Once Vagabond was afloat in St Ives harbour on Monday mooring, I had to bustle to and get organised, or we’d be staying here another night. Off ashore again to by some food for the passage (and read the paper and have real coffee). I washed in the public loos (there didn’t seem to be any for yachties) and then visited the harbour master to pay my dues – £20, which I thought a bit steep for one night with little in the way of facilities. I discussed with him my plan to leave by about midday. He reckoned I should leave earlier to avoid being let high and dry again. The depth sounder on Vagabond confirmed that the water was already receding. It was down to just over a metre by the time the dinghy had been deflated and lashed to the foredeck, the sandwiches had been made and the route to Padstow checked for the umpteenth time.
As we cleared the harbour and hoisted the sails the mist and rain closed in; we had a miserable slow sail fighting the tide for a couple of hours. At times there were no visual references at all, not even a glimmer in the sky where the sun was. Steering by compass in the light wind took immense concentration.
Suddenly, a cardinal mark emerged through the gloom. We had barely gone 4 miles. This won’t do, it will be low tide again by the time we get to Padstow and we won’t be able to get into the harbour., because it’s protected by a single gate (like at Penzance). Freddie began barking away (it’s not that loud but it is only about 3 feet way*!) as we motor sailed at about 5 kn with the light wind on our port quarter.
The sun came out behind us and it became possible to keep course by “reverse” bearings on the St Ives as it slowing receded behind us. Gradually, the visibility ahead improved and then the light house marking the turning point to Padstow shone brightly in the sun. It seemed quite close but it was about 15 miles away! The secret was that it was built 75** metres up the cliff
There was a loud snort and splash from off the port side. I looked round and saw the clear pattern of a dolphin “splash”. I held my breath. The tiller kicked as something prodded the rudder. Suddenly we had half a dozen dolphin charging along with us, criss-crossing our course, emerging to blow close to either side of our bows.
Of course, the camera was below.
By the time I had fetched it, they were gone.
The wind shifted to the West (not what was forecast) and the tide slackened. Freddie was shut down and we sailed merrily along at 5 kn.
We were accompanied by Dolphin three more times on the trip. At one point a pair discovered us and were happily playing when suddenly there were dolphin converging on us from all points of the compass.
We were now being rushed along by wind and tide, towards Trevose Head and it’s light house. Here there is a group of rocks off shore. The chart showed the passage between them and the shore to be clear of nasty pointy things so I had originally planned to go between them and the shore. As we neared the group, I could see white water in the gap, so turned rapidly to windward to clear them to seaward.
We did.
Once beyond this “choke point” we had to turn Eastward to cross Padstow Bay and then turn SE into the Camel Estuary and the harbour. Of course the wind was dead astern, a point of sailing that neither I nor Vagabond like. Running “off” to port put us towards one group of rocks (ably assisted by the admittedly slackening tide). To starboard pointed us at a cliff. A flight of Puffin whizzed past with that incredibly busy flying motion t they have made their own. It always amazes me that they remain airborne at all.
After a couple of “quick time” gybes we were able to turn into the Estuary and find our way all the channel past the various sand banks and the dreaded “bar”. The Pilot but books are quite doom laden about the bar (it’s actually called the Doom bar) but we found our way along a well marked channel up to the harbour entrance without much trouble. The wind was now coming to us over a headland – I noticed a scent of the wheat growing on the hillside and, as we came into view of the harbour, a strong smell of frying fish!
We found the harbour entrance gate shut – we were too early so Freddie needn't have been quite so noisy. Never mind, up came the centre board and we crept towards the outer harbour wall. We tied up to a ladder and had a cup of tea whilst waiting for the moon and sun to bring the water to us.
By seven thirty, the harbour gate had opened and we were able to go into the inner harbour. Here we were directed to raft (snugly?) against a forty footer, the deck of which was at least a foot above us, with guard rails to boot! The Quayside was crowded with holiday makers, all in shorts and tee shirts; they were clearly pretending it was summer. I was just comfortable in a vest, pullover and foul weather top. And I was knackered: going anywhere on the morrow was out of the question.
A shower, followed by a large glass of red wine proved enough for the night. I was out like a light until about six o’clock the following morning, when I was woken by the council contractor emptying the rubbish bin on the adjacent quay side. It wasn't raining.
I took the opportunity to open the fore hatch to get fresh air throughout the boat. I found the laundry. Putting the machines to work I settled down to look at the next stages of the journey.
It's now a question of going north up one of the most forbidding coastline in Britain: North Cornwall. There's nowhere really between Padstow and Clovelly that is a haven except in fine, settled weather. After that there's Appledore and then Ilfracombe, followed by a short hop across the Bristol Channel to Swansea.
The forecast said Westerly, F5 today and going to F6 tomorrow. Not fine, not settled. Undaunted, I phoned the harbourmaster at Bude, it's about half way between Padstow and Clovelly to find out what conditions were like "I can see lots of surf" was all he said.
I also had a look at the tide times. If I didn't go tomorrow (Wednesday), the times of high tide were such that I'd either be leaving in the dark, or arriving in it. I didn't relish either.
It seemed that the best thing to do would be to persuade the Purser to join me early next week and make the 50+ mile hop to Ilfracombe in one go, leaving at high tide from Padstow and arriving at the next high tide at Ilfracombe, weather permitting. The forecasts suggest a period of westerlies, so it seemed feasible. I was on the phone to the Purser, persuading him to join me. To my surprise he accepted, so it's off for a period of R & R gardening, decluttering and house hunting in Buckinghamshire until Sunday.
*For the metrically inclined 0.9 metres (roughly)
** For imperial and US metrologists – about 246 feet
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