18 July
My Tern Adventure 07 aka ?The Full Oirish'!
In this age of ?Political Correctness', ?Health and Safety' and litigation I write this ?With Extreme Prejudice' in the time honored tradition of never letting the truth spoil a good story. I did worry a little when the preferred reading of 1 of our crew was ?A Perfect Storm'?.
So with duly girded loins and a trepidacious spouse I took up the kind invitation
of the Commodore of DSC to accompany him on a quest to deliver his beloved
Bavaria 36 to a whole other country?Not just Wales but through infinity and
beyond, well St Georges Channel to Crosshaven via Arklow! We were encouraged
by having the assembled upper echelons of DSC in it's 99th year as fellow
adventurers. We enjoyed not only the company of DSC Commodore the right venerable
Mr M Hilton but Vice Commodore and Liverpool Harbour Master Mr A Goudie, the
outgoing and retiring (is that an oxymoron or what)? Rear Commodore Sailing
& Liverpool Coast Guard Mr M Johnson. Lady Vice Commodore and health professional
Mrs P Goudie. Teresa, wife, mother?..Nana and part time Stratos crew, and
'ikle me, inept cabin boy. A group of 6 to face whatever nature chose to throw
at us.
We arrived at Conway marina and lugged our bags along the pontoons to be hailed
by the two Mikes who were checking that the pipes in the beer pumps at the
Mulberry had been cleaned to a nationally accredited standard using the personal
sampling method. We had no choice as is the custom but to join in. The later
arrival of the final two crew gave us a full set and a run to town was promptly
instigated for a pre approved ?Chippy Tea'. Pre approved as in laid down in
the official menu and shopping list that had been circulated to all relevant
members 10 days prior.
Shopping was already on board and with due respect to the early start, crew
turned in to their respective bunks for the first floating slumber. Early
start and out into the bay with the wind on our nose. For non sailing types
that means uphill sailing or straight line motoring. Puffin was despatched
with a rounding around the back and through the sound to follow the channel
past Beaumaris and Bangor. It is always exciting to travel under the ?bridges'
but the infamous ?swellies' where cited by Lord Neslon himself as ?a bit tricky?
or words to that effect. We relaxed in the knowledge that Mike H took the
helm to negotiate the channel at low water. However since Mikes last visit
one of the legendary Welsh roaming rocks had wandered from its charted position
and slipped itself wickedly under the keel. The gentlest of crunches shuddered
the keel and spun the boat around to point menicingly at the bank. Now as
no stranger to the odd minor misshap in the nautical execution of boat destruction
that is glibly describe as sailing, I have always found that abject panic
gives you something to do until the terror has passed. However Mike was on
the ball, quick as a flash he sent all crew to the starboard rail to tip the
boat. The crew, whoes purpose is as moveable ballast obliged and canted the
keel away from the uncharted obstruction and dissaster was averted. It was
felt by all that it was only a minor ding and in the spirit of ?motoring misshaps'
could be buffed out with a bit of ?T Cut'.
We made Port Dinorwic and picked up a mooring, well I picked up a mooring on
the third attempt. I felt that it was appropriate after Mikes prompt and decisive
action a little mincing about with the gaff in an uncoordinated display of
seamanship, would serve to restore some balance the the ?clever ? dumb' continuum.
Food was made in the form of a hearty Breakfast. A display of great sailing
unfolded around us as our lively ?header' provided great conditions for a
large dinghy fleet. With that race still being fought we slipped our mooring
and chugged past Caernarfon as the tide rose over the bar.
A debate had selected Porth Dinllaen as a suitable evening mooring and the
mooring was effectivly gaffed (is that another oxymoron)? 1 st time, by me.
Dinner of spag bol as per the guidelines laid down in the official menu was
expertly prepared and expertly despatched and the crew turned in for another
night afloat gently rocked to sleep by the roll and swell in this natural
harbour. Rested and fed the crew set forth after a hearty ?full fat' breakfast,
the sails we hoisted and despite a headwind we made progress slowly away from
the coast of Wales. With the best will in the world the prospect of making
Arklow before August precipitated the inclustion of some mechanical motive
force. Under power once more we? well me and Andy got out the fishing rods.
We trawled our spinners for the best part of 12 hours across the Irish Sea
and remained ?unblooded' in the gentle art of extracting sustenance from natures
larder. Fortunatly a stew had been prepared in accordance with the detailed
instructions (see ?menu') and we ate on the hoof.
