RUM JUGGERNAUTPOOLE
Ahoy me hearties
Gather round ye scoundrels, dim those lamps, and hear ye legend of ye fearsome Rum Juggernaut, a Rum fueled vessel sailing from a southern haven on a quest to cross the seven seas, plundering and pillaging unsuspecting ports as they went. Their treasure be fun times and RUM! AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH
SHIP'S log
Whilst we put a great deal of planning and thought in to almost every part of the boat, and even bought the boat with this trip in mind, we wanted to reflect on what went well, and what could have been improved.
Firstly, we (Rum Juggernaut, Owain, Chantal, and probably Tally!) all now feel more warmly connected to each other, and we are very fond of the boat for looking after us so well. In spending a little more on things like decent sails, halyards, clutches and so on, we didn't have to think about them on the way, as they just worked.
So many of the choices we'd thought about and made in advance, it's difficult to narrow examples, but in thinking hard about every item aboard we pared everything back to what we needed and wanted, and very little extra. One set of cutlery and crockery each (only) saved washing up decisions, and a good boat knife and sharpener meant it was also able to do chicken, or limes, and remain sharp, prepared, and located for emergencies too.
At over 6ft tall, Owain occasionally struggled with the lack of headroom - although 'only' a slight stoop is surprisingly good for a 27ft boat - and on the rain-bound days the lack of anywhere to stand tall was a occasionally vexing. The need to create and then disassemble a bed every night was at times a bit of a bind (especially after a long day!), but with the size of the boat, and the size of berths aboard as built, necessary for a good nights sleep ongoing, and we're so glad of all the thought that went in, and that we had the space to stretch out each night. Thanks Mr P!
On the subject of rain bound days, we elected not to have any kind of cover for the cockpit other than the excellent bespoke sprayhood from Kemp Sails, and with waterproofs, towels and sundries for 2 people to dry, it got quite crowded below at times! Perhaps a boom tent would have helped, but for the maybe half dozen occasions we would have used it we're still not sure the space it would have occupied could have been justified.
Conversely, the small size of the boat (by comparison to the 35-45ft yachts most of the other travellers we met and saw were using) was a positive advantage, and we enjoyed berths where there were none for bigger boats, and harbours (like Banff) where these larger boats simply could not go. We would absolutely recommend that modesty helps on this. If our draught was less (the fixed keel on Rum Juggernaut is 1.5m under the water) further options would have opened, especially if we had been able to take the ground.
In adopting a smaller sailplan (105% jib) and packing modestly, we had a light boat that didn't require huge amounts of power to drive her or huge power to winch, and with a slippery hull form we easily covered long days as well as many much bigger boats. It turns out that a well trimmed main and fractional jib can be made to go very well on the right boat after all!
Firstly, we (Rum Juggernaut, Owain, Chantal, and probably Tally!) all now feel more warmly connected to each other, and we are very fond of the boat for looking after us so well. In spending a little more on things like decent sails, halyards, clutches and so on, we didn't have to think about them on the way, as they just worked.
So many of the choices we'd thought about and made in advance, it's difficult to narrow examples, but in thinking hard about every item aboard we pared everything back to what we needed and wanted, and very little extra. One set of cutlery and crockery each (only) saved washing up decisions, and a good boat knife and sharpener meant it was also able to do chicken, or limes, and remain sharp, prepared, and located for emergencies too.
At over 6ft tall, Owain occasionally struggled with the lack of headroom - although 'only' a slight stoop is surprisingly good for a 27ft boat - and on the rain-bound days the lack of anywhere to stand tall was a occasionally vexing. The need to create and then disassemble a bed every night was at times a bit of a bind (especially after a long day!), but with the size of the boat, and the size of berths aboard as built, necessary for a good nights sleep ongoing, and we're so glad of all the thought that went in, and that we had the space to stretch out each night. Thanks Mr P!
On the subject of rain bound days, we elected not to have any kind of cover for the cockpit other than the excellent bespoke sprayhood from Kemp Sails, and with waterproofs, towels and sundries for 2 people to dry, it got quite crowded below at times! Perhaps a boom tent would have helped, but for the maybe half dozen occasions we would have used it we're still not sure the space it would have occupied could have been justified.
Conversely, the small size of the boat (by comparison to the 35-45ft yachts most of the other travellers we met and saw were using) was a positive advantage, and we enjoyed berths where there were none for bigger boats, and harbours (like Banff) where these larger boats simply could not go. We would absolutely recommend that modesty helps on this. If our draught was less (the fixed keel on Rum Juggernaut is 1.5m under the water) further options would have opened, especially if we had been able to take the ground.
In adopting a smaller sailplan (105% jib) and packing modestly, we had a light boat that didn't require huge amounts of power to drive her or huge power to winch, and with a slippery hull form we easily covered long days as well as many much bigger boats. It turns out that a well trimmed main and fractional jib can be made to go very well on the right boat after all!
After our mammoth journey the previous day (days!), we were considering a lay day to get ourselves back together, and the previous evening we had inspected the tides and weather (neither were hugely encouraging) with this in mind. With a series of fronts spinning off a deep low approaching the UK from the west, waiting did not seem like an option after all, so we gathered our scattered thoughts and belongings, and prepared for a final push.
Despite aiming for a 9am departure, our slow preparations delayed that until 10, and with a little trepidation we set off across Lyme Bay in 16-18kts of wind with just the jib up, heading towards Portland on a broad reach. The mizzle restricted visibility quite quickly to less than 2 miles, and the brisk breeze pushed us on at a steady 6-7kts. As the tide built in our favour the miles rolled by in an eerie, sloppy, grey out.
At 2pm we were visited by dolphins again, which provided a welcome distraction from an increasing breeze which steadfastly refused to obey the forecast and begin to ease, instead building to gust over 20kts. The lumpy sea had been causing problems for dim-witted George too, so we had parked him at midday and taken over hand steering. Playing with the dolphins in this manner was a joy, and as we surfed the waves together we smiled aboard Rum Juggernaut, despite feeling a little apprehensive about the wind...
At 3pm, they returned, which was another welcome distraction, as by now the lumps were trying to get aboard with us, and the wind had been steadily building to 21-22kts consistently, and our faith in the forecast easing of the breeze was fading. Another play together, and they left us again with our thoughts.
By the time they returned for their hourly appointment at 4pm, we had experienced a couple of breaking waves over the boat: one had curled over the sheerline in the cockpit and ripped off the cable ties holding the dodger in place, dumping a few dozen kilos in Owains lap as he steered from the windward side... The dolphins were fun (and obviously enjoying the building waves as they swooped past us on each wave!), but we were more distracted this time by keeping the boat dry and on an even keel.
By this time too, Portland was getting closer, and with the tide due to turn against us (yes, that's 4 major tide gates in 3 days we got wrong!), we were keen to stay well offshore of the race - something positively dangerous in these conditions, and at 7 miles off we were hoping we would avoid too much drama. However, the waves continued to build, as did the breeze... Lacking a better time, we crammed down a little food and water, and mentally prepared.
Once the swell was a steep 3m, and we were surfing down each one with 22-25kts of wind behind us (boatspeeds of 10-11kts each time!), the fairground ride was becoming a problem. The visibility increased, and after double checking our position we were confident this wasn't after all the tide race, just wind over spring ebb in the English channel. We had to strap on and knuckle down - it was looking likely to be a long ride.
After an hour or so of that madness, the waves lengthened, but got taller still. By now, bungalow-sized lumps of maybe 4m were regularly rolling under and around us. The wind remained a steady Force 5/6 with gusts to 26/27kts, and the jib was beginning to feel rather large as we surfed at over 12kts on a regular basis. Still, this was making the journey go quickly, wasn't it..? It was certain we weren't going to change it..!
Life for the next 3 or 4 hours was a relentless onslaught of gusty wave surfing. The "liquid Himalayas" off Peel were mere foothills to the monsters we rode here, and we both hoped the boat, and our preparations with her, were as good as we had asserted... Barely blinking, we toughed it out all the way to the point we gybed off St Albans and began to take the wave train in a slightly kinder direction, secure in the knowledge they apparently were good enough.
From St Albans the swell was calmed by the ledge off the headland, and we were able to relax just a little. For the first time since the morning the breeze dipped a couple of times below 20kts, and the sun - absent all day in the grey - began to set in an awesome display of pinks, oranges, reds and eventually a moody ruby, lighting the whole sky. Our grips (on the tiller in Owains case, on Tally in Chans!) were able to ease a bit, and we began to think of home.
