Falmouth was a nice town with good Cornish Pasties available at every street corner. It also had a seriously good Chandlery Shop right on the waterfront, but the weather did not look like improving: We were seeing a succession of Atlantic depressions and the forecast offered no hope of a change to sunshine again. I love the way they can forecast, "Wind and rain giving way to prolonged blustery showers" - as if that means anything different!
After one night in the marina, we moved back out into the anchorage ready for a good start the next morning. We had planned to go further West into the Helford River and then stop in the little Cornish fishing harbour at Mevagissy on the way back. That weather and the fact that this was meant to be a holiday, not a test of stamina and endurance, made us decide to take a long hop towards home. We decided to head straight for Plymouth. From here we could watch the forecasts and do a simple 24-hour crossing home whenever we wanted. Plymouth is a huge, natural harbour with a big town and many safe refuges for the boat while we amused ourselves ashore.
The forecast was for Force 6 from the South, this would put the wind onto the beam and give us good speeds. We upped anchor and set off on a grey morning after a peaceful night. We motor-sailed South out of the Fal into a grey and choppy English Channel. As we eased sheets and cut the engine we found no problem getting a good 7 knots of boat-speed out of the 20-knot wind.
We were heeled well over at about 20 - 25 degrees, I sat in the low side of the cockpit and began working my way through one of the biggest pasties I have ever seen. A Cornish pastie is a wonderful invention, consisting of a slightly peppery, dry stew wrapped in pastry and baked. Of course the best place to get one is Cornwall and the best way to eat it is to hold it in your hand and munch while the coast of Cornwall slips past behind you at 7 knots.
It took me a while to notice that for the first time ever, Nicky did not seem to be enjoying a sailing trip. She had stayed below and was very quiet. I asked her what was wrong and eventually made out that she was saying something about it being 'awfully rough'... I looked around and saw what she meant. The waves were about 10 to 12 feet high with foamy crests. They were coming at our beam, where, due to the heel, Rusalka was displaying lots of her ample rump. But we were rising over them all, keeping the end of the boom well out of the water and sailing well.
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| Nicky not enjoying the weather as we enter Plymouth Sound in the drizzle |
"Nonsense!" I called back, helpfully. "Going along marvellously!" Just then about half a litre of wave-top detatched itself, arced across the cockpit and landed right on my pastie. A bit saltier now, but no problem. Gosh, it's a wonderful feeling to have found your sea-legs!
Within ten minutes a couple more bucketfuls of sea-water had found me and my pastie in our previously safe haven in the cockpit corner. Things were getting very serious. If I could not eat quicker, the pastry casing was in danger of decomposing and I would be left with two handfuls of mushy cold stew. Nicky did not seem to understand the seriousness of the situation and would not even pass me a plate. What is more, she had not even started eating her pastie yet.
I battled on single handed and, well I put it down to a mixture of innate skill and years of experience, but I just managed to save the last bits of diced potato as the spray washed the gravy off my hands. That was one of the best Cornish pasties I have ever eaten!
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| The Breakwater in Plymouth Sound, complete with anchored warship |
Plymouth also has a large Naval Base. Just as we were rounding the corner into Plymouth Sound, leaving plenty a sea-room for the large Naval ship also entering from the South and getting our first view of the Sound itself, everything disappeared into a fine, grey drizzle. This gave us a few anxious moments but the visability soon improved enough for safety and my waterproofs could do with a rinse to get the worst of the pastie off them, so I stood happily in the rain. Nicky was not so sure, as you can see from the photo.
We considered anchoring or picking up a buoy outside, but soon decided on a marina berth and ended up snug and safe in Queen Anne's Battery Marina. This was a good choice as the weather stayed nasty for several days. We discovered some excellent shops - The Sea Chest Nautical Bookshop overlooking QAB Marina have been supplying my charts etc ever since by mail order - and the delightful old town just a short walk away. I bought a huge fisherman anchor that we still have never needed. We looked up some old friends and fellow Vancouver owners and discovered two lots of both in the same marina. The yacht club was relaxing and welcoming. We were happy to declare ouselves 'storm-bound' here until the end of our holiday.
The crossing back to Jersey a week later was pleasant and uneventful. So much so that we put the spinnaker up on the first morning out and I checked the compass by the amplitude of the sun at sun-set. We crossed the shipping lanes in the dark and put the engine on when our speed dropped to 3.5 knots around dawn. By lunch-time we were so close to Jersey and in so little rush for our trip to be over that we put it off again and drifted in on the incoming tide. The sun was shining on the same rose-granite rocks we had climbed and played on since childhood. The South coast of Jersey was alive with sea-birds, lobster-pot buoys and local craft out for the day.
It's nice to go away. But it's nice to come home again too!
