An English Summer 28

 

Cousin Jinny's crew, happy and relaxed, in the evening sunshine, wave, as they pass. Returning, replete, from their racing, out in Carrick Road. Golden light glinting off varnished spars, gleaming white topsides and contented faces.

The Falmouth Working Boat slips by silently, save for the tuneful run, of her bow wave, along her planks.

All afternoon and evening, Stargazer has had the best seat in the house, for finest show in town. The Falmouth Working Boat races.

In the noon heat, Mildred's heavy gaff yard is sweated up. Then the intricate tracery of lines, canvas and spars, which are her, rainbow hued, jackyard-topsail, are hauled aloft. Timing and coordination are all. Arms strain, directing, tweaking and manipulating, until the deed is done.

Next, her yankee jib is raised; in synchrony, with the slipping of her mooring line. Mildred's head pays off, as her sails are sheeted home. She wheels smartly away, from her blue buoy. The afternoon sea breeze is building, toward its evening crescendo. Her heavy, but fine lined, long keeled, hull heels and then accelerates.

Nimbly she carves her way through the water. Pirouetting, among the tight packed moorings. Expertly handled. Forging her resolute way seaward. Faster and faster.

Her crew laughs and jokes, as they bend on yet more sail. This time the staysail jib. Making for the start line, off St Mawes Castle.

The fleet, of Falmouth Working Boats, thunders down the fairway. Crossing Stargazer's bow, one by one. 

History in motion. Designed to fish the oyster beds, of the Fal, in all weathers. Agility and weatherliness, prerequisites. Traits now put to good use, in this close fought racing. Their rich inheritance, the skills to work a boat under sail, kept alive, for new generations.

More about Falmouth Working Boats and their racing here: Falmouth Working Boats Association

An English Summer 27

 

The smooth curve, of the Flushing shore, provides our wind break, in today's light north breeze.

To our south lie the colourful quays. . . .

. . . . , and entertainments, of Falmouth town.

The official 'Market on the Moor' days are Thursdays and Saturdays. But enough stalls are open today, to tempt me into some, non-essential, purchases. Freshly baked fruit scones, clotted cream, a cheese and onion pasty; replacements for our gauzy, threadbare, tea towels . An emmett, for a day.(Cornish vernacular for tourist)

It is a town, made for shopping by oar. Strategically placed stone steps, are scattered along the High Street, accessed by alleyways or quaysides. Visible once you have your eye in. . . . .and watch the locals.

NB  If you rely on a 'feedburner' email alert, to let you know when I post, please remember that the service is about to be discontinued. Last day, tomorrow. I'm intending to keep posting (more or less) daily, throughout Stargazer's summer adventures. I hope that you will be able to continue to join us.

An English Summer 26

 

It is a steep scramble up, through the tight set alleyways, of the Falmouth waterfront. As it must have been, for sailors making landfall here, for centuries.

I have left Stargazer out on a visitor's mooring, off the town. Glad that her solar panels grant us independence, from shore hook ups. And that I towed the Avon, round from Helford, 'just in case,' rather than deflate and stow it.

The High street is alive with colour and thronged with people. A novelty, after the past fortnight, of secluded anchorages and rustic moorings. I make straight for Tesco, lengthy shopping list in hand, to re-provision.  

On arrival, all three marinas proved 'fully booked.' Not entirely unexpectedly. We did, however, secure the offer of a vacant mooring, and permission to come alongside, to fill up with water, from Falmouth Yacht Haven. Centre stage, on the waterfront.

With food and water replenished, our only outstanding need is to charge the two camera batteries. One flat, one low. Photography rationed, these past several days. Mains power is required, for this electrical need only. When I row ashore, to pay Stargazer's mooring dues, the Harbour Master proves happy to help. I leave the charger plugged into his office socket, for collection in the morning. A warm Cornish welcome to Falmouth town.

An English Summer 25

Three men in a boat, three hardy men, fish on. The air is thick, as Cornish clotted cream, with dense skeins of, opaque, driving rain. The weather is back in alignment with the forecast. Our reprieve, of the past three days, is over. Grey river below merges into grey downpour above. The misty forms of, hunch-shouldered hillsides and, clench-fisted, headlands, ward the torrent off, as best they are able.

