We had planned to cruise rather more slowly up the East Coast in a similar way to the south, but with niggling doubts over the engine and some north in the wind at the end of the week, we decide to push north sooner. Arklow if the tide holds and the wind is fair.

The 5.15 alarm goes off while it is still dark….this can’t be natural. But with a forced ‘good morning ‘ to each other, we each go about all the usual tasks, both personal and boaty, with little being said…a smoothly oiled machine (in our dreams!).

With fresh coffee inside our mugs, we slip the mooring and head off to the diesel pontoon which is fortunately a self service.  A couple of small fishing boats are already on the move as we head out in the company of another yacht. This is like Piccadilly Circus compared to everywhere else so far.

Heading back out towards the Saltee Islands, we turn East and immediately feel the benefit of the young flood tide and with a decent puff and full sail, we are, for us, screaming along at least over the ground if not through the water. The clouds are a bit threatening and with the sun refusing to show, one by one we all end up with more layers in the chill morning.

In less than an hour, Carnsore point is abeam, with its windfarm and slightly desolate air like many such headlands.

With calm seas and a steady breeze, we can take turns to catch up on sleep, and still the land and, in the distance, Tuskar Rock slips by…

The only action required, apart from watching for pot buoys, is to alter course slightly to pass astern of the Ferry coming out of Rosslare and bound for Fishguard? Pembroke? Or even Cherbourg?

A couple of boats have been keeping us company since Carnsore point, at times ahead and then at times slipping astern. We opt for the inshore passage among the many banks and shallows along this section of the Irish coast and comfortingly, so do they…..but who is following who?

As the breeze becomes lighter, so the clouds part and the sun drives off the previous layers of gear. We enjoy an enormously satisfying run with goosewinged genny. Not normally easy, but the conditions are perfect…

Our companions continue running, presumably to the flesh pots of Dun Laoghaire, and we turn in to Arklow.

The large green buildings must be the most glamorous sewage treatment ever…

And then here we are, through the entrance and heading up river…

The marina is the most expensive yet, and we are rafted up, but the location on the river is fine. We snooze a bit, shop at the local Aldi a bit, and then after some nosh on board,  set out to taste the highlights of Arklow.

We are conflicted, to be honest, the town was once hugely prosperous due to its explosives factory and has since faced some decline. The old docks are replaced by a huge gated community and a big shopping centre, but over the river in the old town, there are lots of boarded up shops and an air of decay. We search for a small pub with the type of warm welcome we’ve had so far, but nothing comes remotely close to Cronins, or The Anchor, or The Oar , or…..

We have a pint at Christies, but it feels soulless, even sitting by the river.

Back on Heydays we invite a couple over  for a chat. They are from Oban but have visited the outer Hebrides and know it well. We tap them shamelessly  for local knowledge and learn about their trips in their Rustler 36. We get the low-down on their amazing voyages and wish them luck for their early start tomorrow (4am). Tim and Ann in Restless, are off to Spain….around six days of sailing and will then do Madeira, the Azores and the Carribean.

The alarm at 7 is slightly unnecessary, as a combination of sunlight streaming in, and the sounds of Waterford coming to life, have already entered the collective consciousness of Heydays. The plan is to have the boat ready to go as soon as the current in the river shows signs of reversing. High water here is 8.40, but at 8 there is still a 3 or 4 knot current in the wrong direction….no point in burning diesel for the sake of it…

As we start to prepare for a day at sea, we work through the normal glamorous routine….getting rid of rubbish, topping up with water and making sure that things that are likely to move don’t. We’re also building a list of jobs which will need doing over winter.

The stern gland, which for our less boaty reader keeps water outside the boat, is starting to drip a bit more frequently than desirable.  A few more turns on the greaser sorts it temporarily….but it definitely needs doing. We’re also experiencing a bit more vibration from the P bracket (holds the prop shaft), and it is added to the list. These are the occasional jobs that pop up every few years, and in our case, we’ve not had to renew the stern gland at all, and the P bracket bearing has given us 10 years.

