John R Smith
09-13-2000, 05:03 AM
Lulu Bounces Off
http://albums.photopoint.com/j/View?u=283867&a=2111301&p=17753974&Sequence=0
We had a day's break after the trip to Coombe, then we were ready for the BIG one. A whole day out, on two tides. Our objective was St Mawes, about as far down the river as you can get without actually going to sea. St Mawes lies opposite to Falmouth, and has its own Tudor castle built by Henry VIII, which is a smaller partner for the one across the bay at Pendennis. The town was once a tiny fishing village, but these days is a busy magnet for tourists, and visiting yachtsmen in particular. This was the first time we had ever tried to go down river on a falling tide, and we arrived at Sunny Corner early with the promise of a perfect late-summer day.
http://albums.photopoint.com/j/View?u=283867&a=2111306&p=27934924&Sequence=0
Lulu on her mooring at Sunny Corner
Lulu was floating by the quay, at about two hours after high tide. Now I should explain here a teensy snagette which has influenced all our boating so far - we can't afford a tender yet (dinghy, punt, whatever). This is the cause of great hilarity amongst the other boat-owners on our beach, and means, quite simply, that if our boat is floating we can't get on it (or off it, either, if we are already on). Normally it presents no huge problem. We simply womble down there just as the tide creeps up to Lulu, pop our boarding ladder up at the bow, clamber aboard hauling our wellies and the ladder up afterward and wait for the tide to float us off.
But of course, to go out on a falling tide means getting aboard when the water has dropped to just below welly height, but before the boat has grounded. Tricky stuff, only achieved in the event by wading out, clambering aboard up over the bowsprit, casting-off quick and getting going before the briny crept out too far. Even so, I still got a welly full of water.
I hear you laughing, but all this adds to the challenge, folks. And the difference that going with the tide made to our speed was a real eye-opener. We positively whizzed down past Malpas, Tolverne and King Harry Reach where normally we would creep and plod. The wind was light and heading us, so we stuck to the little Yanmar on this outward leg. Today we were aiming for the long haul, all the way down Carrick Roads - at least 9 or 10 miles as Lulu flies. We passed a huge Fleet Auxiliary ship moored in the deep channel which made us feel very small indeed, motored down by St Just Pool and into hitherto uncharted waters.
Soon new sights opened out. St Antony's Light on its headland, Black Rock in the centre of the bay, and Pendennis Castle were lit by the mid-morning sun. Of course, we had seen all this from the Enterprise river boats in the past, but never from our own ship. Kate and I were alone in Lulu, able to set our course wherever we desired. The excitement was tempered with due caution, and a sense of risk as well as delight lent sharpness to the view, never before so keenly experienced. Out beyond Black Rock sparkled the open sea. It seemed so endlessly tempting. All we had to do was head on out and we could anchor next in Fowey, or Hugh Town, or Brest, or the Azores . . . well, perhaps not in Lulu. And certainly not today.
Despite the sun and clear skies, a fair breeze was picking up now from the south-west, and we headed in past St Mawes Castle aiming to miss the dreaded Lugo Rock. We were immediately confronted with a mass of moored boats, bank to bank. There were so many of them, and all so close, it seemed impossible to make our way between them. St Mawes certainly is a popular spot for yachty types.
By this time (after some two and a half hours motoring) we were getting a bit tired and ready for a cup of tea, so we anchored off Cellars Beach for a while. A real novelty for us was clear water - we could actually see the anchor down below and sand instead of mud. Exotic shores, no question. We could even watch the progress of Kate's sunglasses down to the seabed after they dropped off her nose. I have to say that St Mawes was a bit of a disappointment, though. From the quayside it is enchanting, if busy in the summer. But from our boat it seemed crowded and confused, and what I had expected to be an inspiring view was blocked out by white plastic hulls and serried aluminium masts.
Even more of a let-down was Percuil. We crept up there through the moorings, but the ebb was well advanced by now and we had to anchor just below the yacht club. The scene we knew well from old photographs had been transformed for the worse by some hideous new buildings on the far shore. Oh, it was pleasant enough lying there and having lunch, but also frustrating. Normally we are on the river when the tide is high, but now at low water all the interesting little creeks I had hoped to visit were dry and denied to us. Lulu sulked back down through the ranks of yachts, confined to the centre channel.
As we came out of St Mawes we realised that the wind had really strengthened. Ahead of us yachts were beating out of the bay into the teeth of it, heeling at what seemed to be impossible angles just like those New Zealand chaps in the magazine. A hard man flew close behind Lulu in a racing dinghy, and carried on a casual conversation with us as he wrestled with imminent capsize. We battled on into a steep chop and spray came back over the foredeck. This was the real thing at last - the sea, waves, and all that kind of stuff. The shades of Slocum, Hiscock and E F Knight stood by us in the cockpit. This was obviously the day for a sail.
http://albums.photopoint.com/j/View?u=283867&a=2111305&p=27926553&Sequence=0
Lulu's home waters, the Fal Estuary. In the foreground is Malpas, Magotty Bank is in the centre of the picture. The big ships are laid-up in King Harry Reach. Beyond them the River opens out into Carrick Roads.
