Holyhead to Douglas – Isle of Man – Monday 16th August

Waking at first light yesterday, I set about a cornflake or two as a precursor to preparing Equinox for the longest passage so far and decided, for the first time, to leave the tender deflated in her bag; and likewise Doris... (In joke!)
   With the early morning sun, still low in clear sky with just a hint of a breeze ruffling the sea, I motored parallel with the mile long breakwater; hoisting the mainsail as I went; and reminisced about the wonderful evening spent with Ronnie and Nigel, following a gentle sail on Moneypenny, their deliciously equipped yacht. They stay at ‘The Point’ which proudly sits on Rhoscolyn’s headland with the most breathtaking views of Snowdonia and the Llynn Peninsula in the distance. Supper in a newly built conservatory was perfect; made more so by being treated to a spectacular Turneresque sunset, following which, a lemon moon gently died in its own reflection in a still sea. Thank you!
  As the breeze gently heeled Equinox to starboard, as we turned North, at the end of the breakwater, I let fly the staysail then the jib; a final act, committing Equinox to the passage ahead and far out into the Irish Sea. The time 08:10. Gathering pace, as the tide made it presence felt; and leaving The Skerries to starboard, the wind gradually gave of its best and with it, at rewarding 6 knots under topsail.
   Five empty hours later and still on the same tack, with not a hint of land in sight and just the odd seabird for company, the sky clouded over, as forecasted, and with it, the temperature took a tumble, along with the visibility; prompting a change into oilies. Two hours later, first the island, then Douglas appeared out of the mist and when I guessed there was less than 30 minutes motoring time remaining, started the engine to charge a very tired slave battery, while reducing sail, calling up Douglas Harbour Control for berthing instructions and letting Liverpool Coastguard know I'd arrived. A rather terse response from Douglous Harbour Control proffering a list of instructions that involved waiting for an unseen ship to enter, then to a further wait until 6:15 for the bridge to lift and then finally to call them again, once the ship had docked, for yet more instructions; at the same time they took details of Equinox, where I’d come from, length and draft, surname and contact details, number of crew, etc, etc. Heaven’s above, I want a berth for a night or two, not a bloody mortgage! Come on DHP, you’re located on an island in the middle of the Irish Sea, wherever you’ve arrived from in a little yacht, you’ve sailed at least 40-50 miles!  If you then discover you’re talking to a solo yachtsman, as you did, who has just sailed 54 miles, welcome him in, be gentle with him and not make the whole experience fraught! It’s tough enough as it is, coming into a strange harbour single handed, without throwing the local harbour rule book at him. If it's that important have it printed in Reeds, so we know in advance!
  Ten minutes later out of the mist, a steam packet ferry hove into view and entered the multi harbour complex, a signal, so I thought, to follow it in at a respectable distance – at least 400 yards behind. Barely underway and watching her expertly spin around and reverse into her berth, I kept my distance, only to receive a dressing down on the radio, that I’d illegally entered the harbour! A scolding that sounded as though I’d strayed into a Royal Naval base in a speedboat named Taliban wearing a turban and brandishing an anti-ship missile launcher! Following which, further calls were made to the Harbour Control from other vessles, as one by one, other craft I’d seen bobbing about, that I’d assumed to be fishing, started calling up for PERMISSION to enter the harbour, SIR! The DHC response was attached with ‘Sir’ too! Following the earful, and still somewhat shaken by the ticking off, I was given, among a host of whispered instructions, a berth numbered 25 on the North side together with a complex description of its location – something to do with the North wall; but first had to loiter around with other craft for the next obstacle - a road bridge to open which, it promptly did at 6:15 - to let me and the small queue in. Once inside, the inner harbour is crammed full almost to bursting point and there’s little room either side of vessels moored both to the harbour wall and on a finger pontoon that threads its way through the middle. In some places boats are rafted up to the harbour wall in pairs, narrowing the clearances still further. Google it and see what I mean!
  Motoring gingerly, I passed on my left the finger pontoon and an empty berth numbered 25; but along the North wall were also numbered berths, so on the assumption, that’s what I’d been allocated, made my way further and further up the narrowing marina and eventually moored up against a semi derelict wreck of boat that seemed to me to be too dangerous to clamber over, but needs must; and she was on N 25 (North?). Her cabin roof groaned under my weight as I climbed over her and up a ladder to make Equinox fast. Out of my oilies, I then made my way to the harbour office, located, I was told, by a loitering onlooker, where the ferry terminal was – a good 5 minute walk away! So off I set to the terminal building, then up in a lift to the 2nd floor only to be told that office was for the outer harbour and I needed the inner harbour office which was closed, down the other end of the inner harbour, and also that I’d moored on the wrong 25 – as I’d missed the word pontoon in the quietly spoken list of instructions! So back to Equinox, start the engine, untie and 6 point turn her around with barely enough room to swing a cat in, after first shipping my bowsprit - I had no choice - to again thread my way back along to the berth on the finger pontoon in the middle of the harbour; which I’d spotted earlier, that could only be addressed from one direction, so had to pass it, turn around and come back. And in the middle of doing all this, the rain went from drizzle to a downpour, so got thoroughly soaked through to add to my general despair.
   Safely moored once again, I put on oilies over my damp clothes and headed along the pontoon to make amends, only to be faced with a barrier that had a push button exit that needed a card for re-entry. I dared not risk using it, in case only the inner harbour office could issue the card, thus leaving me stranded and boatless. Resigned, I returned to Equinox, closed the hatch which prompted the rain to fall even harder, if that were possible. I’d made the right call to call and eat in, it seemed. Stripping off and putting on a clean set of dry clothes I was fully tuned and overdue for a self-congratulatory bidet of beer, so opened the ‘Speckled Hen’ locker under the starboard bunk to be greeted by an all too familiar 6 inches of water! A burst water tank again, surely not! One by one the starboard lockers were opened and each was accompanied by a fresh groan of despair. The cardboard wine boxes had disintegrated leaving me with their silvery implants to wobble a drink from. The sail cover and cockpit awning soaked, fishing tackle soaked and tins yet again label less! Eventually I worked my way forward to the water tank locker, cleaning as I went, expecting to find another tear in the new bladder, only to find that the hose connecting the tank to the external filler cap had disconnected itself. As it had not been touched for ten years and never leaked a drop, I can’t see how it had worked loose, but loose it was! Soaked in sweat from my pumping, purging and mopping exertions, the first Hen went down without its feathers touching the sides some two hours later; and still ravenously hungry and tired from 8 hours of sailing, quickly rustled up a full monty fry-up before falling into my bunk completely exhausted!
   I need another holiday already!