Home Sweet Home!

Current locations:  Snow Goose – out of the water at Deacons Boatyard on the River Hamble.  Crew – home / work / nursery in Winchester.

Places visited between Padstow and the Hamble:  Newlyn, Helford River, River Yealm, Brixham, Poole.

I meant to write “the final blog” on the day that we got home, or at least by the end of that weekend, but somehow life has got in the way.  We have transitioned almost seamlessly from live-aboards to landlubbers, from weekly showers to daily ones, from obsessing about weather forecasts to simply looking out of the window and dressing accordingly.  Have we really only been home for ten days?  The endless happy days living on board Snow Goose are distilling themselves into a series of wonderful memories, and we feel so lucky that we were able to achieve our goal of sailing around Ireland with Eloise.

Having spent a full week in Padstow due to gales, we had some fairly uneventful passages home in almost no wind at all, which, frustratingly, meant we had to motor for much of the way.  Motoring is tedious because it is noisy, it burns diesel, and it means Angus and I have to hand steer continuously.  Since the demise of Jack, our self-steering tiller arm, we have tried numerous methods of lashing the tiller to steer us in a straight line, but none of these hold us on course for more than a couple of minutes, so they cannot be deployed for any length of time.  Jack is still with an Irish engineer who “may” be able to fix him, but does not seem in any particular rush to try, and as he know we are now home and dry, his enthusiasm to start the job has probably waned further.

The passage from Padstow to Newlyn was rather spectacular, especially rounding Land’s End, but there was quite a strange swell to begin with, and Eloise was sick for the first time in two months.  This took us all a bit by surprise – especially Angus, who was in the firing line - but was fortunately very short-lived.  In the busy fishing port of Newlyn, we moored beside a big, ocean-going yacht whose sails were hanging limply from its rigging, completely shredded.  The harbour master told us the sobering story of a 65-year-old single hander who had been brought in by the lifeboat three days previously during a gale, who was currently in hospital with a head injury and broken ribs.  A couple of days later we heard of a small yacht washed up, unmanned, on the French coast, having left Weymouth bound for Swanage two days earlier.  The coastguard was appealing for any information regarding the 61-year-old skipper.  These tales reminded us of the power of the sea, the importance of safety at all times, and to continue being careful now we were back in well-know waters on the home-stretch. 

We set off early from Newlyn with the east-going tide, with about an hour and a half to go before first light.  We had been hoping the full moon would light up the sea ahead of us, but the cloud was thick and the sea was inky black.  Given that we had seen a lot of fishing buoys on our way in to Newlyn the previous evening, and we were doing a coastal hop, we decided to use the search light until it got light.  Angus steered, Eloise slept, and I stood on the bow, scanning the beam of light from side to side, into the misty darkness ahead.  Although there was no wind, there was quite a swell, and I braced myself, knees bent, feet apart, clutching the forestay in one hand and the torch in the other.  There was so much moisture in the air that I could not focus the beam on the water more than a few metres ahead, so we would have little time to take avoiding action if I did spot something.  There were a number of white crests of waves, or seagulls, giving me a quick sense of dread, but nothing that we had to avoid.  After an hour and a half of squinting into the darkness, it began to get light, and with great relief I left Angus on deck and went below to put the kettle on.

Our early departure was rewarded with an early afternoon arrival in the Helford River, home of Frenchman’s Creek.  We took an early evening dinghy trip up this magical waterway, paddling along in almost eerie silence, and whispering to Eloise of pirate ships hidden in the trees.  Kingfishers darted along the riverbanks, and fish rose as we crept past them.  It was quite enchanting, and after some time, we saw a little creek to the right, where one could imagine that fictional pirate had hidden his boat from direct view of the main river, and the unsuspecting Dona had stumbled upon him.  What a powerful story that is – I vowed to dig out our Daphne du Maurier books and re-read them on our return. 

Reluctantly, but under pressure of needing to get home, we moved again the following day with the east-going tide, which fortunately gets an hour later each day and so was becoming very slightly less anti-social.  There was not even a ripple of breeze on the water, so we didn’t put up a sail, but instead joined the many other yachts motoring to their next destination.  We passed the mouth of Plymouth, accompanied by dolphins, and entered the River Yealm.  We were amazed to see so many boats moored in a small river, which cannot be seen from the sea at all.  It was even more magical than the Helford River, although our evening dinghy trip was slightly less cultural and imaginative; who could pass by the opportunity to visit the Ship Inn at Noss Mayo by dinghy?  What a lovely spot.

On we went the next day to Brixham, where we sampled delicious fresh fish, took Eloise on The Golden Hind (Sir Francis Drake’s ship), and were visited by Angus’ brother Jonny for dinner.  Our final long passage was to Poole, which necessitated a 1am departure to ensure we had the tide with us as we passed south of Portland Bill.  We could only laugh that our worst departure time of the entire trip was so close to the end of it.  The following day we left Poole for the Solent, shot up the North Channel past Hurst Castle with the tide under us, and were moored safely and securely at the top of the Hamble River before we knew it.

Actually that is not quite true; I came as close to falling into the sea as I did at any point on our entire trip during this final mooring escapade.  A huge barge is in the process of dredging, ready for a new marina at the boatyard where Snow Goose lives.  We had been told to go in the last space on the pontoon before the barge.  The tide was under us a bit as we approached, so it was difficult to go slowly.  There were two boats moored side by side in the spot just before ours.  I could see it was going to be tight for Angus to turn hard right into our spot, and the last thing we wanted was to end up on the enormous barge just beyond, so I made a rather foolish split-second decision to make for the pontoon with the line (rope) I had in my hand.  I leapt on to the outer moored boat as we passed it, aiming to climb from this boat to the inner boat, and then to the pontoon, still with my line.  But Snow Goose was still moving away down-tide, with Angus at the helm viewing the evolving situation in unspoken disbelief, and I was now holding the end of the line.  I was halfway over the second boat’s guardrail, clutching the line, which in turn was trying to pull me into the water.  With my rather enormous tummy impeding any further progress, I realised the only option was to let go of the line attached to Snow Goose.  I recovered myself, clambered over the inner boat to the pontoon, called to Angus, “I’m afraid there’s a line in the water…”, and he calmly turned Snow Goose into the tide, nipped up to the bow to get my discarded line back on board, threw it to me, and returned to the cockpit to bring us alongside.  It was a pretty unceremonious end to our trip, but there was no shouting, and fortunately there was no-one we knew there to witness it!

So, this is Snow Goose, signing off, and thanking you all for your interest in following our trip and keeping in touch while we were away.  Now, if you want to follow some REAL sailing, my younger sister Rosie is doing the Clipper Round the World Race 13-14, on board “OneDLL”.  They arrived in Rio last night after 29 days at sea.  Her blog is on roundtheworldrosie.wordpress.com, and if you drop my sister Serena an email (serenagosling@googlemail.com) she will add you to the distribution list.  There is also a fantastic race viewer on the Clipper website, www.clipperroundtheworld.com.

