Trip reports

4 JUNE TO 11 JUNE 2011 BRIGHTON TO FALMOUTH
in pictures - CLICK HERE

18 JUNE TO 25 JUNE 2011 HOLYHEAD TO LARGS
Shaun Stewart

SAT. 18 JUNE--HOLYHEAD, ANGLESEY
Nigel's crew assembled at Holyhead, Gateway to Ireland and home to the attractive Stena Line ferries. Richard Gay had the furthest to travel from Sydney, Australia and piped David King and Richard Horsler as first to the Holyhead marina post. Nigel and Linda had traveled up from Brighton by car laden with crew bags and provisions the night before. Shaun Stewart from Henley and Bill Catchpole (a 1 hour wait at Crewe Station) from West Sussex arrived last via the station with the longest unpronounceable name in Britain. Richard took the prize for the cheapest rail ticket from Brighton but only because he promised to go to Dublin and not get off at Holyhead (an attractive destination with double the price of a Dublin ticket).

Having lugged our kit on board, including Bill's notorious lead lined sailing bag, and exchanged our greetings and tales of travel derring-do we were pleased to note that Nigel had already completed re-provisioning via the local Tesco's with enough red wine (no white mind-white's only for sissies) and beer to fell a Glaswegian on a Friday night. Ten cases of fully sugared coca-cola, some Twix bars and a couple of bags of wine gums completed his inventory; luckily, Linda had anticipated this and had stocked up with some more sensible items which sustained us on the trip through heavy bouts of Merlot and Cab Sav.

That evening, inspired by an unintelligible Welsh lobster fisherman who had landed some plump looking specimens alongside our berth, we dined at the nearby Boathouse Restaurant and Bar (5 minutes walk from the marina) for an excellent meal of steaks and lobster. Marina facilities were good and the showers hot.

SUN. 19 JUNE-HOLYHEAD TO PEEL, IOM
Brian Moore, the previous skipper, had cleverly shoehorned BB into a very convenient berth close to the exit gangway and facilities but left our skipper with a difficult departure given the proximity of craft fore and aft with a Force 5/6 blowing and blustery inside the breakwater. Without bow thrusters Nigel sought to engage some shore based gentle folk to pull our bow round with a long line and to guard our stern from harm-the first to be engaged in this task had to depart urgently to the marina heads to attend to what he called "morning matters" and the two manual bow pullers kept reminding us that their respective mother in laws were expecting them for an early Sunday lunch. After a bit of excited banter, we made our stately way to the outer harbour to familiarise ourselves with what string to pull when and where. Thus refreshed we exited the shelter of the breakwater to the rigours of Holyhead Bay into a very aggrieved looking Irish Sea.

For some this was a first taste of rough seas for some long time with the sea state particularly convivubobulated in the shadow of the Skerries and along what Nigel called the "Manacles of the Testicles" . Gay turned grey and Stewart felt decidedly dodgey as we ploughed into very rough seas, steering northwards towards the Isle of Man. So the day proceeded with many of the crew keeping quiet in the hopes that mal de mer would diminish-indeed as the weather moderated so did the sea. A debate then began as to where we should aim for on the IOM-some advocated Douglas on the east side (not a very pleasant town apparently) and some, at the urging of a friendly boat owner in Holyhead, lobbied for the delightful town of Peel on the west side closer to Ireland. Tide tables and Peel Harbour lock times were poured over and with Father Time ticking away Nigel plumped for Peel and the race was on to make it through the lock in time. Sails tweaked and engine on as the wind died we entered outer Peel harbour to the sounds of the Flight of the Valkeries with 4 minutes to spare on the clock. A harbour seal welcomed us in and a friendly Harbour Master ushered us through into the inner harbour to berth alongside a substantial work-boat that we were assured would not trouble us by leaving early the following morning. The friendly Peel SC nearby provided hot showers, a bar and a wonderful freshly baked giant pasty for breakfast.

