Fowey in the morning is bright and has a completely different atmosphere. The local luggers are getting ready to race and there is a fleet of dinghies and scows already out on the river.

The local bakery does a fine selection of cakes and bread and we have a rather more sanguine impression of the place. It is charming with narrow streets and passageways hinting at a past of fish and smuggling and other activities associated with sailors in port…

…but this flag was not the love they were hinting at…

…and we are not sure what the Rook with a Book was all about…

We decide to visit the Yealm River as another place we have not sailed to and also because it has more memories for John in both his youth and more recently with his Mum and Dad.

Getting out of Fowey itself was a bit tricky, weaving through fleets of assorted small craft hell bent on racing…

Another run with the wind just astern, but gusting up a bit more than yesterday, so we chicken out of using the chute. The sea builds a little and we surf down some of the waves over 8kts. Steering requires lots of concentration to keep Heydays on track…

….but there are some comfier options…

The day passes with some sightings of dolphins to keep us amused, but they are going in the opposite direction and don’t seem to want to play with us this time. A warship of some description is on manoeuvres out at sea and a pilot boat sets out to meet her. It is unclear what they are doing, but a helicopter seems to be involved as well. We set out across the bay leaving Plymouth off to port just as the warship decides to make a turn towards us. They cause us some consternation and also indignation at first…we have no idea what they are doing and whether we should turn or what. Somewhere in the colregs is something about making one’s intentions clear…then they give two blasts on their horn and turn to pass behind us. Perhaps they are disgruntled that we got in their way of tea-time in Plymouth. We wonder idly who pays their wages!

The entrance to the Yealm is very tight and requires some precise navigation to avoid the sandbar at the entrance. Part of the pilot recommends using a line of hedge as leading marks. Fortunately this does become clear once we have rounded the Mewstone Rock and passed safely by The Slimeys (more rocks).

A boat in front of us still has the mainsail up and rounds up in front of us to take it down…not so clever in a narrow channel. We slow down and are about to overtake when they suddenly turn back on course and speed up, presumably to make sure that they get one of the limited moorings before us…charming, but fortunately a real minority amongst the boats we have met so far. They get the last space on the first pontoon, but we mooch up river and find a space round the bend and with much better shelter from the swell coming up-river…ha!

The river is stunningly beautiful and like the Helford, a real haven of peace and tranquillity even though one of the blokes on the boat nearby has a hacking cough! We trundle off in the dinghy and tie it up to ‘Wide Steps’. This turns out to be a bit of a misnomer as there is barely enough width to even get the tender on. We take a short walk to Nos Mayo which is opposite to Newton Ferrers. The Ship Inn is where John last came with his Mum and Dad and it brings a lump to the throat as both are now sadly gone. The setting is beautiful and cars start to park on the beach left by the receding tide.

 

Continuing the theme of visiting some places we’ve not been to before, we decide to take the shortish sail over to Fowey. The harbour there is still commercial with china clay coasters plying up and down the river and some working fishing boats.

The wind is light as we slip away down the river into a sky that clearly has mixed feelings about our bit of the planet…

 

and as we round the headland towards Fowey we raise the cruising chute for only the second time in its life with us. We have all day as we can enter Fowey at all states of the tide and so we trundle gently along at no more than 2 -3 knots. We decide that it is time to try to catch lunch, so we hang a few spinners overboard to tempt any unsuspecting mackerel. Lunchtime comes…and goes, but without any nibbles. However the sun comes out and we have some smoked salmon sandwiches and some avocado and muse, not for the first time, how lucky we (and the mackerel) are. We do a bit of reading up on Fowey and realise that it is regatta week. As we get closer we see sailing boats of all shapes and sizes like bees round a honey pot. The likelihood of a peaceful mooring tonight fades into the distance.

 

As we make our approach up the river we spot the leading marks to guide us in…

 

 

…and a not so welcoming one on the rocky entrance.

 

The river itself is charming in a moneyed sort of way…

 

The harbour master directs us to find some space on a pontoon but will have to raft up next to another boat. The first one we approach is less than helpful, but we finally get sorted next to a boat whose owners seem to be out. Rafting is the usual ‘fun’ playing with bits of string but we end up looking vaguely proficient…we hope. We try not to look smug when the next boat in has to have several attempts…we are very shallow.

