Our yacht club had planned a ‘Strawberry Rally’, to be held at Cawsands on the Late May Bank Holiday Sunday. I thought this trip of about 20 miles return would be ideal for AB’s first outing, and even had a volunteer crew member – our local postman, Phil. High water was at around 1000 hours, and the day seemed fine and sunny, but with a fairly still So’Easterly breeze. We motored down the Tamar, through Devonport, admiring the few Naval ships that were in the dockyard, and headed out through ‘The Bridge’, and into Plymouth Sound. We motored over to Cawsand, where three or four of our yachts had anchored. Apparently due to the breakers on the beach, it was not really possible to go ashore here, and so our hopes and dreams of a nice pub lunch were dashed! Our leader decided that the alternative was to cross the Sound to Jennycliff Bay, a couple of miles away, where it was hoped there would be more shelter. Off we all went, and duly anchored in the shelter of Jennycliff Bay. We were ferried to ‘Aquarelle’, a rather luxurious Lagoon Catamaran, where Club members Richard and Christine Bowman had prepared lunch for everyone! Chicken and rice, wine, and of course Strawberries and Cream! It was a wonderful afternoon, but soon it was time for our return up river to Cargreen. There were no problems with Appledore Belle, and I was more than happy.
Around the Lighthouse
My son Antony and I decided that we should take another trip down into the Sound, so on Sunday 8th June we departed Cargreen about 1100 hours, and motored down river, with the intention of going to Cawsands again. This time the weather was more settled, and once at the breakwater I decided we should go out to the Eddystone Reef, some 12 miles out from the breakwater. With a Northwesterly breeze, we raised the foresail, and sailed out to the Lighthouse. There were several boats out there, mainly rod fishing, all enjoying the sunshine. We rounded the light, and began our return journey under motor and sail, this time entering the Sound on the Devon side. Once past the breakwater we dropped sail, and continued under engine, navigating around a stationary submarine, its deck awash with busy sailors, all of whom ignored our friendly waves! Shortly afterwards Antony detected a smoky haze from the cabin area, and, on investigating, he found black oil all over the engine. At that time we could not see where the oil was coming from, and reducing our speed, continued up river on the flood tide, and reached Cargreen with no obvious problems. A couple of days later I returned to the boat, and began to clear the mess up. It’s very difficult, as we all know, to access most engine houses, and I suppose a Rowan is even smaller than most other Macwesters. Crouching down on the cabin floor, right arm extended along the engine, I eventually found something very loose! A light and a mirror showed me that the diesel lift pump was hanging off the side of the engine! The two Allen screws had somehow undone themselves about a quarter of an inch, and all the engine oil had been lost through the gap – there was nothing showing on the dipstick at all. There was black oil everywhere, but mainly in the bilge, where I had to empty the oily water into a 20 litre container, to dispose of other than in the river! I made a new gasket, and tightened the screws (bolts), filled the engine with fresh oil, and started it. The engine burst into life as if nothing had happened. No unusual noises, and no smoke from the exhaust. Just what caused the lift pump to work loose I shall never know. I checked it often, and it never occurred again.
Preparing for our Adventure
I had been following the predicted weather patterns for well over a week before our departure, and things were looking favourable for a pleasant passage to Guernsey, and return. Light winds from the Northwest were predicted for the Sunday, becoming So’westerly later in the week. My only concern was of the passage from Guernsey to Braye Harbour, through the Race of Alderney. As it turned out, this was the easiest and best part of the passage.
I was unable to find time to fit an outboard bracket onto the transom of AB before she was craned into the river in the Spring. It wasn’t an easy job doing this in a small tender tied to the stern of the boat, trying to drill 4 10mm holes for the securing bolts. I had already cut a 150mm diameter hole in the rear of the cockpit so that I could get access to the bolts to secure them with locking nuts. This wasn’t that easy either, trying to bend one’s hand in all strange directions, whilst holding a nut you couldn’t see, and threading it onto a bolt you couldn’t see either. Antony was in the cockpit and after a while he had succeeded in tightening everything up. I then fitted an inspection hatch into the recess to close the hole. I had told myself that without the outboard, I would not have attempted the journey, and as it was, this was the best decision I made.