Peel is a delightful town with a wide beach and dominated by Peel Castle on St Patrick's Isle overlooking the harbour with a fine locally produced brew. We dined at the aptly named TyNa Restaurant (a combo of two hefty characters-Tyler and Nina who, according to them, were solely responsible for Blackpool's resurgence as cultural capital of the North-west). We had the Fathers' Day special of steaks at half price for Dads and excellent they were too.

MON. 20 JUNE-PEEL TO BANGOR
Richard decided that he had a tad too much of the mal de mer on top of burning the candle at both ends at Le Mans prior to his arrival so still feeling rather rough he headed for Douglas airport for a flight to London-we very nearly had him roped to the main mast to stop him going but he was adamant and it was a sad loss to our number.

The remaining crew had a delightful stroll around Peel Town with breakfast at a cafe on the beach and a look round historic Peel castle listening to an enlightening commentary complete with drum roll and clashing swords (just how many flank walls can be defended at any one time?). The tour culminated in a tale of the Peel Black Dog said to lurk in the shadows of the castle guardhouse whose snarling presence called for the donning of brown trousers by those brave enough to venture forth-we hurriedly departed to catch the tide and the lowering of the lock plate(this was a steel blade that rose up from the floor of the lock entrance rather than a hinged gate).

Someone had hit the Irish Sea with a giant frying pan as we emerged to a dead flat, calm, windless sea which required us to motor across to Bangor, N. Ireland. Exaggerated claims about sighting basking sharks, porpoises, submarines and different types of shag kept us going for about 7 hours until Bangor Marina hove in sight to the relief of all. The marina is large, modern and rather charmless but Bangor did boast the largest swimming pool in N. Ireland in the 1930s (now defunct) and the marina facilities were excellent. Local knowledge pointed us in the direction of the best pub in town-Stinkys, Pinkys, Kinkys or Slintys none of us could comprehend the local dialect-but directions led us to fine pints of Guinness. The saintly Linda had remained on board to prepare a feast of Linda's Chicken Hunter (no not "chasseur") and splendid pud all washed down with Nigel's copious European wine lake. Contented we lay in our berths that night.

TUES. 21 JUNE-BANGOR TO CAMPBELTOWN, SCOTLAND
David King had arranged to depart at this stage to give a speech to a gathering of property developer types down South, so, with the remaining crew feeling as though they should have changed their smalls we set sail and motor for Campbeltown.

The weather was overcast and relatively windless so another day under motor-sail beckoned enlivened by bursts of steady rain with varying intensity and thick mist. Not even the loom of the Mull of Kintyre could prompt us into song as we passed up Sanda Sound with Arran to our starboard.

Embellished advice from the Campbeltown Harbour master assured us that, given our size, we could berth alongside a suitable craft named "Spirit" that hadn't moved for a couple of years. We rounded Davaar Island and into Campbeltown Loch at which point and prompted by the peaty colour of the loch's waters Bill launched into a rendition of "Campbeltoun Loch if ye we' er whiskey aye 'd drink ye dry" and a bright glint to his eye was clearly evident. Our berthing partner "Spirit" might have been willing, but, her flesh and size were certainly weak-Nigel conducted a handbrake turn in restricted quarters that brought us neatly alongside the small craft half our size. Thank goodness there was no wind and it was a dead flat calm.

Campbeltown has, with two exceptions, very little to commend it -there is a single pontoon with few services (power, with the nearby Sports Hall providing the best showers). We had a pasta dinner a la Nige on board with pud washed down by the wine lake and perhaps a card game or two-I doubt if anyone could remember.

WED. 22 JUNE-CAMPBELTOWN TO TARBERT
Breakfast was taken at the friendly Star Cafe followed by expeditions to whiskey distilleries (two) and a smoke house for Bill's future breakfast kippers. We decided that we had extracted the best from the toun and departed toute suite.

Again we were faced with little wind and thus slowly proceeded north up the Kilbarran Sound with Arran's towering hills to starboard and Kintyre's majesty to port, into the Sound of Bute leaving the Cock of Arran, the Paps of Lochranza and the Buttocks of Catacol in our wake. The wind freshened as we rounded Skipness Point into Loch Fyne presenting us with a pleasant sail into the delightful and picturesque fishing port of Tarbert. An easy berth at a modern marina (funds courtesy of our European comrades) with time to scout a place that served real ale and a good eatery.