Gaining the marina at Arklow seems like a dream to me now (mainly because I
slept through the whole thing). No easy task for our skipper though, unknown
port?in the dark, first time etc?Considering the skilled way that I had caught
the mooring at Porth Dinllaen the previous evening the ?clever ? dumb' equalibruim
clearly favouring the clever side and needed to be redressed, however I had
managed to store up a dumb act from my last trip on My Tern by leaving the
crucial adapter end of the hosepipe on the tap back at Conway. This remained
undiscovered until Mike tried to fill the fresh water tanks first thing in
the morning at Arklow. In this way I had unwittingly ensured the safe passage
of My Tern into this port, in the dark, while I slept. How cool is that?
Breakfast afloat and the crew beginning to flag in their duties to consume
the prescribed quantity of bacon as laid down in the ?menu memo'. Some resorting
to only one rasher, others having no bacon at all? Arklow had been a brief
visit, the code to the shower block was not available so the great unwashed
headed south. The wind just Westerly enough to hold our course to Tuskers
Rock. A big day was planned with over 60 odd miles plus to sail, a big sea
decided to greet us with a strong wind. 7 nM from Tusker with as far to go
as we had already travelled Mike & Mike took the decision to head back
to Arklow. I bore away and My Turn picked up her petty coat and ran for home.
We moored again at our same berth and headed for the showers. Tired after
a long sail the rota was checked and fortune frowned upon us as this night
had NOT been designated as an ?eating out night'. The Commodore exercising
his authority gave us special dispensation from the riggors of our regime
and declared. ?Tonight we dine ashore?! We found a pleasant Indian Restaurant
alongside the river and settled into a feast of local fayre. Tasty it was
too, did you know in Ireland onion baji's are flat?
Stuffed with aromatic filling we trolled back to our bunks and slept soundly.
The next leg could be an overnighter so a full fat breakfast was prescribed
and administered. Despite my concerns that I may not have ordered enough bacon,
at this stage it looked like we may just pull through. A relaxed morning included
enjoying the hospitality of the commercial dock in the search of fuel. Our
resident harbour master was sent ashore to find the fuel man. After Andy had
wandering about for a while accosting the odd person here and there, the character
who had sat on a pillar watching us chug around the dock finally spoke ?Is
it fuel you'll be after??? He rolled out an antique pump and dropped the pick
up pipe the size of an elephants trunk into the dockside tank. More used to
filling trawlers and liners the nozzle of the supply hose was several sizes
larger that the delicate filler pipe on My Terns stern. Still aware of the
clever ? dumb balance Mike H wisely delegated the task to me. I guess this
was in retribution for the hose adapter incident. So with a nozzle pipe too
big for the hole I gingerly placed the pipe over the mouth, ever so carefully
eased the trigger like a marksman making the ?shot of his life' and diesel
began to flow. 70 litres of heavy oil was transferred and our fuel man was
left muttering something about how it was hardly worth the effort of wheeling
the pump out. I survived the test with nothing more than slightly oily hands.
The balance would have to be redressed some other way and with Friday 13 looming
I was beginning to fret that I may inadvertently do something clever and leave
myself exposed?..
With a slight feeling of de ja vue we set forth from Arklow?..again. The
sea was slight and our wind was again on the nose. With a full tank of go
juice, we went. Tusker Rock was despatched with a setting sun to the west.
Watches were set and Mike J, Tree and me drew the first 3 hour duty. We watched
as the sun slowly dropped setting fires beneath the clouds like a slow motion
firework display. Each new shade bringing an Oooh! Or Ahhh! So slow and deep
that you made no sound at the sight of it, but the feeling just falling inwards
like a wave breaking on a distant shore, meanwhile the sun sinking behind
the mountains. A grand farewell to light before the dark of the night I was
feeling almost Pagan.
We had a busy watch, with fishing trawlers, shipping and other yachts criss
crossing our track. The menu was seriously out of sequence and last nights
beef curry was served up as a late night moral booster. There was the surreal
sight of a trawler off our port quarter with bright working lights and seagulls
darting in and out of the beams like mad moths at a flame.