We have arranged to try to meet up with some old friends at the King of Prussia and we naively think that we will be able to have a bite to eat and then a nice catch-up over a few drinks. It turns out that as this is regatta week it is also carnival…this means that none of the pubs serve food today and the only nosh available is hot dogs and hamburgers, a fish and chip shop with a queue a mile long, and an Indian. This turns out to be one of the most indifferent and overpriced  meals…and as our friends turn up, they decide they want the table back. They don’t get a tip!

 

The carnival is OK apart from the endless succession of carnival queens from various villages, more than one of whom is stuffed into the boot of a hatchback, albeit with lace trimming! Not quite sure if the stylised ‘beauty’ for these 13 or 14 year old girls is appropriate (even for Cornwall), but then who am I as a old bloke to have an opinion about this…?

This is clearly not a beauty queen…

We get to the King of Prussia and find a spot to shout at each other for a while and catch up on stuff. Eventually we give up and get told off by the bouncers as we pose for some pictures outside. For a carnival, this appears to be particularly joyless. We trudge back through an increasingly drunk and leery atmosphere and head for bed. The night is disturbed as the swell comes up the river and we squeak and snatch at the mooring warps.

We decide to stay for the day on the Helford River and just spend some time getting to know its inlets and creeks. We all decide to have a shower in the Helford River Sailing Club to the likely relief of anyone we may meet later in the day. The rest of the morning is spent in the inflatable just pottering around.

We head up the creek (with an outboard as well as a paddle) to Port Navas …

There is clearly a lot of ready cash in these parts and lots of waterfront house (villas?) and a fair sprinkling of Porsches.

We try for some coffee at the Port Navas  Sailing Club, but sadly they don’t open until 3. The trees hang right down to the water’s edge and we don’t have to go far before we have most of the river to ourselves save for a few canoeists…

…and some disgruntled egrets we manage to disturb…

We mooch around Daphne du Maurier’s atmospheric Frenchman’s Creek with its dilapidated buildings and occasional rusting hulk…

…and then over to the Ferry Boat Inn for a drink and a nibble. Perhaps it is because it is the end of a long lunch service, but the service is less than enthusiastic. The beer is good however and there turns out to be a kiosk serving pasties…this suits John and Yee Tak down to the ground but is less than ideal for James and Chris…they only have steak ones left!

We have dinner in the Helford Yacht Club where John and Yee Tak share a huge porterhouse steak.

We while away the evening on the balcony looking down over a peaceful scene as the dusk falls and a few souls come back in the gloom. The creaking of some oars is spoilt only by the clatter of an air-cooled outboard.

The 5am alarm seems like an indecently short time since we went to bed. The plan is to catch the tide around 5.30 to take us most of the way to the Scillies. However a check of the latest forecasts is not helpful in the slightest. There is fog and poor visibility forecast over the next two days and then some stronger winds coming in towards the end of the week. We will probably get at most 2 or 3 days in the islands before we need to seek the better shelter of some mainland harbours. The pilot books all have two things in common…the Scillies is no place in strong winds unless one is prepared to move frequently to better shelter AND they all caution about venturing there in poor visibility. One pilot even goes as far to suggest that in those conditions one is better making for Mounts Bay (where we are at the moment), heaving to, St Ives Bay or heading off towards Southern Ireland! Sadly we make the decision that for the second time, we don’t have the weather window for the Scillies. A 5.30 conference decides that i) we go back to bed and ii) we spend the time meandering along bits of Cornwall and Devon which we have either not visited or not spent enough time in. This is sad but equally we are doing this to see the islands not just as a navigation exercise…

We finally rouse ourselves again around 9 and by 10.45 we are heading off back East, deciding to spend some time exploring the Helford River as our first stop. We leave Newlyn under a grey sky and drizzle but within 10 minutes, it has disappeared into the fog and mist. At least we have made the right decision, this would have been awful for the Scillies. We get some sails up but once again there is so little wind that effectively we are a hybrid boat. The radar is on and we see boats come and go without actually making eye contact… As we near the Lizard the visibility comes and goes and the boats we have tracked on the radar come in and out of direct vision. Some fishing boats and even a couple of sailing boats, all trundling along in our own pools of murky greyness. We round the Lizard and gybe as the murk lifts and a watery sun tries (ultimately unsuccessfully) to burn off the fog and drizzle. For a brief half an hour the wind picks up enough for us to get rid of the engine and we close the entrance to the Helford River in fine style, overtaking a cat and a few other boats…ha!

