The Costa da Morte

Well, we now seem to be beginning to live up to the name of the boat and travelling more Slowly, Slowly. Although it would have been good to see more of Ireland and the Scillies it was more important for us to get to Spain – and I am sure Dave and Maggie will agree as they are due to join us shortly and have booked the plane.

Since leaving A Coruna on 28 June we have travelled 84 miles. OK – it hasn’t been just an approximate 9 miles each day – we have stayed a while in a couple of places as you will hear below. Though having said that these rias are rather excellent in that having arrived in one there are usually two or three places to go, with only a couple of miles between them. The Pilot seems to lump them in with the Rias Altas whereas the Rough Guide states that from A Coruna south as far as the Seno do Corcubion [the ria we are currently in] is an area called the Costa da Morte – clearly translating as the Coast of Death – so named because of the buffeting the coast receives from the Atlantic. We have been very lucky and not seen or felt much buffeting, though we have had some very roly poly seas which some friends [who will remain nameless] would probably find somewhat uncomfortable – as would anyone travelling with them!

So first we travelled from A Coruna to the Ria de Corme et Laxe where, strangely enough, we visited Corme and Laxe. The journey of 35 miles to Corme took us 6.5 hours with all of it – bar the leaving and anchoring done under sail – genoa only for the last couple of miles. I am sure the purists may well have done it all under sail – and so may we, in time. We chose Corme because of its shelter from the North and with high northerly winds forecast for the two following days it was exactly what we wanted. It was also exactly what we were glad to have when on the second day we turned the wind speed indicator on during a particular blow to find it was recording Force 8. It may well have been that the bay was doing whacky things with the wind but, whatever, we were rather glad we were sitting there recording it and not feeling it out in the Atlantic. This is probably where the buffeting of the Costa da Morte would have lived up to its name. The French guy moored in the same bay as us was probably thinking the same thing – he arrived when we did and was still there when we left.

Our first night at Corme we dined on Mussels, Cockles and Langoustines – purchased that morning at the fish market in A Coruna and magnificently cooked and presented by Mike.

As the photo shows, we have also found some cheap plonk which is very palatable and comes in at €1.69 for 2 litres. I can’t believe I am drinking wine at that price. I fully expected to either throw it away or, at best, make use of it as a cooking wine – or possibly even as an alternative to Domestos! What’s more – we later found some at €0.55 per litre – well it all has to be tried and tested and the result is more like an 11% Pinot Grigio than a slam dunk 14% Chardonnay.

Corme itself is a small town with no tourism but some lovely beaches and on one of these we found an old grain store. These can be found in various places in Galicia and are, we understand, still used, though not sure about this one?

Everyone is so friendly. This actually goes for all of the places we have visited so far in Spain – so to save repeating myself later suffice it to say that tourism has not really found this corner of the world but, the folk in these parts are more than willing to converse using mainly sign language with the odd word we know thrown in. We bought a Spanish language book before we got here and have tried to learn a few words/phrases but, unfortunately, while Mike and I may have some talents, languages does not really seem to feature among them.

I think my best memory of Corme will be the excellent Tapas [on this occasion a kind of Squid and Potato stew] which we were each served along with our beer at a small bar whilst we sat in the sunshine watching the locals exchange what we think were words of wisdom delivered to each other at varying degrees of speed and volume.

My most significant memory of Corme, however, may well be the sight of our two oars, which we had left in the tender tied to the transom, floating out to sea. The wind – which I have already said was registering some significant levels – somehow tipped up the dinghy, even though it was tied front and back, and deposited the oars. Having righted it, Mike leapt into the dinghy and tried to start the engine – but that had taken a dunking too and was just not up for it. In fact – it wasn’t up for it at all and we spent the next four hours pulling apart and drying out various parts of the outboard. Meanwhile the oars were either well and truly sunk or really had gone out to sea. It’s probably better that we are currently without oars [even having tried at every place we have visited to find some] than without the outboard. Certainly our budget thinks so when it comes to replacement!