Anchored, tight in beneath the bluff, within the embrace of the point, Stargazer is out of the tide. Lying to what breeze filters through. Head to wind, throughout most of the day. With her spray hood up, the main hatch can therefore be left open and washboards out. Affording me the luxury, of watching the world go by, from the comfort of her saloon settees. In the warm and dry.

The splash of oar strokes mingles, with the drumming of the rain, and the 'skitter,' of the dinghy, as it roves from side to side, on its painter. A lone oarsman makes his resolute way by, appropriately suited and hatted up, to pay his respects, to Frenchman's Creek.

Tomorrow, Stargazer plans to make the short passage, across the bay, to Falmouth. Our mission will be: to find a means to re-water and re-provision, to do some (water hungry) clothes washing, and to secure ourselves a base, from which to reacquaint ourselves, with the town. The means, will depend on the available opportunities, upon arrival.

PS If you are wondering 'what is that boat' (pictured above)? She is a Nigel Irens designed, Romilly, named 'Ayesha.' A modern interpretation of the Breton Lugger. Her traditional hull form executed in GRP and married to a full carbon rig, with minimalist weekend accommodation thrown in, below decks. 

 

An English Summer 24

 

The jaunty red ferry, bustles busily to and fro, in the forecast-defying sunshine.

Weekend dinghy sailors prepare, to unwind on the water.

Rigging up, on the beach, which nestles below, the white cottages of, Helford Passage.

I have rowed down, from Stargazer's anchorage.

First I took the Avon upriver. Toward the point (tall dark trees, centre left of picture), at the head of Frenchman's Creek.

And on in. Silver trunked, skeletal boughs, tumble into shimmering green waters. Reflecting the darker hues, of the wooded hillsides, to either hand. There is a sense that sound, light, perhaps the boundaries between fact and fiction, are blurred and softened here, in this atmospheric setting. The stage, for an historic fantasy, living on, in the modern world.

Stargazer is waiting for me, beneath the bluff, when I return. Her batteries at full charge, despite being away from shore power, for a fortnight, now. The diesel tank remains full. Water and food, though, are depleting. Not critical, but soon, we will have to secure an alongside berth, in Falmouth, to replenish both. Best to let the weekend, a peak time for marinas, pass first, I think. Then try our luck. Meanwhile, there is time to explore some more, of the Helford River, by tender. 

An English Summer 23

 

The shelter, from the northerly breeze, is almost complete, on this side of the Helford River. Stargazer now lies, comfortably, in the lee of the point, which guards Porth Navas. Above the creek, the river winds its way, inland, through gently rising pastureland. A picture of pastoral tranquility.

We re-anchored here, beneath the bluff, after I took the Avon, for an exploratory morning row, into Porth Navas creek itself.

We pass the, Darren Newton designed, Dazcat 'Lady Bounty,' moored, in the last of the deep water, off the entrance. We know her, lithe and athletic form (the antithesis of the boxy 'condo-cat' designs, currently so in vogue), from our days at Woolverstone. In the early noughties, Missee Lee and she were berth-mates there.

A tall Grey Heron watches, as I row deeper into the creek, willing the rowlocks not to squeak and thus maintain its silence . I do not see the, metre high, or more, bird, until we are almost upon it. So perfectly does the grey and white of the plumage blend, with the shimmer of the light, on the steely water; and the orange legs and beak merge, with the colours of the kelp. So still stands the patient fisherman.

Still further in, an old school Hirondelle cat, bold and blue, lies, dried out. As I continue my leisurely daily stroll, by oar.

This morning, my body clock still awry, from Wednesday's twenty hour marathon, I awoke, disoriented and bleary, at zero four hundred . I went on deck, for a breath of fresh air, to clear my head. Momentarily I wonder if I am hallucinating, or having a supernatural experience. Through the dawn mizzle, I see the ghostly spars of a square rigged ship, astern. Can this be La Mouette, I briefly question?