With love from all of us,

Snow Goose, Angus, Laura, Eloise and the Bump x

Lands End here we come!

Lands End here we come!

Current location (for the past week...): Padstow, Cornwall

Places visited since last post:  Howth, Dun Laoghaire, Arklow (all in R.O.I.)

We are definitely starting to think about home now.  If all goes according to plan, we will be back by next weekend.  Eleven days have passed since I wrote from Newry, Northern Ireland, but we have visited remarkably few places in that time, mainly because we have been weather-bound here in sunny Padstow for a full seven days, making it our longest stop anywhere on the whole trip.  Having said that, this is the best place yet that we have sat out the weather.  We are in Padstow Inner Harbour, where a tidal gate is only opened two hours either side of high water.  There is very little rise and fall, no swell, and it is so sheltered in here that there has really been no wind to speak of.  The shower block is a thirty second walk from the boat, Spar is two minutes away, and there are more bakeries, pubs, pasty shops and ice-cream parlours than anyone could possibly need in their lives.  The only downside of life in the inner harbour in Padstow is that it really is like living in a goldfish bowl.  The quay is heaving with tourists every day, from mid-morning until early evening, passing lazy days exploring the town.  Armed with their ice-creams and take-away coffees, they line the quay sides and sit on the benches, staring down at us below, commenting on our boat, and watching us as we go about life on board.  It is particularly fun to see them look on in horror as Eloise scales the ladder and appears over the harbour wall all by herself - she has become a very competent climber during our trip.  

We have had great fun catching up with our friends Boo and Ed, who live in 

Polzeath, and also Jules and Jonny who were on holiday down this way.  Serena came to stay with us last weekend, and as we were unable to offer her any sailing, she decided (with 12 hours notice and a lot of persuasion from Boo) to do her first triathlon.  This was the Padstow triathlon, which was from Harlyn Bay, about three miles from here, and started at the ungodly hour of 8am on a Sunday morning.  Needless to say, with so little notice, we were unable even to get a taxi firm to answer their phone,  so Angus, Eloise and I had to hitch a ride to watch the finish.  After numerous failed attempts (why wouldn't people stop for a small child, a pregnant lady and a very attractive man at 9am on a Sunday?...), a lovely lady delivering gin for her son's company, (Tarquin Gin, southwestern distillery) let us pile in the back amongst the cases of gin, and we made it to the finish just before Boo and Serena did.  

They both did amazingly well!  The rest of our days here have been spent surfing (Angus), bodyboarding Eloise), playing on the beach, cycling the Camel Trail, walking the coastal path from Rock to Polzeath, and browsing the lovely Cornish shops.

But really, that all sounds far too much like good fun, and no sailing involved, so I should probably tell you about some of our adventures before we reached Padstow.  We left the heart of Newry and exited Victoria Lock, as planned, headed south for Howth.  We arrived, as expected, in the dark and just about found our way into the marina there.  Although the marina staff had gone home, they had told us which berth to go for.  Luckily there was no wind at all, and as I lit up the way ahead with the search light, Angus expertly squeezed Snow Goose into the tightest spot she has ever been into.  There was hardly even room for a small fender between us and the boat next door, and there was only a boat length between us and the boats behind us.  Had we seen quite how tight the spot was in the cold light of day, we might have asked to go somewhere else...  Anyway, we were in safely, and we decided not to start worrying about how we would ever get out until nearer the time.

Howth played a role in the start of our courtship, back in the days of training on Victoria Clipper, so Angus and I were excited about returning there.  We had a great shore day, including the same coastal walk that our crewmember David Hayes led us on during some "off-boat" time, and we passed the pub where we all had a mid-walk pint.  Our evening in Howth back in 2005, led by the local Irish skipper Connor Fogherty, was suitably beer-fuelled, and as a result neither of us could quite remember which pub we all went to for late night drinks followed by a lock-in...  However, we think that maybe we had lunch in the very same pub.  Can any clippers fill us in?!

We left our spot in Howth Marina with a force 5 wind blowing right up our stern.  We enlisted the help of the marina launch to ensure no-one's insurance policy was tested by our departure - it would not have been an easy exit for any boat, particularly one which relishes reversing in any chosen direction as little as the good ship Snow Goose.  Safely out of Howth, we started south, bound for Arklow, about 50 miles away.  In the end we only made it about five miles south before the wind started to increase as we crossed Dublin Bay, and we managed to get a "wrap" in our jib whilst furling a bit away.  A "wrap" is basically a bit of a muddle, leaving the sail half in and half out, and unusable.  Luckily, we were able to pull the furling line a bit more to fully wrap the sail so that it wasn't flogging anymore, but given that it was now blowing a force 6 anyway, we headed into Dublin Bay and put in to Dun Laoghaire marina to sort ourselves out.  Once safely alongside, the wrap came out pretty easily with a bit of brute force and pulling...  The wind continued all night, and whistled so loudly through our rigging that we had to put the subtitles on a movie we watched on the DVD player, which was a first!

We had an uneventful passage south to Arklow the following day, where Angus hit the local sailing club with the locals who had just been evening racing, and then appeared back on the boat with a couple from another yacht to drink whiskey.  With them gone just before midnight, we reviewed our onward plans regarding when and how we might cross to England, realised that there was a weather window for the next 36 hours, and decided that we'd better take it.  We left at first light the next morning - just after six - destination Padstow, 140 miles away.  To begin with there was not enough wind, and we had to motor, but by mid-afternoon we were sailing fast on a reach (with the wind at 90 degrees to the direction we were travelling).  As night fell, we reached the northern end of the Bristol Channel, the sea got a lot rougher, and there were anchored ships lit up like Christmas trees.  Once past these, we saw nothing at all.  It was so dark that it was not really possible to see where the sea ended and the sky began.  There was no moon, and no stars.  Fortunately, Susan (our wind vane self steering) was able to steer, as it is very difficult to helm at night with only the wildly swaying compass to look at.  When it is that dark, although logic says that if there was something in the water - like a boat, or a buoy - it would be lit, there is a little bit in one's brain which gives the feeling that you might be just about to plough straight into something just ahead.  Also it was very drizzly, so it was impossible to tell whether our visibility was very good or terrible, so we had to keep a close eye on our other gadgets (AIS) to be sure we were clear of any shipping.  Although it was a very dark and rolly night passage, it was fast and exhilarating, but I think Angus and I were both pretty glad to be arriving in port the following day, not sailing 4,000 miles like Rosie is on her current Clipper leg...

And so that brings things up to date really.  The only other major family news (for anyone interested in our future orthodontic bills...) is that we bought some "Stop 'n' Grow" two days ago from Boots to stop Eloise sucking her fingers, and after one taste of it and a few tears, the fingers have not been in since.  She willingly puts her hands out for applications of her "special nail varnish".  OK, so it has taken her two hours rather than five minutes to get to sleep both nights, but that is bound to get shorter as time goes by...

Our plan for the next week is Newlyn, Helford River, River Yealm, Brixham, Poole, and back to the Hamble.  Give us a shout if you happen to be near any of those places.  Here's to some settled weather for the final push home, and then the transition back to normal life (including showering every day...)