Teresa took the helm. We spotted the distinctive 2 mast lights and the port
side light of a large vessel 50 meters plus in length on a collision course
with us. Watch leader Mike J calmly instructed the helm to make a definate
course change to starboard, which she did promptly?Then promptly steered back
to her original course. ?No?! said Mike J slightly less calmly ?Turn to Starboard?
again Teresa dutifully complied with a definate course change to Starboard
followed by a quick drift back to our original collision course. Mike J is
a man of great patience but his reitteration had a slight edge to it. ?NO?!
?Turn to starboard and hold THAT course @#!$#?! Teresa complied and held that
course. Meanwhile on the bridge of a large vessel a little My Tern sized blip
on a RADAR screen had performed a perfect zig zag to the tune of Ravels' Bolero
and a perplexed Captain was scratching his head and refering to a his naval
almanac for some clue as to the meaning of this rare and creative manouver.
Clearly not up to date with ?Lady at helm, yield regardless' amendments and
guidelines to shipping 2007
.
We handed over the watch. I later discovered that while I slept below the ?on watch' were having drama's of their own. A call from the Irish Coast Guard from My Tern syndicate owner Bob about a missing passport that may have been packed on board with the next crews luggage. Bob was to fly up on Friday 13 with a crew of 5 to sail My Tern back to Conway over the following week. What could go wrong? Later in the watch, Mike and Andy spotted a red sail behind them?following. Could be pirates bent on mischief or smugglers running from the Navy. Paula suggested that it could be the Moon rising but being the only girl on watch clearly did not have a clue. Mike and Andy monitored its progress as it followed their every move. Red Sail? Paula was right all along it was the rising moon.
Dawn was clear with the sun breaking the horizon behind us. Crosshaven was
in our sights and by motoring off our direct course Mike J's watch hoped to
hoist the sails and sail back onto the track with the gentle breeze that had
popped up. We clearly scared it away because once the sails were up and the
engine off the wind was gone. Andy below in the aft cabin so used to the drone
of the engine woke with a start to the sudden silence. Knowing our luck so
far, he put is head back down assured that it would only be monents before
the motor was kicked back to life. We were able to oblige and hit the start
button. Crosshaven is a beautiful place, full of beautiful boats and friendly
people. The journey felt more worthwhile after a shower and a rendesvous at
?Cronins' for some Murphy's. Dinner was back on track with a sausage cassarole
and some wine. A review of the bacon stocks revealed that there had been a
severe lack of effort by the crew to consume their alloted rations of bacon
and a large quantity remained in the hold. Plans to open a mini market or
barter it with the natives for beer were mooted.
In a moment of inspired genius it was suggested that to elevate DSC flag
officers to an appropriate status the Commodore should be known henceforth
as ?The very first Sea Lord of Wirral'! This may have been prompted by the
Royal Cork Yacht Club having dedicated parking spaces for Committee members,
race officers etc, with the premier spot reserved for ?Admiral', or it could
have been because Mike J was bladdered. However it may stand us in good stead
next time we are called to play ?Top Trumps' with West Kirby. ?Got a Sea Lord
then?? ?coz at DSC not only have we got one, we have got ?the Very First Sea
Lord of Wirral'?! It makes more sense the more beer you drink, tried and tested
in that respect.
A pleasant day was spent in Cork with a visit aboard the 80 foot boidiesel
speedboat ?Earthrace'. Dinner of local Chinese fayre rounded off the last
night as a tired crew turned in for a final float off to nod. Packing away
and cleaning the boat is tinged with sadness. Even sat in the opulent themed
bar of RCYC waiting for the taxi to the airport for the 45 minute flight back
to Liverpool was a little subdued and meloncholy. It had taken 6 days to get
there and we could be home in less than a couple of hours. So Friday 13, fingers
crossed that I had done enough dumb things to escape the fickle finger of
fate. Bob it seems was not so lucky. As we sat in the airport Bob had sent
a message asking that we leave the keys to the boat in the reception at the
marina. He had forgotten to bring his and was flying out on the plane that
would take us back. The message was sent at 13:20 we did not leave the marina
at Crosshaven until 14:00. The message was not picked up until we were well
on our way home. Clever - dumb balance restored.
Thanks to Mike H for the invite, hospitality and tolerance, thanks to Mike
J for being our watch leader, and tolerance, and Andy and Paula for the company.
I recall a quote from Andy's book, not the one where George Clooney says ?£!#@
Me! That's a chuffing big wave?! No at the start of one of the chapters it
says. ?Going to sea is like going to prison?.only with the prospect of drowning?.
We had a lot of fun with some great moments, a real adventure.
Mark Emptage
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