Rhoscolyn to Holyhead - July 30th

I found an excuse to stay moored in Rhoscolyn for another night! Max and Lucy Berry took pity on me and kindly invited me around for supper – and delicious it was too! I feel very spoilt.
The wind came round to the NE at some point during the night which eventually woke me as Equinox snatched and tugged increasingly violently at her anchor; the wind droning through the rigging. Sticking my head out of the hatch, I was dismayed to see yesterday’s sunshine had been replaced by drizzle which, turned to light rain as I cornflaked. Motoring out of the bay and straight into Rhoscolyn Head’s race, Equinox started burying her head into the confused swell forcing me to duck under the screen as great dollops of spay fizzed back in 19-22 knots of wind. With a favourable 4-6 knot tide; and making sure we didn’t come to grief on Maen Piscar, a nasty solitary rock in the middle of my passage, the coast shot by. A blue and yellow helicopter from RAF Valley practiced hovering on a nearby cliff edge, my only company in an otherwise empty sea. Next we rounded Penrhyn Mawr and Abraham’s bosom where the wind gusted to 28knots in the confused race. Then the forlorn sounding horn on South Stack, heard long before the light became visible through the mist, groaned out its short warning every 30 seconds. Across Gogarth Bay and around North Stack and another race, where suddenlly in the gloom the mile long breakwater, that shelters Holyhead harbour, came in to view, just as a massive twin hulled ferry sped past me, on route to Dublin.

Once inside the breakwater the sea remained quite rough until half way to the marina, at the far end, when finally Holyhead Mountain’s influence was felt and things calmed down appreciably. I moored on the huge visitor’s pontoon before heading to the marina office for berthing instructions. Just as I was about to move Equinox, Max, who I had supper with last night, came bounding down the pontoon and helped with lines and fending off, with the wind still gusting to 20 knots! He’d driven in from Rhoscolyn to the chandlers in the marina to buy a replcement set of rivets for his Laser’s goose neck, that broke yesterday. No sooner had he helped me secure Equinox on her new berth than he was off, and only just in time, before a fresh squall came through.

So here you find me tucked up in Holyhead! Shore power’s attached, the heater full on, drying out sailing clobber, yet again and I'm blowing over the top of a freshly made piping hot mug of Horlicks to warm the heart and soul. Outside, it's still raining......even harder!

My summer holiday has begun!

I think I’ll wait until it dies down a little, before venturing in for a shower and some food!

Rhoscolyn - Day 3 - July 29th.

Equinox, rather surprisingly, remains moored in front of the old lifeboat station at the entrance to the bay; with colony of seagulls keeping her company and her deck speckled!
Justification for yesterday’s delay to set sail for Holyhead and conclude this phase of the voyage, was due to being ‘Warnocked’ my first evening – being invited, as you find us, by friends to join them for a casual supper. And what a delicious meal it was. I was ravenous too, having only eaten a bowl of cereal for breakfast! During the evening far more wine was consumed than was strictly necessary or indeed sensible! But it was so wonderful to sit still on something solid that didn’t rock, with conversation flowing, more often than not, hilariously that for the most part, had nothing to do with boats or sailing. Deep Joy!

The following morning, Sally, my host together with Jennifer, a long standing friend and her daughter Alice, came aboard for a sail which, we had arranged during supper. I have to admit, I was feeling a little delicate; and the 12-14 knot wind combined with the swell, didn’t improve things, once out of the bay. So when nearly abeam Llanddwyn Island, after 90 minutes of brisk sailing, a decision to return to Rhoscolyn went unchallenged.

Once safely anchored a chilled glass of wine on Equinox in warm sunshine; before rowing them ashore, restored order and to a greater or lesser extent, the colour to four sets of cheeks!

As for today's delay .....

Well, frankly there isn’t an excuse yet..........

Llanddwynn Island to Rhoscolyn – July 27th

Some sailing days are perfect and this was one of them. Lightly breakfasted by 8:30 with the mainsail hoisted, I motored out from my spot from in among the rocks and headland before setting the jib and staysail; both tend to block the view from the cockpit; so felt it was prudent to be without them until out in safer water. The wind, all 9 knots of it, was perfect for a gentle reach up the coast, reacquainting myself with this much loved coastline, passing Bodowen, Abberfraw and Rhosneigr ; looking clinically clean, white and unspoilt in the morning sun. Helicopters from RAF Valley,were beating here and there, on training missions; their clattering for a brief moment drowned out by two incredibly noisy racing cars that took it in turns to roar around the circuit at Trac Mon; an acoustic insult as I sailed past – but it did look fun! The track, right on the side of a hill, overlooks both the Irish Sea and Snowdonia. I think it’s where Tiff and Co test cars for their TV program – Fifth Gear.

Rhoscolyn clearly in view from way down the coast looks wonderfully welcome, the white cottages clinging to the edge of the rocky sided bay; the eldest among them nesting as best they can in natural hollows, out of the wind. This is a raw coastline; bushes and shrubs grow away from the prevailing wind, sculptured and burnt by the blast of salty air from the Irish Sea. Few trees manage to thrive; many of those that have tried have had their crowns torn out. Some say ‘You know when you’re on Holy Island, the Seagulls practice their landings flying backwards and the sheep are tied together, like climbers. When a storm comes in from the Irish Sea, they’ve learnt to point into the wind and hang on to a tuft of grass with their teeth! As for the chickens, each one is tied by a length of string to a house brick to stop them getting blown away.’

I sailed right into the bay before furling the jib and staysail then spun into wind and anchored in 9 meters of water close to the entrance of the bay where a dozen or so moorings offer some respite from the SW swell; neatly tucked in behind the headland. So clear is the water, that I could see the anchor bite into the sand below. Sometime later, as I rowed ashore, so many familiar faces looked out; as you do. Time for hugs, hand shakes and welcomes. I’m here for the next two weeks.

I’ve actually made it! The ship’s log an unbelievable 897 miles sailed......One third of the way and time for a two week rest with the family. But first, a short hop remains - to tuck Equinox up in Holyhead Marina around the tip of Anglesey.

Is it all right for me to feel rather proud of myself and more than a bit emotional?

I hope so.

Llanddwynn Island Day 2 – July 26th

Conditions were ideal to spend the day fishing, as bass are about and it was warm, overcast with barely any wind. A plan formulated on the back of the warden mentioning yesterday, that an 11lb Bass had been caught nearby just days earlier.
    Bass there weren’t, but mackerel, there were. Before setting off however, a decision was made to move Equinox closer to the shore and into calmer water. Once anchored and in the tender, I rowed around for no more than 10 minutes before 4 fell on the hooks – and t’boot all at once on a string of 5 flies! I let them all go bar one – selected for being a perfect fit under the grill!
   A change of tactics to lure a bass failed miserably, just more mackerel – all released; so gave up at lunchtime and decided to go for a swim; having got rather hot and sweaty fly fishing. Once dried and settled back on Equinox, I started to put the two rods and tackle away, when I realised I was ‘Touching Bottom!’ - a nautical term! The gravelly thump.. thump.. thump, quickly had me in the tender, with kedge anchor and 20 metres of rope and rowing out to deeper water. Back on Equinox and pulling furiously, I failed miserably to make any impression, so gave up.... or, was about to. Suddenly three very beautiful girls in bikinis and their equally yummy mummy and a young man appeared at the water’s edge! As they were already wadding in for a swim nearby, I asked whether a push might be possible. All four put their backs into the task and to help matters, had the engine running on full throttle too; with me heaving the kedge from the bow. Move.....no not an inch! Thanking them for trying, I found out that one of  the girls was celebrating a 27th birthday and that Llanddwynn Island has a special significance, as family ashes have been sprinkled nearby. What a close fun family they were too - two teachers – one art, one PE and an aspiring actress! I never did find out what the young man did. Their Mum ran a B&B in the Pennines. As Equinox settled far off the vertical, I did the only chivalrous thing, any man would do in my predicament... abandon ship with a bottle of prosecco and glasses and make for the shore and have a party! A fun hour or so later, the family left for the long two mile walk back to the car park. I sat forlornly for another hour watching Equinox slowly come upright; before moving her back into deeper water.
    I write this having burnt the mackerel. The smell was so awful that I threw the whole lot over the side and had bacon and eggs instead, washed down, with a speckled Hen or two, to try and try make amends. It didn't. Somehow, the bacon had acquired a taste of burnt fish; so didn’t enjoy supper one little bit. Where’s Mr Oliver, when you need him?
   A Famous Grouse then bed, I think.