However, our usual check of cooling water showed a smudge of oil on top. This is not good news, and try as we might, we can’t escape the most likely cause to be a blown head gasket. This is not a job for which we have the tools or the spare part. There are no marine services in Waterford,  but Dunmore East at the mouth of the river, 8 miles away, is a more likely place.

We decide to motor very gently to see how the engine behaves. There is no sign of water in the oil, no overheating and the engine is running smoothly on all 4 cylinders, so no big threats at present, and we’ll keep a close eye on the temperature.  With the engine just above tickover, and a now 4 knot current driving us, we’re making rapid pace down stream…and some options.

Waterford in the sun is delightful as we say goodbye, although we now have an accompanying slight anxiety. 

…and then all of a sudden, the bottlenose dolphins are back…

They stay with us for at least half an hour, and what a lift they are for the spirits….just what we needed.

Further downstream, the previously deadly quiet docks on Sunday, are now a hive of activity…

Waterford it seems is a busy coastal harbour, and the villages and little car ferry we passed in the drizzle on Sunday, are now much more cheerful.

So the options as we approach the mouth of the river are to pull in to Dunmore East to see if there is an engineer who can run some tests, or to continue to Kilmore Quay, which is a bigger marina with engineer on hand. Since there is nothing untoward, and although there is virtually no wind, we decide to continue as planned.

At Hook lighthouse we make a turn East…

…and head to the Saltee Islands which  are just south of Kilmore Quay, and which are visible on the horizon. With the engine just ticking over and little wind, we settle in for a slow and relaxing day in the sun.

The approach to Kilmore Quay is shallow and we’re not far off low water, so even though we only draw 1.4m, careful concentration is needed, especially as we seem to be heading disconcertingly close to a beach full of swimmers….and the entrance is very narrow…

The harbour master is as funny and helpful as they have all been so far.

“What’s your length” he says.

“Just over 10m” says James

“OK, 10m” says the harbour master

“10.5 to be exact” says honest John

“I’ll not ask ye again, 10m ” says the harbour master….we keep quiet after that and nod happily.

At home, just over 10m elicits a wolfish grin and a charge for 11m.

He also points us in the direction of the pub, the shop, the chandlery, and most importantly the engineer.

The little harbour itself is a funny mix of leisure craft and fishing boats with attendant chandlery and engineering, sitting next to a lovely little beach with the usual ‘chippery’, as they seem to say here, ice cream and buckets and spades.

Sadly, we’re not spending more time here. The engineer, though helpful. Is hugely busy trying to get fishing boats back on the waves, but he provides some reassurance about pushing on north to some other people he knows, provided we keep a watchful eye on the engine. We had planned a few stops and anchorages up this coast, but decide to head for Arklow, which will provide a few more options and opportunities to ponder….so an early start to catch the tide….again!

I’m very conscious that this is not meant to be a tourist guide, but we’ve been doing a pretty good job of being tourists today.

We’re moored right in the centre of the city with barely a two minute walk in one direction to the old medieval triangle and to the main shopping area in the other.

A fresh pot of coffee gets us up and moving, and as a first stop, we spend a happy hour or so wandering around the Museum of Time. In fact €20 each gets us a year pass to 5 of the main museums and guided walks. Just this museum would be worth it.

It is small, but jam-packed full of the very earliest escapement clocks, right up to the crystal resonance clock used officially in Ireland right up to 1971.

A volunteer gives us almost a personalised guided tour, including the roles that first shipping and then the railways played in the development of both timepieces themselves, as well as the very notion of a national standard time.

We’re especially fascinated by the ancient clock made near us in Dorset…

Having started Ulysses several times, we’re reliably informed that it takes place over a single day and that the clock that he apparently mentions several times is the very one on display here….complete with an original first edition.  It is available to read on screen….we don’t see anyone getting beyond the first paragraph!

The next 45 mins or so, is spent with a very funny guide who could make a decent living in stand-up. You can google the history of Waterford for the details,  but from the very earliest Viking settlement in the 900s right up to the present day, it is clear that the city has been pivotal in several big moments in Irish history…and has continued its relative prosperity as well.

It turns out that one of Henry 2nd’s knights ‘Strongbow ‘ married Aoife, the daughter of the king of Leinster. The next 900 years or so saw Ireland ruled by the King’s and Queens in London.