Familiarity in the form of Durlston Head lighthouse in the dusk guided us towards Peveril Ledge buoy, and like a light turning off, the breeze fell to 8-10kts, and the sea calmed to nearly flat. With relief we dropped the jib, gave George the helm, and fully relaxed for the first time in 9 hours. With our familiarity with Poole, we naviguessed to the entrance, where we quietly congratulated ourselves at the point we crossed our outgoing track (where were the crowds, the fireworks, the band and the ticker tape parade?), and slipped in to the waters of Poole Harbour.
The night entry up the harbour presented no problems for this crew, and eventually we tied up in our berth at 11.30pm. Tired as we were, the nerve jangling ride had left us wired, and we wound down over the next hour enough to eventually pass out. We were home.
Despite aiming for a 9am departure, our slow preparations delayed that until 10, and with a little trepidation we set off across Lyme Bay in 16-18kts of wind with just the jib up, heading towards Portland on a broad reach. The mizzle restricted visibility quite quickly to less than 2 miles, and the brisk breeze pushed us on at a steady 6-7kts. As the tide built in our favour the miles rolled by in an eerie, sloppy, grey out.
At 2pm we were visited by dolphins again, which provided a welcome distraction from an increasing breeze which steadfastly refused to obey the forecast and begin to ease, instead building to gust over 20kts. The lumpy sea had been causing problems for dim-witted George too, so we had parked him at midday and taken over hand steering. Playing with the dolphins in this manner was a joy, and as we surfed the waves together we smiled aboard Rum Juggernaut, despite feeling a little apprehensive about the wind...
At 3pm, they returned, which was another welcome distraction, as by now the lumps were trying to get aboard with us, and the wind had been steadily building to 21-22kts consistently, and our faith in the forecast easing of the breeze was fading. Another play together, and they left us again with our thoughts.
By the time they returned for their hourly appointment at 4pm, we had experienced a couple of breaking waves over the boat: one had curled over the sheerline in the cockpit and ripped off the cable ties holding the dodger in place, dumping a few dozen kilos in Owains lap as he steered from the windward side... The dolphins were fun (and obviously enjoying the building waves as they swooped past us on each wave!), but we were more distracted this time by keeping the boat dry and on an even keel.
By this time too, Portland was getting closer, and with the tide due to turn against us (yes, that's 4 major tide gates in 3 days we got wrong!), we were keen to stay well offshore of the race - something positively dangerous in these conditions, and at 7 miles off we were hoping we would avoid too much drama. However, the waves continued to build, as did the breeze... Lacking a better time, we crammed down a little food and water, and mentally prepared.
Once the swell was a steep 3m, and we were surfing down each one with 22-25kts of wind behind us (boatspeeds of 10-11kts each time!), the fairground ride was becoming a problem. The visibility increased, and after double checking our position we were confident this wasn't after all the tide race, just wind over spring ebb in the English channel. We had to strap on and knuckle down - it was looking likely to be a long ride.
After an hour or so of that madness, the waves lengthened, but got taller still. By now, bungalow-sized lumps of maybe 4m were regularly rolling under and around us. The wind remained a steady Force 5/6 with gusts to 26/27kts, and the jib was beginning to feel rather large as we surfed at over 12kts on a regular basis. Still, this was making the journey go quickly, wasn't it..? It was certain we weren't going to change it..!
Life for the next 3 or 4 hours was a relentless onslaught of gusty wave surfing. The "liquid Himalayas" off Peel were mere foothills to the monsters we rode here, and we both hoped the boat, and our preparations with her, were as good as we had asserted... Barely blinking, we toughed it out all the way to the point we gybed off St Albans and began to take the wave train in a slightly kinder direction, secure in the knowledge they apparently were good enough.
From St Albans the swell was calmed by the ledge off the headland, and we were able to relax just a little. For the first time since the morning the breeze dipped a couple of times below 20kts, and the sun - absent all day in the grey - began to set in an awesome display of pinks, oranges, reds and eventually a moody ruby, lighting the whole sky. Our grips (on the tiller in Owains case, on Tally in Chans!) were able to ease a bit, and we began to think of home.
Familiarity in the form of Durlston Head lighthouse in the dusk guided us towards Peveril Ledge buoy, and like a light turning off, the breeze fell to 8-10kts, and the sea calmed to nearly flat. With relief we dropped the jib, gave George the helm, and fully relaxed for the first time in 9 hours. With our familiarity with Poole, we naviguessed to the entrance, where we quietly congratulated ourselves at the point we crossed our outgoing track (where were the crowds, the fireworks, the band and the ticker tape parade?), and slipped in to the waters of Poole Harbour.
The night entry up the harbour presented no problems for this crew, and eventually we tied up in our berth at 11.30pm. Tired as we were, the nerve jangling ride had left us wired, and we wound down over the next hour enough to eventually pass out. We were home.
By midnight, our progress towards the Lizard had slowed to a crawl, and with night fully on us, the world had narrowed to the bright light of the lighthouse sweeping past us from a couple of miles away, the many dimmer lights of the boats and villages around us in the distance, and the night-mode dimmed screens of the instruments.
The clear daytime sky also dimmed to a star filled night sky, the like of which it's rare to see ashore due to the ubiquitous light pollution, and we were treated to a spectacular display from horizon to horizon, including a full length milky way. The slow progress allowed our thoughts and gaze to wander, and we spotted aircraft, shooting stars, satellites and planets. The lack of a moon meant there was nothing to spoil the show...
However, Tally has a routine (however fractured by our hobbies and habits have made it lately!), and despite finally breaking and having a long wee on the deck (which although we praised, she still obviously felt guilty about) the night, and the increasingly unstable boat as we got involved with the tide race, meant she was also increasingly unhappy.
At around 2am we decided that aiming for Falmouth (up-tide all the way) was not worth doing. Arriving at perhaps 5am, in order to leave for 8am (the weather was definitely going to turn, and we wanted to get as far as possible before it did) to cover the same distance from where we were was not appealing, and the discomfort of forcing our little tub through the tide race had become old. We aimed south to slide away from the worst of the lumpy stuff, and then aimed instead at Start Point, another 60 miles distant...
The night passed, and we spent the time identifying lights of the ships we could see passing on AIS, guessing what the rest of the lights were, and willing the bright loom of the Lizard light to pass by. As dawn began to break, we were treated to Venus rising resplendent in the pre-dawn light, and then slowly being obscured by the sun. Sunrise was a glorious show, and as we pushed offshore, but inshore of the tracks of the shipping, the tide began to turn again, and peaceful progress returned.
We took turns napping and watching as we passed south of the Eddystone, and at around 8am we had a return visit from the dolphins! This time it was far from fleeting, and we were treated to a group of at least 8, calling to each other (we could hear them through the hull, bumping up against it in their garrulousness) and playing for ages around the bow as we surged through the still water. This went on and on, and the crew of Rum Juggernaut all spent a long time sat on the bow, while George steered, spellbound by the show...
Eventually, they began to grow bored with us, and slowly they trickled away in ones and twos. The last pair carried on for a while, but finally the show was over, and an hour had passed in magical fascination of what we had seen, all within arms length.
The clear daytime sky also dimmed to a star filled night sky, the like of which it's rare to see ashore due to the ubiquitous light pollution, and we were treated to a spectacular display from horizon to horizon, including a full length milky way. The slow progress allowed our thoughts and gaze to wander, and we spotted aircraft, shooting stars, satellites and planets. The lack of a moon meant there was nothing to spoil the show...
However, Tally has a routine (however fractured by our hobbies and habits have made it lately!), and despite finally breaking and having a long wee on the deck (which although we praised, she still obviously felt guilty about) the night, and the increasingly unstable boat as we got involved with the tide race, meant she was also increasingly unhappy.
At around 2am we decided that aiming for Falmouth (up-tide all the way) was not worth doing. Arriving at perhaps 5am, in order to leave for 8am (the weather was definitely going to turn, and we wanted to get as far as possible before it did) to cover the same distance from where we were was not appealing, and the discomfort of forcing our little tub through the tide race had become old. We aimed south to slide away from the worst of the lumpy stuff, and then aimed instead at Start Point, another 60 miles distant...
The night passed, and we spent the time identifying lights of the ships we could see passing on AIS, guessing what the rest of the lights were, and willing the bright loom of the Lizard light to pass by. As dawn began to break, we were treated to Venus rising resplendent in the pre-dawn light, and then slowly being obscured by the sun. Sunrise was a glorious show, and as we pushed offshore, but inshore of the tracks of the shipping, the tide began to turn again, and peaceful progress returned.