Sunday 27th July was a wonderful day, sunny and hardly any wind at all. Having loaded the car with the outboard, inflatable and other things that I never keep on board, we set off for the yacht club at Cargreen, on the river Tamar. Once everything was on board, we said our goodbye’s to my wife Mary, and to Antonys’ wife Maureen, and started the engine, slipped our mooring, and made our way down towards Plymouth Sound. There was hardly a ripple on the water, and no point in raising any sail just yet. We reported in at Mayflower Marina at 1420 hours, where we completed our Customs form, and then continued through the Sound, still under engine. At around 1530 we were off the Mewstone, heading in the direction of Berry Head, but there was still no wind. At 1800 hrs we were off Salcombe, and stopped the engine to make a routine check of everything before proceeding further into the Channel. At 1935 we called up Brixham Coastguard to log our journey with them. At 2100 hours we switched on our navigation lights, and were making way, albeit only quite slowly at less than 4 knots. The sea was dead calm!
Crossing the shipping lanes (although we were not in the Traffic Separation System) was fairly uneventful, although we took avoiding action for two ships. There were no large ships, but we did spot the occasional lights in the distance. Sometime in the early hours, ( unfortunately I did not record the exact time ) we spotted a mass of white lights approaching ahead of us off our starboard bow ( No, I don’t think it was those Klingons, Jim!). As the lights grew ever closer, we decided to make a bold turn to starboard, and allow the vessel plenty of room to pass in front of us. No sooner had we done this, than the vessel altered her course to port to pass in front of us! She was still some distance away, and had been heading slowly up the Channel, and now we could tell that she was some sort of cruise ship, all lit up like a Christmas Tree. As soon as we could tell she was altering her own course, we turned sharply to port, and resumed our original course, whilst the cruise ship passed a few cables astern of us, still at quite a slow speed. So much for the Collision Regs we thought! Sometime later, and still very dark, we had noticed, again on our Starboard side, what appeared to be a couple of fishing boats. Again, there were so many white lights that it was not possible at this time to determine exactly what the crafts were, not what they were actually doing. We watched the lights for a considerable time, and they barely closed on us. Just before dawn we decided to top up the diesel tank, so stopped the engine (which had been running non stop since our departure from Plymouth). The other craft were still some way off, but becoming more clearer now. No sooner had we restarted our engine and resumed our original course a large searchlight was beamed at us! We immediately turned boldly to starboard and could then see that instead of fishing vessels as we had at first thought, it was in fact a large tug, with many deck lights, with a huge tow, which I can only describe as like a gigantic construction site on board. I have no idea what this might have been, but perhaps it was some form of construction site used for use in harbours, breakwaters or such like. Whatever it was for, it was long, wide and very tall, steel girders and machinery all over it, and moving at a very slow speed.