Llanddwyn Island on Anglesey -25th July

A 16nm gentle sail diagonally across Caernarfon Bay ended mid afternoon, in a tiny bay at the tip of Llanddwyn Island, right next to the lighthouse at the southern entrance of the Menai Straits, after a morning row ashore to get supplies and petrol in Morta Nefyn.
   The island and adjoining Newborough Burrows are a nature reserve, with wonderful walking for miles on huge beaches and through one the largest range of dunes in Britain. Pilot Bay, where I’m moored, at the tip of the island, is where pilots launched their boats to give local knowledge and assistance to sailing ships taking mainly granite and slate through the straits – a treacherous stretch of water, if ever there was one, separating the Island of Anglesey from the mainland.
   Newborough Burrows was extensively destroyed during the Second World War as tanks and tracked vehicles churned up the fragile habitat, while preparing for D Day. So extensive was the destruction that after the war bitumen had to be spayed on the sand to hold it place and halt the invading sea and give nature a chance to slowly recover. Holes were then punched thought it to plant thousands of conifers – now 63 years old! Before the army arrived, the warren supported so many rabbits that 20,000 a year were taken for food. Mixy and presumably the bitumen wiped them out, so giving the habitation a chance to recover to such an extent that the sea has retreated largely back to where it was before the army invaded it.
   The warden, who showed me around one of the lighthouse keeper’s cottages, finds lumps of bitumen to this day. The rabbits have defiantly re-invaded the island too!

Day 2 Porth Dinllaen - July 24th

A day on board seems in order, as rain, yet again, drums on the cabin roof and the wind howls through the rigging. The fantastic backdrop of mountains, so familiar in the distance from Rhoscolyn, our summer haunt for many years, from across Caernarfon Bay, are today, all but hidden in the mist.
    I'm very low on fresh water and almost out of petrol for the Seagull,  a trip ashore today, a must - but it's a long way to row with the wind right in the teeth, if the Seagull runs out which, it probably will, with less than a cupfull left in the tank.
Patience Simon, Patience!

Aberdaren to Porth Dinllaen - LLyn Peninsula - July 23rd.

The gentle sound of wind in rigging woke me as did the tide which swung me broadside and uncomfortably into the incoming swell; the sky initially overcast and grey, seen through the foreward  hatch, would soon burn off as the promised sunshine broke through later. I spent a few hours updating the blog then breakfasted on fruit and cereal, before hoisting the mainsail and retrieving fathoms of chain from yesterday's over cautious anchoring. With no mobile signal at the end of the peninsula, updating the blog would have to wait. Bardsey Sound boasts spring tides of 5Knots which, fortunately for me, are not due for nearly a week; so decided to have a closer look at the Island; despite a hostile tide for the first two hours. Close to, one can see why Bardsey would make an ideal refuge; the tides fierce, even on neaps would be a huge barrier for unwelcome visitors. Under sail, I could barely manage 3 knots and was swept out north of the island and far further than intended, as distracted; I scanned the island through binoculars viewing odd mounds and evidence of past habitation. A long pleasant battle with the race back on course with a SOG of less than 2 knots was the penalty; but I was in no hurray and the scenery spectacular, with gannets diving for fish nearby and huge grey seals basking on rocky ledges close to the water’s edge. Some just gazed at me with mild interest, others shuffled nervously, others startled, by my approach, panicked and waddled briefly before diving to safety in the deep. In the warm sunshine, I was thankfully, sailing as nature intended and wonder whether it was this that startled the seals – probably the females!    
    The north shore of the Llyn peninsula boasts a few, but almost empty beaches, pleasant sailing and extraordinary rock formations to admire. Sailing just yards from the is never tiring, although a few fishmermen, perched on precarious ledges, would rather you didn't! The further NE one sails so the cliffs diminish in size, softening and becoming more uniform. I watched a lobster fisherman retrieve pot after pot with one, two and sometimes more in each one, as I mirrored his pace up the coast; the tide now favourable.  
  Two mini Pork Pies for lunch with a wedge of Cheddar and Cheshire cheese and a banana washed down with ice cold grapefruit juice kept morale high as did two naked sunbathers, their swimming togs drying by their sides, who became aware of my presence, rather too late to hide their modesty, as I ghosted up the coast. As we all saw each other at the same time, we waved hesitatingly at each other before they resumed their horizontal postures, and I my helming. By 4pm the wind had died completely, reluctantly the iron topsail was called for, to catch the final and weakening offerings of the tide, before it turned foul. At least the batteries will be fully charged for a night on board and some computer time.
   I’ll leave exploring my new destination for tomorrow.

Abersoch to Aberdaron

The wind moved around to the North at some point during the night, so chose to anchor back at my spot in front of RCYC where the swell was less pronounced, before breakfast. With time to kill, I rowed ashore and had a wander around town which is a bustling little place with everyone enjoying the first sunshine for days. On the way into town and lying around Tintown - an appallingly ugly high rise stack of concrete and corrugated iron beach hunts, lay the remnants of hulls and masts and pieces of wood and fibreglass from dinghies lost or damaged in last Thursday’s storm. Others were lying on their sides still strapped to their launching trolleys as testament to the wind’s strength, as does the massively stout stainless steel banisters, bent and twisted, on the Club’s slipway.    By 2pm the tide was flooding and made the run to Aberdaron possible. With the sun still shinning, a wonderfully memory laden, sail up St Tudwal’s Sound past the two Islands, visited yesterday, and then past Porth Ceiriad, a bay we used to surf at during and just after my Ellesmere College kayaking days. I could see the campsite on the hill where for weeks on end we stayed; hiding from the owner, each morning, when he came to collect the campsite dues. I wished I had time to stop and wander up the steep path to the campsite and see whether the grassy bank on which we turned an Austin A35 on its side to Isopon the sump after an oil-emptying argument with a rock was still there, as was the waterfall on the beach, we used to wash the salt off, after canoeing. And the dark damp cave that seemed to be an endless source of driftwood collected during the day and dried for the beach goings-on most nights! What sunny carefree times they were. Round the next headland and Porth Neigwl – Hell’s Mouth, comes into view, a daunting wild untamed and featureless sandy bay that rekindles surfing memories; and the nearby pub – The Sun Inn, where casual romances developed during the few weeks’ freedom; made possible by being paid handsomely to dive and attach air bags to a score of mostly speed boats, sunk on their Abersoch moorings. The islands that mark the entrance to Aberdaron Bay hove into view, as does the much larger Bardsey Island – the island of swirling currents – where hundreds, if not thousands of pilgrims lie buried; heeding to its religious significance, from as far back,as the Middle Ages.
   Aberdaron is not a recommended anchorage, according to Reeds, more a waiting room, before you attempt Bardsey Sound and The Tripods, the race on the northern side. The race on the southern end – The Devil’s Ridge is best avoided by hugging the coast. Apparently the ground is not good holding and Reed’s suggest you do not leave your boat unattended! As the wind had dropped to a mere whisper and the bay almost swell free, I let out 3 times the recommended chain and risked it. A delightful meal of locally caught sea bass, spinach and samfire in this totally unspoilt village of 60 or less souls, according to the Ship Hotel’s owner, boasts a Post Office a real bakery a shop and two hotels! The church recently rebuilt, has its immaculate graveyard perched on the side of the hill overlooking the bay. On such a still night, it is hard to believe how many souls have been lost on this stretch of coast, an illustration of the LLeyn Peninsula on the hotel wall, showing all the shipwrecks from 1700’s, suggests many – thousands too many. With that in mind I sat on the balcony and kept an eye on Equinox... just in case!
    Tomorrow’s passage to Porth Dinnlaen further around the tip of the Peninsula and up the other side, will be planned with just a little extra care!

