HARBOUR HOPPING IN CORNWALL Ken Hughes Wayfarer Cruising Library Log number 27 - 1 - HARBOUR HOPPING IN CORNWALL Ken Hughes Summer had at last arrived and the delicious planning of that season's cruise was soon to be converted into real blood and guts sailing, where dreams of broad-reaching over warm, kindly, moonlit seas are swept away by the first cold salty slop in the face as the boat beats its way around a headland. Such transformations are to be expected; but other dangers lurk. Planned time-tables are twisted out of recognition by unexpected pressures of work and family emergencies. In my own case a carefully planned two week cruise amongst the Outer Hebrides in the month of July was savagely pulverised out of recognition into a one week cruise in Cornwall in the month of September! It is fortunate that a cruising man, being normally so tethered to unalterable cosmic forces like wind and tide is, at such times, accustomed to philosophically shrugging his shoulders, perhaps allowing himself a protesting sigh. Falmouth seemed a good starting point for our cruise as from there we could sail with the wind either eastward towards Dartmouth or, as we really hoped, westward to Helford, the Lizard and Lands End. What emotion provoking names! If the weather were to be really bad we could do far worse than cruise the waters of the Carrick Roads and surrounding creeks. Bob & I discussed all these possibilities as we towed Jabber Zax (W 793) from South Wales towards the south west on Sunday, 4th September. At 21.00 hours that same day we launched off Falmouth dinghy park with St. Mawes harbour 2 1/2 miles away in mind. It was a warm but dark night with a waning quarter moon, more often than not, obscured by thick moving cloud. We were wafted away by a following force 3 wind and weaved between the moored boats mainly by torch-light. "Away at last Bob" I purred, trying to give a sense of contentment but knowing that in fact my mind was in a bit of a turmoil from all the day's preparations. Before we had time to settle into our new environment and less than half a mile from the slip we noticed the lights of a vessel coming quickly up on us astern. Flashing the torches onto the sails and at the approaching boat had the desired effect and we were immediately picked out in a brilliant circle of light from the spot lamps of the now identified pilot boat. We cleared her path by steering to port and soon felt the powerful wash after she passed us. When clear of the Queen's Jetty we steered 120 Mag towards the flashing Castle Buoy which marked the entrance into the Porthcuel River with the wind picking up and the impression of speed through the water considerable. I felt we should reduce sail in the darkness but, to my shame, I kept Jabber going full pelt with my desire to catch a pint of beer at St. Mawes before closing time. A dark menacing shape loomed up towards us over. the starboard bow and gave us quite a start. "A boat?" No, a buoy". "What buoy?" - 2 - HARBOUR HOPPING IN CORNWALL Ken Hughes The excellent Imray chart of Falmouth Harbour told us that we had narrowly missed colliding with the unlit Governor buoy. Our perusal of the chart by torchlight before launching had obviously been far too cursory. "Right- that does it. Bugger the beer, let's get some sail off." The newly fitted 'jiffy' reefing system with traditional reefing ties worked a treat and we were soon again making for the Castle Buoy at a pace which all respectable open boat cruising persons would consider seamanlike. Occasionally the moon would graciously reveal herself for a few seconds and illuminate the stretch of seas between her and us only to suddenly then disappear behind the cloud and plunge us back again into darkness. It was then that we christened our compass light "our comfort light" and reckoned our hours work the previous night in constructing it well spent. After rounding the Castle Buoy there was no difficulty in recognising the harbour light at St. Mawes. With the salutary lesson of the Governor buoy affair still horribly fresh in mind we noted the position of the unlit St. Mawes buoy as being on the transit between Castle buoy and the St. Mawes harbour light. I illuminated my face with the torch and gave Bob an exaggerated knowing wink as I bore off a few degrees so as to avoid a collision with the St. Mawes buoy. No sooner had I turned the torch from my face than we were taken aback by a light suddenly appearing directly ahead and then a large sail illuminated by torchlight not 50 yds away: a sloop sailing across our course must have seen our torch flashing and decided to put on her mast headlight and illuminate her sails. We bore away to starboard then sailed straight for the St. Mawes light and at 22.20 hours Jabber Zax was tied alongside the harbour steps having successfully completed, but not without incident, the first leg of the cruise. We were standing in the middle of the bar in The Victory which was packed with people, stuffy and noisy; sweat trickled down our brows and from our armpits and our minds buzzed from our efforts of transporting our boat and our bodies from South Wales to St. Mawes in the span of 8 hours. We could not for long suffer the hubbub of that place and we fled into the cooler air of the outside and then to the quiet and the beer of The Rising Sun. Later we drifted back to Jabber Zax and moored alongside a small pleasure boat wishing we had erected the tent before going ashore. As I lay awake that night I thought over the errors made during our first short sail. Launching had been hurried; the chart not studied sufficiently well for a night passage; over-canvassed; no lifelines at night, tent not erected and bedding not prepared before going ashore: a plot of mistakes despite previously vowing that this cruise, unlike those of previous seasons, was going to be exemplary, un-rushed, workmanlike, even seaman like.' The trouble about running away to sea is that you take your old inefficient, land-lubber self along with you! - 3 - HARBOUR HOPPING IN CORNWALL Ken Hughes The following morning at 05.30 hrs, Monday 5th, I was awakened by the sound of missiles hitting against the tent and as I struggled out of my warm sleeping bag from under the confines of the centre thwart I instinctively knew that I was paying the price of yet another mistake, that of blindly mooring to another boat for the night. The 'pleasure' boat was, in fact, a small lobster fishing craft and there were the good natured crew throwing small clumps of wet sand onto the tent to wake us up. It was raining gently in the early morning light and I apologised to the crew as I untied Jabber from their boat. I do not think I cut much of a nautical figure to their eyes as I stood precariously on the foredeck, clad only in underpants and Wellingtons, awkwardly paddling the boat towards the shore using one of the 8 foot oars. I wished with all my shamed heart that I had cut that sculling notch in the transom and had practiced sculling as I had intended. Next season perhaps. Throughout this embarrassing sequence Bob slept soundly although he later admitted that perhaps he had not been quite fast asleep! The morning was spent exploring on foot the north bank of the Porthcuel River, picking up shells, turning over stones, popping seaweed, skipping flat stones across the water and all the other things that little boys are wont to do when away from the restraint of their parents. With Restronguet Creek as our destination we set sail at 13.00 hours in glorious sunshine on a light wind, just the weather to allow Bob to get his helming hand back again since his one and only sailing experience a year before. We rounded Castle Point and steered northwards up the Carrick Roads against an ebbing tide. Mylor Pool bristled with boats and just north of this point the wind became very light and fickle and more than enough for Bob's temper as the jib backed and the mainsail slopped. The sun had our shirts off and I could not have cared a sot if we would have had to anchor at that charming spot all day; after all, we did have bread and wine aboard. Never the less, we eventually entered Restronguet Creek and Bob got a lot of practice at tacking in and out of the traditional wooden boats that are moored there. After innumerable tacks against the tide we eventually beached at the famous Pandora's Inn at 14.00 hrs. Arrival from the sea by small boat had its usual magical effect on us and on observers and we were soon in conversation with other small boat sailors around the tables outside the inn. 15.00 hrs and it was time to leave for the Helford River, and, with full sail to catch the little wind, we drifted back down the creek. In the Carrick Roads the sunshine was giving way to an overcast sky, the wind picked up and our bare backs were progressively covered with sweaters and then waterproofs.