We took turns napping and watching as we passed south of the Eddystone, and at around 8am we had a return visit from the dolphins! This time it was far from fleeting, and we were treated to a group of at least 8, calling to each other (we could hear them through the hull, bumping up against it in their garrulousness) and playing for ages around the bow as we surged through the still water. This went on and on, and the crew of Rum Juggernaut all spent a long time sat on the bow, while George steered, spellbound by the show...
Eventually, they began to grow bored with us, and slowly they trickled away in ones and twos. The last pair carried on for a while, but finally the show was over, and an hour had passed in magical fascination of what we had seen, all within arms length.
It all started innocently enough. Padstow had been a charming and secure enough place to spend the night, but we had been port-bound long enough in Milford Haven, and the pressure to keep the miles ticking away was building too. We were entertainment for the kids crabbing off the quay, hipsters on bikes and drunk tourists, but the feeling of being in the fishbowl was strong and the forecast looked good.
So we enjoyed a slightly more relaxed start, leaving at the beginning of the ebb at around just after 8am, with a brisk 15-16kts from the north to push against. This kicked up a choppy exit over Padstow bar, but nothing we and the boat weren't up to (though Tally expressed her displeasure at more of her unfavourite pastime as we hobby-horsed through it), and we turned slowly more south and west past the various rocky features off the estuary.
The wind settled in direction, and eased as the morning passed, until we were struggling to sail at all off St Ives by early afternoon. By this time our tide benefit had all but run out too, and although the general advice was to anchor in St Ives and await the fair tide around Lands End, the day was pleasant, and we figured progress at 2kts was better than waiting until 7pm, so we pressed on against a building spring tide.
Not for a long time have we inspected a single patch of coastline for so long, but as Pendeen cove passed at walking pace we had plenty of time to reflect on our choice to continue..! As the afternoon passed and the sun crossed the sky, slowly the headlands around the corner appeared, and slowly we inched towards them... Botallack Head, Cape Cornwall, The Brison Rocks, Kettles Bottom Rocks, and eventually Lands End itself all passed as the sun approached the horizon and the scorching day cooled towards evening. Finally at around 8pm we turned south and east, having passed the penultimate 'corner' (the westernmost) of our journey!
So we enjoyed a slightly more relaxed start, leaving at the beginning of the ebb at around just after 8am, with a brisk 15-16kts from the north to push against. This kicked up a choppy exit over Padstow bar, but nothing we and the boat weren't up to (though Tally expressed her displeasure at more of her unfavourite pastime as we hobby-horsed through it), and we turned slowly more south and west past the various rocky features off the estuary.
The wind settled in direction, and eased as the morning passed, until we were struggling to sail at all off St Ives by early afternoon. By this time our tide benefit had all but run out too, and although the general advice was to anchor in St Ives and await the fair tide around Lands End, the day was pleasant, and we figured progress at 2kts was better than waiting until 7pm, so we pressed on against a building spring tide.
Not for a long time have we inspected a single patch of coastline for so long, but as Pendeen cove passed at walking pace we had plenty of time to reflect on our choice to continue..! As the afternoon passed and the sun crossed the sky, slowly the headlands around the corner appeared, and slowly we inched towards them... Botallack Head, Cape Cornwall, The Brison Rocks, Kettles Bottom Rocks, and eventually Lands End itself all passed as the sun approached the horizon and the scorching day cooled towards evening. Finally at around 8pm we turned south and east, having passed the penultimate 'corner' (the westernmost) of our journey!
Waiting for a 70 mile wide weather window in Milford Haven had been exhausting, and to finally have a decent one was a relief: the passing days had meant that a later entry in to Padstow was possible (we were limited to 2 hours either side of high water), and the wind was promising to give us a beam reach.
Once we'd dragged ourselves out of bed after the 4am alarm, and a tired and confused Tally encouraged to walk around the marina for a very early constitutional, we slipped our berth at 5am in the dark, to head out of the lock gates in to the darkness of Milford Haven again - this time knowing that dawn was coming though.
As we motored in to the westerly wind on our way out of the Haven in the dawn light, a heavy shower hit us, and with the rain bouncing and splashing off the water around us, while hiding behind the sprayhood as much as possible, we wondered if we would get many of these: the unsettled weather was passing rather than passed, and we had expected some showers, but this was heavier than we had anticipated.
However, it turned out to be the last of the rain, and as we set the sails and pointed south through the Bristol Channel, the sun threatened to come out from behind a well defined front of cloud, and - hooray! - 4 other boats slowly appeared behind us, all heading the same way. Another race was on, and we had a head start of maybe 2-3 miles...
Before we could concentrate on this though, we were rewarded by a group of dolphins coming to play with us just off Turbot Bank! These guys were full of enthusiasm for the chase, bounding over the waves to get to us, then leaping around and about us. A first flurry of activity was followed half an hour later by more, and again perhaps an hour after that - the privilege of having these creatures play in such a manner around us will never get old, and it ranked among the best experiences either of us had had. Brilliant.
Once we'd dragged ourselves out of bed after the 4am alarm, and a tired and confused Tally encouraged to walk around the marina for a very early constitutional, we slipped our berth at 5am in the dark, to head out of the lock gates in to the darkness of Milford Haven again - this time knowing that dawn was coming though.
As we motored in to the westerly wind on our way out of the Haven in the dawn light, a heavy shower hit us, and with the rain bouncing and splashing off the water around us, while hiding behind the sprayhood as much as possible, we wondered if we would get many of these: the unsettled weather was passing rather than passed, and we had expected some showers, but this was heavier than we had anticipated.
However, it turned out to be the last of the rain, and as we set the sails and pointed south through the Bristol Channel, the sun threatened to come out from behind a well defined front of cloud, and - hooray! - 4 other boats slowly appeared behind us, all heading the same way. Another race was on, and we had a head start of maybe 2-3 miles...
Before we could concentrate on this though, we were rewarded by a group of dolphins coming to play with us just off Turbot Bank! These guys were full of enthusiasm for the chase, bounding over the waves to get to us, then leaping around and about us. A first flurry of activity was followed half an hour later by more, and again perhaps an hour after that - the privilege of having these creatures play in such a manner around us will never get old, and it ranked among the best experiences either of us had had. Brilliant.
Things slowed significantly this week, as we encountered our first real weather wall.
We arrived, per our previous post, on the front of a nasty pressure system that was to bring a fair bit of wind - nothing beyond the humans in the crew, but enough to dampen the spirits of the canine member of staff...
So we opted to wait it out. The thunderstorms were quite exciting, arriving here in the early hours of Wednesday morning and sending Tally in to her usual (for thunderstorms) paroxysms of excitement/fear/madness. Not what the humans needed at 4am really.
Following them, we had a series of lows rolling over an Azores high that refused to extend past the Loire valley, and the weather fronts that have been coming our way have given us very "Scottish" weather. Fine one moment, then either heavy rain, or gusty winds, or both simultaneously, and with a 70nm journey ahead (Padstow has been the target from here, from before we left) which might mean 14 hours on the water, we haven't wanted to take the plunge without a more secure window.
Happily, tomorrow seems to be settled enough. The wind is forecast to be a solid westerly, and with luck it won't top 20kts, making the trip a beam reach all the way.
Nearly a week here has exposed the rather limited nature of Milford Haven's appeal to the passing traveller, and rather like previous weather-bound experiences, we're now keen just to leave.
Fingers crossed for a lovely reach all the way across the outer reaches of the Bristol Channel..!
We arrived, per our previous post, on the front of a nasty pressure system that was to bring a fair bit of wind - nothing beyond the humans in the crew, but enough to dampen the spirits of the canine member of staff...
So we opted to wait it out. The thunderstorms were quite exciting, arriving here in the early hours of Wednesday morning and sending Tally in to her usual (for thunderstorms) paroxysms of excitement/fear/madness. Not what the humans needed at 4am really.
Following them, we had a series of lows rolling over an Azores high that refused to extend past the Loire valley, and the weather fronts that have been coming our way have given us very "Scottish" weather. Fine one moment, then either heavy rain, or gusty winds, or both simultaneously, and with a 70nm journey ahead (Padstow has been the target from here, from before we left) which might mean 14 hours on the water, we haven't wanted to take the plunge without a more secure window.
Happily, tomorrow seems to be settled enough. The wind is forecast to be a solid westerly, and with luck it won't top 20kts, making the trip a beam reach all the way.
Nearly a week here has exposed the rather limited nature of Milford Haven's appeal to the passing traveller, and rather like previous weather-bound experiences, we're now keen just to leave.