 

Any port in a storm - even a shopping centre!

Current location:  Albert basin, Newry, Northern Ireland (in a canal, outside an enormous shopping centre)

Places visited since last post:  Lamlash harbour, Isle of Arran (Scotland), Glenarm, Bangor, Killough Bay and Ardglass (N Ireland)

Greetings from Northern Ireland, where we find ourselves in a slightly extraordinary, unexpected place.  We are moored up in Albert Basin, two miles inland up a canal, in the heart of a busy Northern Irish city called Newry, directly opposite the entrance to an enormous shopping centre called "the Quays".  We didn't plan to end up here; it just sort of happened.  We left Ardglass, a little harbour up the coast from here at first light yesterday, bound for Howth - a passage south of about 50 miles, which would take us around 10 hours.  There was no wind at all when we set off, and although the forecast from the previous evening warned of strong to gale force winds, they were not expected until the following night, long after we would arrive in Howth.  However, when the coastguard read the morning's forecast over the radio, it seemed that the wind was now expected to come sooner, with a possibility of gale force 8 winds by the afternoon.  Such is the peril of setting off before hearing the morning's forecast...  We were having a lovely fast sail, Snow Goose was in her element, and we probably would have made it to Howth just fine, but the wind was already freshening by the hour, and taking into account the limitations of our crew, we took the safe decision and put into the next sensible port.

This is how we came to enter Carlingford Lough; a vast 10 mile inlet on the east coast of Ireland, which marks the divide between Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland.  Carlingford Marina is situated on the south side of the Lough, and the pilot book describes that the shelter as inadequate in a northerly gale (which of course is what was forecast..), with waves reported to breach the breakwaters.  We didn't think that sounded particularly peaceful, so we headed as far inland as possible to Warrenpoint, which is basically a massive shipping port, but the town quay is described as having a few pontoons which can accommodate yachts.  On radioing the harbourmaster to ask for a spot, he informed us that there was no space on the town pontoons.  Everywhere that we have been recently has had masses of space, so we were completely taken by surprise, and were fast running out of options.  He told us we could tie up on the inside of the harbour breakwater, but we didn't really fancy being against a breakwater during a gale, so we tried our third and final option...  Just upriver from Warrenpoint was a lock leading to a canal, which our pilot book said could be opened for visiting yachts by prior arrangement with the local tourist office; 24-48 hours notice was suggested.  I called the tourist office, and although helpful, the lady sounded pretty dubious, but she agreed to give me the lock keeper's mobile number.  Unbelievably, we were in luck!  Two yachts had just gone through, and Noel the lovely lock keeper said he could wait until we got there about an hour later.  Once through the lock, we motored three miles up a flat canal to our destination, where we have had perfect shelter through the gale last night and today.  We heard that a yacht was dismasted out at sea this afternoon; there is barely a breath of wind where we are.  We have had a lot of fun in Newry, including an educational walking tour of the old city and docks yesterday (led by me from a leaflet I picked up in the tourist office), a buffet supper in a chinese restaurant last night, and a bus trip to Slieve Gullion Country Park today, where there was a festival of food and music.  We are booked to go back through the lock tomorrow morning, with a better forecast (so far...), so will try once again to head south to Howth.

We seem to have spent quite a bit of time waiting for gales to pass since the last post.  We spent no fewer that four nights on the scottish island of Arran, waiting for the wind to settle sufficiently that we could make the crossing to the east coast of Ireland.  This was particularly frustrating because there was a high pressure system sitting over the south of the UK, where we knew everyone was basking in glorious sunshine and blue sky, whilst on the Isle of Arran we could not venture out without jumpers, hats and waterproofs.  It was cold and wet, and ironically it didn't even seem to be the right Arran for buying woolly jumpers (a mystery which we have not yet investigated further, but no doubt a quick google search would clear it up for us..).  We were in a harbour called Lamlash, or "La-lash" as Eloise insisted on calling it, safely tied up to a very smart visitors mooring.  The pilot book was not wrong when it described "fierce squalls" coming off the mountains in strong winds, and at times it was so windy on the mooring that it was hard to sleep because of the noise.  At other times, there seemed to be no wind at all, but then our lovely deep slumbers were broken by Snow Goose's hull banging against her mooring buoy...  However, on the plus side, it was a short dinghy trip ashore, and we were able to leave Snow Goose on her mooring all day without worrying about her, which was a great improvement on some of our Irish gales.  We caught the bus to the Auchrannie Spa Hotel, which I cannot recommend highly enough, should you ever find yourself gale-bound on Arran.  Angus and I both treated ourselves to a massage - which, having slept on bunk cushions for the past two months, was much needed, never mind the physical toils of yachting (worse for Angus than me..).  We splashed and swam for hours with Eloise in both the kids' and grown-up pools, as well as using the steam room, sauna etc.  We all had long, hot showers both before and after swimming, just because we could, and for Eloise I am fairly sure it was her first shower in at least two weeks...  After treating ourselves to a really good lunch in the restaurant, we headed for the kids' playbarn, with coffee and Wifi for grown-ups, before catching the bus back to the boat.  It was all we could do to stop ourselves checking in to the hotel for the night!  The following day we circumnavigated the island by bus, stopping at the Arran whisky distillery for a tour, which Angus was delighted with because we failed to get a tour of the Bushmills when we visited.  We could not have dreamt up a better couple of rainy, windy shore days - thank you, Arran for a great stay.

From Arran we crossed to Glenarm in Northern Ireland, where we had a quick midnight until 6am sleep before continuing south with the next fair tide to Bangor, just east of Belfast.  It is not fun arriving in places in the dark, but sometimes it is unavoidable.  We had called ahead to the marina manager in
Glenarm, who confirmed there was space available, and told us where to go when we arrived.  He also warned us about the "poorly lit" (a.k.a completely unlit) fish farm just off the marina entrance.  We had no wind the whole way from Arran, but just as we reached Glenarm it started blowing quite hard, which made mooring in a strange marina in the dark quite tricky.  The main danger, however, of motoring close to shore in darkness is the risk of getting caught on fishing gear, none of which is lit.  We were almost at the marina entrance and I was tying on ropes and fenders, when I spotted a couple of floating footballs in a net (a makeshift buoy) go past our bow.  Luckily Angus heard and reacted instantly to my shout of "Go into neutral!" and we didn't get caught up on the rope.  We avoided the area where the fish farm was indicated on the chart by as far as we could, but were still pretty alarmed the following morning as we left, when we saw the vast expanse of sea that the fartodo vere.  It was seriously huge!  Surely if a small anchored yacht has to show a light all night, then a massive fish farm full of someone's livelihood should too?...