The Corner House pub (the banana yellow one) provided the former and the landlady's friendly daughter ran the latter-the Star Fish Restaurant--both recommended and all deemed good value.

THURS. 23 JUNE-TARBERT TO PORT BANNATYNE (Nr. ROTHESAY)
Richard took himself off for an early long hike in the mist to commune with the midgies before breakfast reporting back that he had crossed the isthmus to see West Tarbert Loch without being savaged by sheep.

After a hearty breakfast as usual, though this time with Bill's kippers competing with the forward head on the smell-o-meter, we set forth for the Kyles of Bute and Loch Riddon in splendid sailing conditions. The sun had emerged, the right kind of wind blew and God was in his or her Heaven-a great day's sailing that took us past Port Driseach into the Kyles-the scenery was magnificent with wild rhododendrons extending up dramatic hill sides. Here we searched for ever more descriptive adjectives and then continued up Loch Riddon which is well worth a visit and thence back down to pass through the narrows of the northern Kyles-all in sunny warmish weather (for Scotland that is).

We had been assured by Duncan, the proprietor of the newly created Port Bannatyne Marina, that there would be a.enough water under our keel and b. a berth big enough for us at his private marina although he did say that we would be the largest craft in to date. We made a cautious approach to be greeted by Duncan on his wee bicycle and were directed to a berth closest into shore with a very tight approach. There were some ripe words from the skipper as we successfully reversed into the berth with Duncan saying -"what ye ha' no bow thrusters och you're doomed doomed I say" rather like that Dad's Army character.

We had alighted on Port Bannatyne because someone had mentioned to Bill that there was a real ale pub-the Russian Tavern-in the town and he was keen to test its mettle. The town itself had little else to recommend it and the bigger port of Rothesay had also beckoned-we had been warned off this tantalising option due to our size, the tightness of manouveur and the wash from the regular ferry service.

As it happened we had a very jolly time in PB-the Russian tavern when it eventually opened provided bizarre access to a very real local ale with a very real character and another pub provided pleasant engagement with local colour, characters and policing. The shore party returned aboard to a wonderful Linda lasagne with pud to match again all washed down with Nigel's wine lake. Richard being young and energetic returned to the town on the promise of a sing song which failed to materialise other than the jaunty tune he picked through as he returned from renewed acquaintance with the local brews.

FRI. 24 JUNE-PORT BANNATYNE TO LARGS
This morning we decided to stretch our legs before breakfast by walking a 5 mile circular route from the marina to the distant abandoned church of St Colmac with an extensive ancient cemetery. Closeby archaeologists were explaining a dig overlooking Ettrick Bay to a group of school children so we joined them for an interesting discussion as to the origins of the site-Neolithic, Viking, Celtic or Victorian. Fascinating but who can tell? What it did do was to sharpen up our appetites for a fully loaded late brekka prior to departure for Largs.

The wind had freshened nicely for a tack or two across the distant reaches of the entrance to the Firth of Clyde which took us close inshore to the fabulous edifice that is Mount Stuart on Bute.

We made our approach to Largs marina (750 berths) in time for a civilised tea and were conveniently berthed on an outer pontoon as the kettle boiled. Much frenzied work then began to get BB shipshape for the next crew. Largs is everything that one could wish for from a large characterless marina including excellent shower facilities, bars and restaurants with the train station a mere 10 minute taxi ride away (taxi freephone from the marina office). A pint or two (nearly real ale on tap) from the nearby modern bar and we were primed for our final supper on board.

SAT. 25 JUNE-AULD LANG SAYNE
As we scattered to the four winds of departure we all agreed that it had been a cracking trip for all with plenty of highlights-Peel topped the list closely followed by Tarbert and the unexpected experience of Bannatyne. Bill's stream of amusing Rambling Sid Rumpole stories (many unrepeatable in mixed company) kept us all in high spirits and Linda's cuisine and forbearance with some of the more masculine traits thoroughly deserve mention.