Steering a drunken course around the Lugo Rock, we cleared the Castle Buoy, rounded up into the wind, and rolled out the sails. For once I had to use the winch to swig up the outhaul. Wow, but this was good. We could hold a reach right back up the Roads, a good 4 miles - and we did, too. Now I know that a reach is probably the easiest point of sailing, but still we felt a sense of solid achievement. Lulu bowled along in fine style with her new club burgee cracking away from the mast-head (er, well, no, not the Royal Cornwall Yacht Club - Truro Boat Owners Association, actually. But it's a very nice burgee, nonetheless). The wind dropped off a bit as time went on, but there was still enough to keep things interesting. Ahead of us a swarm of dinghies was racing round the buoys. As we approached they all magically disappeared in a cloud of coloured sails and sheltered in St Just Pool. Had Lulu's reputation spread this far?
Of course, things had gone rather too well and it was time for us to blot our copy-book. To get back into the river at the top of the Roads it is desirable (and good seamanship) to round the green Turnaware Buoy. This marks the end of a sand-bar, which in turn has a series of yellow buoys along its length. Naturally, the wind chose this very moment to drop and the young flood took over. It soon became obvious that we were not going to keep the green buoy to starboard. Such wind as there was had only the sorry effect of pushing Lulu sideways, not forward. Meanwhile the tide conspired to press us diagonally upstream, directly towards the first yellow buoy. Despite much anguished wailing from the cockpit, Lulu hit it solidly on the bow and the buoy bounced down the side of the boat.
It's not the pain, it's the shame that hurts, my friends. We had committed this faux-pas right in front of the busiest Bank Holiday anchorage on the river, and the critical gaze of the assembled yacht crews was turned upon us. We slunk into Tolcarne Creek with our burgee drooping, needing a cup of tea to restore our shattered pride. There, still somewhat flustered, I managed to dig the anchor in the wrong way round and as we swung to the tide Lulu dragged back up the creek, resulting in a rather short tea-break. Ho-hum, just as well we didn't try for the Azores today, perhaps.
http://albums.photopoint.com/j/View?u=283867&a=2111305&p=27879430&Sequence=0
Lulu heads for home through King Harry Reach
I checked the bow for damage, but there was just a smear of yellow paint. Thank God these modern buoys are plastic. Back on home ground, we enjoyed a pleasant evening run back up the river. Lulu was feeling a bit tired, you could tell. But with the tide we made good time, moored-up without a hitch at Sunny Corner, and settled down to supper aboard. Supper aboard? Well, we couldn't actually get off the boat, you see, not having a tender . . .
John
http://albums.photopoint.com/j/View?u=283867&a=2111301&p=17753974&Sequence=0
We had a day's break after the trip to Coombe, then we were ready for the BIG one. A whole day out, on two tides. Our objective was St Mawes, about as far down the river as you can get without actually going to sea. St Mawes lies opposite to Falmouth, and has its own Tudor castle built by Henry VIII, which is a smaller partner for the one across the bay at Pendennis. The town was once a tiny fishing village, but these days is a busy magnet for tourists, and visiting yachtsmen in particular. This was the first time we had ever tried to go down river on a falling tide, and we arrived at Sunny Corner early with the promise of a perfect late-summer day.
http://albums.photopoint.com/j/View?u=283867&a=2111306&p=27934924&Sequence=0
Lulu on her mooring at Sunny Corner
Lulu was floating by the quay, at about two hours after high tide. Now I should explain here a teensy snagette which has influenced all our boating so far - we can't afford a tender yet (dinghy, punt, whatever). This is the cause of great hilarity amongst the other boat-owners on our beach, and means, quite simply, that if our boat is floating we can't get on it (or off it, either, if we are already on). Normally it presents no huge problem. We simply womble down there just as the tide creeps up to Lulu, pop our boarding ladder up at the bow, clamber aboard hauling our wellies and the ladder up afterward and wait for the tide to float us off.
But of course, to go out on a falling tide means getting aboard when the water has dropped to just below welly height, but before the boat has grounded. Tricky stuff, only achieved in the event by wading out, clambering aboard up over the bowsprit, casting-off quick and getting going before the briny crept out too far. Even so, I still got a welly full of water.
I hear you laughing, but all this adds to the challenge, folks. And the difference that going with the tide made to our speed was a real eye-opener. We positively whizzed down past Malpas, Tolverne and King Harry Reach where normally we would creep and plod. The wind was light and heading us, so we stuck to the little Yanmar on this outward leg. Today we were aiming for the long haul, all the way down Carrick Roads - at least 9 or 10 miles as Lulu flies. We passed a huge Fleet Auxiliary ship moored in the deep channel which made us feel very small indeed, motored down by St Just Pool and into hitherto uncharted waters.
Soon new sights opened out. St Antony's Light on its headland, Black Rock in the centre of the bay, and Pendennis Castle were lit by the mid-morning sun. Of course, we had seen all this from the Enterprise river boats in the past, but never from our own ship. Kate and I were alone in Lulu, able to set our course wherever we desired. The excitement was tempered with due caution, and a sense of risk as well as delight lent sharpness to the view, never before so keenly experienced. Out beyond Black Rock sparkled the open sea. It seemed so endlessly tempting. All we had to do was head on out and we could anchor next in Fowey, or Hugh Town, or Brest, or the Azores . . . well, perhaps not in Lulu. And certainly not today.