At about 0600 hours we were just North of the Hurd Deep, and there was still very little wind. What there was was from the Southeast, so not much help for us. We decided to sail if we could, and switched the engine off. At 0915 we had covered 64 miles, and the wind was no help at all. It was still light, and on the nose, so we started up the engine and motored again, still with 30 miles to go.We cruised along for the rest of the morning, still with almost a flat calm. At around midday I asked Antony if he could detect a change in the sound of the engine. He said that he couldn’t, but I went below, and removed the engine compartment cover only to find diesel spraying out all over the place. We immediately shut the engine off, and opened up the inspection cover in the cockpit. Now, I am not sure about other Rowan’s, but ours has the cockpit floor cut out, and an access panel hinged in its place. This gives access to the bilge, prop shaft and everything else, including the gearbox and rear of the engine. On opening the hatch we could immediately see what the problem was. The copper excess fuel return pipe had fractured where it is attached to the injector. To get the broken pipe off the injector meant removing the alternator, and undoing the other end of the pipe from inside the engine compartment, where it joins the diesel pump. Antony was soon down below with the spanners and after a while he had removed the pipe. This is not a simple job ashore, let alone at sea, and where you can’t see what it is you are trying to do! The return pipe had broken on the soldered joint on the banjo, and there was no way in which we could make a temporary repair, so we left things as they were, and raised sail again. The weather ahead was now looking grim, with nasty black squall clouds looming. I knew we were in for some rough weather, but we had to press on now. We were unable to contact St Peter Port by radio, but Antony eventually managed to contact St Peter Port Radio by telephone, and we were able to advise them of our situation. They were most helpful, and asked that we contact them on our arrival (which we did). At 1600 hours we had logged 80 miles, and the wind was now Southwest and increasing. The Barometer had been dropping steadily. We were sailing with full main and Genoa. The wind got up very quickly and I decided to drop the Genoa, and use our rather smaller furling headsail. Very quickly the seas became horrendous, with huge, rolling waves, trying to take us with them to the north of Guernsey, and into the Alderney Race. The Southwesterly wind was beam on to us, and it was lashing with rain. Whilst taking down the Genoa, the jib halyard became wrapped around the furling forestay, and we were therefore not able to unfurl the smaller headsail. At one stage we were doing 7.5 knots, but it wasn’t really helpful. I was in fear of being blown onto Guernsey’s lee shore, as the steep rolling waves were pushing us towards Les Hanois lighthouse, which we could now see. So now it was all down to the 3.5 HP Tohatsu outboard, which I had recently bought from a yachtsman based in Sutton Harbour, Plymouth. We had plenty of fuel on board, and this engine ran for some 7 hours, only stopping when it ran dry – about every hour! Have you ever tried refilling an outboard from a 5 litre can, hanging out over the pushpit, in huge seas? It’s not that easy, but I managed to get most of the fuel into the tank. That little engine was completely immersed in water on several occasions, and still continued to run. It seemed for ever that we were abreast of Les Hanois light, but eventually it passed astern, and we could relax just a little. The closer to St Martin’s Point we got, the more the seas moderated, but we now had an adverse tidal stream, and for every 3 miles logged, we were set back one!
We Arrive in Guernsey – Finally!
It was with great relief that we passed St Martin’s Point, and turned towards St Peter Port. We advised them of our engine situation, and, again, they were very helpful, asking us to call them up just before we reached the harbour entrance. Of course, it was now pitch dark, but we were sheltered from the strong winds, and we soon turned into St Peter Port. There was much bad language from the fishermen on the breakwater as we turned into the harbour. Having spent 34 hours at sea, they seemed to think that I should take avoiding action of their fishing lines! By 2220 we were alongside other vessels on the Visitors’ Pontoon. Our total logged mileage was 99.5 miles. We called our families at home to let them know of our safe, but rather late, arrival, and Mary ‘phoned Brixham Coastguards to tell them of our arrival, for which they were thankful.
The crew of the alongside vessel informed us that it was their intention to depart at about 0400 hours, so rather than look forward to a good night’s sleep, we now knew that we should have to be prepared to move within a few hours. 4 am came and went, then 6 am, and no sound of movement from next door. When I did hear someone, I got out and was informed that due to the severe weather, they had decided to remain for a further day, as to return to their home port of Perros Guirec would be head to wind all the way.
First thing on Tuesday morning, 29th July, we took the broken fuel pipe to a local marine engineering workshop, and were asked to come back later in the afternoon. After the events of the past day, St Peter Port was wonderful, bustling with people, warm and sunny. Antony and I bought the obligatory post cards, and walked around the town a little, before returning to the boat. We had decided not to waste time inflating the dinghy, but to use the water taxi to get ashore. This costs £3 each for the return trip, a distance of less than 100 yards. Needless to say, on our return we did inflate the tender. During the morning we were welcomed aboard our neighbour’s vessel, and soon discovered it to be a Macwester 26, built in 1976. Her name was Loupiot II . In broken English and French, we exchange pleasantries, and the wine was flowing nicely. Realising I had a spare Macwester pennant, I presented it to Christian Le Bruno, the skipper, and he in turn presented us with a pennant from his yacht club. During the morning I was able to retrieve the fouled jib halyard from the furling forestay, and check that everything else was as it should be. After lunch Antony and I returned to the workshop and paid our £9 for the repaired fuel pipe. It didn’t take long to fit back into place, and it was with great relief that the engine started without difficulty.