A short hop to Abersoch - July 22nd

The sun is actually shining as I prepare to leave Pwllheli Marina; so very good after three weeks of sailing in almost continuous overcast and wet conditions. A joy to feel its warmth; and a good time to open all hatches to air the boat fully and to get rid of the last traces of damp. Full marks to Pwllheli Marina; its immaculate – the showers and washing facilities, the best yet. If only it had a decent restaurant as part of the package.

    As I was emptying out the tender of rain water for the umpteenth time, a huge black rib with two 300hp Suzuki engine passes close by; the slim fit looking man at the helm vaguely familiar smiles an acknowledgment to mine. More for the fact that he was motoring with engines on tick-over – a very rare occurrence for most rib owners! Two small boys take the lines while his giant rib fills up with fuel, the engines still whispering. Then he manoeuvres the boat between the fuel barge and pontoon with practiced ease. Why does he look so familiar?
    A glorious sail to Abersoch just 6 miles up the coast turns into an 18 mile sail, as a phone call from Flossie informs me their ETA is now 2:30, so I’ve time to kill sailing in a wonderful 10K SW wind in shirt sleeves and shorts – such welcome freedom after sailing constantly in oilies. I head towards the dramatic mountainous coastline to the east, generating their own clouds, ensuring a relaxing reach back into Abersoch and a rendezvous with ’Katy’ an immaculate old Portsmouth built working boat lovingly restored to the highest original order with a splendid cuddy.
   After furling sails and anchoring I leap aboard Katy, as she draws alongside and meet the owners, Paul and Gay Murphy, along with Flossie and Neil, who both look bronzed and well, after some seriously hot months in their Alpine home.
  We motor off towards the two islands that guard the approach to Abersoch for a picnic. Both are havens for seabirds, mostly Shags and Cormorants, seals and.......the TV personality and youngest Britain to climb Everest, Bear Grylls who, I discover, owns and lives for some of the year on the larger of the two islands in a refurbished rather imposing house, beautifully painted in sympathetic colours, under the lighthouse. It was him on the rib, that I saw this morning, with his two young sons. Neil swims before we eat a fantastic picnic lunch, anchored in a tiny inlet out of the swell and in, and I still can’t quite believe it, bright sunshine. Facts about the islands that included an attempt to breed red deer, that eventually swam ashore, through lack of food, hermits and an owner who built a sort of Stonehenge facsimile that had to be bought in by Chinook helicopter; keep us entertained, as indeed did the seals that pop up nearby, seemingly unfazed by us. A short tour around the other island before heading ashore for a fish supper in the Sun Inn, an old haunt from my sea kayaking days, 39 years ago, ends a perfect day. By 10:30, as I row back to Equinox the sea has settled but the Navtex foretells of increasing winds during the night, so before I unpack a goody bag Flossie has put together for me, up-anchor and motor a mile or so, to moor up close to the old Lifeboat Station; a recommended spot for a quiet rock-free night. Once moored, I eat half a pound of Cadburys Whole Nut, one of the treats that includes strawberries, cheese, pork pies and more chocolate. I feel very spolit, as I drift off to sleep!

Is Colin following me! - July 20th

  Woke to heavy rain yet again and while listened to the news on Radio 4, put together a mental ‘to-do’ list for today. Top of the list will be to empty the lockers yet again and carry on drying the boat out! During a gap in the clouds, a job on one of the Gaff’s halyards which, had become twisted around itself to and from the pulley mounted at the throat. The friction this caused made lowering the whole affair rather torrid and protracted. Standing on the cabin roof with tools in hand, I became distracted by a disturbance in the water nearby. A cormorant, not Colin surely, had caught an eel which, put out at the thought of being swallowed, had wound itself around Colin’s neck like a python! The eel’s head already somewhere deep in Colin’s throat must have been a discomfort and, for all I know, made breathing difficult, for he tried desperately to shake his head and I suppose cough it out or, get it to lose it’s grip around his neck. Stalemate! The eel, which was about 2ft long and as thick as Cumberland sausage remained where he was. Can birds look panic stricken? Still squirming and shaking his head as much as he could, Colin decided to dive which, did the trick, for when he surfaced, a few moments later, the eel had gone – eaten or lost?   
   A chance meeting in the fantastic shower block led to the offer of a lift into town and a shop in the Co-op. Having seen all that there is of this seaside town, I cannot find a single reason whatsoever, to stay here for another moment and will plan the next leg, weather permitting, even if its just to Abersoch, a few miles up the coast.
  As the evening draws in, Its raining again with much worse to come forecasted – indeed flood alerts were announced on the news for Wales tonight.
  A quiet evening aboard seems to be in order. But no sooner was supper frying away merrily, than Flossie, my sister in law, followed shortly afterwards by Neil, her husband phoned; and are driving to Abersoch from Chester for lunch tomorrow at the Sun Inn, an old haunt from my sea kayaking days, near Porth Ceriad.