Bangor was really a fantastic stop for us for a number of reasons; the sun shone for the whole two days, there was a washing machine in the marina (our first encounter with laundry for two weeks), we visited the Titanic Experience in Belfast, but mainly because we were shown wonderful hospitality by Irish friends.  Back in July, we had met two couples from Bangor on the Gathering Cruise, who gave us strict instructions to call when we reached their home town.  Both picked us up and had us to dinner at almost no notice.  I can hardly describe how excited we were at the prospect of sitting on comfy sofas, in houses, two nights running, at this stage of our trip .  The last time we went into a friend's house was in Falmouth, almost two months ago.  It made us vow to try offer the same hospitality to others far from home whenever the opportunity arises.  Eloise remembered all our friends from the Cruise, and they were so kind to her, giving her sticker books, pencils, sweeties, and even pocket money!

The Titanic Experience in Belfast had been recommended to us by a number of people and was a great day out.  The museum was incredibly well thought-out, giving a fascinating insight into the factory-dominated, workhouse era of Belfast in the times of linen production and export, before moving on to shipbuilding, the construction and subsequent sinking of Titanic, and the finding of the wreck.  It took a team of five people to hammer in each and every rivet of her hull, with sparks of hot metal flying as they worked, and no thought of any facial, eye or ear protection...  There were reconstructed examples of first, second and third class cabins, and an amazing 3D audiovisual display which showed all the different areas of the ship, from the engine rooms to the wheelhouse.  Then there were the ship to ship morse code messages, which warned Titanic of the many icebergs in the area; warnings which were completely ignored in the false belief that she was unsinkable, invincible... and so on she pushed at full speed in pitch darkness.  The distress messages were played out in a darkened room as an image of Titanic sank beneath the sea on the screen in front of us.  Eloise insisted on watching it over and over again to try and get her head around the story.  Having seen a tall ship sink on the rocks, she is no stranger to the concept of shipwrecks, but she is used to everyone being rescued, so we did our best to gloss over the fact that two thirds of those on board didn't survive..  She was in a bit of a muddle about exactly which ship hit an iceberg, and when we asked her what the name was, she would say "OneDLL".  (This is the name of Rosie's boat in the Clipper Round the World Race, which we all sincerely hope will not be going near any icebergs..)

We plan to be home in less than three weeks, so although our thoughts are beginning to turn to normal life, we are trying to savour every moment of our trip - even the cold, wet, windy ones...  Thanks for reading if you have managed to get this far, keep in touch, and let us know if you are in Cornwall or Devon in the last couple of weeks in September.

Fair winds from all of us on the good ship Snow Goose.

Xxx

Happy 3rd birthday Eloise!

Happy 3rd birthday Eloise!

Current location: at anchor in Kilchattan Bay, Bute, Scotland

Places visited since last post: Portrush (Northern Ireland), Port Ellen (Islay, Scotland), Crinan Canal, Eilean Mor (Kyles of Bute)

Greetings from the good ship Snow Goose.  Although it is only seven days since the last blog, a lot has happened.  We have changed countries twice in that time, and our "terrible"-two-year-old has become a big grown up three-year-old.  The other slightly miraculous thing is that we are - for now at least - in a settled area of high pressure, and after two weeks of sleep broken by the noise of the wind, anchor alarms, swell and ridiculously early starts to catch the tide, we have had no fewer than three good nights' sleep in a row.  Oh, and I nearly forgot, we have left behind having to shop in Euros in "SuperValu" and are back in the land of the Pound and the Co-op - I never knew I would be so happy to come ashore and see that green logo down the street!  

A week ago, we were feeling pretty windswept, and slightly apprehensive as we faced a 3.30am departure for 55 mile passage around Malin Head, notorious for its big seas and strong tides.  Our passage followed two days of force 6-7 winds, which we expected would have left behind some big waves.  For once, how wrong we were.  There was very little wind, so we had to motor, and the swell was less than a metre.  Our maximum speed over the ground was 9.5 knots, meaning that we had 4.5 knots of tide with us, so our trip was very speedy and remarkably uneventful.  We arrived into Portrush, Northern Ireland, in time for lunch, and tied up alongside a German boat, Tara, on the visitors' pontoon.  We really felt a huge sense of achievement that we had made it safely around the West Coast of Ireland, and were ready to regale our new neighbour with our salty tales.  Luckily, before we got a chance to mention our "great" achievement, we discovered that he had just spent eight days sailing single-handed from Iceland, straight through the middle of the low pressure systems responsible for the gales that we had "bravely"  sat out at anchor...  He had arrived at 4am that day, under emergency tiller steering, which he had been using for the past three days since his wheel-steering broke.  Respect!  Needless to say, we invited him on board that evening for a few beers so that we could hear his stories, and then he and Angus moved on to comparing their finest malt whiskeys, which became rather competitive.

Whilst in Portrush, we took in our second UNESCO world heritage site of the trip - Giants Causeway.  This was half an hour away by bus, and to Angus' absolute delight, the Bushmills whiskey distillery just happened to be on the same bus route.  It was quite busy at Giants Causeway, as the Minerva cruise ship was also in Portrush, and hundreds of intrepid octogenarians had come ashore to see the sights.  The visitor centre was absolutely swarming with grey hair, hearing aids, walking sticks and smartly dressed tour guides with "Minerva" flags standing proud above their heads.  At one point, Eloise and I encountered a lemming-like stream of cruise guests obediently walking in the direction indicated by their officious guide's arm, only to discover, rather indignantly, that they had all been sent for a compulsory trip to the loo!  The Causeway itself is a geologist's dream, with its mostly hexagonal pillars of varying heights spread over a spectacular swathe of coastline, stretching out into the sea.  They were apparently formed 60 million years ago, by the very slow cooling of volcanic lava over hundreds of years, which cracked in a specific pattern, but of course, there are plenty of Irish myths and legends to combine with the geological explanations.  A guided tour then a stunning cliff walk, followed by an excellent lunch in the visitor centre made for a great day out.  Unfortunately, we then proved to ourselves how inept we have now become at normal life by managing to show up at the bus stop at the only point all day when the buses back to Portrush went two-hourly.  With a full hour to wait for the next bus, we were facing the grim prospect of missing out on a Bushmills whiskey tour.  Angus was so distraught at our predicament that he managed to talk our way on to a bright green "PaddyWagon" bus, full of mostly American backpackers, on which we were entertained by a hilarous Irish comedian who had also hitched a ride...  It really was quite an experience.  As it turned out, we were still too late for a distillery tour, but Angus wasted no time in working his way through a number of "tasters" at the bar and getting the barman to explain the distillation process in meticulous detail, before stocking up in the gift shop..