We were therefore confined to barracks on our last day at Corme but having well provisioned in A Coruna there was no problem – and with salad ingredients like these who needs to go out. [Thanks Chris and John S – the knife has come in very handy]

And so, the following day – from Corme to Laxe – a 40 minute motor across the ria. What an excellent night we had there. We had gone ashore on arriving to look for oars amongst other things as we had read there was a hardware store, which there was but it didn’t sell oars. Anyway having stopped for a beer at the fisherman’s bar on the port we saw they were having a sardine night starting at 9pm and thought that it sounded quite good. Later, however, we noticed that a new bar in town [O Gaiteiro] was having an opening night starting at 8pm – so we thought we would start there. Well we did start there but never got to the sardines! There was free tapas served all night to celebrate the opening, the wine was good and then a Galician folk band arrived and entertained us with pipes, drums and tambourine. You can imagine that Mike was in his element and had the wide grin to prove it.

Then it was on to Camarinas in, wait for it, Ria de Camarinas. We had to motor the 20 miles to get there as the wind was right on the nose. There is a lovely, if small, marina here but we anchored off as we did not need water or electricity – and the bar/restaurant was available to anyone who wanted. When we went ashore the first night there seemed to be a private party at the marina bar with a sardine grill and free wine. We were a bit disappointed later to find out that it was a “festival” that welcomed everyone so we could have joined in but we weren’t to know. Despite that we had a fab evening. We sampled Padron peppers at one bar [hi Nadia – you have spoken about these several times but unfortunately although there were some warmer ones there were none really hot] and then some Zamburinas [small scallops] and a fish salad at the Café Bar Playa.

Sunday [we are now up to 3 July] we had a great walk out to the lighthouse at Cabo Villano. It was probably only about 8 miles all told but part of it was along the beach and across a terrain consisting of a mixture of heather, flowers and very spiky, scratchy ground cover. Very attractive, but rather painful when the scratchy bit ended up in your shoe.

Having first visited a convent on top of a hill, the rule being that if there is a hill on a walk the obvious thing to do is climb it, we were wandering the path along the coast when we saw a group of people picking something from the rocks. In Galicia, the most favoured delicacy are “percebes” which we understand are goose neck barnacles, which are taken, at some risk to gatherer, from the rocks along the coast with waves crashing in. So we thought that is what we had found. On closer inspection, having clambered across several rocks we found that they were actually collecting seaweed, bags and bags of it. We determined that it was probably for use as a fertiliser – either that or they ate far too much seaweed soup for anyone’s good.

What we did find on our detour though were some great rock pools. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to capture all the different shades of green from the varieties of weed and plant life but we have learnt that any consideration of taking to the sea around here should not be done without shoes.

On second thoughts, any consideration of taking to the water should probably only be done covered head to toe in a wet suit. There are people who go swimming but so far it’s not been us. Jolly chilly this Atlantic. We have been told it gets warmer in the more southern rias. It will need to before I dip more than a toe.

Across the bay sits Muxia and it was here that we spent the next night. It only took about 45 minutes from Camarinas and left plenty of time for a wander round the attractive town and out to the church on the rocks. The church had been one of the leading marks when we first came into the Ria and has been around, in one form or another, for some considerable time. The church as seen today was built in C17 as the Santuario de Virxe de Barca and has replica ships hanging from the beams. It dates back to being a pre-Christian “animist” church with the surrounding rock formations being symbolic and, reputedly, having health giving properties. Whilst our ability to read Spanish told us that much we couldn’t work out what parts of the body the rocks were supposed to heal or what you had to do for it to happen. I think one was linked to lumbar problems and one family was encouraging their three young children to slide under a small space in one of the rocks. It may have warded off future back problems but if you had one you wanted to actually cure there would have been no chance.

All of this brings us to Fisterra where we are currently anchored. You will know it better as Finisterre. From Muxia it was a 23 mile journey and in good tradition the weather provided us with the cloud cover to make it suitably atmospheric. Some boats were taking the inner route around the shoals which is apparently fine in the calm weather we are having, but we chose to remain offshore [about a quarter of a mile] – just to be on the safe side. We arrived in Fisterra on Tuesday afternoon and decided to leave the walk to the lighthouse until yesterday. It wouldn’t have mattered either way as it only actually opens on Friday, Saturday and Sunday – but the walk was a pleasant one, even if the end result was less than stimulating.

The walk is very popular and is an extension of the Pilgrim Route to Santiago. It is an extra 75k and is apparently a celtic route towards the setting sun that predates the medieval pilgrimage by at least a millennium. There were lots of places in the rocks at the end where there had been fires and also what looked almost like a sacrificial altar. I have now read the Rough Guide which tells me that traditionally pilgrims burn their clothes after a dip in the sea to celebrate the end of their journey. Didn’t actually see any of this, and there were a number of people with rucksacks and the required scallop shells who seemed to have done the walk, but one of the fires was smouldering so it is obviously still a practice for some.