Aber to Pwllheli – July 19th

Pronounced Pa-thel-ee, this World Heritage site, is where you find me, after a rather frustrating wait for the flood tide to deliver sufficient water into Aber harbour to make good my escape which, eventually it did at 11:40. Even so, a momentarily gravelly kiss in the narrow channel before turning hard to starboard at the end of the wooden jetty and then holding a recommended course of 310deg; alluded to my unbridled enthusiasm to get on the move again. The depth alarm continued to keep up its annoying warning, that less than a meter of water was under the keel. Stopping for a second or two each time Equinox lifted to the incoming swell – a residue of the previous day’s storms; then expecting each plunge to culminate in a gravelly thump; which, thankfully never happened. Eventually silenced and when well away from ‘The Trap’ and the nearby pier head perils, turned Equinox into the wind, quickly hoisted the mainsail, killed the engine and while still turning back on course, let fly the staysail and gib; sheeting them in quickly to do their duty. Done well, this looks impressive; and I knew some of the other crews were watching, as we had exchanged goodbyes on the way out! Joy of Joys, my demonstration of solo seamanship was executed to near perfection and Equinox with all three sails drum tight, first heeled then rocketed forward with the help of a following sea and 18 knots of wind, foam creaming down her lee side up the rails. Her tan sails and dark hull must have looked stunning in the sun, contrasted by dark storm clouds coming in from the SW over a grey green sea covered with white caps. Just time for a final wave and one last lingering look at the brightly multi-coloured sea front houses, ruins, monument and Funicular Railway before refocusing on the lengthy passage ahead. Had I made amends for my rather chaotic arrival days before? I doubt it; they bear grudges around here!   
   Cardigan and Tremadog Bays offer numerous options for the sailor; with Sarn Badrig (St Patrick’s Causeway) by far the largest and most intimidating obstacle, separating the two. In addition, there’s Sarn Cynfelyn, Sarn Wallog and The Patches together with Sarn-y-Bwch. All jut out, often miles, into the sea and remain hidden during most of the tidal range. As such, they’re a worthy adversary for a solo yachtsman, still a little shaken from his Aber experiences! With the wind predicted to be a SW’ly my chosen route was to go through the middle of ‘The Patches in the main channel then West of the second obstacle and then take the East Passage close to the shore; hopefully avoiding the Bemar Bank and so crossing the final and biggest hurdle - St Patrick’s Causeway. Shoals, banks and ridges add to the fun as did the weather forecast which correctly predicted heavy rain with accompanying visibility restrictions. Rain, if you have the right kit is an inconvenience not an obstacle. Wind is; and as I nervously threaded my way along the Main Channel of the Patches, just 5 miles NE of Aber, so it picked up. A reef was called for, to reduce weather helm; which no sooner executed became almost redundant, as the wind further increased and backed to a southerly – near gale! A second reef stabilised matters and some wonderful drizzly sailing enjoyed; other than for my blow-up tender to repeatedly surf into my transom with an unnerving bump, followed by a rubbery twang as the painter was snatched tight on the ricochet! Drizzle steadily turned to rain which increased still further to flatten the sea. Buckets of it streamed off the mainsail and much of it blew into the cabin as the hatch had to remain open to see the chart plotter’s screen and to fix a 30 minute plot on the chart under the Yeoman plotter’s plastic protective overlay – the cabin sole soon awash and slippery.
   With the wind now gusting F6, I opted to change my passage plan and go to the West of St Patrick’s Causeway; plotting a new course to The Causeway’s Cardinal Bouy with its accompanying bell. This more westerly route stopped to great extent the awful rolling you experience on a run; where the foresails are back-winded and largely useless. Boat speed increased to 7.1 knots and confirmed on the GPS. Progress indeed for a Crabber! As I rounded the Cardinal and set a course for the buoy marking the Gimblet Shoals, the rain increased further, were it possible! I’ve seen rain like this before in Malaysia but rarely here. The cabin sole floorboard started lifting on the inch of water in the cabin, any higher than that, the water flows through two drain holes into the bilge. A pump was in order and the cabin hand pump cranked 21 times before it whistled! With the two headsails furled, as we were on a dead run, we stormed past The Shoals, guarding the entrance to the harbour and with visibility down to a few hundred yards sought out Pwllhei. When found and with engine started, we turned into wind, dropped the Main and stowed it reasonably neatly, considering the awful conditions.
   I called Holyhead Marina and told them I had arrived. It was 18:30and I was 30 minutes later than my estimated arrival time, not too shabby after 38nm, I thought.
  Motoring against a strong current in a channel barely wide enough for two boats to pass one another, sought out the berth given that morning on the phone, after first fendering up the starboard side and making ready the mooring warps’. The Marina, on first inspection, is huge, brim full of boats of all sizes and in a very good state of repair. Finding it, I spun around to face the weather and prepared to dock. From nowhere a young man in his 20’s T shirt, shorts and bare feet appeared and took my lines; tying me on with well rehearsed expertise.
   ‘Come form far’, he asked, with a Scandinavian accent?
   'Yes quite', I said, puffing myself up with pride, ‘from Aberystwyth... and you’?
    We’re both from Norway; he said... we’re sailing around the world. Scilly Isles tonight, I think or, maybe just go straight to Madeira......depends on my girlfriend really, she’s the skipper; and she’s had enough of the rain and is working on the charts now!
    The loudest noise in the marina was my ego deflating.
    Sure enough they slipped their mooring around 10pm, a row of plastic water casks securely strapped to their guardrail, in a boat not a lot larger than Equinox, but very purposeful.
   A cheery wave and they were gone....Well I’ll be damned!
  
The rain continues unabated, the water flowing past equinox carrying detritus washed down from the hills by the much swollen River Erch. A small half feathered chicken momentary hangs up on the dinghy’s painter, before the current moves it on.
   I carry on the job of cleaning up and drying out. Equnox’s heater, full on, has turned the cabin into a warm but damp fug. Bacon, sausage and eggs with a Speckled Hen, or two, will come later, the reward for getting us back in good order.

Aber day 3 - Strange Goings-on!

The wind whistles constantly through the rigging of nearby boats and the constant slap slap slap of halyards against masts, a reminder that another depression is on its way from the SW. Bouts of heavy rain and F7 gusting winds preventing me from sailing north; although one bilge keeled yacht, also circumnavigating the UK, headed off for Barmouth , a short hop up the coast.    In between showers a long solitary walk around the University and town, was rudely interrupted, when a uniformed policeman wearing blue rubber gloves grabbed my attention when he started smashing the front passenger door window of a parked Ford. His truncheon proving not a very effective weapon as, again and again, it bounced off before the glass suddenly succumbed. Sadly, the occupant had parked to watch the impressive waves batter the seafront and had, it appeared died, behind the wheel. An ambulance crew took her away, while the police cleared up the broken glass with a handy yellow plastic dustpan and brush they produced from their car’s boot. Seems it may be a regular occurrence in Aber, so well rehearsed were they at cleaning up.
  Mind you, she might have just pulled over to have a quick lunchtime snooze. The noise of the truncheon on glass, loud for me a bystander, must have been horrific in the car, a catalyst for a heart attack!
  The two rivers called the Rheidol and Ystwyth that meet in Aber are very swollen and although appear crystal clear, are actually iron brown and make an extraordinary stain, in the proximity of the harbour entrance, as they run out and mix with the sea. This iron, I leaned yesterday, reacts with the sea water and produces the weird fishy smell mentioned in an earlier post.
  Another rather quirky occupation is for, what appear to be seemingly normal middle aged men, to get their partners to photograph them standing right on the edge of the seawall as spay spectacularly bursts skyward accompanied by a wonderfully deep crump from below. Absolutely soaked, itching and cold, they go home happy in the knowledge that they can show friends what a wonderful time they’ve had in Aber. The giggling and rather embarrased, photographers often messing up their first attempts to get the composure just right meant that two had to go back for a second ducking. Leaving the scene, after first checking the camera that the act had been captured, between gritted teeth and wondering what the hell were they thinking of!

‘Daft Buggers!’ You can almost hear onlookers mutter in unison, as they wander off shaking their heads in disbelief!