Reluctantly, we then bid a fond farewell to Ireland, and headed north for Scotland, stopping in Port Ellen on the beautiful and peaceful island of Islay, before continuing to Crinan, to transit the Crinan Canal.  We decided that this would be a fun thing to do on Eloise's birthday, as we had long since given up hope of magically finding a handful of children to invite on board for a party.  We arrived in Crinan around 7pm and took a look at the first lock - the "sea lock".  The gates were open so we could enter.  There was no phone reception to call the lock keeper, and no answer on the radio either, but the pilot book said that the canal was open until 9.30pm, and boats were welcome to stay in the inner basin just inside the sea lock overnight, so we tied on our fenders, motored slowly into the lock, and I whizzed up the long ladder with our lines and secured them to the quay.  I left Angus and Eloise on board and headed for the office.  It was closed.  I wandered around the boats in the inner basin to see if anyone could help us operate the lock gates.  There was no-one on board any of them, so I headed for the nearest bar.  I approached the first table - four suntanned men - who were, of course, from a yacht.  They gave me the bad news - the sea locks are automated, the lock keeper had gone home hours ago, and unless we wanted to sit all night in the sea lock, we would have to reverse out.  This sounds easy enough, but although Snow Goose has a reverse gear, the direction in which she actually chooses to go in reverse is anyone's guess.  One thing is certain - she could not be relied upon to reverse in a straight line, and would certainly end up across the lock.  There was only one ladder on the lock wall, so I needed to be back on board before we did any reversing, otherwise I would be stranded five metres up.  We scratched our heads about how to proceed.  Luckily by this point, my buddies from the bar had spotted a pregnant lady in a pickle pacing the quay, and kindly dragged themselves away from their pints to assist.  We asked one to take our bow line, and one our stern, and they helped us nudge back until we were just about clear of the lock, at which point they threw the lines down to us and Snow Goose spun through her usual 90 degrees...  We had exited unscathed (just!) it was a beautiful evening, and we picked up a visitors mooring just around the corner.  We chatted to "Scimitar", the boat on the next mooring - who had been through the same fiasco as us about an hour earlier...  We bonded instantly through our shared stupidity at believing the pilot book, and to our delight discovered that Scimitar had no fewer than five strapping twenty-somethings on board and were happy to let us tag along with them through the locks the following day.

The following day was Eloise's 3rd birthday, and we decorated the boat with balloons and banners to ensure so that everyone could join in the celebrations.  We needn't have worried about teaming up with a strong crew for the locks - the lock keeper took one look at Eloise and me, and handed Angus an "assisted passage" flag to fly.  This basically indicates that the crew are small in size, number or strength (or all three), so the lock keepers will help with taking lines and opening and closing the gates.  Actually, the crew of Scimitar were so efficient and kind that we raced through one lock after another without us ever having to operate a lock gate or open a sluice or bother a lock keeper.  All we had to do was drive carefully into the locks (Angus' job), try not to do a girl-throw when tossing the lines up to the quay high above (my job), and keep both lines tight as the locks filled up with a turbulent rush of water.  It was great fun, and after eleven locks we were all ready for a good birthday pub lunch.  Eloise loved being wished a happy birthday by all who passed, both on boats and on the canal path, and she was even given a mermaid by one of the lock keepers, and a wind sock by a couple on another boat.  OK, so birthday tea on board for three was a bit loser-ish, but at least we all got lots of cake!  I have promised her a party with her own friends when we are back in Winchester.

We are now spending a few days exploring the Firth of Clyde, which is packed full of cruising yachts, anchorages, marinas, towns and facilities in such close proximity that we have been finding it hard to choose where to go next.  Last night we were the only boat in an idyllic, perfectly calm anchorage in the Kyles of Bute.  The boat was silent and barely moved all night.  Tonight we have chosen less well - we are in a bay on the south east tip of Bute - and although it is absolutely stunning, and was pretty calm when we arrived, it is now rather windy, noisy, and rolly, and I suspect we are not in for a good night's sleep...  Oh well, we live and learn.

During the next few days, we plan to cross back to the East coast of Ireland, and begin to wend our way slowly southwards.  We are two thirds of the way through our trip now, and as the days are getting shorter, the weather cooler, and the bank account emptier, our minds are gradually starting to think about home again.  A bath, a washing machine, a dishwasher, a comfy bed...  But where is the adventure in all that?!

Keep in touch, and GOOD LUCK Rosie on OneDLL Clipper.  Sail fast, sail safe, and enjoy - we will be following you all the way to the finish line! 

Xxx

Wind, waves and more wind...

Current location: Downings harbour, Sheep Haven, Co Donegal

Places visited since last post: Inishmore (Aran Islands), Roundstone, Inishbofin, Inishturk, Clare Island, Broad Haven

After a fairly lengthy radio silence we are back in reliable internet territory again.  We have made a lot of progress since our last post from Dingle, and are now making our way west along the north coast of Ireland.  Life for the past week or so has become considerably windier and more remote, and we have spent many days sitting out strong winds and gales in places with very little to find ashore.  This has tried all of our patience at times - 31 foot is a reasonable amount of space, but it soon starts to feel pretty small when there is no hope even of going ashore because it is just too windy.

The most remote place we stopped at was Ballyglass "Harbour" in Broadhaven Bay, Co Mayo.  We have noticed that the definition of a "harbour" in these parts is not always what we Brits would have in mind.  Small Irish islands exposed to huge Atlantic swells usually have no more than a single pier jutting out from the land on their most sheltered coast, and a handful of small fishing boats moored in the "harbour" near to the pier which defines it.  Mainland "harbours" are usually situated in vast inlets or bays, and are very exposed, compared with what we are used to at home.  The anchorages are usually in amongst a bunch of moored fishing boats, and although in certain places there are council laid visitors' moorings, their existence does not always tie in with what the pilot books would lead one to believe.  Often these "harbours" do not give much shelter, either from the wind or the swell, which in hindsight probably explains why we have not encountered a single other cruising boat since we left Inishbofin (a bona-fide sheltered deep water harbour, rather than one of the pier-in-the-ocean varieties) a week ago.  There is definitely a reason why there are not many people cruising the north-west coast of Ireland!  

Broadhaven Bay, with Ballyglass "harbour" nestling on one side of it, although lacking any facilities at all,  looked like a reasonable place to sit out a force eight southerly gale which had been very accurately forecast for days.  After a stunning twelve hour passage up the coast from Clare Island, navigating inside numerous islands and reefs to allow ourselves the rare treat of sailing in completely flat sea, with the tide whooshing us along as an added bonus, we made it to Broadhaven in moderate wind and glorious sunshine in good time at 5pm.  It was probably our best day's sailing so far on this trip, but the wind was forecast to freshen that evening, with a full force eight gale expected in the early hours of the following morning.  Two of our three books mentioned eight visitors' moorings at Ballyglass, which would be ideal for us to tie up to in a gale, although ominously our most up-to-date book did not... There are no harbour masters in these places, and in the absence of any local pub or shop, there is no way to phone ahead and check.  I tried calling the coastguard a few days earlier, but all they were able to do was read me the information from the same pilot books that we have on board, and give me the phone number for the lifeboat station at Ballyglass.  As the lifeboat station is unmanned, this was little help.  Needless to say, we discovered that there are no longer any visitors moorings, so we were left facing a gale at anchor.  We motored around Broadhaven Bay for a couple of hours trying to work out where we might get the best shelter - by this time there were already waves with white horses starting to form in the whole bay, including Ballyglass harbour itself, and we eventually settled on a spot just north of the harbour. This gave us a bit of shelter from the pier, flat sea, and the reassuring knowledge that there were no moored boats to swing into, and if our anchor didn't hold, we would be taken offshore into deeper water.  Ironically, the nearest boat to us was in fact the all-weather lifeboat, which was the other side of the pier.  (We did debate tying up alongside the lifeboat, to prevent us having to call them out to rescue us in the gale, and we figured we could just borrow their mooring if they were called out for someone else...)