As a result of this pilgrim route, Fisterra is the most tourist oriented place we have visited – but even here there is no overkill. There are a few more restaurants but an excellent two course menu del dia, which includes a bottle of wine between two and coffees can be had for €20 – for two people. There is a relatively new purpose built wholesale fish market on the quay where all the haggling goes on. The actual fish market for punters is a much smaller building in the town itself but it suited our purpose more than adequately.  There are three more anchorages in this ria and we are off to the first of those later today after visiting the internet café to post this. Until next time I leave you with this little chap……

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Bay of Biscay

We did it! In the scheme of things to come it is a short journey but its our longest yet – and the Bay of Biscay does have a bit of a reputation.
But first a little bit about the Isles of Scilly. As others have reported it is rather like Cornwall but also rather like Brittany – which I suppose would be the case as Brittany is also like Cornwall! Beaches, old pubs, even pasties. There were lots of watersports taking place in the harbour – in particular something involving “gigs”. These look rather like a surf boat but narrower i.e. they are wooden, seat 8 [I think] rowers and a cox. The rowing action is quite unusual with one hand held over the oar and one under and a kind of sideways body action to the row. Apparently the gigs used to row out to meet ships as they came to harbour – they used to race each other there for the honour of getting their “pilot” aboard with the added bonus that he was the one that got paid – and the gig racing tradition has been carried on. Racing reputedly takes place on Wednesdays and Fridays and so, arriving on Monday and planning to stay until Wed morning meant we would miss it. However, we ended up staying Wednesday night as well – and sat on the back of the boat with a glass of rum and orange [yes orange – explanation below] waiting for it to happen – and waiting,…. and waiting. In the end we concluded that the reason it didn’t take place was the very reason we were still there on the Wednesday night i.e. wind and waves – though there were kite surfers out who were certainly taking full advantage of the elements and leaping out of the water in good style.
Provisioning was more or less completed on our main trip to Hugh Town on Tuesday. We needed Gaz [the appropriate vendor had shut by the time we finished internetting, printing documents and shopping] and also fancied a bit of fresh fish which, we had been told, was sold on the pier on Wednesdays. So, on Wednesday morning we made a rather wet trip across to the town to purchase aforesaid goods prior to leaving. Gaz was successful, fish not. Our friendly tourist information chap had omitted to say that whilst on the pier on Wednesday the fish lady did not arrive until three pm!
I have explained in an earlier posting that we have a habit of giving things names and our tender is called “The Pig”. Big Steve is responsible for the name because, living up to his title of “Big” he didn’t exactly get on well with a tender on a charter boat in Croatia some years ago and therefore christened it the Pig – a name which has stuck with all tenders since. Well the Pig certainly lived up to its name on the return journey – we were tossed about, water slapped all over the sides and getting off was a real joke as the Pig went up as the boat transom went down and vice versa, sloshing water everywhere and requiring us to time our move very carefully transitioning from one to the other. Even so, a change of clothes was required, but not until we had hauled it on deck, deflated it and lashed it down ready for the trip…. Which we then delayed making. You will probably have reasoned by now why we decided not to leave on Wednesday and it was certainly the right decision.
What it did mean was that our Tuesday evening “Sipsmith” Gin and “Fevertree” tonic [mmmm thanks Lesley] which we had planned as a very British evening tipple prior to leaving Britain wasn’t, after all, our last drink there. It was the rum and orange. Why? Well, when we left Rawtenstall we were hardly going to throw out bottles of alcohol so they all made their way to the boat meaning we have a cupboard of bottles all approx one third full which need drinking. The rum was at the top so of course that’s what we had to have and we tried it with Sprite which didn’t work so Mike made it with orange. Whether it was because it was the second one which made it taste good I’m not sure, but we celebrated our new found drink by having a third … and emptying the bottle in the process which was what we had set out to do – so all was well with the world.
As planned we were up and away at 5.30 the next morning to start our trip. The wind had dropped significantly, but not too much and we were able to hoist the sails as soon as we had negotiated the various buoys which steered us clear of the many dangers on the way out, including a cardinal with a bell in it. It would certainly be an eerie thing to pass in the fog – very ghost ship.
Our journey of 415 miles took 77hours and 15 minutes, over 62 of them done under sail which was pretty good we thought. It did mean that we had to put in a couple of tacks [the first one pointing us in the direction of Santander rather than A Coruna] but 15 hours later with a wind shift we were back on course, albeit very slowly at first.
On our first day out we saw a small whale. We weren’t sure at first whether it was a whale or a dolphin – but as it didn’t leap out of the sea at all and spouted water we concluded Whale. Our second day saw us spending most of it with some new found friends – absolutely fantastic
They played with us for hours and into the night when Mike had the pleasure of watching them glisten under the water with phosphorescence marking their path through the water. It was certainly worth getting up for when I took over.
For the journey we had decided to do two four hour shifts to get us through the night. Many people say two or three hours should be the pattern but having tried shorter shifts, it’s the shorter sleeping time that we have found debilitating. We therefore agreed on a 10pm – 2am and 2am – 6 am which seemed to work in the main. The worst one turned out to be the 10 until 2 shift because the early morning one, which we had expected to be the less pleasant, was actually fine with the dawn beginning to break from 3.30 and sun up an hour later. We were blessed with very clear, starry nights as well and also watched a planet [not sure which one] which rises shortly after the moon, make its trajectory across the night sky.
The wind, which had enabled us to make the second tack, and which was initially blowing seven knots, then five, then two-three [causing an engine on phase for three and a bit hours] started to pick up again mid way through day three. It continued picking up to the extent that we had to reef both genoa and main but the 20-23 knots of wind for nearly 12 hours sped us on our way… it was a rather uncomfortable way at times, making sleeping almost impossible [well for me, not Mike as he can sleep anywhere!]. The wind died again in the middle of night three and from 4.15 am we motored our way into A Coruna arriving at 11.45 am passing the Torre de Hercules as we entered.
I am sure that all passing mariners take this photograph – and probably make a better job of it but we had a slight mist making everything a bit hazy. The Torre de Hercules is the oldest working lighthouse in Europe, having been built originally by the Romans. Only the foundations of the original lighthouse actually remain – but even the newer structure is hundreds of years old – and pretty impressive.
A Coruna was a welcome sight and has served us well. We are berthed with “the posh boats”. We have three 54 foot Amels alongside us [two of which are brand new and in transit]. We therefore look a bit like the poor relation – particularly when we decked the boat out with three loads of washing! A Coruna has an old town, “glass” houses [the fronts have glassed in terraces so that the original owners could watch over their business in the harbour] and four streets of Tapas bars. We only sampled three [bars that is… not whole streets] and enjoyed very much the seafood tapas on offer.
We are leaving today and are planning several nights at anchor off a variety of small villages, so we aren’t sure what internet connection there may be. So, its off to the fish market first and we will be in touch again as soon as we can