Fingers crossed for a lovely reach all the way across the outer reaches of the Bristol Channel..!
Today has been a slow day. Waking at around 9, we have meandered around Milford marina dock, eaten a cooked breakfast (eating out together has never been so glamorous!), and tidied the boat. This was because it had been a long day yesterday... Cue hazy visual effects and dream sequence music...
It has been something of a brain ache over the past couple of days, trying to work out where best to go, and whether to do this or that. In the end the weather was so pleasant, it almost didn't matter where we were going, just that we were leaving!
We had let the 20-30kt days pass yesterday (Saturday) and the day before, and at 2pm, as soon as we could leave Caernarfon, we did. The sun was shining, and for the first time in a while, 12kts of wind didn't require anything more than a t-shirt.
We negotiated the Caernarfon bar, a shifting set of sands South West of the Menai Strait that is regularly re-buoyed as the channel wanders, and set sails in a lovely 8kts of wind on a close reach, with the knowledge that we were both unlikely to get to Bardsey and the only other option was an anchorage 12 miles down the coast. Time to enjoy a sail with no clock on it...
While the kettle boiled, we got down to the serious business of racing the 2 boats that came out with us instead. In these challenging conditions, the ground rules were set: we assumed the others had autopilots on, so we left George to it. Otherwise, it was free reign on tweaking the sails, but we drew the line at moving ballast.
A Kelt 8m was very good competition but as the breeze trickled away to 7kts, then 6kts, he mysteriously kept catching up, and it was only as he drew alongside that we heard the engine and saw exhaust. That was a relief! The Ovni 395 just passed us on the way in to the anchorage, which we counted as a win...
After scouting out the bay, and discarding an excellent looking beach just off the lifeboat ramp (probably less good if they got a shout...) we picked a spot that allowed us to row ashore and run Tally up and down the beach. She seems to have got the hang of the dinghy now, but manhandling her is no less wet!
Our working assumption now (10pm) is for an early start (6am?) and to push all the way to Fishguard in fine weather tomorrow. That may of course change, but pushing further in to this current high pressure system feels good..!
We had let the 20-30kt days pass yesterday (Saturday) and the day before, and at 2pm, as soon as we could leave Caernarfon, we did. The sun was shining, and for the first time in a while, 12kts of wind didn't require anything more than a t-shirt.
We negotiated the Caernarfon bar, a shifting set of sands South West of the Menai Strait that is regularly re-buoyed as the channel wanders, and set sails in a lovely 8kts of wind on a close reach, with the knowledge that we were both unlikely to get to Bardsey and the only other option was an anchorage 12 miles down the coast. Time to enjoy a sail with no clock on it...
While the kettle boiled, we got down to the serious business of racing the 2 boats that came out with us instead. In these challenging conditions, the ground rules were set: we assumed the others had autopilots on, so we left George to it. Otherwise, it was free reign on tweaking the sails, but we drew the line at moving ballast.
A Kelt 8m was very good competition but as the breeze trickled away to 7kts, then 6kts, he mysteriously kept catching up, and it was only as he drew alongside that we heard the engine and saw exhaust. That was a relief! The Ovni 395 just passed us on the way in to the anchorage, which we counted as a win...
After scouting out the bay, and discarding an excellent looking beach just off the lifeboat ramp (probably less good if they got a shout...) we picked a spot that allowed us to row ashore and run Tally up and down the beach. She seems to have got the hang of the dinghy now, but manhandling her is no less wet!
Our working assumption now (10pm) is for an early start (6am?) and to push all the way to Fishguard in fine weather tomorrow. That may of course change, but pushing further in to this current high pressure system feels good..!
In our excitement at aiming for and transiting the Swellies, and our eventual relief at the sanctuary Victoria Dock Marina offered, we had not thought much further ahead. Given the distances we have been covering, and the unsettled nature of the forecast, it didn't seem relevant to plan four or five days ahead.
However, the tidal flap that kept us afloat had become something of a double edged sword again, and unlike Douglas (where we stayed outside) or Peel (where the journey ahead was short and the weather settled), our next target (Pwllheli or Aberystwyth) was a long day away, and the tidal gate at Bardsey Island another one like the Skerries that we needed to hit right.
After much umming and aahing, we left to walk Tally up the coast yesterday morning. While we leaned towards staying, the thought of several days enforced stop before we had to (the forecast had been for strong enough wind to keep this crew in port for a couple of days subsequently) was something we wanted to try and avoid, especially as it was so nice.
Mid way through the walk though, and far from any potential help, Chantal took a bit of a tumble over a concrete slab and removed some skin (despite her professed expertise with flip-flops these seem to have been a factor...), and winded herself. By the time Dr Peters had finished the treatment back aboard Rum Juggernaut (after a slow limp back), the moment to leave had gone. An unusual way to make the decision, but rest and recuperation were the order of the day!
However, the tidal flap that kept us afloat had become something of a double edged sword again, and unlike Douglas (where we stayed outside) or Peel (where the journey ahead was short and the weather settled), our next target (Pwllheli or Aberystwyth) was a long day away, and the tidal gate at Bardsey Island another one like the Skerries that we needed to hit right.
After much umming and aahing, we left to walk Tally up the coast yesterday morning. While we leaned towards staying, the thought of several days enforced stop before we had to (the forecast had been for strong enough wind to keep this crew in port for a couple of days subsequently) was something we wanted to try and avoid, especially as it was so nice.
Mid way through the walk though, and far from any potential help, Chantal took a bit of a tumble over a concrete slab and removed some skin (despite her professed expertise with flip-flops these seem to have been a factor...), and winded herself. By the time Dr Peters had finished the treatment back aboard Rum Juggernaut (after a slow limp back), the moment to leave had gone. An unusual way to make the decision, but rest and recuperation were the order of the day!
After our relaxed day in Holyhead, we set our sights out of our way (North and East) for a trip through the Menai Strait on the 13th, timing our departure with the various tide gates we would encounter on the way. With luck (and much number crunching from Owain!) it could all work out.
The first was the inside passage at the Skerries, which despite being a mile or so wide, or perhaps because of this, was giving currents of up to 5kts each way at this stage of the tide cycle, and the resulting overfalls either way meant that arriving during any current at all was undesirable.
In leaving at 7am, we planned to hit the tightest part of the gap at slack tide, and in the event the sunshine and gentle 8-10kts of south wind behind us (not enough for full sail, so we just had a jib up to steady us) simply enhanced the rugged Carmel Point inside our course, and did nothing to enhance the reputation - first hurdle passed...
Passing along the scenic North Anglesey coast with current under us, it was all too easy to get complacent. Motor sailing with just the jib up on a beam reach we were hitting over 8kts of boat speed, meaning we were looking (at this point) at being early for the slack tide at the Swellies, and very early for our eventual target at Caernarfon.
In focusing on the tidal component though, we had overlooked that the wind swinging southwest, and increasing to around 18kts (as was forecast) would cause problems in a narrow channel pointing southwest! As we approached the entry to the Strait from East Mouse, we thought more and more about this as the wind headed us, and increased. Eventually the jib had to go - it was a struggle in some of the gusts off the hills to keep from broaching, and hoisting and then dropping the main an hour or so later in the now-choppy conditions was not really an option we relished. Motoring alone in the much reduced current brought the heady speeds back down to earth, and we crept up to Puffin Island at a more realistic 6kts.
The first was the inside passage at the Skerries, which despite being a mile or so wide, or perhaps because of this, was giving currents of up to 5kts each way at this stage of the tide cycle, and the resulting overfalls either way meant that arriving during any current at all was undesirable.
In leaving at 7am, we planned to hit the tightest part of the gap at slack tide, and in the event the sunshine and gentle 8-10kts of south wind behind us (not enough for full sail, so we just had a jib up to steady us) simply enhanced the rugged Carmel Point inside our course, and did nothing to enhance the reputation - first hurdle passed...
Passing along the scenic North Anglesey coast with current under us, it was all too easy to get complacent. Motor sailing with just the jib up on a beam reach we were hitting over 8kts of boat speed, meaning we were looking (at this point) at being early for the slack tide at the Swellies, and very early for our eventual target at Caernarfon.
In focusing on the tidal component though, we had overlooked that the wind swinging southwest, and increasing to around 18kts (as was forecast) would cause problems in a narrow channel pointing southwest! As we approached the entry to the Strait from East Mouse, we thought more and more about this as the wind headed us, and increased. Eventually the jib had to go - it was a struggle in some of the gusts off the hills to keep from broaching, and hoisting and then dropping the main an hour or so later in the now-choppy conditions was not really an option we relished. Motoring alone in the much reduced current brought the heady speeds back down to earth, and we crept up to Puffin Island at a more realistic 6kts.