We debate whether to anchor or pick up a visitors’ buoy but the murk and drizzle threaten once more and we opt for the easy visitors mooring.

With the boat snugged down, the weather brightens and we blow up the tinker (dinghy) and take a trip ashore. The sailing club pontoon works on an ‘honesty’ basis and we take a short walk through the stunning Helford village to the Shipwright Arms.

A Breton (we think) duo of accordion and harpist are playing some Celtic folky tunes as we drink by the fast receding river. Dinner tonight is some ratatouille and pasta back on the boat, washed down with some red a the promise of rum and chocolate to come. Its not the Scillies, but this is a brilliant place to mooch around…great day.

The car drive from Dorset is frantic with traffic in all directions even early in the morning…changeover day in Devon and Cornwall! Lunch was a salady business and then the lure of the Swordfish becomes too much and we head on for a pint or two and maybe some tunes on the juke box. We feel like locals (almost) and chat to one or two. Another old boy makes some great music selections…we are all very predictable! Newlyn is a great place in so many ways. We have lots of fond memories and good times in a gutsy working harbour, but with enough of the creature comforts necessary for effete southerner yachties. We don’t think we would stand up to the hearty souls who fish for a living or who race their gigs around here…

We had heard about Cornish fishermen selling quotas to Spanish and French boats last year, but now there is a big sign on the ice plant and several boat…”NO FISHING SELL OUT” with a big map of ‘our’ territorial waters. Hmmm…but we don’t express our views too loudly!

Dinner in the Red Lion is always memorable, but it also has on display a curious book entitled Salt of the Earth, which seems to be about local women and what they do to various stuff which their husbands bring home. The picture on the front reminds us of pictures we saw in scotland of the herring Gutters!

Sunday is not a day to sail to the Scillies so we have a leisurely morning admiring some Turnstones who have decided the pontoon is a cosy spot…they are very cute.

We take a walk along the coast to Mousehole and encounter some very strange graffiti and wonder idly what Banksy was doing down here…

We also pass some clifftop garden which are also curious and wonder, not for the first time about what goes on in these parts…

Rather more soberingly, it also takes us past the old Penlee lifeboat station with its memorial to the 1981 disaster when it went to the rescue of the Union Star. Eight lifeboat men died together with 8 Union Star crew. The old station is closed now and the modern boat is moored in Newlyn. A salutary lesson about the sea and what the lifeboat crews are prepared to put themselves through.

Mousehole is touristy now, but nonetheless very quaint and attractive.

Lunch in the 2 Fore Street restaurant is fantastic and is has a great courtyard garden…

and we then heave ourselves back to Newlyn in time to do a last minute shop and take in a movie at the Cinema.

We take a trip ashore in Falmouth which is all too brief but treat ourselves to a cooked breakfast and a trip round Tesco…this is living…

We slip the mooring at 11.30 and the wind is kind to us. There are some races going on in the outer reaches of the estuary and we pick our way between them to avoid getting shouted at. Heydays is flying in a W F4 and our course to Newlyn is effectively two big tacks. One out past the Lizard and then one back in to Mounts Bay and Newlyn.  We have phoned ahead to be told that we are good for a berth, but when we get closer we call again to be told that there may be a problem. In the event we nose up and down among the fishing boats until the harbour master spots us and directs us to a pontoon on the shallow side of the harbour. We hold our breath but squeeze in over the mud and are soon tied up next to a small (7m) German boat. Newlyn is like an old friend and it feels good to be back for a while.