In fact our anchor held beautifully, although we swung around so much in the gusts that our anchor alarm went off a couple of times overnight.  With the unsettled feeling of being in our first gale at anchor, Angus and I barely slept, never mind the noise of the wind howling through the rigging.  Eloise took it all in her stride and didn't wake up at all.  The following day the gale continued, and we worked our way through all the on board activities we could think of.  By mid-afternoon we all had our faces painted.  It was just too windy to inflate the dinghy, nevermind trying to launch it, risking the outboard engine not working and being unable to row against the gale, and risking leaving Snow Goose unmanned at anchor...  On the second evening the wind settled a little, but then a big uncomfortable swell started up, so just before dark we moved to the other side of the pier (even closer to the trusty lifeboat!) and re-anchored.  The wind was a little quieter that night, and in the morning we were at last able to blow up the dinghy and go ashore.  There was absolutely nothing ashore except a locked lifeboat station, a water tap on the pier, and some sheep and cows.  We were completely out of fresh food by this stage, so Eloise and I decided to go crazy and splash out on a 25 Euro round trip taxi ride to the nearest town, where we found a fantastic park, had a good pub lunch, and did a supermarket shop.

With the wind a bit lighter (force 4-5, occasionally 6, easing later) for the following day only, we felt we had to press on before the next strong wind arrived.  We planned a 94 mile passage across Donegal Bay, around the next major headland, ominously named "Bloody Foreland".  The waves were pretty big - about 3m - following two days of gales.  It was a big swell for a nine metre boat.  We were sailing downwind, and the waves were really pushing us along - we were surfing down them at times, and at others when they caught us awkwardly we rolled rather wildly from side to side.  The wind was strong and the boat was heavy to steer, so we did not risk entrusting it Susan, our wind-vane self-steering.  Eloise was up on deck for quite a while - she now much prefers this to staying below and getting sick - but we rather lost our nerve when a massive wave broke hard against the side of the boat, soaking Angus, filling the cockpit, and fortunately just splashing Eloise a bit.  After that we kept her down below, and amazingly she didn't even seem to feel sick.  I think it was the first time on the trip when both Angus and I questioned whether we were wise to be doing the passage, with our small child and my ever-growing bump.  The words of the taxi driver from the previous day, when Eloise and I proudly pointed out Snow Goose to him, rang in my ear, "Bloody hell, that's a small boat, I wouldn't want to sail from England in that!".  Happily, as the day progressed, the wind did what it was forecast to and eased a little, and with it the waves seemed a little smaller.  We went so fast that we arrived six hours earlier than we expected to, meaning it was 3am rather than 9am.  It is tricky to arrive in the dark and we do not plan it that way..  Luckily it was an easy entry into Sheep Haven, which is a big open bay, so it was safe to do in the dark using GPS to guide us.  Even more amazingly, when we finally reached Downings Harbour, after much motoring around and hopeful scanning with the searchlight, we found a lovely yellow visitors' mooring waiting for us.  And that is where we have sat out the force 6-7 winds which began yesterday afternoon, creating impressive waves which bounced us up and down all of last night.  (We were definitely what Eloise calls "a little bit stopped and a little bit going"...)

Tomorrow we are leaving at 3.30am to catch the tide around Malin Head, the most northerly tip of Ireland, and if all goes according to plan we should arrive in Portrush, Northern Ireland, tomorrow afternoon.  The tides are said to run at up to 4 knots around the headland (which is not far off our usual boat speed), and we are at the top of spring tides (full moon = biggest tides = strongest currents) so it should be pretty fast and exciting, as long as we have planned it right and the tide doesn't turn against us before we reach our destination...  Luckily there is not too much wind forecast so it shouldn't be as hairy as our previous sail.  We will register our passage plan with the coastguard when we leave here, which is standard practice in these waters as there are so few boats about - we saw just one fishing boat on our previous 94 mile passage, and have not seen another yacht at sea for a week.  

Signing off now for bed as the alarm will be going off in four hours. This is excellent sleep-deprivation training for the arrival of number two in December..

Love and fair winds to you all, 

Laura, Angus and Eloise xxx

Farewell and Get Well Soon Jack, our faithful, trusty crew-member

Farewell and Get Well Soon to Jack, our faithful and uncomplaining crew-member..

Current location:  Dingle Marina

Places visited since last post:  Castletownberehaven, Dunboy Cove, Derrynane, Portmagee

It has been a sad day on board Snow Goose today as we had to bid farewell to one of our most trusty crewmembers, Jack.  I know that we have not mentioned Jack at all thus far, but he was such a trusty and integral part of the crew that this now seems a huge omission.  There are three living souls on board - myself, Angus and Eloise, plus two extra crew-members who require no food or bunks, but are crucial in helping us to steer the boat.  We fondly refer to them as Susan and Jack (as in "Lazy Susan" and "Lazy Jack").Jack is the electronic tiller arm which follows a compass course for us when we are motoring, and Susan is the wind vane self steering (requiring no battery power), holding us on a wind angle when there is enough wind to sail.  Jack had been intermittently unwell for a while, but for the past week or so had become very unhappy so we had put him on bed rest until we reached a port where there was someone who could take a look at him for us.  A marine electrician came to have a look at Jack today, deemed him possibly terminal, and has taken him away "to hospital" as Eloise calls it.  His friend who is an engineer is going to see what we can do, and we are hoping to be re-united with Jack somewhere up the coast if he can be cured.  Meanwhile we will have to start teaching Eloise to steer a compass course!

Actually, Eloise is very keen on steering and likes to practice as much as possible.  Mainly, she likes to do this by sitting on top of the tiller and swaying from side to side, singing "Horsey, horsey, don't you stop..".  As you can imagine, we try and encourage her to to most of her steering practice when we are moored up.  She is capable of lots of other things on board the boat now, too.  There is nothing like the sponge-brain and enthusiasm of an almost-three-year-old for rapid learning.  Her favourite job is pulling the red piston to stop the engine, and then scuttling beneath the chart table to turn off the engine battery.  She also likes to help pump up the dinghy, which requires both feet and her full body weight on the pump, so she tires quickly and is a long way from being a significant help in the dinghy pumping department.  Her washing-up, too, is coming on in leaps and bounds, and the layout of the boat means that she can stand on the seat in the saloon, opposite the main washer-upper, and reach the sink easily, wielding her own brush and sponge.  This results in a great deal of extra fairy liquid being used, and a lot more water merrily poured around the outside of the sink, but she insists that when she is three she will be big enough to wash up by herself.  She also likes to don her "torch head" as she calls it, and get her head right into the engine to help Angus with checks, although mainly she just follows the beam of her torch around as she waggles her head.  She has also taken to shooshing us to listen to her "weather forecasts", the funniest of which was "If you don't like the  weather in Ireland, wait five minutes".  (This was an exact repetition of a joke told at an after-dinner speech when we were in Kinsale two weeks ago; we have no idea how she suddenly reproduced it..)  Her other key job is assisting in the filling of the water tank, which we do every week or so.  She adores this job as she usually is left in sole charge of the boat end of the hosepipe, which I have carefully led into the open water tank in the middle of the saloon, while I go back to the tap to turn it on.  Needless to say, by the time I get back on to the boat, there is water splashing everywhere as she holds the gushing hosepipe high above the tank, waving it from side to side, and squealing with delight at the mess she is creating.