Waterford was also a big focus for growing Irish nationalism in the 19th century,  in particular one Thomas Meagher who, along with others, is credited with bringing the first Irish tricolour back from revolutionary France.  It was first flown from 33 The Mall in 1848, and is flown continually to this day. With the Green representing the catholics, the Orange for the protestants and the white as a symbol of hope for peace between the two…

With a visit to the cathedral and the Bishops Palace, we were museumed -out, even with a lunch break in between.

Waterford grew and grew on us after a rather dismal and grey arrival on a dead Sunday. The history  and especially the history tellers brought it alive, on a sunny Monday, and it still seems to be prospering with a thriving docks, new bridge and developing waterfront area…and a vibrant culture…

Just as we finished our dinner, and almost as if specially laid on for us, a pipe and drum band began a short concert not 50m from us in the new bandstand/meeting place…

With the sun setting over the old and new…

…we went to catch some music of a very different kind in The Reg. Anthony Roach turned out to be a real talent playing guitar, laying down loops and accompanying himself on whistle,  flute and his own brilliant voice. A great end to the short stay here, before another early tide tomorrow…

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…

And finally….the sun promises to shine tomorrow,  so maybe we’ll have something more positive to say about this little bit of Ireland….

The rest of Saturday night passed without incident, although none of the bodies on Heydays would have noticed even if there was. The morning was bright and with a planned get away for around noon, the morning was spent rather leisurely….a bit of breakfast, a bit of shopping  (it seems no boat can do without a shoehorn),  and then a pleasant lunch….life is hard at times!

It turns out that Moby Dick starring Gregory Peck was filmed here in 1954.

Youghal on a Saturday morning is not the busiest, presumably as a result of Friday night lock-ins. A pleasure boat is doing trips up river….apparently Dyson has a big and impressive house here….and he is dealing with a soon to be rowdy wedding anniversary party. Plenty of booze and nosh is loaded, and then to our surprise the women all get off leaving the men to their boozy cruise, while they are apparently off to “decorate the pub”.

We take pity on the skipper and make him a coffee. Of the outcome of the wedding celebrations we will see nothing as we slip the mooring and wave good by to Youghal.

With a steady force 4 or 5 in the forecast we let out all but a few rolls in the genny and a single reef in the main. As we nose out of the river we set a course for Dungarven, ready to tick off the headlands once more. It is a glorious broad reach for a while and Heydays is scudding along at over 6 knots with tantalising glimpses of the Comeragh mountains darkly in the background.

We are mindfull though, that we can’t get to Dungarven too early as there is a distinct lack of water in the harbour. As we round Ram Head we are on more of a dead run, which is a) slower but also b) slightly less comfy as we have a following sea which continually threatens an accidental gybe…not much fun in what is now a steady force 5 with occasional stronger gusts.

We heave to and drop the main,  and with just a genny we are slower but definitely more comfy and manageable. We guess that the more gung ho racing types will now be screaming at us, but we can now enjoy the sail and the sunny afternoon.

Half the crew reach a new low, however, as Saints go 1.0 down within 20 minutes of the new season…..

Another ping on the phone……YESSSS Saints have equalised in the 90th minute!!! Another ping…uh oh….have we snatched defeat from the jaws of victory???. We’ve only won it in the 96th minute. Our neighbour messages to thank us…..he put £10 on a Saints win at 7:1 with only 20 minutes left. We look forward to a slap up meal…..

As if on cue and sharing the joy, a small group of dolphins take a breather as they swim in the opposite direction…none of us has a camera ready…

…and we go back to ticking off the headlands….Harrylock and finally Helvick.

Dungarven harbour opens up and we start to pay close attention to the depth sounder. Slightly worryingly, the normally very accurate Navionics charts don’t seem to agree with the actual depths we’re finding….and a couple of buoys seem to have moved. We double check and slow down, prepared for swift evasive action, just glad that we had planned to do this on a rising tide.