It was rather unfortunate that we had so little time in Guernsey. It had been our intention to take a bus and travel around the Island, so that we could take in the delights whilst letting someone else do all the driving. It wasn’t to be, however. That evening we went ashore and enjoyed a meal of fish and chips in a local restaurant, followed by a walk around the town. I was very surprised as the number of shops that were now closed and empty, a sign I suppose that the impending recession hits all of us.
Off to Alderney
Next morning, Wednesday, saw our French neighbours depart for their home port. The weather was still a little blowy, but fine and sunny. Antony and I went ashore and did some shopping for the essential gifts for those left behind in Cornwall. Returning to AB we made sure everything was in order for our 25 mile trip to Braye Harbour in Alderney. I had three possible routes planned, and a forth in mind if the Little Russell was in any way doubtful. One route was through The Swinge, but I was a little apprehensive as I hadn’t any local knowledge of it, not that I had any real knowledge of the whole area really! A second route was to use the inshore route along the Alderney coast, whilst the third was to use the Race itself so long as the sea state allowed it. At 1230 hours we slipped from the fuelling pontoon, and headed out into the Little Russell. The sea state was fine, with a gentle South-easterly breeze. We were under Main and Genoa until 1630, when the wind started to die, and what there was was on the nose. At 1900, our predicted ETA, we were on the visitor’s Moorings alongside ‘Curlew’ , from Poole. The harbour was very full at this time, and quite choppy. We were shaken around a bit throughout the night, but nothing too serious.
I was up for the 0505 hours Shipping Forecast on Thursday morning. Southerly 4 to 5 in Portland, Southerly 5-6 in Plymouth and Southerly 2 to 3 in Jersey. The day was rather grey, with a strong breeze. It was our intention to depart for Plymouth that evening, so we inflated the dinghy and went ashore for a quick tour of the Island. The Dinghy Pontoon was crammed full of inflatables, but it’s easy to thread your way amongst them, and get ashore. We looked in at the Harbourmaster’s office, and paid our mooring fee of £12. I enquired about Mr Hughes, AB’s original owner. I was told that Mrs Hughes was still living in St Anne, but that Mr. Hughes had long since parted from his wife, and was last known to be in Saudi Arabia somewhere! It would have been so nice to have met him, and I suppose, for him to have seen his little boat back in harbour again. On our way from the Harbour office, we looked at the weather forecast pinned on the board. It showed quite strong winds, and swells, but moderating. We decided to look again later.
It was a nice stroll up the hill to St Anne, where we bought some supplies, before strolling through the narrow lanes, eventually reaching the North coast. As soon as we reached the coastal path, the clouds gathered and it began to rain quite heavily. Fortunately, there was an old German bunker not too far away, and we stood inside it for a while, writing some of the post cards which we had bought in St Peter Port. By the way, you cannot use UK stamps in the Channel Islands, but Guernsey stamps can be used from Alderney. When the rain stopped we continued to walk on towards Fort Clonque, which is on a short causeway. We had hoped to see inside, but the Fort is privately owned by some Trust, and closed to the public. It is here that you can see the effect of coastal erosion, with large cracks in the rock faces, and several cliff falls. There is an anchorage here at Hannaine Bay, but I should think only in settled weather. We could see the fierce overfalls in the Swinge, and there were several vessels out there, but probably larger and more powerful than our little Rowan. Up the Zig-Zag path, and we were at the centre of the Island, by the airport. It wasn’t long before we had reached the southern coastal path, and could just make out one of the other Islands, as well as the French coast at Cap De La Hague. Within minutes the visibility had closed in, and it began to rain again. Yet another German bunker gave us refuge for a while. This one was some sort of nature reserve, with notices asking us to turn the lights off when we left. There were no lights, and it was pitch black inside, but we felt our way around from the back to the open front, with great views out to sea. Leaving the bunker, we returned to St Anne, where we had hoped to find a nice pub for a cool beer before returning on board. Unfortunately the town’s pubs seem to close in the afternoons, but we did find a restaurant down by the harbour that was open until 3 pm (I think it was). It was still showery, but we did enjoy our beer. From here we returned to the Harbour Office Notice board, and looked again at the weather forecast. This had improved somewhat, with both seastate and winds moderating. We returned to the boat, and decided on a few hours’ rest before our departure.