So now you are clear about Jack, Susan and Eloise's roles, it seems wrong to proceed without a brief description of what Angus and I do on board.  Angus does all the manly stuff - engine maintenance (aided by Eloise as mentioned above), diesel management and filling, anchoring duties (including setting either our extremely weighty "anchor chum" which he reliably tells me doubles our anchor's holding capability, or a second anchor), calling tradesmen to come and look at Snow Goose's latest technical problem, and parking us in particularly tight spots.  My roles are mostly domestic, taking the lead on food supplies, cooking, laundry (ie finding a launderette!), childcare, face-painting, toy storage and location, teddy bear wellbeing, cleaning the heads, replacing the loo-paper bag when it is full, rubbish and recycling, and making sure we don't run out of water (or anything else for that matter, with the sole exception of diesel, which is outside my remit).  I also do the driving for anchoring, and jump ashore with the lines when we are coming alongside.  I'm afraid it really doesn't sound very glamorous when I write it all down - it's lucky there wasn't a formal job description before we started the trip or I may not have accepted...  I should probably add that Angus and I share route-planning, destination decisions and sailing pretty equally, unless it is raining particularly hard, in which case I kindly volunteer to take the lead on making tea, and keeping an eye on Eloise down below.

We arrived in Dingle Harbour yesterday, which is home to the most famous dolphin in European waters.  He is a bottle nosed dolphin named "Fungie", and  he has lived at the entrance to the harbour since 1983, where he can be relied upon to welcome most boats they arrive.  We had told Eloise all about Fungie, and she was so excited about the prospect of seeing him.  What we could never have imagined was that, as we motored from Portmagee across a glassy calm Dingle Bay, in blazing sunshine and with not a breath of wind, we would see the fins of a whole pod of Fungie's friends, splashing through the sea towards us.  When they arrived, they played by the bow of the boat, jumping and swimming with us, and Eloise watched, entranced, as they accompanied us on our journey for ten minutes or so, before they swam off again towards the entrance to the bay.  It was so magical that it would not have mattered at all if we didn't see Fungie himself when we reached Dingle.  But as we turned to enter the harbour, we saw no fewer than seven tourist boats hurtling out of it in pursuit of... yes, you guessed it, poor old Fungie.  We knew he must be very near us when all of the tourist boats started driving from all directions at full pelt towards Snow Goose, and just then, sure enough, up he popped just yards from the boat, welcoming us to Dingle.  He is massive business for the locals, although having watched them drive at him in their huge powerful boats, loaded with tourists screaming with excitement every time he surfaces, it is difficult to work out why he still stays here, and whether he minds at all.  Still, it was great to see him, and Snow Goose will no doubt be in a few people's holiday snaps. 

Dingle is supposedly a major yachting destination, although we only  saw one other yacht on passage here, and I think only two yachts have arrived in the past twenty-four hours, so it is hardly busy by south coast UK standards.  The major excitement for us in coming to Dingle was that there are no visitors' mooring buoys and no reasonable anchorage, only a marina.  We have had a few dreadful nights at anchor recently, and to be honest were growing weary of blowing up the dinghy each time we arrived somewhere, and then load it with full waterproofs and lifejackets for everyone, plus rubbish and recycling (which are pretty tricky to get rid of in Ireland), laundry, towels and shower gel just in case we happen upon a shower, bags to bring the shopping back in, etc etc. The joy of being alongside a pontoon, to which we are firmly tied for two nights, with rubbish facilities, loos and showers at the top of the ramp, is amazing.  It means that we can get on and off the boat as many times as we want, and Angus and I have both had the excitement of leaving the boat by ourselves, at our own pace, without Eloise in tow today.  I also had my first shower in a month without her, which was a delight too!  There won't be many marinas north of here, so it'll be back to the trusty dinghy, laden with kit, travelling ashore as a happy trio again.

I mentioned dreadful nights at anchor.  Our last stop before Dingle was a beautiful place called Portmagee.  It is the best place from which to take a tour boat to visit the Skelligs, a UNESCO world heritage site, which we were very keen to do.  Our pilot book described (complete with a photo) four lovely yellow visitors moorings, strongly recommended as the tide runs fast and the anchor holding is moderate.  Needless to say, when we entered Portmagee, we discovered that Kerry County Council, in their budget cutting wisdom, had decided no longer to put down any visitors moorings.  We anchored.  Our first night wasn't too bad - we only re-anchored once early on in proceedings to try and get a bit further out of the tide.  The next day we went off to The Skelligs on a tour boat, which was just fabulous.  Little Skellig is home to no fewer than 60,000 gannets; an incredible sight to behold.  Big Skellig, or Skellig Michael, has 600 stone steps up to its 200m peak, very friendly puffins nesting all over its sides, and an amazingly preserved dry stone beehive monastery on its peak, home to monks from the 5th to the 12th century.  It was an amazing sight to be able to see, and the day was only slightly marred by seeing Snow Goose nestling up against a small moored boat on our return at 4pm, which she had been nowhere near when we left her.  The wind had gone around during the day, and strengthened, hence the her position had moved considerably, although the anchor had not.  No damage was done, except to our confidence, and we were now anchoring on a lee shore, with the prospect of the tide turning again in a few hours, and the wind forecast to go around a further 180 degrees overnight.  It was a difficult mathematical conundrum and we re-laid our anchor a further four times until we felt happy with our position, and then slept badly due to the wind, anxiety, and having our anchor drift alarm on an over-cautious setting in case we dragged towards the shore - hence it woke us when the tide turned, even though the anchor hadn't budged.  We cursed Kerry County Council's shortsightedness in taking up their moorings, as we would happily have paid to use a mooring, and then would have spent our money in the Skelligs Visitor Centre, and Portmagee's pub and shop...  Oh well, at least it made for a memorable stop.

We have had a good day of jobs in Dingle today - diesel, water, shopping, rubbish, showers, marine electrician etc - as well as scooting on the promenade and a visit to the aquarium.  It rained for most of the day, and was misty and windy, so we were not sorry to be having a day off sailing.  Our plan tomorrow is to do an overnight passage to the Aran Islands, 80 miles away.  But first we will need to recheck we are happy with the weather forecast in the morning, and see whether we still have time to make the first tidal gate once Angus has retrieved his bank card from the Bank of Ireland, whose ATM machine swallowed it this evening...