RECENT logs
Whilst we put a great deal of planning and thought in to almost every part of the boat, and even bought the boat with this trip in mind, we wanted to reflect on what went well, and what could have been improved.
Firstly, we (Rum Juggernaut, Owain, Chantal, and probably Tally!) all now feel more warmly connected to each other, and we are very fond of the boat for looking after us so well. In spending a little more on things like decent sails, halyards, clutches and so on, we didn't have to think about them on the way, as they just worked.
So many of the choices we'd thought about and made in advance, it's difficult to narrow examples, but in thinking hard about every item aboard we pared everything back to what we needed and wanted, and very little extra. One set of cutlery and crockery each (only) saved washing up decisions, and a good boat knife and sharpener meant it was also able to do chicken, or limes, and remain sharp, prepared, and located for emergencies too.
At over 6ft tall, Owain occasionally struggled with the lack of headroom - although 'only' a slight stoop is surprisingly good for a 27ft boat - and on the rain-bound days the lack of anywhere to stand tall was a occasionally vexing. The need to create and then disassemble a bed every night was at times a bit of a bind (especially after a long day!), but with the size of the boat, and the size of berths aboard as built, necessary for a good nights sleep ongoing, and we're so glad of all the thought that went in, and that we had the space to stretch out each night. Thanks Mr P!
On the subject of rain bound days, we elected not to have any kind of cover for the cockpit other than the excellent bespoke sprayhood from Kemp Sails, and with waterproofs, towels and sundries for 2 people to dry, it got quite crowded below at times! Perhaps a boom tent would have helped, but for the maybe half dozen occasions we would have used it we're still not sure the space it would have occupied could have been justified.
Conversely, the small size of the boat (by comparison to the 35-45ft yachts most of the other travellers we met and saw were using) was a positive advantage, and we enjoyed berths where there were none for bigger boats, and harbours (like Banff) where these larger boats simply could not go. We would absolutely recommend that modesty helps on this. If our draught was less (the fixed keel on Rum Juggernaut is 1.5m under the water) further options would have opened, especially if we had been able to take the ground.
In adopting a smaller sailplan (105% jib) and packing modestly, we had a light boat that didn't require huge amounts of power to drive her or huge power to winch, and with a slippery hull form we easily covered long days as well as many much bigger boats. It turns out that a well trimmed main and fractional jib can be made to go very well on the right boat after all!
Firstly, we (Rum Juggernaut, Owain, Chantal, and probably Tally!) all now feel more warmly connected to each other, and we are very fond of the boat for looking after us so well. In spending a little more on things like decent sails, halyards, clutches and so on, we didn't have to think about them on the way, as they just worked.
So many of the choices we'd thought about and made in advance, it's difficult to narrow examples, but in thinking hard about every item aboard we pared everything back to what we needed and wanted, and very little extra. One set of cutlery and crockery each (only) saved washing up decisions, and a good boat knife and sharpener meant it was also able to do chicken, or limes, and remain sharp, prepared, and located for emergencies too.
At over 6ft tall, Owain occasionally struggled with the lack of headroom - although 'only' a slight stoop is surprisingly good for a 27ft boat - and on the rain-bound days the lack of anywhere to stand tall was a occasionally vexing. The need to create and then disassemble a bed every night was at times a bit of a bind (especially after a long day!), but with the size of the boat, and the size of berths aboard as built, necessary for a good nights sleep ongoing, and we're so glad of all the thought that went in, and that we had the space to stretch out each night. Thanks Mr P!
On the subject of rain bound days, we elected not to have any kind of cover for the cockpit other than the excellent bespoke sprayhood from Kemp Sails, and with waterproofs, towels and sundries for 2 people to dry, it got quite crowded below at times! Perhaps a boom tent would have helped, but for the maybe half dozen occasions we would have used it we're still not sure the space it would have occupied could have been justified.
Conversely, the small size of the boat (by comparison to the 35-45ft yachts most of the other travellers we met and saw were using) was a positive advantage, and we enjoyed berths where there were none for bigger boats, and harbours (like Banff) where these larger boats simply could not go. We would absolutely recommend that modesty helps on this. If our draught was less (the fixed keel on Rum Juggernaut is 1.5m under the water) further options would have opened, especially if we had been able to take the ground.
In adopting a smaller sailplan (105% jib) and packing modestly, we had a light boat that didn't require huge amounts of power to drive her or huge power to winch, and with a slippery hull form we easily covered long days as well as many much bigger boats. It turns out that a well trimmed main and fractional jib can be made to go very well on the right boat after all!
After our mammoth journey the previous day (days!), we were considering a lay day to get ourselves back together, and the previous evening we had inspected the tides and weather (neither were hugely encouraging) with this in mind. With a series of fronts spinning off a deep low approaching the UK from the west, waiting did not seem like an option after all, so we gathered our scattered thoughts and belongings, and prepared for a final push.
Despite aiming for a 9am departure, our slow preparations delayed that until 10, and with a little trepidation we set off across Lyme Bay in 16-18kts of wind with just the jib up, heading towards Portland on a broad reach. The mizzle restricted visibility quite quickly to less than 2 miles, and the brisk breeze pushed us on at a steady 6-7kts. As the tide built in our favour the miles rolled by in an eerie, sloppy, grey out.
At 2pm we were visited by dolphins again, which provided a welcome distraction from an increasing breeze which steadfastly refused to obey the forecast and begin to ease, instead building to gust over 20kts. The lumpy sea had been causing problems for dim-witted George too, so we had parked him at midday and taken over hand steering. Playing with the dolphins in this manner was a joy, and as we surfed the waves together we smiled aboard Rum Juggernaut, despite feeling a little apprehensive about the wind...
At 3pm, they returned, which was another welcome distraction, as by now the lumps were trying to get aboard with us, and the wind had been steadily building to 21-22kts consistently, and our faith in the forecast easing of the breeze was fading. Another play together, and they left us again with our thoughts.
By the time they returned for their hourly appointment at 4pm, we had experienced a couple of breaking waves over the boat: one had curled over the sheerline in the cockpit and ripped off the cable ties holding the dodger in place, dumping a few dozen kilos in Owains lap as he steered from the windward side... The dolphins were fun (and obviously enjoying the building waves as they swooped past us on each wave!), but we were more distracted this time by keeping the boat dry and on an even keel.
By this time too, Portland was getting closer, and with the tide due to turn against us (yes, that's 4 major tide gates in 3 days we got wrong!), we were keen to stay well offshore of the race - something positively dangerous in these conditions, and at 7 miles off we were hoping we would avoid too much drama. However, the waves continued to build, as did the breeze... Lacking a better time, we crammed down a little food and water, and mentally prepared.
Once the swell was a steep 3m, and we were surfing down each one with 22-25kts of wind behind us (boatspeeds of 10-11kts each time!), the fairground ride was becoming a problem. The visibility increased, and after double checking our position we were confident this wasn't after all the tide race, just wind over spring ebb in the English channel. We had to strap on and knuckle down - it was looking likely to be a long ride.
After an hour or so of that madness, the waves lengthened, but got taller still. By now, bungalow-sized lumps of maybe 4m were regularly rolling under and around us. The wind remained a steady Force 5/6 with gusts to 26/27kts, and the jib was beginning to feel rather large as we surfed at over 12kts on a regular basis. Still, this was making the journey go quickly, wasn't it..? It was certain we weren't going to change it..!
Life for the next 3 or 4 hours was a relentless onslaught of gusty wave surfing. The "liquid Himalayas" off Peel were mere foothills to the monsters we rode here, and we both hoped the boat, and our preparations with her, were as good as we had asserted... Barely blinking, we toughed it out all the way to the point we gybed off St Albans and began to take the wave train in a slightly kinder direction, secure in the knowledge they apparently were good enough.
From St Albans the swell was calmed by the ledge off the headland, and we were able to relax just a little. For the first time since the morning the breeze dipped a couple of times below 20kts, and the sun - absent all day in the grey - began to set in an awesome display of pinks, oranges, reds and eventually a moody ruby, lighting the whole sky. Our grips (on the tiller in Owains case, on Tally in Chans!) were able to ease a bit, and we began to think of home.