At least Ballynacourty Lighthouse hasn’t moved and we now have sight of a clear set of channel buoys leading us in. The run up to the town is about 4 miles and the harbourmaster will be waiting for us apparently.  In the final approach, the buoys run out and navionics is conflicted. We opt to follow the line of moored boats, betting that this will approximate to the deep water. This turns out to be a mistake and we grind to a halt on the mud. With motor hard astern, we slide off again and feel our way gingerly to some deeper water and the pontoon.  Nothing damaged except a bit of pride. It’s a good job that only half of Dungarvan appears to be watching from The Anchor…

We take the opportunity for a shower in the sailing club before the obligatory stout…Guinness only, this time, but slips down a treat nonetheless.

An Indian on the waterfront suited the mood and we had a stroll round the square to check out the music. 

A hen party belting out ABBA didn’t do it, nor did a DJ, and sadly the diddle de de music wasn’t starting ’till 10. After the previous night’s lock-in, none of us were especially up for another late night….and we plan to catch the early tide, and…!

Six weeks ago we moored at the now defunct Salve Marine and as if by magic we are now in the Royal Cork Yacht Club…alongside it’s trophy cabinet full of silverware and modern hygienic showers. James and John are happy to rough it in the old style communal showers….still with lots of hot water, while Chris and Yee Tak head for the refined elegance of the Royal Cork.

This is our first day properly back at sea and we spend some time getting the old girl ready.  It’s strangely soothing just to be pottering round boaty bits again.

With diesel and water all topped up, we slide out of Crosshaven on the first of the flood tide, hoping sometime to be back again.

With some gusty winds forecast and a small boat warning in force, we unfurl the genny and settle in for a brisk down wind run. The wind is over the quarter at around force 5 and we’re making a steady 6kts over the ground. Heydays is normally really well balanced, but we have found over the years that any following seas over about 0.5m tend to try to push the stern round. With about a 1 metre swell running the autohelm is struggling to cope, so Heydays is back to live humans at the wheel!

There is always a pattern to a coastal hop like this, and we tick of the coastal villages and headlands.

Realising that we’re going to arrive much earlier than planned, we phone the harbour master and he’s even got a pontoon space available for us…no apparent need for rubber dinghy just yet.

We seem to be the only other boat out on the water as we approach the shallow bar across the river entrance.

A few lazy breakers try hard to get us, but Heydays with her centre cockpit is dryer than many more traditional craft, and we’re soon tied up in the centre of town. A short sail….just under 5 hours, but it was good to get the water flowing under her keels once more.

Captain Keating wanders down to greet us and we spend a happy 40 minutes or so as he tells us a good chunk of his life story as a captain and pilot in various tall ships.

The ebb is running very fast, and together with a bit of remaining swell coming up river against it, the boat and the pontoon to which we are attached is bouncing a lot. We wonder whether to move to a more relaxed swinging mooring, but that would probably preclude getting ashore.

In the end, we stay and cook dinner before heading off to find a drink….never a problem in Ireland, it seems. Hoping for some music, we are disappointed to see the musicians already packing up. The bartender though, points us in the direction of the Anchor, a very unprepossessing pub down a back street. It is rammed and there is a couple playing banjo and whistle. We manage to find some space at the back and settle in for what Captain Keating rather dismissively described as ‘fiddle de de’ music.

They too are on their last number, but as 10pm arrives, so too do more musicians. With another round of the black stuff lined up for us, they crack into a wonderful mix of traditional Irish folk, some Neil Young, and lots of Dylan.

An older guy wanders in to be greeted by almost everyone and stands unobtrusively  near us. As the songs progress, it turns out that his voice is way more than just another drunk punter belting out tunelessly. Sure enough he soon gets the call and joins the group to sing The Contender….a gloriously melancholic piece about a local boxer from Youghal who loves women and whiskey just a little to much….

He chats to us, as do many of the others who pass by. This is a wonderful cross-generational party, and by the time we call it a day at 12.30, we find we are locked in. Everyone wishes us good night as we’re unlocked and with the doors locked again behind us. The party continued….

Still feeling pleasantly full from last night’s meal, most of us give breakfast a miss with the promise of lunch somewhere nice in Cork. An early trundle down the pontoon disturbs a rather cross heron who presumably sees us as competition for his fish.

