Tresco is coming to sleepy Sunday life, as I row in toward the quay.
Styria has already steamed south, for St Mary's, to shorten tomorrow's passage to Penzance. A harbour only accessible for three hours each tide (high water -2 to +1). Making a punctual arrival critical.
She weaves her way, down through the reefs of the Tresco flats. Others follow suit. There is a general exodus, as craft, released by the improved conditions, return to the mainland.
I walk across the island, to Old Grimsby. A dark cloud, both physical and metaphorical, hangs over its two anchorages: Old Grimsby Sound and beyond, ringed by the smaller outer islands, St Helen's Pool. This Finesse (a clinker built centreboarder) rode the storm out, safely ashore in Green Bay.
An option not open to this long keeled ketch, driven onto an islet, to leeward (downwind) of her anchorage. Now 'neaped.' Left above the high water mark, unable to fully refloat, but likely to partially refloat and pound against the rocks, until the arrival of next week's spring tides. Her survival hangs in the balance.
She had sought shelter, from Evert's seventy mph gusts, in St Helen's Pool. With a terrible hindsight, that was too far from the more substantial lee of Tresco.
Not that being under Tresco's lee guaranteed immunity, from the effects of the tearing winds. The tattered remnants of a genoa, blown to shreds, fluttering from this boat's forestay, bear testament to that. She was moored in Old Grimsby Sound, where Stargazer rode out the previous gale.
Stargazer's present anchorage, close in to the Bryher shore, gave her protection from south west, through west, to northwest. Leaving her exposed for only the two hours, when Evert blew, unexpectedly, from the north.
Nothing more sinister than a new Scillonian courtesy flag, flutters from her rigging (white cross on gold and blue background, one third up the mast). A thankful offering.
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