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Liverpool to Isles of Scilly

Well, I am sure that a real blogger is far more prolific than I have been – but there has been a lot going on – so I will try better in the future and, for now, bring you up to date.

Whilst this blog is quite obviously about the trip to wherever life, fair wind and weather take us, it would not be right to exclude mention of our wedding. Many of you reading this will have been there and will agree, I hope, that it was a brilliant day. Certainly Mike and I think so and know that it was the company of great friends and family which made it so wonderful. Special mention has to go to James who made the best “Best Man” speech ever, to Caroline for her poem, to Chris for “giving me away”, and to Dave for taking photos. The fact that his camera and equipment is so fancy that we can’t actually access the photos on our computer is another story – but Dave and Mag are joining us in Spain soon and will probably show us what we are doing wrong. It was also lovely to see other friends attend the ceremony and also thanks to those who joined us later in the evening. It was a day to remember.

And so to the following day when we set sail from Liverpool and again, our friends supported us – through a huge breakfast at the marina and lunchtime in the pub for Wapping Ale, pies and scouse. We really do take some supporting!


James and John had opted to sail on our honeymoon as far as our first stop in Arklow and we left the Marina lock at about 5pm hankies all waving from the lockside. It was great to be able to see Liverpool as we sailed down the Mersey, unlike our earlier reported sail up the Mersey a month before. The Three Graces certainly look better in the sunshine.