Familiarity in the form of Durlston Head lighthouse in the dusk guided us towards Peveril Ledge buoy, and like a light turning off, the breeze fell to 8-10kts, and the sea calmed to nearly flat. With relief we dropped the jib, gave George the helm, and fully relaxed for the first time in 9 hours. With our familiarity with Poole, we naviguessed to the entrance, where we quietly congratulated ourselves at the point we crossed our outgoing track (where were the crowds, the fireworks, the band and the ticker tape parade?), and slipped in to the waters of Poole Harbour.
The night entry up the harbour presented no problems for this crew, and eventually we tied up in our berth at 11.30pm. Tired as we were, the nerve jangling ride had left us wired, and we wound down over the next hour enough to eventually pass out. We were home.
Despite aiming for a 9am departure, our slow preparations delayed that until 10, and with a little trepidation we set off across Lyme Bay in 16-18kts of wind with just the jib up, heading towards Portland on a broad reach. The mizzle restricted visibility quite quickly to less than 2 miles, and the brisk breeze pushed us on at a steady 6-7kts. As the tide built in our favour the miles rolled by in an eerie, sloppy, grey out.
At 2pm we were visited by dolphins again, which provided a welcome distraction from an increasing breeze which steadfastly refused to obey the forecast and begin to ease, instead building to gust over 20kts. The lumpy sea had been causing problems for dim-witted George too, so we had parked him at midday and taken over hand steering. Playing with the dolphins in this manner was a joy, and as we surfed the waves together we smiled aboard Rum Juggernaut, despite feeling a little apprehensive about the wind...
At 3pm, they returned, which was another welcome distraction, as by now the lumps were trying to get aboard with us, and the wind had been steadily building to 21-22kts consistently, and our faith in the forecast easing of the breeze was fading. Another play together, and they left us again with our thoughts.
By the time they returned for their hourly appointment at 4pm, we had experienced a couple of breaking waves over the boat: one had curled over the sheerline in the cockpit and ripped off the cable ties holding the dodger in place, dumping a few dozen kilos in Owains lap as he steered from the windward side... The dolphins were fun (and obviously enjoying the building waves as they swooped past us on each wave!), but we were more distracted this time by keeping the boat dry and on an even keel.
By this time too, Portland was getting closer, and with the tide due to turn against us (yes, that's 4 major tide gates in 3 days we got wrong!), we were keen to stay well offshore of the race - something positively dangerous in these conditions, and at 7 miles off we were hoping we would avoid too much drama. However, the waves continued to build, as did the breeze... Lacking a better time, we crammed down a little food and water, and mentally prepared.
Once the swell was a steep 3m, and we were surfing down each one with 22-25kts of wind behind us (boatspeeds of 10-11kts each time!), the fairground ride was becoming a problem. The visibility increased, and after double checking our position we were confident this wasn't after all the tide race, just wind over spring ebb in the English channel. We had to strap on and knuckle down - it was looking likely to be a long ride.
After an hour or so of that madness, the waves lengthened, but got taller still. By now, bungalow-sized lumps of maybe 4m were regularly rolling under and around us. The wind remained a steady Force 5/6 with gusts to 26/27kts, and the jib was beginning to feel rather large as we surfed at over 12kts on a regular basis. Still, this was making the journey go quickly, wasn't it..? It was certain we weren't going to change it..!
Life for the next 3 or 4 hours was a relentless onslaught of gusty wave surfing. The "liquid Himalayas" off Peel were mere foothills to the monsters we rode here, and we both hoped the boat, and our preparations with her, were as good as we had asserted... Barely blinking, we toughed it out all the way to the point we gybed off St Albans and began to take the wave train in a slightly kinder direction, secure in the knowledge they apparently were good enough.
From St Albans the swell was calmed by the ledge off the headland, and we were able to relax just a little. For the first time since the morning the breeze dipped a couple of times below 20kts, and the sun - absent all day in the grey - began to set in an awesome display of pinks, oranges, reds and eventually a moody ruby, lighting the whole sky. Our grips (on the tiller in Owains case, on Tally in Chans!) were able to ease a bit, and we began to think of home.
Familiarity in the form of Durlston Head lighthouse in the dusk guided us towards Peveril Ledge buoy, and like a light turning off, the breeze fell to 8-10kts, and the sea calmed to nearly flat. With relief we dropped the jib, gave George the helm, and fully relaxed for the first time in 9 hours. With our familiarity with Poole, we naviguessed to the entrance, where we quietly congratulated ourselves at the point we crossed our outgoing track (where were the crowds, the fireworks, the band and the ticker tape parade?), and slipped in to the waters of Poole Harbour.
The night entry up the harbour presented no problems for this crew, and eventually we tied up in our berth at 11.30pm. Tired as we were, the nerve jangling ride had left us wired, and we wound down over the next hour enough to eventually pass out. We were home.
By midnight, our progress towards the Lizard had slowed to a crawl, and with night fully on us, the world had narrowed to the bright light of the lighthouse sweeping past us from a couple of miles away, the many dimmer lights of the boats and villages around us in the distance, and the night-mode dimmed screens of the instruments.
The clear daytime sky also dimmed to a star filled night sky, the like of which it's rare to see ashore due to the ubiquitous light pollution, and we were treated to a spectacular display from horizon to horizon, including a full length milky way. The slow progress allowed our thoughts and gaze to wander, and we spotted aircraft, shooting stars, satellites and planets. The lack of a moon meant there was nothing to spoil the show...
However, Tally has a routine (however fractured by our hobbies and habits have made it lately!), and despite finally breaking and having a long wee on the deck (which although we praised, she still obviously felt guilty about) the night, and the increasingly unstable boat as we got involved with the tide race, meant she was also increasingly unhappy.
At around 2am we decided that aiming for Falmouth (up-tide all the way) was not worth doing. Arriving at perhaps 5am, in order to leave for 8am (the weather was definitely going to turn, and we wanted to get as far as possible before it did) to cover the same distance from where we were was not appealing, and the discomfort of forcing our little tub through the tide race had become old. We aimed south to slide away from the worst of the lumpy stuff, and then aimed instead at Start Point, another 60 miles distant...
The night passed, and we spent the time identifying lights of the ships we could see passing on AIS, guessing what the rest of the lights were, and willing the bright loom of the Lizard light to pass by. As dawn began to break, we were treated to Venus rising resplendent in the pre-dawn light, and then slowly being obscured by the sun. Sunrise was a glorious show, and as we pushed offshore, but inshore of the tracks of the shipping, the tide began to turn again, and peaceful progress returned.
We took turns napping and watching as we passed south of the Eddystone, and at around 8am we had a return visit from the dolphins! This time it was far from fleeting, and we were treated to a group of at least 8, calling to each other (we could hear them through the hull, bumping up against it in their garrulousness) and playing for ages around the bow as we surged through the still water. This went on and on, and the crew of Rum Juggernaut all spent a long time sat on the bow, while George steered, spellbound by the show...
Eventually, they began to grow bored with us, and slowly they trickled away in ones and twos. The last pair carried on for a while, but finally the show was over, and an hour had passed in magical fascination of what we had seen, all within arms length.
The clear daytime sky also dimmed to a star filled night sky, the like of which it's rare to see ashore due to the ubiquitous light pollution, and we were treated to a spectacular display from horizon to horizon, including a full length milky way. The slow progress allowed our thoughts and gaze to wander, and we spotted aircraft, shooting stars, satellites and planets. The lack of a moon meant there was nothing to spoil the show...
However, Tally has a routine (however fractured by our hobbies and habits have made it lately!), and despite finally breaking and having a long wee on the deck (which although we praised, she still obviously felt guilty about) the night, and the increasingly unstable boat as we got involved with the tide race, meant she was also increasingly unhappy.
At around 2am we decided that aiming for Falmouth (up-tide all the way) was not worth doing. Arriving at perhaps 5am, in order to leave for 8am (the weather was definitely going to turn, and we wanted to get as far as possible before it did) to cover the same distance from where we were was not appealing, and the discomfort of forcing our little tub through the tide race had become old. We aimed south to slide away from the worst of the lumpy stuff, and then aimed instead at Start Point, another 60 miles distant...
The night passed, and we spent the time identifying lights of the ships we could see passing on AIS, guessing what the rest of the lights were, and willing the bright loom of the Lizard light to pass by. As dawn began to break, we were treated to Venus rising resplendent in the pre-dawn light, and then slowly being obscured by the sun. Sunrise was a glorious show, and as we pushed offshore, but inshore of the tracks of the shipping, the tide began to turn again, and peaceful progress returned.