At around 7 pm we ventured ashore again, and looked around Little Crabby Harbour and the Admiralty Breakwater. On our return we again read the Weather Forecast at the Harbourmaster’s Office, which showed that the sea state and wind was again expected to moderate. So, with this in mind we decided to go for home. Returning to AB, we deflated the dinghy and secured it on the foredeck. Sails were made ready and engine checks made. Knowing that it would be a pitch dark night, and a very long haul I made a vacuum flask of hot oxo, which would keep us going in the dark, chilly small hours. The flask and everything else was stowed away into every nook and cranny, and then we had a final cup of tea.
Homeward Bound – More Adventures!
I had originally decided to depart at just before the tide changed in our favour, at around 2130 hours. The weather was now looking nasty again, and closing in, so we decided not to wait, but to leave straight away, and take a chance with the tides. At 2035 hours we hoisted our main, and with the engine running left the security of our mooring, and headed out of Braye. Once the Alderney Lighthouse was abeam, we turned onto our course, which was Northwesterly for 5 miles in order to stay well clear of Burhou and the Great Nannel rocks. At 2200 hrs we altered our course to due West (270 deg). It was at this time that we encountered very strong headwinds and rolling seas. We were now, of course, in a wind over tide situation, but there was no turning back. The tide was running at between 3 and 4 knots. It seemed to take for ever to leave the Casquets Light behind us, but it slowly passed abeam – very slowly. On this course we were running down the edge of the TSS, in the Inshore Traffic Zone. We were amazed at the number of ships passing to starboard, heading up Channel. Light after light after light, but we never actually saw one until reaching the Western end of the TSS, at around 0530. We had logged 24 miles from Braye, and taken about 9 hours! It had of course been impossible to sail on that course as we were virtually head to wind, but now we were altering our course to Northwesterly (300 deg), to cross the Channel at the Western end of the TSS.
We now discovered more problems, and found that the forestay and the furling forestay had somehow become entwined. We couldn’t set any hanked-on sails at all, and could only use a very small proportion of the furling headsail. All we could do was sail as close to the wind as we could. We were making about 4 knots most of the time, but being severely headed to the Northeast. We saw the occasional large ship, mainly behind us, and were never in any danger from them. One or two larger yachts passed on our port side, heading towards Plymouth, and obviously much closer on the wind than we were. The seas were large, rolling waves, with extremely deep troughs between them, but we felt quite secure and I was very pleased at the robustness of the Rowan. We had known all along that Rowans, in particular, do not sail very close to the wind, and all the time we were being pushed off course to the northeast. We hadn’t had anything to eat or drink, save for some chocolate, since our departure, and I went down into the cabin to find the flask of hot Oxo drink. What a mess! Everything that could have moved had done so. Most was on the cabin floor including the flask. Well, of course, as soon as I picked it up I could hear a thousand shards of glass rattling away inside it. I won’t tell you where it went!! It was just impossible to stand up inside, and I was bashed around considerably. Just as I was going to enter the cabin a large wave caught us and threw me against the compass, which broke off its mounting. The compass was ok and I placed it on the starboard mounting, so it shouldn’t have been a problem, but it did become one later on. We carried on all day long just trying to sail as close to the wind as we could. Antony tried to have some sleep, and I cat napped for some time, only opening my eyes when I felt the boat sailing too close to the wind, or actually bearing away. It was very difficult trying to refill the diesel fuel tank whilst underway and in those seas. We had fuel in a 20 litre container, and I had to try and pour it into a funnel, and into the fuel filler. I watched for each large wave and stopped pouring before they reached us, but the wind was so strong that some diesel was whipped up and fell inside the cockpit. At one time I slipped on the diesel with both feet, and fell heavily jarring my back against the stern. I remember thinking how lucky I was not to have fallen and caused serious injury to myself. My back was bruised for some days afterwards!