We have a car booked to take us all home to do various domestic chores tomorrow. We have a drink in the Swordfish first and get talking to Tammy’s best friend. Tammy is mentioned in our blog from September last year and was a real start in helping us find various bits and pieces. We are sorry to hear that she is in hospital and send our best wishes. The Swordfish is an old style pub and probably gets ‘lively’ at times. It has a great juke box and we have a bit of a nostalgia trip to the general approval of some old guys and the barman…presumably we are old too!

Dinner in the Cinema and then maybe some rum on board.

Wednesday sees us lunching in the Seafood Bar which does a fantastic range of fishy tapas/tasting dishes before collecting the car and heading home.

 

The clouds have lifted and the wind is OK (ish) with a decent F4 from WSW. We cast off from the marina at a reasonable hour (8.30) and push out down the river, slipping through the Drake passage piles and on to the western end of the breakwater. We start to dry off some gear which has got a bit damp over the previous sail from Salcombe and during a very wet stay in Plymouth. Heydays has a certain Twankyish charm???

We take the opportunity of some calm water to get some sails up and for the first time for a while, we have full main and genny and we get to enjoy the peace of water rushing past without the accompaniment of the engine rumbling in the background. The sail is glorious and we round the magnificent St Anthony Head light, which guards the less than delightful Shag Rock…

…and then John decides to kill himself. This may be overstating the case, but about 2 hours out of Falmouth he dives below and starts crashing about with pots and pans. Soon the smell of garlic and onions is wafting up and we can hear chopping and boiling and light braising as we close the entrance. He puts a pasta bake into the oven as we start to take our sails down and motor in to the estuary. John is complaining of a headache and the harbour is busy as usual and there don’t seem to be many visitors mooring buoys around. We are trundling up and down when a rather urgent alarm sounds. Depth is OK. Engine temperature is OK. Oil pressure is OK. We are concerned that it may be gas and turn the oven off and open the hatches…all while we are trying to pick up the one vacant buoy. By the time we have tied ourselves on, the culprit is found…the CO alarm. It all starts to become clear…the oven burners were blocked by the tray of pasta hence the CO and hence John’s headache. Much longer below…and he would have stayed there!

As the suns sets on the harbour (and not, thankfully John himself), we dine in the cockpit on a wonderful pasta washed down with some Prosecco and another lesson learned.

The wind and sea have died down and so we decide to make the shortish hop along the coast to Plymouth. At 9 we slip the moorings along with our French neighbours (bound for Fowey). We edge cautiously out over the bar and in to the open sea, but with a WSW F3 we have a glorious beam reach across Bigbury Bay.

We start the run into Plymouth as the rain comes and thoughts of sailing up the Tamar to the Ferry Inn (John’s Dad’s old drinking hole) disappear into thoughts of a nice comfy marina for the rest of the day. Once moored we take a taxi to the Ferry inn for lunch and John is greeted by the bar staff as the old friend he is.

In between showers we also find time to marvel at the old Brunel Rail Bridge …and the far shore of Cornwall.

Back on the boat, the wind is now blowing hard up the river and a nasty swell rocks us hard in the marina….but we have a great view of the old navy victualling centre…

We start by doubling the lines and tightening everything hard. However the motion is even more extreme as the pontoon bucks around wildly in the swell. We have alook at how the local have moored and change to much longer lines on spread out cleats and allow the boat to move independently of the pontoons. This seems to work and there is much less stress on deck fittings and warps…and on us. We settle in for a rough night.

The morning brings a much quieter and mostly dry time and consider a sail up the river for lunch at the Ferry Inn. The rain returns so we accept a lift from John’s brother Peter and his wife Wendy. For a small pub the food is great…last night was Kinder cheesecake, today it is Picnic!

There is some movement of big boats in a narrow river and we idly watch other people working…

Sunday afternoon passes as it should and then James is off to the station to meet Yee Tak returning from her ‘fix’ with daughter and granddaughters. Heydays has a full compliment of crew once more.