She turns out to be the Marjorie, round from Falmouth. She arrived, after I had turned in early, last night and picked up a vacant mooring, just astern of Stargazer. I had not noticed the buoy, when we came in. A hazard of anchoring in the dark. Perhaps too, of being only semi alert yesterday, dozing in the cockpit throughout. Today, fully refreshed, I can see that Stargazer does not rest comfortably here, in this north wind . I am uneasy too, that she is lying amongst moored boats, not beyond them, as I had intended. We cross the river, from beneath the boat house, to our new anchorage, in the lee of the bluff, off Porth Navas. Where Stargazer and I can both rest easy.

An English Summer 22

 

Crab boats unload the night's catch, onto the deserted main street, as we leave, on the ebb.

The dawn sun climbs above the tall hillsides; and shimmers off water, still as beaten metal.

The flags, of Dartmouth Castle, snap, in a north westerly breeze, as Stargazer clears the harbour mouth.

Stargazer gybes her way south, sailing the angles, over cobalt seas.

We round Start Point, in the company of a coaster.

At first we reach west. Then, off Salcombe's Prawle Point, the wind deserts us. We lie, drifting westward on the tide, as the dark shadow, of a wind line, advances slowly toward us. We beat south west, as high as we can point, in the new wind direction, in six to seven knots apparent. Passing the Eddystone light, ten miles to seaward, out in the strongest tide, whilst it favours us.

This is a thermal wind, a sea breeze. Despite the predictions of the forecast, I am certain that, with today's sunshine, it will build . I also have a hunch, that it will revert to the north west, by evening. 

We are in luck ! The breeze builds. Five miles south west of the Eddystone, we tack, back inshore, out of the, now adverse, tide. The wind is up, to twelve to fourteen knots apparent, and building nicely. 

By dusk, our north westerly lift has arrived and Stargazer is striding along. Hard on the wind, in twenty one knots apparent, a single reef (in place of our customary two) in the main. We are deliberately sailing overpowered, to claw the critical extra couple of degrees, to windward, that will allow us to lay the mouth, of the Helford River, on this tack. 

We anchor, below Frenchman's Creek, on a moonless night. With the spirit, of Daphne du Maurier's Frenchman, and his privateer, la Mouette, for company.

An English Summer 21

 

The midsummer sun is back today, but the breeze is still strong, gusting from the north east. Stargazer, and the craft around her, swing uneasily. They have done, since the turn of the tide, late this morning. As the new flood seeks to swing our sterns north east, so the wind pushes them back . The boats lie all ahoo, stern to stern, bow to bow, and everything between. Jigging from side to side, according to the strength of the wind, at any given moment.

Once I am sure, as I can be, that, whichever way Stargazer swings, and however her neighbours lie, we will not collide, I catch the ferry ashore. Access to the shoreline path was restored yesterday, in the driving rain, by the simple expedient of demolishing the, unstable landward section of, the old jetty. (Right foreground, where the two wooden stakes now stand, to mark the path). An improvement, on the age old necessity, to limbo beneath the structure.

The lane climbs steeply up from the river. Winding between whitewashed cottages, ringed by dry stone walls, festooned with a riot of flowers. Both wild and cultivated.

Side lanes join, forming a precipitous crossroads, as I ascend further.

The Red Lion pub huddles alongside the Post Office and General Store. . . .

. . . . on an undulating lane, broader than the rest, known as The Level, running parallel to the serpentine river below.

The forecast is for the wind to swing into the north, overnight, and to ease further by morning. By the afternoon it is expected to come round into the west . How quickly it does this, and how much it drops by, will affect our choice of landfall, tomorrow : 

Both the Helford River and the Fal Estuary lie approximately eighty nautical miles away, on a course which is mainly due west . Fowey is a similar distance, but west north west, and therefore an option, if headed . Closer at hand, within thirty nautical miles, Salcombe and Plymouth could both be reached on a single fair tide, with the wind in the north or the west, even if it falls light. All are options, according to conditions.

PS I am hoping, as always, for fair winds and a dawn to dusk passage tomorrow. In which case I expect to next post on Thursday morning, to let you know where we are.