The Gannet - Day 2 - Aber

 -   Woke very late and after a long chat with Peter Moore on the phone, who had read the previous day’s blog; felt the need for another scalding shower (the call and shower arn't connected!) and then a wander into town; where vital stores were requisitioned at Somerfield’s and then stowed securely on board. A case of Speckled Hen being squirreled away in secret corners was on special offer – a real bonus! Mutiny over! The voyage may continue......
   A wander along the breakwater to re-evaluate my entrance into the harbour yesterday, was not as pleasant as it might have been due to a very fishy smelling breeze coming ashore over a granite coloured sandy beach that eventually led me up to the castle ruins and then on to a recommended restaurant ‘The Gannet’ at the top of the town. Pictures of Concorde and famous celebs on the wall suggested someone connected with the restaurant had a past career at British Airways. My waitress, the owner's wife, explained that it was her husband who was in most of the pictures and the man in charge of menus and recipes for all of Concorde’s food. Good omen, I thought. And I was right. I’ll be damned if I know how they remain in business having first a huge delicious smoked fish pie with cheesy mashed potato on top to start with (in a ramekin the size of a soup bowl and a peppered sirloin steak and locally grown vegetables to follow. A crying shame that there was simply no room left for puddings as those served on adjacent tables looked splendid. Two good sized glasses of wine and excellent fresh bread and unsalted welsh butter kept the meal company as did a cup of coffee. £12 the lot! No wonder the place was almost full.
   Having semi digested lunch; I got around to fitting the new water tank/bladder, at last, and have thankfully, dispensed with the huge plastic water carrier bought in Devon that I’ve shared the cabin with. I will not miss the sloshing noises at night that emanated from it one little bit; nor the way it slid dangerously around the cabin sole when sailing in a bit of rough. As part of the exercise, I turfed out the contents from all the lockers as one or two seemed to have got a bit musty; then gave the lot a good airing before re-stowing. It’s good to have a fresh idea of inventory too; having been at sea for 6 weeks now; I’d forgotten what was where.
    All this activity makes a growing boy hungry...

In trouble at Aberystwych

I decided last night it was time to flee from Fishguard after spending the day on the computer. The weather admittedly was slightly marginal with a SW wind up to F5 gusting 6. I dropped the mooring at 7am and in sunshine with one reef in and engine running set off for the 50+nm – almost a dead run to Aberystwych. I picked up a favourable tide and was soon without engine and batteries charged, wallowing along with following waves at 6+knots. The coastline is made up of near vertical cliffs and headland after headland and as each sped by so it was marked off on the chart.  The rock formations vary as do the fields perched on their steep sides and both make for interestng cruising. 
  Cardigan Island at 20 nm, provided a suitable spot to hide behind and tie in a second reef, as the wind had increased and worryingly ominous looking clouds closed up from behind, totally reducing visibility of the more distant headlands already passed. The miles sped by as Equinox hovered around the 9knots SOG.
   When within 10 miles of Aber, a gale warning was issued for the Irish Sea, by Milford Haven Coastguard, indicating winds gusting F8 and more! With foresails furled after hearing the warning, the wind started increasing and with it, the following sea ... quite quickly and dramatically!
   By the time I could see Aber clearly thorugh the rain and drizzle the seas had grown further and with engine running, I turned into wind to drop the mainsail and prepare to enter the rather tortuous concrete entrance a mere 25-50 meters meters wide with huge waves exploding on the breakwaters on both sides which, has to be approached at a precise amgle of 133degrees. I was unable to stow the sail, the sea being just too rough to stand up on the deck and deal with the ties, but as there were two reefs in, only a small billow of sail hung down to hamper matters; once, that is,  the gaff was lowered and topped off. Gusts of 38 Knots and more were making helming interesting, as I followed exactly the recommended course in. Thank God for chart plotters. My screen, set to highest detail gave me precise bearings and attack angle and fighting tide, waves and wind, shot through the narrow entrance into calm water, albeit with a strong outward flow as the tide was now ebbing fast. Quite a few people had gathered on the breakwater to watch. Indeed some were gesturing to me. Once inside, a further call on VHF Ch80 to Aber Marina was answered with instructions on where to go; as I had already told them I was unable to fender up and had not prepared my lines, for risk of them being washed over the side and into the prop!
    Aber harbour is tight and congested... very, at low tide! So there’s little, if any manoeuvring room. The instructions given were concise and having followed them, could see two men indicating frantically from a vacant slot on a pontoon. With engine idling, I let the wind do the work and it blew me sideways into my slot where professional hands held me off while I fended up and with their help tied Equinox on securely. At this point, the marina manager gave me a bollocking for being out; adding as a rider, that he was the recently retired coxswain of the lifeboat! I explained that I had judged the passage as OK, or at very worse, a little marginal. He however, was adamant that I should not have even set off! Claiming he knew about the weather warning long before Milford Coastguard announced it! He said that Marinemet had forecasted the gale as early as 7am this morning! A service I don’t use, but maybe should?
    Then a charming man, called Keith, all smiles, in a RNLI sweater and carrying a clipboard, introduced himself and asked whether I would mind filling in an 'incident form' as they had launched the inshore lifeboat on my behalf! I hadn’t even seen it. He explained that a member of the public had seen me out a sea trying to stow the mainsail and had called the RNLI on his mobile. They in turn had called Milford Haven Coastguard who tried calling me on Ch16 and failed. The RNLI too, had tried calling me on CH16 and having not received a response assumed I was in difficulty. By the time they had launched, I had passed ‘The Trap’ an evil rock formation right on the northern side of the narrow harbour entrance, that they had judged, by looking at my inbound track, I was about to wreck myself on! The explanation I gave Keith was that I was on Ch80 talking to the marina, so could not have heard either of the calls on Ch16. Anyway, he left all smiles and happy, once he realised I had some experience, had done all I could, and had all the right survival kit on board and had just been unlucky to get a gale blow up at short notice on a longish passage. Apparently, ‘The Trap’ is responsible for a considerable number of lost souls over the years, in conditions not too dissimilar to todays!
   The boat prettied up with a ‘Harbour Stow’ and with me showered and shaved and coded up with WiFi and gate locks, I grabbed a large bag of appallingly dirty and very niffy washing and set of for the Laundrette – such a romantic life! Surprisingly no one followed me, as I walked with the bag held out at arms length! Had anyone asked, I was returning a nervous skunk, with a case of bad flatulence and halitosis, to its owner!
   A pizza and two dreadful locally brewed beers from a chilly and very dour wine bar across the bridge finds me tucked up with the rain thrumming off the cabin roof and gusts blowing Equinox quite some way from the vertical, I’m settled in for the night, tucked up in my sleeping bag with a Speckled Hen – the last one! A supermarket sweep is mandatory tomorrow to track some more down... Vital survival kit and only a suitably impressive stockpile will induce the crew to stave off their planned mutiny!
    The gossip on board is rife!
   A footnote!
Just heard that Melanie Jago has written a peice about the voyage and Prostate Cancer awareness in the Cornish Guardian.