Into the channel, we looked for friends who had said they were visiting the Iron Men – but it took us about two hours to get there so, unsurprisingly, they had gone home. However, waiting at the Lifeboat station at Crosby were Sue, Frank and Peter and it was lovely to speak over the phone as we sailed by. The channel doesn’t allow us near enough to see each other but because Sue had had the foresight to think pillowcases rather than hankies I could see them waving and because they had binoculars they saw us.

The sail across to Ireland was pretty good except that, in true Siga Siga fashion, the wind was, for the most part straight on our bow – so it was a case of motoring. Mike was quite happy about this because the forecast was good until Sunday morning (after which time winds and rain were due) and we therefore wanted to make it by Saturday night if possible, which we did, berthing on the outer marina pontoon on the river at Arklow at 3.30pm. James and John seemed to enjoy the voyage and managed to record their “I’m on a boat” rap which we are waiting to see in edited version. John also found an excellent way of taking photographs by attaching the camera to the tripod, extending its legs and holding it above his head.

We received a fantastic Irish welcome from Brian and Ann [great meal at Egans – used to be Kitty’s] and from various other members of the Byrne clan when we visited the Byrne homestead on a very wet and windy Sunday. We said goodbye to James and John as they stayed to visit with family for a couple of days

Monday dawned clear and Mike and I set sail for Kilmore Quay – a days run of 10.5 hours – a remarkable 6.5 actually sailed – hurray! Kilmore Quay is a nice little place but unfortunately its pub closed at Xmas. As Mike discussed with the harbourmaster, its very hard for small pubs in small villages to survive. What has survived though is the excellent “Fishy Business Fish Shop” and, if the small cabin is closed then the attached all purpose shop sells you the freshly caught local fish.

The next two nights were spent on the River Suir near Waterford which was a 5.5 hour sail – yes Sail – from Kilmore. It was great sailing up the river (which took 3 hours), past lovely small villages and scenic surroundings. We passed a lone seal – and he was still there, in approx the same place, on our return journey 2 days later.

Anchoring in a tidal river was a new experience. OK we had been berthed in one at Arklow – which was not the most pleasant given the weather, but there we had been attached. This was the first use of our new anchor and it lived up to its reputation and stuck firm first time. What we were not ready for was as the tide turned to end up approximately horizontal to our anchor much nearer to the bank than we expected to be. So we have learnt something about the combination of wind and tide on a river – i.e. don’t immediately panic about the unexpected and seemingly concerning position you find yourself in. As long as your anchor is in then its OK.

We took a day out to visit Waterford and, having seen the full pontoons along the waterfront there, we were glad we had made the decision to anchor where we did – even if it was a 2-3 mile walk each way to the town. Unfortunately Waterford wasn’t as pretty as I had expected but we had a good pint of Guiness at Doolans Bar [so good that we had to have another at the Waterfront Bar on our return journey!] so all was well with the world.

From Waterford we headed to Youghal [pronounced Yawl] and we found weather. Oh yes, we found weather. The forecast had been 4-5 occasional bursts of 6 – but Oh no – it was a constant Force 6 from about 12.00 onwards [having sailed pleasantly down the river and along the coast for about 5 hours in the expected Force 4]. The “small craft warning” came over the radio at 11.30 when we were well into the journey and they were right. We got a trouncing, but we battled on and anchored just off Market Quay in Youghal in relatively still water. Well by then just about anything would have felt relatively still! We celebrated our safe anchorage by eating Tapas in a local establishment – having supped a pint of Murphy’s to calm the nerves first.

At this point I have to mention “Tiddles”. Tiddles is a snap shackle, named after someone dear to us, and it was purchased by them as part of our wedding/leaving present. Tiddles is the means by which we now secure the anchor to prevent it from escaping as per the incident in the Irish Sea. Well, Tiddles has well earned her place on board – without it we would have again lost the anchor – and probably the plot! Buying the Rocna was the right thing to do – but any would be purchasers beware – make sure it fits the mounting and/or is well secured. Even with the fixing the anchor still tried to make its escape and jumped off the bow roller – so once again it was Mike to the rescue in rolling seas – this time to prevent it making holes in the bow as it swung happily to one side. So – we are now working on “Tiddles 2” which will probably be some sort of bolt fixing to compliment Tiddles 1.

The anchor is certainly making a name for itself and, as we have a habit of naming various bits of boat, we are trying to think of a suitable title. Any ideas welcome. I had thought of “The Prisoner” or “The Cooler King” as names taken from other would be escapees. So far Mike has called it “Eff….” several times and “The Wee Bugger”. I rather like the latter – but as yet it remains unnamed.