 

With forecast winds of F4 or 5 in the SW we debate for a while about heading off to Plymouth, but reason that it probably wont be any worse than Thursday and that once round Start point, the wind will take us nicely to Plymouth. We leave at 8 to make the most of the ebb tide heading west and head off into sunny day with clouds scudding ominously rapidly above us. The sea gradually builds and the actual wind we have is WSW F5 with occasional gusts of F6, but we sail gloriously if lumpily with double reefed main and a small genny. Heydays is impeccably behaved even as the headland opens out and the seas build. She rises easily over most waves with only one or two breakers dumping on the crew. Just once or twice we almost come to a halt as a short wave hits, but she gathers herself quickly enough and plugs on. Rain comes intermittently to dampen the spirits but soon dries again in the wind.

 

Photo opportunities are in short supply…

Gradually we leave Dartmouth astern and one or two other boats come scudding the other way…alternately disappearing in the troughs then rising high above us again. We start to think about making a tack back inland to a course near to an approach to Plymouth. With winds now a steady F6/7 and gusts of gale 8, there are increasing breakers and the motion is distinctly uncomfortable. We make the turn and are now almost beam on to the seas. This is much harder work for the helm to make sure that we avoid breakers over the side…and is not always avoided. Once or twice we have a couple of inches in the cockpit, but as always, Heydays shakes herself and plugs steadily on. After an hour of this and with Salcombe now off the starboard bow, we make the decision to run in and have a quieter time for the afternoon. We spot the leading marks over the bar (no room for error this time as we are just at low water) and soon we are in the peace and calm of the inlet

except…the harbour is awash with power boats, paddle boards and sailing dinghies all having fun without actually venturing out.

We are directed to the visitors pontoon some way up river and after having refuelled we are soon rafted up next to a charming French couple who will be in no rush to leave themselves.

Yee Tak has to leave us for the weekend, and so we take the water taxi to town and after some grub, put her in a taxi for Totnes and a train to Bristol.

We wander round the little town for a while (lots of holiday-makers of course) and after an ice-cream in the sun end up snoozing back on the boat. The weather can do its worst now!

Postscript: a more careful reading of the Chanel Pilot reveals that “…the salient butt of land between Start Point in the east and Bolt Tail in the west pokes far enough out into the general run of the Channel to create a notoriously rough stretch of water…”!!!

 

Brixham is another of those places we have never visited and is something we hope will be different from just another marina. There are precious few safe harbours in Lyme Bay and we set off up the east side of Portland with a light NW…looks promising for a reasonable sail across the bay. We debate the passage round Portland. The pilot books and chart warn of the dangers of the race round the Bill and convention for first timers is to go at least 3 miles out before turning west. There is an inside passage very close in (around 50m or so) which is Ok in fine weather and visibility. We have around 6 other boats around us and it almost seems as if we are all waiting to see what the others do and what happens.

In the end we make the decision to take the inside route and follow another yacht and a small fishing boat close inshore, almost within spitting distance of the rocks.

Others follow us! There is certainly heavy breaking water outside us and we are glad for the company. …and soon enough we are round…

Out across the bay and the wind turns once more to the west (of course). In a steady F3 or 4 we make two big tacks across the bay. The red cliffs of Devon shine brightly in the afternoon sun and then disappear. A huge cloud with rain approaches and we can sea the sea being whipped up into frothy peaks.

We hold on tight and then the squall hits. The wind shifts through over 90⁰  and gusts at over 30kt…F7. The boat is over canvassed and we douse the genoa but leave the main alone for now, not wanting to risk a bucking deck.

Almost as quickly as it came….it went! We are back on course for Brixham in sunshine and a wind so light we need the motor. With about a mile to go this time we are ready…another squall hits and we use the motor to take the sting out of the wind by rounding up. On the final approach we drop the main and motor gently into the harbour as if nothing had happened.

Folk are on the prom eating ice creams and wandering about in T-shirts while we are now sweltering in full wet weather gear. We avoid the marina and instead opt for the harbourmaster’s pontoon (at half the price) and moor alongside a lovely old Brixham trawler…and set off to explore the town.

It is a bit like Scarborough in some ways…a bit touristy among a still working fishing port and redolent of earlier times. After a couple of pints in the pub, we wander out to watch the town brass band and a male voice choir doing some passable renditions of old WW1 favourites…and some Queen (the Freddie M type not HRH)!