We took turns napping and watching as we passed south of the Eddystone, and at around 8am we had a return visit from the dolphins! This time it was far from fleeting, and we were treated to a group of at least 8, calling to each other (we could hear them through the hull, bumping up against it in their garrulousness) and playing for ages around the bow as we surged through the still water. This went on and on, and the crew of Rum Juggernaut all spent a long time sat on the bow, while George steered, spellbound by the show...
Eventually, they began to grow bored with us, and slowly they trickled away in ones and twos. The last pair carried on for a while, but finally the show was over, and an hour had passed in magical fascination of what we had seen, all within arms length.
It all started innocently enough. Padstow had been a charming and secure enough place to spend the night, but we had been port-bound long enough in Milford Haven, and the pressure to keep the miles ticking away was building too. We were entertainment for the kids crabbing off the quay, hipsters on bikes and drunk tourists, but the feeling of being in the fishbowl was strong and the forecast looked good.
So we enjoyed a slightly more relaxed start, leaving at the beginning of the ebb at around just after 8am, with a brisk 15-16kts from the north to push against. This kicked up a choppy exit over Padstow bar, but nothing we and the boat weren't up to (though Tally expressed her displeasure at more of her unfavourite pastime as we hobby-horsed through it), and we turned slowly more south and west past the various rocky features off the estuary.
The wind settled in direction, and eased as the morning passed, until we were struggling to sail at all off St Ives by early afternoon. By this time our tide benefit had all but run out too, and although the general advice was to anchor in St Ives and await the fair tide around Lands End, the day was pleasant, and we figured progress at 2kts was better than waiting until 7pm, so we pressed on against a building spring tide.
Not for a long time have we inspected a single patch of coastline for so long, but as Pendeen cove passed at walking pace we had plenty of time to reflect on our choice to continue..! As the afternoon passed and the sun crossed the sky, slowly the headlands around the corner appeared, and slowly we inched towards them... Botallack Head, Cape Cornwall, The Brison Rocks, Kettles Bottom Rocks, and eventually Lands End itself all passed as the sun approached the horizon and the scorching day cooled towards evening. Finally at around 8pm we turned south and east, having passed the penultimate 'corner' (the westernmost) of our journey!
So we enjoyed a slightly more relaxed start, leaving at the beginning of the ebb at around just after 8am, with a brisk 15-16kts from the north to push against. This kicked up a choppy exit over Padstow bar, but nothing we and the boat weren't up to (though Tally expressed her displeasure at more of her unfavourite pastime as we hobby-horsed through it), and we turned slowly more south and west past the various rocky features off the estuary.
The wind settled in direction, and eased as the morning passed, until we were struggling to sail at all off St Ives by early afternoon. By this time our tide benefit had all but run out too, and although the general advice was to anchor in St Ives and await the fair tide around Lands End, the day was pleasant, and we figured progress at 2kts was better than waiting until 7pm, so we pressed on against a building spring tide.
Not for a long time have we inspected a single patch of coastline for so long, but as Pendeen cove passed at walking pace we had plenty of time to reflect on our choice to continue..! As the afternoon passed and the sun crossed the sky, slowly the headlands around the corner appeared, and slowly we inched towards them... Botallack Head, Cape Cornwall, The Brison Rocks, Kettles Bottom Rocks, and eventually Lands End itself all passed as the sun approached the horizon and the scorching day cooled towards evening. Finally at around 8pm we turned south and east, having passed the penultimate 'corner' (the westernmost) of our journey!
Waiting for a 70 mile wide weather window in Milford Haven had been exhausting, and to finally have a decent one was a relief: the passing days had meant that a later entry in to Padstow was possible (we were limited to 2 hours either side of high water), and the wind was promising to give us a beam reach.
Once we'd dragged ourselves out of bed after the 4am alarm, and a tired and confused Tally encouraged to walk around the marina for a very early constitutional, we slipped our berth at 5am in the dark, to head out of the lock gates in to the darkness of Milford Haven again - this time knowing that dawn was coming though.
As we motored in to the westerly wind on our way out of the Haven in the dawn light, a heavy shower hit us, and with the rain bouncing and splashing off the water around us, while hiding behind the sprayhood as much as possible, we wondered if we would get many of these: the unsettled weather was passing rather than passed, and we had expected some showers, but this was heavier than we had anticipated.
However, it turned out to be the last of the rain, and as we set the sails and pointed south through the Bristol Channel, the sun threatened to come out from behind a well defined front of cloud, and - hooray! - 4 other boats slowly appeared behind us, all heading the same way. Another race was on, and we had a head start of maybe 2-3 miles...
Before we could concentrate on this though, we were rewarded by a group of dolphins coming to play with us just off Turbot Bank! These guys were full of enthusiasm for the chase, bounding over the waves to get to us, then leaping around and about us. A first flurry of activity was followed half an hour later by more, and again perhaps an hour after that - the privilege of having these creatures play in such a manner around us will never get old, and it ranked among the best experiences either of us had had. Brilliant.
Once we'd dragged ourselves out of bed after the 4am alarm, and a tired and confused Tally encouraged to walk around the marina for a very early constitutional, we slipped our berth at 5am in the dark, to head out of the lock gates in to the darkness of Milford Haven again - this time knowing that dawn was coming though.
As we motored in to the westerly wind on our way out of the Haven in the dawn light, a heavy shower hit us, and with the rain bouncing and splashing off the water around us, while hiding behind the sprayhood as much as possible, we wondered if we would get many of these: the unsettled weather was passing rather than passed, and we had expected some showers, but this was heavier than we had anticipated.
However, it turned out to be the last of the rain, and as we set the sails and pointed south through the Bristol Channel, the sun threatened to come out from behind a well defined front of cloud, and - hooray! - 4 other boats slowly appeared behind us, all heading the same way. Another race was on, and we had a head start of maybe 2-3 miles...
Before we could concentrate on this though, we were rewarded by a group of dolphins coming to play with us just off Turbot Bank! These guys were full of enthusiasm for the chase, bounding over the waves to get to us, then leaping around and about us. A first flurry of activity was followed half an hour later by more, and again perhaps an hour after that - the privilege of having these creatures play in such a manner around us will never get old, and it ranked among the best experiences either of us had had. Brilliant.
Things slowed significantly this week, as we encountered our first real weather wall.
We arrived, per our previous post, on the front of a nasty pressure system that was to bring a fair bit of wind - nothing beyond the humans in the crew, but enough to dampen the spirits of the canine member of staff...
So we opted to wait it out. The thunderstorms were quite exciting, arriving here in the early hours of Wednesday morning and sending Tally in to her usual (for thunderstorms) paroxysms of excitement/fear/madness. Not what the humans needed at 4am really.
Following them, we had a series of lows rolling over an Azores high that refused to extend past the Loire valley, and the weather fronts that have been coming our way have given us very "Scottish" weather. Fine one moment, then either heavy rain, or gusty winds, or both simultaneously, and with a 70nm journey ahead (Padstow has been the target from here, from before we left) which might mean 14 hours on the water, we haven't wanted to take the plunge without a more secure window.
Happily, tomorrow seems to be settled enough. The wind is forecast to be a solid westerly, and with luck it won't top 20kts, making the trip a beam reach all the way.
Nearly a week here has exposed the rather limited nature of Milford Haven's appeal to the passing traveller, and rather like previous weather-bound experiences, we're now keen just to leave.
Fingers crossed for a lovely reach all the way across the outer reaches of the Bristol Channel..!
We arrived, per our previous post, on the front of a nasty pressure system that was to bring a fair bit of wind - nothing beyond the humans in the crew, but enough to dampen the spirits of the canine member of staff...
So we opted to wait it out. The thunderstorms were quite exciting, arriving here in the early hours of Wednesday morning and sending Tally in to her usual (for thunderstorms) paroxysms of excitement/fear/madness. Not what the humans needed at 4am really.
Following them, we had a series of lows rolling over an Azores high that refused to extend past the Loire valley, and the weather fronts that have been coming our way have given us very "Scottish" weather. Fine one moment, then either heavy rain, or gusty winds, or both simultaneously, and with a 70nm journey ahead (Padstow has been the target from here, from before we left) which might mean 14 hours on the water, we haven't wanted to take the plunge without a more secure window.
Happily, tomorrow seems to be settled enough. The wind is forecast to be a solid westerly, and with luck it won't top 20kts, making the trip a beam reach all the way.
Nearly a week here has exposed the rather limited nature of Milford Haven's appeal to the passing traveller, and rather like previous weather-bound experiences, we're now keen just to leave.
Fingers crossed for a lovely reach all the way across the outer reaches of the Bristol Channel..!