The brilliant Transport for Ireland app shows real time buses right across the country and we head out for the 10.18 bus and a leisurely ride round the well heeled designer villages in Cork’s hinterland.

We are struck by Ireland’s second city and it’s quirky mix mix of designer chic, standard highstreet stuff and decidedly local shops not found anywhere else.

We head into the English Market, and Yee Tak and John are like a couple of 3 year olds let loose in a sweet shop. They don’t know where to turn next and every alley, every corner has a new temptation. It’s a bit like Borough Market, but that is a disservice…where Borough is now an overpriced tourist pastiche of itself, the English Market is  the real deal, with locals buying some phenomenal food at Market prices…

With our first coffee over two hours ago,  we head into the first floor market cafe. Too late for breakfast and just too early for lunch, they are ‘only’ serving coffee and cake. We end up with a local pear cider (perry) and a heady mix of bread and butter pudding and custard,  brownie and ice cream, or coffee cake….all before noon!

We ponder ordering lunch, which is now being served, but decide that maybe we ought to at least pretend to do some walking before more nosh.

Wandering through Ireland’s second city, we get a sense of tradition, but not in an old-fashioned ‘harking back’ way, just a community at ease with both old and new. Just in case this sounds overly honeyed, we are all too aware as well, of the modern 21st century issues which have led to the council closing all public toilets in an effort to deal with an increasing drug problem.

Cork is proud of its rebel heritage and the role which Michael Collins, one of its sons, played in their fight for independence…

Heaving around the brownies and bread and butter pudding takes its toll, and we sit for a while in the cool of protestant and imposing Saint Fin Barre’s cathedral…

…there’s another reminder of the old and new in a plaque attached to a rather tatty building, showing that George Boole lived here. Boolean algebra is the direct precursor to digital logic and all modern digital devices and technology….

The walk along the river by the university where he was a professor felt a million miles away from the commercial port…

On the bus back to Heydays thoughts finally start to turn matters nautical and getting ready for tomorrow’s sail along the coast  to Youghal.

However, before that comes dinner back in one of our favourite bar/restaurants… Cronins. They have managed to avoid the mistake that so many gastro pubs in England make….they have a huge and thriving drinking trade whilst also having a separate dining room, both with their own great atmosphere…and still serving stout…

They have a rather quirky tradition for visiting boats to leave a piece of old gear behind as a memento, all of which end up strung in the ceiling not too dissimilar to the endless love padlocks found on bridges. The best bit though, is that each one is labelled and there is a book where each of the stories is written.

We add a little piece of Heydays that will forever remain in Cronins bar…maybe we’ll come back…

As we wander home in the last of the evening sun, we disturb the resident heron.

The hiatus at the end of June allowed us, as individual couples, to reconnect with families, grandchildren, overgrown allotments or gardens, in Chris’ case a big family gathering for a big birthday, and in Yee Tak and James’ case, an unscheduled trip to London with the eldest granddaughter to watch the Lionesses homecoming parade having won the Euros.

Wednesday morning brings an unwelcome taxi at 6.15, to get us to the station to begin our journey to Luton and another chance to fly with the delightful Mr O’Leary! Stories (unverified) of him incentivising staff to be ever more diligent in checking bags for size result in slightly obsessive weighing and re-weighing, measuring and re-measuring. Satisfied we are well within all limits, we settle in to a pleasant trundle via a newly re-nationalised railway to the gleaming metropolis of….Luton. Actually the sarcastic sneer there is unwarranted, as it is refurbished and efficient….sorry Luton. Smugly confident, John and Chris have opted to take out a small mortgage to check in a couple of bags. The oberlieutenant fuhrer tells them that their bags which are a) less than 2/3rds of the maximum weight and b) vastly smaller than the permitted size,  are actually ‘oversize’. With blood draining from their faces at the prospect of yet more pound notes flowing into O’Leary’s coffers, they are informed that the little straps used to carry the bags result in oversize and must be handed in to the oversize check in desk. As it turns out, this is not chargeable, and we decide to celebrate with two beers at over £8 a pint and a couple of miniscule maccaroni cheeses. Is there a singular for one maccaroni….maccarona?

