Rested and refreshed after the walk ashore we set off to sort out the Lizard with its light.
Of course the Easterly had arrived which made it nice and popply for us. We took the lesser option of rounding the most southern bit and heading into Falmouth, in particular, St Mawes. Hang a right as soon as the waves calm down and you've passed the lighthouse.
When it gets flat, drop the 'ook. What pleasant surroundings, wooded shores backed by green hills.
The Steward managed to sort something out for dinner. I think he said it was "Toad in the Hole". Top man!
Brekky wasn't that bad either.
The next leg was to end in the river Yealm. Sixteen years ago that was where I purchased Tutak II from a lovely gentleman by the name of Mike Carruthers. So it was with damp eyes that we tied up to the pontoon in the middle of the river under the banks at Noss Mayo. Stunning place with a lifetime wait for moorings probably.
We stopped there for a day or three and inbibed ale and stuff. A great time was had by all but in the end it was time to go.
Hazy day led us past Prawle point and Start point, in which order I can't remember.
Again the Steward rustled up something for our evening meal. Something to sustain our nightly endeavour as we headed east for the Race of Portland and safe harbour beyond. We were racing the gale that was soon to be upon us.
We did very well and the tide served us until the bitter end and the rounding of the bank beyond the race, when a concerned voice broke through the darkness. "Solent Coastguard we are having some engine issues." "Yes Maam. How many persons on board." The reply came with two adults, to which I thought "they'll be alright". Two children which brought me closer to a descision. And ended with " and a dog", well that was it the helm was hard over in a second and we backtracked a couple of miles and called up the yacht to see if they required a tow. The answer was no as they were now sailing but would we stand by as their progress was only half a knot over the stiff tide. Should the wind die they would surely have been taken back into the race. Many hours later, and a dawn, saw us make the entrance to Portland Harbour, what joy.
The wind did indeed blow, blow indeed it did but we were tucked up in the old Olympic marina.
The wind surfers and kite surfers were having a wicked time of it. All that wind and no big waves thanks to the Chesil bank.
The Steward came up with his version of "cheesecake".
Amazingly delicious! A buttered digestive with jam on top.
We departed the pretty and hospitable Port of St Mary in the good old Isle of Man and headed due south for 'olly 'ead as the previous Steward would say.
It is a realatively short hop to the set apart island and after passing the Skerries light made for the harbour entrance.
Ferries were avoided and we picked up a mooring in the new harbour.
And were treated to a passable sunset.
The tide served at some unearthly hour and we left the confines of harbour to round the North Stack. It is a good job it was dark as I would like to have seen the overfalls but we certainly felt them with over 8 knots of ground speed. The South Stack was taken a little further offshore. The sun gave us a pleasant rise and made our day.
Such was the benefit of the tide we were able to take it through the Bardsey sound off the end of the Lleyn Peninsula. Bardsey sound is used by kayakers at it runs white water particularly near the "Bitches", some pretty offensive rocks.
Food seemed to play its part in the long day and the Steward rustled up a homemade tomato sauce to go with the pasta, sadly dried.
The tide was still with us as we rounded north through St Tudwal's Sound and its light.
And into the roads of the same name. Here the tide ran out and a mooring was aquired for a few hours.
A Spanish omlete was created for lunch.
Such was the buisiness of the place the mooring was soon dropped the delights of Abersoch were left behind. A day of sailing had us at dusk at the Porthmadog bar trying to find the approach channel without success. The wind had puffed up and there was white water all around and we headed offshore and into the hidden delights of Pwllheli. Alongside a holding berth we listened to a concert followed by fireworks at five in the morning. Being awake anyway we released the lines and headed out to a better sea and a return to the Porthmadog bar, that's the sand bar of course.
This time it was obvious as we found the channel marks had been moved over 2 miles to the south. Once located it was a straightfoward task to follow the marks in and we tied up on the Madog yacht club drying pontoon. After five minutes we were told to move. What a welcome, but it was for our own good as Tutak would have fallen into a big hole regardless of legs. They moved boats around and found us a suitable space for the duration and held a celebration that night in the bar. The next morning we were told it went on until the early hours. That explains why I was confused when I awoke late the following afternoon having experienced nightmares of life happening around me and dogs paddling canoes and strange things.........
Apparently most folk just go across Cardigan Bay and miss out the delights of the armpit of Wales. A geographical term alluding to its place on the map and nothing else. It is a place of much tooting, being at one end of the Ffestiniog steam railway. Porthmadog is a happy place it seems. Holiday makers abound and the scenery is quite nice with Portmeirion tucked away just around the corner, home of giant bubble gum.
A view from our berth up and down the harbour at high water give an idea of the place.
We had a real good time there and, should you ever be near, make the effort, it could be worth it, you never know. It was with some saddness that we left Porthmadog behind.
Off course the reason for no-one visiting is apparent when the wind blows. The bar becomes exciting in even moderate conditions from the onshore. Once over the bar one can become embayed as the prevailing winds trap one to leeward and one ends up on a beach somewhere. Local destinations to the south dry out and as one has to leave at around high water the tide does not serve well for adjacent harbours. New places on a falling tide being out we set off for a longish passage to South Wales breaking the navigation at Fishguard. We had a good bach south.
After sunset
we felt our way into the anchorage which was dotted with moorings. We managed it more by luck than judgement. The night had spawned a fast ferry.
But our side was clear at any rate.
Fishguard does provide some shelter but we did not dally. Heading instead, south, for Strumble Head and on to St David's Head and Ramsey Sound. Reaching there at a time when the water is not white and the kayakers are playing.
Indeed it looks rather pleasant but the gps tells a different story as we accelerate up to military power and thread our way through the crazy paving of hidden rocks. It's what makes you feel alive!
All that made me hungry so I call for a snack.
To keep me going. That evening we anchored in the bay adjacent to the Sound of Ramsey going by the name of Porthlysgi.
Departure the next day was time to coincide with a tide to take us into Solva. A little drying gap in the cliffs that I visited on foot many years ago. I thought it would good to return and show Tutak. And here is Tutak legged up against the wall in Solva.
As the waters recede the local heron goes afishin nextdoor.
Apparently the Steward tells me there is something of a craze for adorning street furniture with knitted covers. It has reached here too by the looks of it.
The sweet little harbour of Solva looking down from the cliff path.
What a pleasant place that was with moneyed incomers mingling, sometimes not too well, with natives. A world away from Portmadog.
Departing Solva bound south.
Jaunty rocky face into the wind as we face it too.
Out near St Ann's Head light.
We took a bit of a pasting coming round the corner into Milford Haven and took the opportunity to pickup a solitary buoy in Castle Bay for the night. It was big enough for a tug and we were glad the Port Authority didn't want it back.
The trip up river was pleasant if industrial. But it looked as if it had been landscaped to mitigate against the hard iron with the defences adding to history.
Lunch of chille fried rice intterupted the scenery for a while.
But still the oil berths carried on.
And on.
The names of former vessels for all to see, well not all perhaps.
And then we have the Irish ferry making for Pembroke docks I think.
We eventually ended up at a place called Neyland. There we took on fuel, the first since the end of the Caladonial canal at Corpach.
Neyland is rather nice being tucked away from the industial clutter by wooded banks and colourful houses. They put on a hog roast and music for us but we had to decline as the weather window for the Bristol Channel called us back to sea. Milford Haven, I like it but sadly we only brushed the surface.