Today has been a slow day. Waking at around 9, we have meandered around Milford marina dock, eaten a cooked breakfast (eating out together has never been so glamorous!), and tidied the boat. This was because it had been a long day yesterday... Cue hazy visual effects and dream sequence music...
It has been something of a brain ache over the past couple of days, trying to work out where best to go, and whether to do this or that. In the end the weather was so pleasant, it almost didn't matter where we were going, just that we were leaving!
We had let the 20-30kt days pass yesterday (Saturday) and the day before, and at 2pm, as soon as we could leave Caernarfon, we did. The sun was shining, and for the first time in a while, 12kts of wind didn't require anything more than a t-shirt.
We negotiated the Caernarfon bar, a shifting set of sands South West of the Menai Strait that is regularly re-buoyed as the channel wanders, and set sails in a lovely 8kts of wind on a close reach, with the knowledge that we were both unlikely to get to Bardsey and the only other option was an anchorage 12 miles down the coast. Time to enjoy a sail with no clock on it...
While the kettle boiled, we got down to the serious business of racing the 2 boats that came out with us instead. In these challenging conditions, the ground rules were set: we assumed the others had autopilots on, so we left George to it. Otherwise, it was free reign on tweaking the sails, but we drew the line at moving ballast.
A Kelt 8m was very good competition but as the breeze trickled away to 7kts, then 6kts, he mysteriously kept catching up, and it was only as he drew alongside that we heard the engine and saw exhaust. That was a relief! The Ovni 395 just passed us on the way in to the anchorage, which we counted as a win...
After scouting out the bay, and discarding an excellent looking beach just off the lifeboat ramp (probably less good if they got a shout...) we picked a spot that allowed us to row ashore and run Tally up and down the beach. She seems to have got the hang of the dinghy now, but manhandling her is no less wet!
Our working assumption now (10pm) is for an early start (6am?) and to push all the way to Fishguard in fine weather tomorrow. That may of course change, but pushing further in to this current high pressure system feels good..!
We had let the 20-30kt days pass yesterday (Saturday) and the day before, and at 2pm, as soon as we could leave Caernarfon, we did. The sun was shining, and for the first time in a while, 12kts of wind didn't require anything more than a t-shirt.
We negotiated the Caernarfon bar, a shifting set of sands South West of the Menai Strait that is regularly re-buoyed as the channel wanders, and set sails in a lovely 8kts of wind on a close reach, with the knowledge that we were both unlikely to get to Bardsey and the only other option was an anchorage 12 miles down the coast. Time to enjoy a sail with no clock on it...
While the kettle boiled, we got down to the serious business of racing the 2 boats that came out with us instead. In these challenging conditions, the ground rules were set: we assumed the others had autopilots on, so we left George to it. Otherwise, it was free reign on tweaking the sails, but we drew the line at moving ballast.
A Kelt 8m was very good competition but as the breeze trickled away to 7kts, then 6kts, he mysteriously kept catching up, and it was only as he drew alongside that we heard the engine and saw exhaust. That was a relief! The Ovni 395 just passed us on the way in to the anchorage, which we counted as a win...
After scouting out the bay, and discarding an excellent looking beach just off the lifeboat ramp (probably less good if they got a shout...) we picked a spot that allowed us to row ashore and run Tally up and down the beach. She seems to have got the hang of the dinghy now, but manhandling her is no less wet!
Our working assumption now (10pm) is for an early start (6am?) and to push all the way to Fishguard in fine weather tomorrow. That may of course change, but pushing further in to this current high pressure system feels good..!
In our excitement at aiming for and transiting the Swellies, and our eventual relief at the sanctuary Victoria Dock Marina offered, we had not thought much further ahead. Given the distances we have been covering, and the unsettled nature of the forecast, it didn't seem relevant to plan four or five days ahead.
However, the tidal flap that kept us afloat had become something of a double edged sword again, and unlike Douglas (where we stayed outside) or Peel (where the journey ahead was short and the weather settled), our next target (Pwllheli or Aberystwyth) was a long day away, and the tidal gate at Bardsey Island another one like the Skerries that we needed to hit right.
After much umming and aahing, we left to walk Tally up the coast yesterday morning. While we leaned towards staying, the thought of several days enforced stop before we had to (the forecast had been for strong enough wind to keep this crew in port for a couple of days subsequently) was something we wanted to try and avoid, especially as it was so nice.
Mid way through the walk though, and far from any potential help, Chantal took a bit of a tumble over a concrete slab and removed some skin (despite her professed expertise with flip-flops these seem to have been a factor...), and winded herself. By the time Dr Peters had finished the treatment back aboard Rum Juggernaut (after a slow limp back), the moment to leave had gone. An unusual way to make the decision, but rest and recuperation were the order of the day!
However, the tidal flap that kept us afloat had become something of a double edged sword again, and unlike Douglas (where we stayed outside) or Peel (where the journey ahead was short and the weather settled), our next target (Pwllheli or Aberystwyth) was a long day away, and the tidal gate at Bardsey Island another one like the Skerries that we needed to hit right.
After much umming and aahing, we left to walk Tally up the coast yesterday morning. While we leaned towards staying, the thought of several days enforced stop before we had to (the forecast had been for strong enough wind to keep this crew in port for a couple of days subsequently) was something we wanted to try and avoid, especially as it was so nice.
Mid way through the walk though, and far from any potential help, Chantal took a bit of a tumble over a concrete slab and removed some skin (despite her professed expertise with flip-flops these seem to have been a factor...), and winded herself. By the time Dr Peters had finished the treatment back aboard Rum Juggernaut (after a slow limp back), the moment to leave had gone. An unusual way to make the decision, but rest and recuperation were the order of the day!
After our relaxed day in Holyhead, we set our sights out of our way (North and East) for a trip through the Menai Strait on the 13th, timing our departure with the various tide gates we would encounter on the way. With luck (and much number crunching from Owain!) it could all work out.
The first was the inside passage at the Skerries, which despite being a mile or so wide, or perhaps because of this, was giving currents of up to 5kts each way at this stage of the tide cycle, and the resulting overfalls either way meant that arriving during any current at all was undesirable.
In leaving at 7am, we planned to hit the tightest part of the gap at slack tide, and in the event the sunshine and gentle 8-10kts of south wind behind us (not enough for full sail, so we just had a jib up to steady us) simply enhanced the rugged Carmel Point inside our course, and did nothing to enhance the reputation - first hurdle passed...
Passing along the scenic North Anglesey coast with current under us, it was all too easy to get complacent. Motor sailing with just the jib up on a beam reach we were hitting over 8kts of boat speed, meaning we were looking (at this point) at being early for the slack tide at the Swellies, and very early for our eventual target at Caernarfon.
In focusing on the tidal component though, we had overlooked that the wind swinging southwest, and increasing to around 18kts (as was forecast) would cause problems in a narrow channel pointing southwest! As we approached the entry to the Strait from East Mouse, we thought more and more about this as the wind headed us, and increased. Eventually the jib had to go - it was a struggle in some of the gusts off the hills to keep from broaching, and hoisting and then dropping the main an hour or so later in the now-choppy conditions was not really an option we relished. Motoring alone in the much reduced current brought the heady speeds back down to earth, and we crept up to Puffin Island at a more realistic 6kts.
The first was the inside passage at the Skerries, which despite being a mile or so wide, or perhaps because of this, was giving currents of up to 5kts each way at this stage of the tide cycle, and the resulting overfalls either way meant that arriving during any current at all was undesirable.
In leaving at 7am, we planned to hit the tightest part of the gap at slack tide, and in the event the sunshine and gentle 8-10kts of south wind behind us (not enough for full sail, so we just had a jib up to steady us) simply enhanced the rugged Carmel Point inside our course, and did nothing to enhance the reputation - first hurdle passed...
Passing along the scenic North Anglesey coast with current under us, it was all too easy to get complacent. Motor sailing with just the jib up on a beam reach we were hitting over 8kts of boat speed, meaning we were looking (at this point) at being early for the slack tide at the Swellies, and very early for our eventual target at Caernarfon.
In focusing on the tidal component though, we had overlooked that the wind swinging southwest, and increasing to around 18kts (as was forecast) would cause problems in a narrow channel pointing southwest! As we approached the entry to the Strait from East Mouse, we thought more and more about this as the wind headed us, and increased. Eventually the jib had to go - it was a struggle in some of the gusts off the hills to keep from broaching, and hoisting and then dropping the main an hour or so later in the now-choppy conditions was not really an option we relished. Motoring alone in the much reduced current brought the heady speeds back down to earth, and we crept up to Puffin Island at a more realistic 6kts.
