6 knots of tide. Progress was going well but a glance of our shoulder saw a rapidly moving cloud and as we approached the entrance to Loch Tarbert, on Jura we were hit by the squall which used the adjacent mountain to accelerate and hit us at a good 50 knots. Hannah heeled and kept on heeling as the bulwarks and then the bottom edge of the toe boards went under water until we clawed the mizzen down to bring some order to the boat. Made it into a bit of shelter and tested the Rocna again. Once the wind eased we worked our way up the Loch and into a pool of brown peaty water, surrounded by rocks for the night. Spent a few nights in the Loch but moved into the inner part after the second night for complete isolation – no houses no roads. We came back through the Islay sound and worked our way, over the next few days up past but not through the Gulf of Corryvrecken but through the Cuan Sound and onto Oban before heading up to Tobermory and onto The Small Isles.

Canna was our choice for a few nights, chatting to other cruisers who all seem to be from the Solent for some reason before heading up to Loch Harport on Skye. Quiet anchorage to ourselves really, although we were visited by a lovely Dutch gaff ketch some 80 feet long. Not sure what it is about skippers on these small ships but they rarely appear friendly or even able to acknowledge your presence although that wasn’t true of the crew. Ho hum. We decided to leave Gesto Bay on a sunny Monday morning and within seconds of Bee starting to haul the anchor she realised we had a problem as an anchor could be clearly seen dangling from our chain some 2 metres under the boat (we were anchored in 5 or 6 metres so we knew it wasn’t ours) There followed 2 hours of hard work as we laboured to raise a discarded mooring anchor complete with riser and bridle. We had lines attached to anchor, lines attached to chain and to our joy the shackles came undone with little effort. Finally with the unwanted anchor hanging, but secure, we set off to accost a local fishing boat across the Loch. “Would they like it otherwise we would dump it” Alarmed at the thought we may do so on their fishing ground they gently came alongside and removed the item and any other bits we no longer needed. We had intended to take it out to sea but I guess wherever we dumped it may have fouled someone’s fishing ground so it is probably ashore in a twee garden somewhere.

Whilst in Canna we were told by several boats about their experiences in the Western Isles or Outer Hebrides. It was generally negative, too bleak, too many rocks etc. We obviously decided to go although the only charts we have are small scale and no use whatsoever in negotiating Loch entrances strewn 

with rocks. But the Pilot Books are and whilst they often lack lat and long it is possible, with care, to work your way into these places. And what places they are. So far we have only been here about a week but we are bowled over. Firstly it reminds us of Newfie but without the prospect of 8’ of ice in the winter and secondly we have the anchorages to ourselves. Not even a mooring buoy to encourage visitors and we love it. At the moment we’re in a small creek in Loch Stockinish on Harris. The entrance has a few rocks to dodge but absolutely nothing to worry about but the Loch opens up after you slide through a 27 metre gap. A few more houses around the Loch than the last few but already we keep looking at small crofts and musing……

But we have moved on again and are now in Stornoway and, like so many before us, bemused by the huge contrast with the rest of the Western Isles. Perhaps we should have realised that the appearance of an occasional street lamp in a sparsely populated hamlet meant we may soon come across more…but this place is a real town with every amenity you could wish for. That’s not meant to be derogatory either but it really bears no resemblance to the rest of the places we’ve visited. Has a great feel to the place, very friendly people who take delight in telling us the Hebridean Celtic Festival starts next week along with the Traditional Boat Gathering and assume we’ve arrived early for the latter………..although, true to form, we will have left before either starts.

I’ve already written about our anchor and can only reiterate it has been a brilliant investment and has never let us down yet irrespective of the bottom. It digs through weed and finds the mud below and even came up once with a small boulder lodged between its flukes. 

Whenever we have needed to reef the main I find myself gazing up at the sail, noting how well it sets and draws and say each time how glad I am we got a professional sail-maker to supply them. They have been a joy to work with and the deeper reefs and the spitfire jib give enormous satisfaction both in raising and it the way they work so well together. 

 

And finally… Bee is rowing ashore with Toots hanging over the bow dangling a front paw millimetres from the water. I’m on the shore and, as Bee is going off course, I call out for her to pull hard on her left oar….she does…and Toots finds the boat is no longer underneath her but the water is and she is deposited unceremoniously into very cold water……….from where resurfacing at high speed and without assistance she appears to propel herself from the depths back onto the dinghy……