Fun in Fishguard

  Antony, Nicolas and Richard proved to be excellent company and over the next three days we sailed in Antony’s Moody, visited pubs, fixed Nicolas’s ancient Kingfisher diesel engine, newly installed in his Drascombe which, had not run for years and shared a great many laughs – mostly at each other’s expense! It's made much easier, when you have many common interests – fishing, shooting, dogs and sailing and, as is often the case, shared values too. I hope we keep in touch, as indeed I do with Ant's friend Nick who joined us for a meal, early sail and got a ducking while disembarking into Nico's tender for his troubles.
   Fishguard, once a major hub for shipping cattle and horses to and from Ireland, prior to the railways, suffered from it’s remote location and unsuitability to be added to the rail network; so lost out to Holyhead further North and Cardiff to the South - exacerbated by the breakwater being built in the wrong place – and the suicide of the man responsible. On the plus side, it is largely unspoilt with wonderful sailing along the coast with numerous bays, inlets and fishing villages to explore. One or two of these villages have become Chelsea-by- the-Seas, full for a few brief months and populated largely by those who can afford second homes. A reflection of the times means that quite a few are up for sale; but still at absurdly high prices, although 30-40% less than what they were selling for two or three years ago.
   There’s talk of a new marina being built, which could be a great success with easy access to Ireland and wonderful sailing nearby.
   Nicolas, the only one of the musketeers, who lives nearby, remains; the others have left for the Midlands. So alone again, I sit on my mooring in bright sunshine one moment and torrential rain the next. Aberystwyth, some 40 miles away; is my next destination, but first the wind, gusting madly, with worse forecasted, means I may be stuck here for a further day or two yet.
   Of some concern, I’ve just discovered my milk has gone off and my bread mouldy in the damp! Stocks of Speckled Hen are dangerously low too. The crew will, I'm sure, be forced to mutiny.
   It’s time to call it a day!

Dale to Fishguard

   Another rather restless lumpy night at Dale together with a forecast of a reasonably good weather for the next 24 hours, combined with the clean hull and prop, gave me a good reason and the confidence needed, to slay the next series of demons – St Ann’s Head, Skomar Island and Jack Sound, ST Brides Bay, the daunting Ramsey Sound and the Bishops and Clerks complex of islands and rocks before St David’s Head and finally Strumble Head - a 40+nm passage and a tough day’s sailing from all that I had read and seen – pictures in Dale and Neyland’s pubs and clubs of shipwrecks and storms! On the plus side, there are quite a few safe havens and numerous possible anchorages along the route intended. But the series of low pressures surrounding the UK meant wind direction could easily change as the day progressed, making many of them unsafe, if not downright dangerous. In addition, there are numerous route options and shortcuts in between the islands and the mainland itself. The tidal flows that surround these hazards are some of the fiercest in the UK and nigh impossible to tackle if approached outside the small tidal window most of them offer – making timing absolutely critical. So following a rather good fish gumbo and a 10 oz steak at Dale Yacht Club and input from three other skippers drinking pints at the bar was able to filter out from them and what I had read, what was probably my best solution. One said he would be leaving Dale at 10am to cover half my anticipated route, picking up another sailing chum in St David’s before sailing on to Cardigan the day after. I too aimed to slip moorings at the same time and take advantage of some welcome company.

   Sure enough next morning at 10am, not one but two yachts were leaving Dale and both turned right out of Milford Haven, as did I. Confidence building! All of us kept Stokholm Island to port and then one veered off, setting course for Ireland, it seemed; leaving just the two of us. I had opted to go around the outside of Skomer Island and thus avoid Jack Sound and the much narrower sound to its west. My decision was based on that route giving me a better reach across St Brides Bay; and kinder on Equinox in the expected heavy’ish seas. The other yacht chose Jack Sound. That’s odd I thought, taking a different route to the one we discussed the night before- if indeed he was the same person I had had the discussion with. Silly not to have made arrangements, but I didn’t want to ask for company or assistance – ego!
   But no sooner than we had Stockholm Island behind us and on course for Ramsey Island than the wind veered, negating the extra miles I’d sailed. I had also forgotten to change my VHF back from Ch 86 to 16 where Milfod Haven Coastguard provide a regular local weather service; so I missed, as I was later to learn, an imminent gale warning! The other yacht must have heard it and changed plans. So it was with some surprise that the wind increased quite dramatically to 17-23knots and visibility dropped with it, as I made our way across St Brides Bay.
   The Bay is a mooring spot for tankers waiting to take their turn in Milford Haven and it was in the lee of one of these Behemoths’ that I was forced to take shelter, put a reef and set off again as the wind increased further; gusting to over 25 knots. Visibility was falling too as drizzle and mist closed in. No sign of the other yacht either in front or behind me. Had he turned back? Fortunately, after three further tacks, the wind came back around to a more SW’ly which, allowed for much better progress, as I approached my next decision – go west and to seaward of the Bishops and Clerks or the much shorter route through Ramsey Sound. I chose Ramsey Sound, having realised that I’d forgotten to change the VHF back to 16 which; on doing so, heard a repeat of the gale warning! We shot through Ramsey Sound in disturbed choppy water; Equinox being thrown off course by the swirling currents. Not unpleasant but it keeps you focused on the task in hand as your SOG is 9+knots and there are hazards!
    Crossing Whitesands Bay, the wind slowly dropped and even the sun made a brief appearance and of huge relief, the seas calmed considerably; so thinking conditions had settled for the time being and seeing no dark clouds, shook out the two reefs.
   St David’s Head has a well publicised race, once you’ve passed it, heading NE, as I was about to discover, which throws, what appeared to me to be, when I first noticed them, a line of waves, exactly the same as those breaking on a sandbar, so I quickly re-checked both the map and plotter to make doubly sure I hadn’t made a navigational error. No, I was where I thought I was, and there’s plenty of water some 17-33 meters of it ahead..... but why the waves! I had barely a few minutes, I guessed, to both fret and get ready for a pummelling!
    The next twenty minutes were .....well ..... rather mind blowing! With both engine and sail, I rode this bucking bronco of a race; facing Equnox’s bow into the waves which I thought might break on us and then turning back on course to rise and fall, like a roller coaster, the ones that didn’t seem to be a threat. Inevitably I read some wrong and poor old Equinox was thrown sideways and buried in foam. It’s going to be messy down below again, I though; having earlier put the washboards in, so for time being, couldn’t see how bad – I could just hear it! I first double checked then triple and quadruple checked my grab bag with essentials was clipped on beside me. I even removed the life-raft cover! On and on it went; and after yet another crunching, cockpit filling wave left me still upright and with nothing broken, decided Equinox was up to the challenge and actually started to enjoy it... a bit! Hell, it’s what makes the voyage a challenge, after all! Suddenly it’s all over and you’re back in, what seem to be, ideal conditions. A sigh of relief, a quick check all is in order, a peek though the hatch to realise it’s not too bad down there and then focus back on getting to Strumble Head as quickly as possible before the gale that had been forecasted arrives.
   I didn’t make it. The wind got up when we were some four miles away and although on a reach found it almost impossible to helm Equinox as she wanted to broach, turning into the wind, as gusts reached 30+Knots. Around the head we flew and then another race to contend with, not nearly as bad, as the last one, but still hard work.
   With that behind me, I needed shelter fast, so in a small bay with my bow just 20 meters from the cliff face, but still in 20 meters of water, took down her sails and motored the remaining miles into Fishguard Bay and past the huge breakwater. Relief at last!
   Motoring into Lower Town, the recommended anchorage, opposite the ferry terminal, I saw some empty buoys and also three men who seemed to be cleaning up after a sail. With engine idling and close by, I shouted out a request for guidance and was immediately directed to a buoy some 200 meters away. Thanking them profusely, I motored across, picked up the suggested buoy and then slumped down among the mess in the cabin, with the kettle on, to make a much needed brew. 10 hours at the helm! What a day!

Little did I know it, but three fun filled days were to follow with some of the nicest people you could possibly meet. With tea half drunk, I could hear the sound of oars approaching and one of the men from the yacht, I’d been given directions by, following introductions, asked whether I cared to join them for a pub dinner ashore and a few beers!

5 minutes later, mess left, wet clothes abandoned, I was in my tender dressed in best drinking trousers, rowing towards their yacht for joining instructions........!