We did a biggish shop in Youghal because we weren’t sure of the food purchase possibilities at Crosshaven [our next stop]. Crosshaven is the main anchorage/marina option for Cork, and in itself is a smashing place to visit. This was our opportunity to fill the fuel and water tanks and having crabbed sideways into the fuel berth [it was the only way and remarkably carried out by Mike – thank goodness for bow thrusters] we received brilliant service from the guy left in charge of fuelling at weekends. He first of all informed us that as the tide was going out we were about to get stuck/have difficulty getting out of the berth. Ah! Not good. However, he then told us that as the fuel berth had officially closed he wouldn’t be serving anyone else so we could stay there for a few hours to let the tide turn and to visit the town. Result!

I didn’t actually count, but my recollection is that there were approximately six pubs in about a quarter of a mile. We didn’t visit them all, but obviously couldn’t leave without sampling some of the local hospitality and we chose the “Moonduster”. It turned out that it was the Traditional Boat weekend and there was also a weekend of yacht racing organised by the Royal Cork Yacht Club [we had sailed through a race on arrival – yes, literally through it].The Moonduster, named after a Trad boat itself, was the party pub of choice for the folk on these boats. The party was starting early – we were there at 2.30pm to 4.00pm – and I am thinking that there were probably some sore heads the following morning from the rate of sinkage those crews were managing to achieve. It even put one of our parties to shame and that’s saying something.

But, staying there was not an option as we had to move off the fuel berth and we moved up the Owenboy River to an anchorage about 2 miles up. Well, it was supposed to be an anchorage in Drake’s pool but there are so many mooring buoys laid now – and so many seemingly not used – that we ended up choosing one and using it. So, thanks to whomever, if anyone, it belonged.

Having managed to link to the Grib [weather] we determined that we probably had a five day window of opportunity – recognising that on the third day there was going to be some roughish weather but which we should probably have passed by then. If we stayed it meant waiting for that second low to pass by. Although we hadn’t seen all we wanted to in Ireland, having originally planned to visit Kinsale and possibly Baltimore, we thought we couldn’t let the opportunity pass – and after all, Ireland will still be here at a later date. We therefore planned for a 9.00 start to take the tide down river and have it with us for the early part of the journey. To celebrate all that Ireland had offered us we finished our evening with a drop of Whiskey [thanks Sue – a glass, or two! of the Bushmills was a treat].

All was well as we sailed away on Sunday morning. We partly sailed and motored through the day and into the night. When I got up at 1.30am to take over from Mike who had taken first watch I did not particularly want to be greeted with “We’ve got a problem”. Oh S…. thinks I – what have we lost? Has a sail ripped? Has the engine failed [as we were slamming around a bit as the wind had dropped and Mike hadn’t started the motor]? Has something gone overboard? Fortunately it was none of these things. It was that Mike had forgotten to contact our Boat Insurer before we left Ireland. Now this may seem nothing as we had spoken to them and told them what we were doing – but we were supposed to contact them the day we left and we also needed the piece of paper to prove to the Spanish Harbourmasters that we have the full European Coverage. So, it was a case of left turn – lets divert to the Scilly Isles. I had originally wanted to visit the Scilly Islands but Mike had said it wasn’t best to divert from what should have been a straight line sail down from SW Ireland to the tip of N. Spain – but now here we are. Its probably going to add about 150 miles to our journey – but what’s that between friends at an average of 5 miles an hour!

Having made the decision – it may fortuitously have actually been a good one because the aforementioned low seems to have come in rather early! We ended up with Force 5 beating across to Scilly, made worse by the rain and bad visibility. It was poor all day and certainly made the approach to the Islands a very interesting experience.

The Almanac says that the Scillies should not be approached with a poorly equipped boat or an inexperienced crew and now I know why. Mike had to navigate by Chart plotter as I peered through the deepening gloom for cardinal buoys and, worse, the many hundreds of small, jagged rocks and followed his instructions for the autopilot. However, we made Hugh Town [St.Mary’s] safely and after a rolling night on a mooring buoy, have opted for a second night to see the low pass – we hope.

So, its off to visit Hugh Town itself and, hopefully post this on our blog. It looks pretty from here.


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