Around 1800 hours we spotted land, and this was Dartmouth. We decided that we could still make Plymouth in the early hours, and altered our course to head back out of Lyme Bay. This was a bad decision, but on reflection I hate to think of what could have gone wrong next day when I was heading for Plymouth on my own! It took ages to back track, and the seas were still huge, and the wind still strong, So’westerly. Sometime afterwards, at home, I was able to look at all the events, wind, waves and tidal conditions, and it was easy to see why we eventually got into so much trouble. After back tracking for some distance (but probably making little headway – in fact I now think that we were going backwards!!), we altered course again, and thought we were well clear of Start Point (no light was visible at this time. In fact, we were actually off Start Bay. It was now pitch black, and all we could see was land lights. We were tired, getting cold and obviously disorientated. Having damaged the port compass mounting earlier and placing the compass on the starboard bracket we now had further problems. Firstly, I had not connected this mounting for an electrical socket, and so we could not see the compass without shining a torch on it. Furthermore, the mounting was placed too high up on the cabin bulkhead, and we couldn’t steer and read the compass without difficulty. During the day it had been OK, but not at night, and without a compass light. Both these problems have since been rectified, and I even have a second compass so there is no need to change the one compass for different tacks. Our hand held Garmin GPS was showing a course for Plymouth, but over the land! And now the engine started to play up, gradually losing power. Well, the trusty outboard had seen us into St Peter Port, and this was a similar situation wasn’t it? We were just not making any headway, and I couldn’t make sense of the situation. Nothing else to do, but to call Brixham Coastguard and advise them of our situation. They were very understanding, and asked if we needed assistance, but I said we would continue if we could, and with that the engine died! I told the Coastguard that we would continue, using the outboard, which we did for a while. Unfortunately the outboard also gave up eventually, and that was that! Another call to the Coastguard, and now we requested assistance.
RNLI To The Rescue!
It took what seemed for ever for the Lifeboat to contact us, but actually it wasn’t! It was certainly a great relief to know that these guys were out there, on their way to give us a tow, at that time in the early hours! Eventually we spotted their lights, and I shone my bright steamer scarer towards them. Closer and closer they came, and eventually they threw us a heaving line, with a tow rope attached, which I secured to the bow. Within minutes we were on our way at a fair speed towards Salcombe. Well, I thought, it’s a bit closer to Plymouth than Brixham! At about 0300 hours we were alongside the Harbourmaster’s pontoon in Salcombe, and were greeted by a very pleasant Peter Hodges, who was at that time the co-ordinator (or something like that) for the Salcombe Lifeboat. Some of the crew also came by to ensure we were ok, which we were. We were up about 0700 hours, and waiting for the Harbourmaster to find out about marine engineers in the town. Also, Antony wanted to jump ship, and get to Plymouth, so we needed to get a taxi for him. That wasn’t a problem – the taxi or him leaving me! The Harbourmaster was excellent, and gave me the details of a couple of marine engineers. He also said, considering our adventure, he’d waive the mooring fee for the day! I ‘phoned one of the engineers, who replied that he was actually away in Wales. The other one, Jamie (RJ Marine) was with me by 1030 hours. It didn’t take him long to find the problem with the engine. There was a diesel fuel filter behind the water pump pulley, and this was completely fouled up. Also there was obviously water in the fuel, which wasn’t surprising considering the way I had to re-fill the diesel fuel tank on passage. A couple of hour’s work, and £50, and the job was done. The engine started ok, but Jamie seemed to think it should have had more revs than it did. I also recall that someone on the pontoon said about a smoky exhaust, which at the time we both put down to recent events with the engine. A couple of crew members of the Lifeboat came down to the pontoon to see if everything was ok, and I thanked them again for their help. Needless to say, I have since made a couple of cash donations to RNLI Salcombe and when I win the Lottery, I will send them a larger cheque!
