August 10th…Dungarven to Waterford

An unwelcome alarm at 7, reminds us that we can’t politely ask the tide to give us some snooze time.

We slide away from the pontoon into the early ebb and grey threatening skies, and decide to take the deep-water channel this time. Most of Dungarven is still enjoying their Sunday in bed save for what appears to be a lone fisherman up to his ankles in the river…we decide that he must be extraordinarily devoted to fish…..

With the strong ebb driving us forward, now is not the time to go aground….a 6 hour wait in the drizzle on a mud bank is usually less than ideal….so gently does it with a careful eye on the echosounder…

Ballynacourty light catches what turns out to be a rare glimpse of the sun today…

…and so with full genoa and main, we head back out to sea into some very light airs. Not for the first time, we keep the engine running to maintain a rough 5 knots into an increasingly dismal morning. With our wet weather gear on and a fresh coffee inside, we settle in for a 4 or 5 hour slog along the coast. The mist rolls in together with the drizzle, and we lose sight of land even though it is less than 500m away. We ponder whether we need to use the radar, but then the visibility improves, although the drizzle remains.

For a while, the sun is out, the landscape shines, and our moods lift…

We have remarked that we have seen very few other boats in Ireland so far, whether commercial or leisure. To us, it was strange that Dungarven harbour was empty of even dinghies or the (at home) ubiquitous kite surfers and wind foils which are to be found buzzing around in Poole and Portland. All we see is a lone yacht plugging out of Waterford…..and it’s a Brit!

We arrive at Brownstone head with its two distinctive beacons, designed in the 1800s to enable boats to distinguish between Waterford Harbour and Teamore Bay with its treacherous rocks leading to the demise of many a soul.

We round up into the river entrance and the mist and drizzle descend again. The little fishing village of Dunmore East is an attractive option…

but we decide to head on up river for around 8 miles to stay for a couple of nights in Waterford. We tick off the buoys one by one…

…but have a few moments of anxiety as we’ve got conflicting reports about the availability of moorings in the town itself. We start to look for plan B, and while there are always options in a harbour like this, none are immediately attractive. Fortunately, the harbour master finally confirms that despite all the works going on, there will be room for us.

The river is a funny mix of the commercial, with refineries and docks…

…sitting alongside some quaint villages, a small car ferry and a small flock of herons who are always cross when disturbed…

A single fox stands on the river bank, eyeing us as we slide past…

We’re thinking about ropes, fenders and the usual paraphernalia of mooring, when we suddenly see two dolphins lazily swimming towards a small tributary or inlet. We can’t see a yellow tummy belonging to the common dolphins, so assume we’re with some bottlenose dolphins…no-one has a camera ready!

We make the final turn into the town with its docks and tugs on one side and the town itself on the other…

Alongside on a drizzly Sunday….

We hunker down inside and eschew the damp highlights of Waterford on a Sunday evening, and opt instead for an early dinner, the odd glass or two and some cards.

Footnote….

Calls with grandchildren are always a delight, but there is no doubt that doting grandparents the world over get turned to mush with silly looks on their faces…