An apprehensive ponder in Dale

Why is that vast tracts of our offshore coastline have become dumping grounds for unexploded ordinance? I am sure there’s a very valid reason; but I’ve now crossed over or skirted 12 sites since leaving Chichester!
Someone in munitions procurement seems to be either overly exuberant or perhaps on a serious kick-back, if the only way they can expend the unused stockpile is drop them onto the seabed. Rotten chickens, rancid butter or stale bread, I can just about understand; but munitions? Have they got a shelf life? It seems they must have. I’m crossing two huge dumping grounds tomorrow. If these dumps consist of largely redundant cannonballs from Waterloo or Long Bow arrows from Agincourt they wouldn't, one assumes, get a nmention on marine charts. Obviously they're not;  so one is drawn to conclude that they’re probably WW1 mustard or chlorine gas shells or some recent devilish bacteriological contraption with an intricate timer and corroded fuse that’s being nibbled at by a crab with a death wish and a penchant for a serious high. What was wrong with letting the bloody things off anyway; just for the fun of the bang or selling them to some interested party while they still had a chance to impress. Maybe they were just too damn dangerous to do that, if so, why dump them just a few miles offshore? What’s wrong with 50 or 100 miles out to sea?

I read somewhere there’s a wreck in the Thames estuary that has enough explosive potential to blow the windows out of houses 20 miles away. Maybe I’ll put my clothes back on again tomorrow to keep all my bits together.... just in case.....

Neyland to Dale

Clear water in Neyland Marina gave me the chance to have a closer look at Equinox’s hull and prop from the pontoon. Not good! I’ve never seen her hull so fouled with billions of 3-4inch strands of very fine hair-like weed, despite the mullet grazing on it almost continuously. Barnacles cluster on the props brass hub and the first third of each blade.  I have no choice but to address this, as the engine gives little more than three knots before the prop starts cavitating – making manoeuvring in a marina difficult and certainly not enough oomph to tackle some of the obstacles on the Welsh coast ahead. Looking at the charts, Dale looked ideal. A shingle beech and excellent facilities at the nearby yacht club, a local pub and anchorage with plenty of visitors buoys; made it an easy choice.

A dreary drizzle set in as I left Neyland under sail, the 8nm sail took 4 hours, hampered by the garden I was dragging and variable to light winds coming from every direction as it bounced off the mighty tankers moored along mile after mile of Milford Haven’s numerous jetties. Halfway there and having just put a tack in, a powerful rib screamed out from under a concrete jetty and its wetsuit clad helmsman politely scolded me for getting within 100m of a gas terminal jetty, the bearded Duke of York look-alike, relaying the harbour master’s displeasure! Sorry your Royal Highness, it won’t happen again!

Arriving at Dale, two hours after high tide I quickly put on her beeching legs and motored cautiously towards the beech. Crunch! Landed! A kedge anchor lowered from the stern, some 80ft before grounding will hopefully help me haul her off later on or, prevent me being nudged further up the beech by wind and waves, if the weather deteriorates.

Eight hours of scrapping and scouring later and near exhaustion, I slumped into bed, hungry, rather evil smelling and itchy from being salty and wet; despite wearing wadders. Setting the alarm for 2:30 I dozed fitfully as Equinox had dried out at a jaunty angle and I need horizontal!

Silencing the alarm and boxer clad only with Equinox gently grinding on the shingle I left the warmth of my sleeping bag to face the drizzle and surprisingly warm wind to relocate her. Engine running, I hauled in the kedge, carried it up to the bow and tied it on; then motored out to an empty spot in the anchorage dumped the whole lot over the side while reversing. With anchor set and it’s GPS alarm on, I towelled down and crawled back into bed; warmer and less salty than before I started this odious task.

I slept well knowing it was a job well done! I can safley tackle the next leg to Fishguard – around Skomer Island, St Brides Bay and the Bishops and Clerks and Saint David’s head. There are shortcuts that could save many hours......but... I’m not sure I’m brave or experienced enough to take them on unaccompanied.

Flying to Wales

Yet another rough night, the wind changed from a northerly to a westerly so by midnight the boat was being tossed uncomfortably by the swell, in the exposed bay. By 6:30am it was easier to sit up than lie down, so sleep was abandoned. A quick peek out of the hatch showed that three other yachts moored close by had had enough and fled. First I cleared the speed sensor of weed, as I had no boat speed yesterday during my sail to Lundy; only SOG from the GPS. The metal spinner covered in greenery and grunge, so no wonder it didn’t work! Then after a pork pie and a can of coke for breakfast, I slipped my mooring and motor sailed around the south of the Island and headed for Milford Haven. What little wind there was soon dropped, so progress was painful as the spars crashed around in the choppy conditions, especially in the tidal race around Rat Island. Long Atlantic swells from the west making matters worse. A small pod of dolphins cheered me up as they hesitated for a few minutes and played around me. My engine probably an assault on their fine tuned senses.
Then the wind slowly returned from the west and with it a gentle reach became possible without the crashing spars to contend with. So, thankfully, with the engine off and topsail flying we made steady progress north. Some hours later and well out of site of land, still in blazing sunshine, the wind slowly increased and with it our rate of progress, averaging just over 5.5knots. By 2pm the wind had turned more southerly and our pace improved further along with some tiring weather helm! A penalty I can put up with, if it shortens journey time. With the entrance to Milford Haven just in sight, some 12 miles away, I opted to sail into the harbour entrance before taking down the topsail, as the sea was getting pretty rough. Closing in fast from behind, a beautiful black hulled Bristol Pilot Cutter, which probably left Lundy Island hours after me but was now within a mile of me at the entrance. She had moored shortly after me last night, approaching from the South in a cloud of brown canvas, her perfect 70ft hull and massive mast and bowsprit made me green with envy. As we approached Milford Haven she must have been doing at least 12 knots or more, her bow covered in foam, her sails full, taught, wrinkle free and translucent in the evening sun. What an awesome, truly awesome sight!

Milford Haven is huge, mile upon mile of oil related terminals, but now with topsail down, we sped the last 7 miles upstream to Neyland yacht haven. The Neyland Lifeboat brought in a motor boat on a long line that had reported engine failure near St David’s head. A petrol water pump, placed on the cabin roof disgorging water pumped from within. I had some hours earlier been listening on Channel 16 the unfolding story, as Milford Coastguard dealt with the event in a most professional manner that involved a small rib offering a temporary tow to the stricken motor boat away from rocks that its drift indicated it would founder on, before the lifeboat arrived. Why the pump? Maybe it was more than engine failure!

Neyland Yacht Haven, sits in a cleft in the hills. We were given a wonderful berth which we could blow onto. A berthing master took my lines and made me welcome. Within minutes it really began to blow and with it came rain, mizzle, drizzle the lot.... Welcome to Wales!

We had got here just in time. The wind alarm was sounding as I switched off the engine - 25Knots! Phew, by the skin of my teeth, I’d made it.....just within the 48 hours that the Met had indicated. Good planning or just luck!

A fantastic much-needed meal at the Neyland clubhouse, a few wets, then back to Equinox and my first good night’s sleep for what seems days, stuffed to the gills. Perfect!  I woke at 10am - 12 hours deep, deep sleep. I've never ever slept that long....Is it getting to me?

Bideford Bar!