The flight is on time and uneventful and we are so happy to be back on Irish soil and looking forward to getting back on board Heydays again, hoping that storm Floris which passed through a couple of days ago, didn’t wreak too much havoc.

Since we left, Salve marine and it’s lovely owner Witse, have disappeared into history, to be taken over by the Royal Cork Yacht Club. We are dropped at the newly renamed RCYC Eastern Marina.

The workshops and gear are all silent and gone, but there is plenty of activity on the boats and Heydays is still sitting there, snug and warm and dry….save for a couple of oranges and apples which gave up the ghost several weeks ago.

It’s great to be back on board, and we get stuff stowed and looking like home again, before a trip into the village to buy a few essentials….and a few non-essentials. Cronins is next door and we feel it would be rude not to introduce Yee Tak and Chris to the pub where we spent several happy hours only six weeks ago. 4 o’clock seems slightly early to start on the Murphy’s and the Beamish,  but we’re encouraged by the already lively bar and happily drinking crowd just passing the late afternoon….as they are in two other pubs close by….

Sadly they are fully booked for dinner, but after a short nap back on Heydays, we end up at The Oar for what turns out to be one of the best meals in a long time.

We slept for a straight 12 hours on Sunday night and woke up to a very blustery Crosshaven. But feeling like new men. Today’s the day to get Heydays back to a semblance of normality…interesting to see how things changed places during the crossing.

The first task is to sort out the mains electric hook up, as each time we try to connect we end up tripping the whole pontoon…not the most effective way to make friends.

Witse, ever helpful, offers to run us to chandlers where we can get some parts if needed. In the end we  trace the problem to a faulty mains socket and sort the problem ourselves. A few other niggles sorted and we start to relax.  It turns out that no-one here is interested in paperwork or signing in of any sort…all very civilised. It seems that it is just the UK government which is demanding paperwork all over the place.

Monday night out in Crosshaven is something of a revelation. Last night we celebrated with a Guiness at the first pub we came to. Turns out that within a further 50 m there are another 3….and all doing seemingly well. Locals standing outside are unfailingly friendly….”hi lads, how’s it going?”

Our British “hi” feels inadequate.

The Irish sense of humour is never far away…

Cronins bar is where we end up , but they don’t do food on Mondays or Tuesdays….that’s no problem as the barman suggests that we get a takeaway and come back and sit with a beer. Fish chips, mushy peas and onion rings do a great job of soaking up the second round.

We’ve tried all three now…Guinness, Murphy’s and Beamish, the last two of which are brewed locally in Cork. James opts for Murphys, while John prefers the Beamish.

With charts spread out on the table we start to plan the next stages in a bit more detail….August should see us up the east coast, but what to see on the way?

Another couple of (slightly younger) old sailors stop for a chat…..and then stay for another beer. Charles and Dom have come from Milford Haven, and a bit like us  are not exactly shoestring sailors, but not the super yachties either. They are booked into the Royal Cork, but after a chat with us and hearing about the lovely Witse and his ‘interesting’ yard, they determine to move along in the morning.

A short while later, Dennis stops  by having seen our charts….and he stops for another beer…

He’s a mine of information and we talk harbours, anchorages and tidal streams to either use or avoid like the plague. As the beer slips down it becomes apparent that he’s a phenomenally accomplished sailor. He’s done the fastnet several times as well as the round Ireland. Both very testing races. We begin to wonder whether he is someone in the sailing world we should have recognised, when he asks whether we would deliver his boat to Falmouth in the next couple of weeks ready for the next Fasttnet. It’s an attractive proposition, but we’re both tied up domestically….ah well. He asks for our details and promises to get a friend of his from the “6 counties” to give us local info on yards and marinas for the winter.

A couple of Jamiesons rounds off a brilliant and incredibly friendly and welcoming evening.

Back on Heydays we google Denis Murphy to find indeed that he is a well known racer in his Grand Soleil 40 racing yacht Nieulargo…and is Rear Admiral of the Royal Cork Yacht Club.

Tuesday is a final clean and tidy and eating up the rest of the on-board perishables for brunch. Fried eggs, toast, tomatoes, smashed avocado…and even a light olive oil drizzle. Who says we can’t do posh??