The Saturday morning was fine and bright, and warm too. I tried to see what the problem was with the forestay, but just couldn’t make it out. I even undid it from the bow roller, but it just did not want to untwine itself from the top of the mast. I got the outboard cleaned and refuelled, and it started ok. I went to the Harbourmaster’s Office to check the weather forecast, and to thank them again for their help. At 1330 I motored off down the river and over, or around, The Bar. The sea state seemed more settled, but as soon as I was around Bolt Head I discovered that it wasn’t much different to the night before! I called Brixham Coastguard to advise them of my departure and ETA Plymouth, which was approximately 6 hours’ time. I kept well off the coast just in case of more engine problems, although there were none. The waves were steeper now than they had been, as I was closer to the land. At one time Appledore was knocked over almost onto her starboard side by a rogue wave. I thought at the time that it would have been ironic for me to end up in the water on the homeward leg, considering what Antony and I had been through already. There were several other yachts passing, in both directions, and it was reassuring to know they were there. It was now that I realised that had we gone into Dartmouth, the engine would at some time have conked out, and we may well have found ourselves (or me on my own!) on a lee shore. Where we had been off Dartmouth was not really a problem, but somewhere off Salcombe may well have been! After Bolt Tail, I could make out Rame Read and kept Appledore heading towards it, then towards Cawsands. I had already decided not to enter the Sound through the Eastern passage, again to avoid the outlying rocks and lee shore, but to head over to the Cornish side, and through the more sheltered Western passage. Having passed the Mewstone, I could not make out the Breakwater. Visibility was a little hazy, but I just couldn’t see it. When I rounded the lighthouse at the Western end, I found the breakwater completely awash. I had never been here at a high tide such as this, and was thankful that I hadn’t attempted to motor over it – as if I would! The sea here was almost a dead calm, and it wasn’t long before I was alongside at Mayflower Marina, where I stopped off to hand in my Customs form. I called Brixham Coastguard, to let them know of my safe arrival at 2000 hours, exactly 6 hours after my first call. The tide was now on the ebb, and I started the main engine, and then the outboard, which together pushed me up river to Cargreen at between 5 and 5.5 knots. An hour later I was on my mooring, and tidying everything away.
This was the last Summer trip we had on Appledore Belle. I had intended to do some sorting out, and perhaps do some more local trips, but at the beginning of September I was asked to go into work full time (6 day week) as my co-worker had broken his wrist, and would be off work for up to 3 months! So the boat lay on her mooring until the end of the month, until lift-out day on September 29th. I went down to the boat during the Sunday, to prepare for the lift-out, and to start the engine. It started without problem. On the Monday, we went down and took the outboard just in case, and a good job too. The boat engine refused to start, and it has never started again to this day! We were saved by the outboard once again.
My wife asks me why I have spent so long writing up this account of the journey. I have done it for at least two reasons. Firstly, to remind me of how things went wrong, and how we coped. Secondly, to remind me to carry out checks more thoroughly, and to ensure I can cope more easily with things like refuelling whilst underway. And, I suppose, a third reason is to tell you, the readers, so that perhaps you will also be better prepared than we were, even though I had done all the checks, etc, that I thought needed to be done before the journey. Asking Brixham Coastguard for assistance was, I think, the only sensible thing to do, although I still feel rather guilty about having to do so. I felt more at ease about it when, in the September issue of ‘Practical Boat Owner’, I read that Michael Buerk, the well known TV presenter was himself rescued by the RNLI off Lymington, when his own yacht’s engine failed.
There is more to this story, but I think I will leave that for another page entry!
Next Episode:
Fouled air filter from engine oil.
Another engine and changing parts
Changing all filters
Twisted forestay
Purchase of Top Climber.
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