Love to you all, keep in touch, and Get Well Soon Jack!

Xxx

A little bit stopped and a little bit going...

Current Location:  Stormbound in Crookhaven, SW Ireland.

Places visited since last post:  Courtmacsherry, Glandore/Union Hall, Castletownshend, Sherkin Island (Baltimore Harbour), Baltimore, Fastnet Rock, Schull.

Ahoy there from Crookhaven, on the South West tip of Ireland.  We are hunkered down on board as the wind howls through the rigging, the rain squalls lash down with almost predictable regularity, and we swing about merrily on our anchor.  As I write this, at the crack 12.30pm, Eloise, wearing only her pants, has the face paints out and is working on an intricate design on Angus' face, whilst her own is decorated with a delicate flower on each cheek and some rather over-expressive brown eyebrows.  Despite the fact it is nearly lunch time, she has declined so far to get dressed - she knows that as soon as she does, we'll say it's time to go ashore, which will mean clambering into a soggy dinghy in pursuit of a windy, wet walk in full waterproofs, and she is making sure she puts that off for as long as possible.  Angus has been serenading us with his guitar, while Eloise and I have finally got around to downloading all the photos of the trip so far on to the boat laptop (thank you Dominic and Anna for lending it to us!).  The forecast for the next 24 hours or is for pretty strong winds, and the radio keeps re-issuing "small craft warnings" from the Coastguard, so we are notplanning to leave the harbour until this blows through.


We are now almost a month into our trip, and this is the first day that we have been forced to stay in port because of the weather.  The lovely high pressure system which sat so still for so long over most
of the country has now well and truly gone, and we seem to be starting a more typical pattern of recurrent lows, complete with warm fronts, cold fronts and their corresponding rain squalls and winds.  Angus and I are studying these with more interest than either of us have ever previously shown in the weather, as we try to figure out when we might get a window to hop north.  In the meantime, we have become regulars at O'Sullivans (not O'Driscolls as I mistakenly called it on our
facebook page), which is full of storm-bound sailors grimly studying the weather on their iPads, friendly Irish families on their holidays, and even the odd local, although Crookhaven's population numbers only fifty, so they are few and far between.  Angus is slowly working his way through their barrel of Guinness, whilst Eloise and I stick to our usual boring lime and sodas.

With the recent increase in wind strength mentioned above, we have started to experience some rolly nights at anchor.  The first of these was a couple of nights ago in Baltimore Harbour, where a strong-ish westerly blow was forecast, so we nestled ourselves in the lee of the cliffs of the fantastically named Sherkin Island on the west side of the harbour, where the pilot book suggested the shelter would be good. Indeed the shelter was very good, and our anchor held perfectly, but sometime after we went to sleep, a persistent swell started up, rocking Snow Goose from side to side.  This is what Eloise accurately refers to, very sweetly, as being "a little bit stopped and a little bit going"; and unfortunately even she was woken at various points in the night to cast this judgment on our predicament.  Had we been expecting a "little bit stopped and a little bit going" kind of night, we would have stowed the boat as if for sailing before going to bed.  Leaving the drying up for God to do as we slept, balanced precariously on top of the "fridge" led to unnecessary and noisy testing of the
"unbreakable" crockery in the night.  Now, should you ever find yourself unexpectedly in a rolly anchorage, there are various techniques that can be employed to counteract the "little bit going". If you are very small and your bunk is very large, because you have the entire front cabin to yourself on the grounds that you go to bed before your parents, then you are in luck.  You can simply lie face-down across your vast cabin, thus stopping the roll.  If you are bigger, and your bunk is smaller, then lying across your bunk will not be possible.  In this case, you can try the Angus technique - face-down-elbows-out, with one bent knee cocked to the side in a well braced recovery position.  If, however, you happen to be five months pregnant and therefore it is basically impossible for you to lie on either your
front or back, then good luck to you.  The best I can suggest is that
you press your back firmly against the side of your bunk, hope your
bump will be sufficient to prevent you from rolling forwards, and
remind yourself that as it grows over the next couple of months , it
will become an even more effective anti-roll weapon.  Our second rolly
night was last night, when the previously forecast southerly wind
decided to blow hard from the east, thus coming straight into the
entrance of Crookhaven, bringing a swell with it, but fortunately it
was quite short lived, and we were armed with the previously learned
techniques highlighted above.
I mentioned our "fridge"; it is essentially just a cool-box with a
fan.  At the start of our trip, when we were cruising down the west
coast of England, it was easy to buy ice from the shops wherever we
stopped.  This, combined with running the fan for a couple of hours
each day (whilst we had the engine on), seemed to keep it quite cool.
As we headed west, the ice supply dwindled, and with it the cooling
properties of the fridge.  Now that we have not seen a bag of ice for
sale since we left mainland UK, the fridge is regarded simply as a
food storage location.  This brings a whole new logistical
consideration to shopping and fresh food management, especially as
some of the places where we stop do not even boast a shop.  Fresh
milk, we have discovered, is utterly pointless.  We now buy only
longlife milk, which lasts suprisingly well for two or three days at
room temperature.  Yoghurts, similarly, are good for a lot longer than
you would think.  Chicken is not one to risk, so we eat that the same
day, unless it was bought frozen, in which case the next day is fine.
Cheddar cheese just gets more mature than its manufacturer intended,
and is a bit squishier, but otherwise keeps for a while.  Bacon seems
OK for a day or two, and fruit and veg are happy in their hanging net.
Angus keeps his beers in a net, slung over the side of the boat.  So
we have it all under control.  Who needs a fridge, anyway?
The final thing to mention before signing off, is the "scattering" of
the wonderful Gathering Cruise.  This was an organised cruise which we
joined for a few days, and were warmly welcomed into by the mostly
Irish participants, as we headed west along the South Coast of
Ireland.  It involved a lot of BBQs and parties, but no other
two-year-olds (or children at all, for that matter).  Everyone doted
on Eloise, and she found herself participating in Irish dancing long
after her bedtime.  To the rest of the Cruise, we probably seemed a
bit peripheral.  We always left the parties earlier than everyone
else, and we always anchored (for free), rather than rafting up 3-5
deep on pontoons or marinas.  We went our own slow way after
Courtmacsherry, and thought they were all headed for Dingle, which is
a lot further around the coast, so we didn't expect to see them again.
We had a lovely surprise when eight boats showed up the evening we
were in Baltimore, having not made it as far Dingle in the end, and
there was a spontaneous "scattering BBQ" in the marquee at Baltimore
Sailing Club.  It was great to have the opportunity to say goodbye to
our new friends, and for us, this marked the end of cruising Ireland
in company.  Or so we thought... until we entered Crookhaven yesterday
and saw some friends who we met in the Scilly Isles, on their yellow
boat "Fair Grace".  They have a daughter a year younger than Eloise,
and are heading the same way as us, so it looks as though we won't be
alone afterall.
Fair winds and good health to you all, and keep in touch - we love
hearing from you.
Laura, Angus and Eloise xxx