Goodbye to Witse and wish him a happy retirement s he drops us at the airport and we throw ourselves at the mercy of Michael O’leary’s finest customer service to get us back to home…although Luton is not especially close to home.

Crosshaven has been a brilliant experience so far, with the kind of friendliness we’ve not experienced since we last sailed up the East Coast of England and Scotland…as well as being quite beautiful and quirky…

We plan to be back in Cork in early August to resume the voyage..

More thunder overnight and still a few rumbles early on, but mostly the day dawns bright and clear and still. We get the shipping forecasts for Sole, Lundy and Fastnet. Quite exciting compared to our usual Wight, Portland and Plymouth.

They are all the same which is comforting in a way, and they are forecasting variable 3 or less with occasional fog and thundery showers…not so good! Becoming 3 to 6 later.

With everything stowed for what could be a bumpy night, we head off to top up the diesel and the water. All a bit frantic by the quay, but we’re back in our routine and get everything done in 15 minutes.

We say goodbye to Chris and Yee Tak who are taking the Scillonian back to Penzance then trains home. We’ll fly back from Cork once the boat is safely tucked up.

Sliding away from the quay, we are sad to be leaving them behind, as we’ve had a brilliant 2 weeks cruise to the Scillies. The wind has been frustrating at times, but that doesn’t take away from just being back on the old girl.

With no wind at all, we motor out of the harbour and out past St Agnes once more and take the Northwest passage out of the islands. 

Morning turns to afternoon and we start to see the merest hint of some light airs from the west. With full main and genoa and a freshening wind, Heydays laps up the miles across the Celtic Sea.

We know our boat inside out after all these years, and we take a couple of rolls in the genoa for no discernable loss in speed, but a much comfier ride in a building sea in what is now a wonderful beam reach.

We heat up the remaining half of the lassagne for dinner as something warm to see us through the night.

The earlier delays due to the weather have meant that this, our longest leg of the trip, takes place during the shortest hours of darkness. Serendipity for once.

With the sun about to set, we reduce sail for the night, and despite this being June, we know all too well how cold the nights can get. So with thermals on, lifelines attached and some hot drinks lined up we see the last of the sun.

Our usual pattern is roughly 2 hours on watch and 2 hours kip through a night passage. At 11pm we still have some light, with visible horizons, but with no moon and just a few stars, the midnight watch is pretty dark. We’re glad we shortened sail as the wind gusts up to 23knots by 2 pm, and the sea has built into some short but steep waves just on the beam. Occasionally  a larger one than usual brings us up with a lurch, but the old girl just shakes herself off and ploughs on.

We shorten the genny around 2.30 and slow her down from the at times mad rush (for us) at over 7knots. The motion is instantly easier and less draining.

We are shadowed for a while by some sea birds, presumably expecting us to be gutting fish. They appear as just momentary flashes of white in the otherwise empty sea.

We’re grateful to have radar, but through the night it’s just us and the birds…

Amazingly, there is just the faintest of early light on the eastern horizon by 2.45 and a very thin sliver of moon appears behind the clouds.

The waves become clearer and then almost in the blink of an eye there is a real pink glow out east…

But with the dawn comes a strengthening of the wind and waves. There are gusts of 33kts and breaking seas which continually  push us off course.

We furl the genoa completely and that helps, but it is only when we put the third reef in the main that we are back to a feeling of normality. We hear the first of the Irish shipping bulletins and they are warning of strong winds around the entirety of the Irish coast.

As we edge closer to the coast we get a semblance of shelter from the headland and gradually we make preparations for landfall.

The entrance to the river up to Cork is quite pretty even in the grey skies, especially for such a commercial city.

We’re booked into a boatyard at Crosshaven, where we will leave Heydays for a few weeks and it is a lovely place….

We meet Witse who is the owner and a really nice guy.  It turns out that he is retiring at the end of the month and the yard has been sold to the Royal Cork Yacht Club next door…..but they will honour the quote he gave us!

The yard has clearly seen better days, but it has a certain charm, mostly down to Witse. We’re chatting about our plans and he said he may even get us to the airport to save on a taxi…..I bet the Rotal Cork won’t offer that!