Despite the sun and clear skies, a fair breeze was picking up now from the south-west, and we headed in past St Mawes Castle aiming to miss the dreaded Lugo Rock. We were immediately confronted with a mass of moored boats, bank to bank. There were so many of them, and all so close, it seemed impossible to make our way between them. St Mawes certainly is a popular spot for yachty types.
By this time (after some two and a half hours motoring) we were getting a bit tired and ready for a cup of tea, so we anchored off Cellars Beach for a while. A real novelty for us was clear water - we could actually see the anchor down below and sand instead of mud. Exotic shores, no question. We could even watch the progress of Kate's sunglasses down to the seabed after they dropped off her nose. I have to say that St Mawes was a bit of a disappointment, though. From the quayside it is enchanting, if busy in the summer. But from our boat it seemed crowded and confused, and what I had expected to be an inspiring view was blocked out by white plastic hulls and serried aluminium masts.
Even more of a let-down was Percuil. We crept up there through the moorings, but the ebb was well advanced by now and we had to anchor just below the yacht club. The scene we knew well from old photographs had been transformed for the worse by some hideous new buildings on the far shore. Oh, it was pleasant enough lying there and having lunch, but also frustrating. Normally we are on the river when the tide is high, but now at low water all the interesting little creeks I had hoped to visit were dry and denied to us. Lulu sulked back down through the ranks of yachts, confined to the centre channel.
As we came out of St Mawes we realised that the wind had really strengthened. Ahead of us yachts were beating out of the bay into the teeth of it, heeling at what seemed to be impossible angles just like those New Zealand chaps in the magazine. A hard man flew close behind Lulu in a racing dinghy, and carried on a casual conversation with us as he wrestled with imminent capsize. We battled on into a steep chop and spray came back over the foredeck. This was the real thing at last - the sea, waves, and all that kind of stuff. The shades of Slocum, Hiscock and E F Knight stood by us in the cockpit. This was obviously the day for a sail.
http://albums.photopoint.com/j/View?u=283867&a=2111305&p=27926553&Sequence=0
Lulu's home waters, the Fal Estuary. In the foreground is Malpas, Magotty Bank is in the centre of the picture. The big ships are laid-up in King Harry Reach. Beyond them the River opens out into Carrick Roads.
Steering a drunken course around the Lugo Rock, we cleared the Castle Buoy, rounded up into the wind, and rolled out the sails. For once I had to use the winch to swig up the outhaul. Wow, but this was good. We could hold a reach right back up the Roads, a good 4 miles - and we did, too. Now I know that a reach is probably the easiest point of sailing, but still we felt a sense of solid achievement. Lulu bowled along in fine style with her new club burgee cracking away from the mast-head (er, well, no, not the Royal Cornwall Yacht Club - Truro Boat Owners Association, actually. But it's a very nice burgee, nonetheless). The wind dropped off a bit as time went on, but there was still enough to keep things interesting. Ahead of us a swarm of dinghies was racing round the buoys. As we approached they all magically disappeared in a cloud of coloured sails and sheltered in St Just Pool. Had Lulu's reputation spread this far?
Of course, things had gone rather too well and it was time for us to blot our copy-book. To get back into the river at the top of the Roads it is desirable (and good seamanship) to round the green Turnaware Buoy. This marks the end of a sand-bar, which in turn has a series of yellow buoys along its length. Naturally, the wind chose this very moment to drop and the young flood took over. It soon became obvious that we were not going to keep the green buoy to starboard. Such wind as there was had only the sorry effect of pushing Lulu sideways, not forward. Meanwhile the tide conspired to press us diagonally upstream, directly towards the first yellow buoy. Despite much anguished wailing from the cockpit, Lulu hit it solidly on the bow and the buoy bounced down the side of the boat.
It's not the pain, it's the shame that hurts, my friends. We had committed this faux-pas right in front of the busiest Bank Holiday anchorage on the river, and the critical gaze of the assembled yacht crews was turned upon us. We slunk into Tolcarne Creek with our burgee drooping, needing a cup of tea to restore our shattered pride. There, still somewhat flustered, I managed to dig the anchor in the wrong way round and as we swung to the tide Lulu dragged back up the creek, resulting in a rather short tea-break. Ho-hum, just as well we didn't try for the Azores today, perhaps.
http://albums.photopoint.com/j/View?u=283867&a=2111305&p=27879430&Sequence=0
Lulu heads for home through King Harry Reach
I checked the bow for damage, but there was just a smear of yellow paint. Thank God these modern buoys are plastic. Back on home ground, we enjoyed a pleasant evening run back up the river. Lulu was feeling a bit tired, you could tell. But with the tide we made good time, moored-up without a hitch at Sunny Corner, and settled down to supper aboard. Supper aboard? Well, we couldn't actually get off the boat, you see, not having a tender . . .
John