With Gina, safely shore side and mostly dry, in the choppy conditions; I had two hours to prepare Equinox before the flood tide made it safe to cross the bar. Then casting off, my first problem became apparent. The weed growth hampering performance alarmingly. Indeed, I could manage just 1.3 knots over the incoming stream. Gunning the engine to try and clean the prop, I inched out past the lifeboat and a then two miles with 18k wind, 3k+ tide and growing seas, right on the nose, making my progress torrid. The seas grew as I approached the bar, to the point that one mighty wave caused my hatch to fly forward on its runners with such force that when it hit the two rubber stops they shattered the fibreglass and flattened the handle used to open the hatch from within the cabin. Then the anchor dislodged itself from its cradle and threatened to embed itself in the hull, or fly loose on the deck, so an urgent run forward to replace it was made. The two retaining pins had bent, so securing the anchor with one bent pin, I returned with a hammer to straighten it and then repeated the exercise with the other; getting numerous soakings for my pains. Although harnessed, it hampered my progress to the point that I considered abandoning it; until that is, a huge wave nearly knocked me off my feet not once but twice. Scared? Yes, VERY!

The rough seas and lack of engine power made the exit a 2 hour affair and cold, wet and tired, I decided to head to the familiar Lundy Island and seek refuge in the lee of its huge cliffs. How I thought I would ever have made Milford Haven, I really don’t know. Conditions in Barnstable Bay were far worse than I had envisaged and I suppose, I really should have turned back.....but The Met gave me just a 48 hour window to get to Wales; and I though I would be strong enough to sail there overnight. As it was I didn’t get to Lundy until 5:30pm – a 7 hour sail to cover under 23nm!

Completely exhausted having pickled up a very welcome visitor’s mooring , I first wolfed down a bowl of soup then straightened out the mess below which included, not surprisingly, more water ingress and then dead on my feet, hit the sack to warm up both my aching body and bruised soul. My worse day yet.... yes, and by long way.

Appledore day 2 and family time,

Gina had decided many weeks ago to attend a school reunion near Bridgewater, a lunchtime affair and within striking distance of Appledore; so at the last minute, we arranged to meet on the RNLI slipway at 2:30 - how romantic is that! This would probably be our last chance to meet before Anglesey in August. James, our eldest son, jumped at the chance to join us; taking his Yamaha R6 the scenic route down the coast from Bristol; a three hour ride. Arriving blue with cold and suffering from the motorcyclist’s curse of dead man’s fingers; a vibration and cold induced symptom, that drains blood from your fingers. Sunshine, he said, had turned to drizzle halfway and he was not dressed for it. Within minutes it started drizzling in Appledore too!
A warm waterside pub was found overlooking the estuary and a relaxing time spent catching up on a month’s separation, as the men’s tennis final was screened unwatched in the corner. A fruitless search an hour or two later for somewhere to eat prompted James to head back to Bristol, the sun breaking through as he left. A curry was on the cards with Heff, his flatmate, later that evening would, no doubt, restore order.

Gina and I had a lovely al fresco evening on the boat, a Pasta supper and rather too much chocolate. An early run ashore next morning in the tender was planned as Gina had a Practice meeting at 2pm and I had to vacate my mooring too. Another rough and restless night, as the wind got up and while Equinox strained on her tether, her skipper pondered what the notorious Bideford Bar would have in store!

Appledore - restocked and fished out!

Last night’s fishing was incredible. I drew Log Pool; a dark 30-50ft wide stretch of river with the opposite bank overgrown with trees that makes the pool rather forbidding and sultry. The overhanging trees provide excellent shade, as do the bank’s numerous bays- scars left by ancient oaks and willows, flourishing one year, gone the next, that bear testament to the river’s awesome power which bodily tore them out. One or two lie stranded and bleached in the shallows, their sunken braches a haven for sea trout. It was among these that I silently slid into the water at 10:30. Over the next two hours I lost two Peels – young sea trout - and then, just as the moon showed and mist started settling on the river a huge fish took my fly with shocking force. My rod was yanked down and the fly line shot out of the water to form a straight line to the fish, the line in hand torn from my fingers. Then nothing...gone! That was it. I will never know how big it was, or indeed what it was, but never in 45 years of fishing have I experienced anything like it. It was very hard to get to sleep, when I eventually hit the hay at around 2:30; with one further sea trout landed and taken for the freezer. It’s what dreams are made of!

Goodbyes over a quick trip to the supermarket and here I am back on Equinox. The wind, although dying now at 8pm, was gusting F5-6 with huge breakers crashing on Bideford Bar a mile away, when I got here this morning. After last night’s excitement, together with a just-heard forecast warning of gale force winds means a further day here to recover and a chance to give the engine a ‘once over’might be prudent.

Of some surprise is the extent of the greenery that has grown in a week on the hull. How on earth it retains a grip in 4 knot current is a mystery. Maybe it was there already and mooring in this tidal stream provides it with perfect growing conditions. Another job......

Four scortchers and a wet one!

The heat has been so instance that daytime fishing has been largely abandoned until today. The odd foray to flick a tiny dry fly for brown trout in some of the shadier stretches curtailed after an hour or two by thirst and lethargy of both angler and fish. There seems to be so much fly life, I suppose due to the heat, that the trout are full to the gills....literally! Our usual daytime quarry, the salmon, has been seen in small numbers and by their silvery colour, considered fresh-run, so they’re obviously coming into the river; despite the dearth of water; but it’s unlikely they’re catchable; so instead we conserve our energy for the night – and what fishing we’ve had. A record sized, for us, sea trout is now featured in ‘Trout and Salmon’ magazine, as are the 4 caught in one night by yours truly. A good-sized fresh run 9lb.8oz salmon too at 12:30am, yes, that’s AM, also features. What’s been so incredibly encouraging is to witness the sheer numbers of migrating sea trout. Untold hundreds even thousands pouring into te river from the estuary each night despite the state of it, and then somehow managing to forge their way upstream. It’s magical to watch them in the moonlight fight their way through the rapids and shallows and into the next pool, resting and then pushing on - easy pickings for the otters that interrupt our fishing most nights in one or other of the numerous tranquil pools. Last night Tim and I had a hissing match with a mother and two quite mature cubs! Eel numbers have dropped savagely recently, their usual dietary mainstay, so Lamprey now feature – a fish I’m not sorry to see eaten – as ugly as sin!
  Mink too make their presence felt - one, unseen but heard, black devil savaged a rabbit in the margin at Cattle Drink Pool a few nights ago – a truly dreadful heart-wrenching sound at 2am in the morning when one’s hearing is more acute to make up for the eye’s deficiency – a very unsettling moment, to say the least.
  Catch sizes and weights, although religiously recorded, are not; and never have been the primary focus; instead our ‘boy’s week’ is measured by laughter, each other’s company and the excellent food enjoyed by us all each night as we take in turns to serve our ‘signature dish’ – in my case a fish pie. Then bursting at the seams, we head for the river around 10pm; all of us sweaty and some – no names here, venting like troopers – a self inflicted noxious penalty when done inside chest high wadders!
Yesterday evening it all changed, along with southerly winds came almost continuous rain for 6 hours - until sometime early morning. The river responded, rising an inch or two and dropping quite a few degrees – huge relief, no doubt, for the fish. Our tally rising with a stunningly beautiful 5.8lb sea-trout caught in Log Pool.
Tonight’s our last night. The river is in perfect condition but first we have Roast Lamb to content with. One of Richard Wood’s self-reared 2 horned Jacobs. I see yet another sweaty night’s work ahead!
Tomorrow a big shop and then back to Equinox and prepare for perhaps my toughest leg yet – Milford Haven.