If you ever wondered how it feels to sail round the coast in a small boat, this is a flavour of what it’s like …
Fareham to Beaulieu
Not quite the start I anticipate to Epic Voyage III ( I being our first ever trip in Veryan when we collected her from Walton and II, our family trip to France). Mum and Dad are supposed to admire the pretty lines of ‘Veryan’, our Cheverton Crusader, and wave us a fond farewell. Dad pulls up at the pontoon, mutters something inaudible and returns to the car. Mum makes it to the end of the pontoon but can’t stand the strain. On her way back she is correctly identified as my mother by a complete stranger who recognises ‘The Look’ on her face. Stranger insists her parents still believe that she and her husband sailed to Scillies with one foot on the shore.
The wind, of course, is on the nose. After the wettest, heaviest thrash down the Solent we’ve ever experienced we stop at Beaulieu for a two year old jar of coq au vin bought during Epic Voyage II. Try not to wonder when the coq last saw a farmyard. Retire to bunks exhausted and, in my case, with sunburnt knees.
Beaulieu to Portland Harbour
Arrive at Portland harbour after a day of motoring. Face like a beetroot and hair like Wurzel Gummidge. Very rustic. Have also poked our red faces into a heaving Weymouth thus fulfilling an ambition, held since my children were little girls dropping lines into the harbour to catch the more unfortunate crabs, of being a superior yachtie rather than a gawping grockle. Pleased to see that the same ferryman is still going strong. Veryan rests easy on familiar water. Looking for a mooring buoy we are greeted by someone who recognises her, the daughter of her second owner, who recalls the heavy weather helm and directs us to Veryan’s old mooring. Small world.
Portland to Salcombe
Waking to a flat calm sea rosily reflecting the morning light, I’m apprehensive about Portland Bill but it’s so benign we even snatch a conversation with a boat alongside. In Lyme Bay a dolphin investigates the boat and Tom has to remind me to hang on because I’m so excited. A gathering mist sobers me up and, as we glide into the night, the visibility is so poor that we don’t even see Start Point and it looks as if finding our way into Salcombe will be impossible. Then one of those small miracles that sometimes happen at sea occurs as the heavens part and the moon lights our course across the water and into harbour.
Salcombe to Penzance
After two years of trying Tom finally catches a mackerel. We celebrate by phoning everyone who has ever laughed at his fruitless fishing efforts – although I am the worst offender. We devour it for lunch and it’s superb with vinegar, pepper and brown bread. It takes its revenge by reminding us both of its presence for the rest of the day.
We approach Fowey in the evening sunshine as a fleet of RFYC boats race out from the harbour. I’m furious when a bigger, faster boat beats us to the visitors’ buoy we are aiming for. Discover that it’s reserved anyway and watch happily as the harbourmaster chucks them off. We moor opposite the not very picturesque China clay works which, I know now, work twenty-four hours a day. Actually, the throb of engines in the background and the rain on roof hatch, some of which drips through on to me, proves surprisingly soporific. I sleep really well. We leave Fowey under an ominous black cloud, which flattens the sea with rain. It remains grey and misty all day so we miss the coastline and only identify the Lizard by the flash of the lighthouse. Still, one reward for our efforts today; three basking sharks circling in the flat calm. Very frightening to see those huge mouths heading towards us, even if they are harmless. Talking of huge mouths, I have done nothing but fill mine today. It’s been quite a slog and even if we make it to Penzance we’ll have to wait for high tide.
Penzance
We pick up a mooring buoy outside the harbour at 9pm and sleep until we are able to enter the lock at 4am. I’m very taken with the harbourmaster who addresses Tom as ‘Capt’n’ and kindly directs us to a quiet corner away from the hustle and bustle of a fleet of visiting yachts. Penzance is a good mixture of industrial and picturesque, very interesting with brilliant architecture. Alas, weather is not brilliant. The sun makes a brief blistering appearance whilst we queue for a shower and is replaced by non-stop rain. Not wet enough to spoil the pleasure of pasties by the harbour at lunchtime, though. We eat at a very new restaurant yet to establish any real atmosphere but redeemed by truly excellent cooking. The winning dish is my lamb; pink, succulent with lovely crispy skin, rounded off by a shared a cheese board and two bottles of wine (seems like a good idea at the time).
Gale force winds predicted by Tuesday so we decide to push on. It’s still grey and overcast, although the visibility is better than it has been for several days. Hope to be able to see Land’s End tomorrow as we seem to have passed every other headland in the fog. Thank goodness for GPS and Tom’s hard work and good preparation.
Penzance to Neyland
Well, I certainly get to see Land’s End. It’s a brilliant, sparkly blue day with sunshine lighting up the waves … the big wild waves which become bigger and wilder as we turn to the wind. Even though I trust Veryan and Tom I can see the boat’s getting hard to steer. Our normally dry cockpit takes a wave that tears a stanchion out the deck and I start to think that this beautiful summer day will be my last. The fear makes me seasick I move so I stagger below, curl up and wait for the ordeal to end. No such escape for Tom who helms alone… through the day, through the night and on. He sits there battling with big rolling seas for twenty-seven hours before I stop barfing long enough to give him a break. We cannot turn back but are helped to keep going by our constant companions, the dolphins. Tom counts sixteen at one point just playing, or so it seems, in the bow waves. By Milford Haven the waves begin to lengthen, the wind eases and we see puffins for the first time; funny, twitchy little birds with their orange bills vivid in the sunshine.
We make stately progress up the Haven, exhausted by what we’ve been through and relieved to tie up at Neyland at 11 pm for a life enhancing experience – a shower with plenty of hot water. Absolute bliss. We collapse into our berths and surface late morning making the restaurant and cooked breakfast with just minutes to spare. Sadly my stomach protests at the first food in two days and I’m forced to relinquish some to Tom. We have a healing, good housekeeping day. We air the beds, visit the launderette, perform a major mopping up of bilges (lovely) and have a good blow through. Severe gales are forecast so we batten down the hatches, do some sightseeing on the bus and are glad to be safe.
Neyland to Fishguard
As we motor down Milford Haven the wind takes the top off the waves, it’s cold and the sky is grey. Neither of us thinks we’ll be doing anything but turning round and going back. At St Ann’s Head I throw some silver to the Finn folk for good luck and we put our nose out to see how the sea feels. Amazingly it isn’t too bad and, true to the forecast, as the day goes on the wind eases, the waves calm and the sun comes out creating the most marvellous light over the Welsh coast.
Jack and Ramsay Sounds have fearsome reputations but we shoot through both like a champagne cork and have the tide in our favour to get past St David’s and Strumble Head. I look at the coast and am reminded again how beautiful it is here. Wonderful colours; emerald grass, deep blue sky and sea. Of course the best part is Fishguard itself. We arrive at a magical bay with heather-covered cliffs glowing in the evening sun and tumbling down to meet the sea. A seal rolls over to give us a lazy inspection as we pick up a buoy to wait for high water in the old harbour, Veryan’s new home. Yes we’ve made it – but what am I going to tell my parents?
