Author: Mate

Monday 27 March

Skipper spent most of this morning with his mobile phone plugged to his ear, discussing possibilities of having me lifted out of the water, and finding someone qualified who has the time to do the work. This is the busiest time of the year for boatyards with cranes, as most owners lift their boats out of the water for the winter, and want them back in around now for the new season’s sailing. Similarly, experienced welders familiar with working in aluminium are few and far between in this country, unlike in France and the Netherlands, where metal boats are much more common. Those in the know have full order books. Skipper was somewhat frustrated to be told that a lift-out could be booked for after 7 May, and the nearest metal worker could fit us in in five or six weeks.

Thank goodness the weather was calmer today, and the evenings are now definitely longer, ensuring a happier atmosphere on board.

Sunday 26 March

At 0400, just after the clocks had sprung forward to British Summer Time, Skipper was awoken by the howling wind and put on wet weather gear to go and check I was still safe and securely tied up. He spent some time hauling extra fenders out of my sail locker, on a bow bucking more than it often does at sea, and tying them securely along the pontoon to protect my hull.

The crew had just about settled back down by 0500 when a series of huge crashes at their heads propelled them straight back into outdoor clothing and up on deck in double-quick time to see what had happened. Both the mooring lines of the little motor boat in front of me had broken – completely come apart, not chafed through, obviously not adequate for the task – one of its fenders had popped back into the cockpit and the other had broken free of its line and was floating between my bow and the edge of the pontoon. Waves were breaking frequently over the pontoon and these had lifted the boat and surged it into my stem.

Skipper grabbed one of my spare lines and managed to tie it onto the stern of the other boat, securing it to a cleat much further away down the pontoon. He then reached again across the black frothing water, the splashes regularly soaking him as the boat seemed to be trying to mount the pontoon atop the waves, to retie the boat’s own bow warp into a pair of joined bowlines to fasten it to a forward cleat. It was obvious, even in the pitch dark, that the little ship was sustaining considerable damage as it slammed repeatedly into the pontoon, with no protection left.

Grateful for daybreak, my crew surveyed the apparent damage to my bow, took some preliminary photos once the light was strong enough, and made their weary way to the ‘Welcome Booth’ of the harbour, at the top of the gangway from the marina. Lovely Anne was on duty that morning, she of a wealth of local knowledge, an empathetic manner and oodles of common sense. She listened calmly to our sorry tale, took a full report, and went straight down to the pontoon with camera and mobile phone. She surveyed both vessels and recorded the immediately visible damage to both with a series of photos.  Usually I love to pose, but on this occasion, I wasn’t feeling my best.

She was able to identify the motorboat and a swift succession of phone calls soon pinpointed the owner, who was duly summoned. As it happened, this was out of something of a hangover-slumber: it was his 30th birthday, and he’d decided the evening before that a boat was a preferable means of transport home to the car that he was in no fit state to drive…It transpired later that he had built this boat, he’s the son of one of the oyster fisherman, and has grown up around boats and the sea. One can’t help hoping that this will be a life lesson hard learned. At least he’s unlikely ever to forget this particular ‘special’ birthday.

Meanwhile, Skipper made the initial call to the insurance company, having obtained the young man’s particulars along with a humble apology. A metal-working acquaintance he’d brought with him gave a rough assessment of a couple of hundred pounds’ worth of repair work, following a lift out in a boatyard.

The weather remained windy, so willing hands were gratefully accepted to help me move into a more sheltered berth on the landward side of the marina [shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted?]. Plans for a day out having long since been aborted, my tired crew retired to my warm and comfortable saloon to lick their emotional wounds.

Saturday 25 March

My crew decided they needed to return to Falmouth Visitors’ Yacht Haven, to refill my water tanks and buy some fresh provisions, ready for the planned passage to the Isles of Scilly early next week, when the weather outlook seemed to be improving. Mate was hoping to catch an early bus to Truro tomorrow morning, to enjoy the Mothering Sunday service in the country’s youngest cathedral, and take time for a little sightseeing.

We gave my lovely big genoa (foresail) an airing for a short reach downriver in the Carrick Roads, playing tag with the local oyster fishermen whilst enjoying pleasant weather and pretty scenery. The River Fal is the only place in the UK where traditional methods of gathering shellfish are still employed: to reduce pollution and keep alive ancient skills, the men are not allowed engines and must balance sails and oars against wind and tide – a fascinating and humbling sight from my shiny, modern, all-mod-cons decks.

Mate felt brave enough to take me back into the alongside berth I’d occupied on our last visit, once Skipper had set up all the lines and fenders (I won’t embarrass him by mentioning how much quicker Mate does this: obviously a little more practice needed). We came in smoothly and soon Bertha was ready for the 10km round trip to Sainsbury’s. After supper, Mate enjoyed a well-earned long hot shower up at the facilities. Coming home, she noticed three men bring in a small motor boat just ahead of me, and was unhappy that they seemed to be very close, having tied one of their ropes over my bow line on the forward pontoon cleat. The wind was already building to a strong Easterly, blowing us onto the dock.

Friday 24 March

This morning was definitely a two-handed job, as Skipper fitted the AIS ‘mushroom’ to the aerial tree on my stern arch: Mate prone in the cabin below with an arm right into my nether regions to pull the wire through on a mousing line so Skipper could connect it into the wiring panel behind the navigation seat.

If you think the British have an obsession with the weather, you should listen to sailors (of any nationality) – watching the weather becomes all-consuming, especially at the beginning and end of the seasons, when it’s very unsettled and therefore difficult to predict with any certainty. It seems my crew prefer to cruise under blue skies, in pleasant breezes and preferably sunshine, and today produced none of any of those, so they decided we’d stay on the river one more night.

Thursday 23 March

The trouble with not being connected to shore power (mains electric) is that there’s never enough juice in the house battery to start the heating, so Trevver has to be roused from his slumber to put some charge back in the bank and get me warmed up inside.  Still, there’s nobody else close enough to be disturbed by him running for a while, and the crew just have to put up with it.

It turned out to be a very wet afternoon, which gave Mate an excuse to curl up with some reading, e-mail correspondence and a puzzle book – to keep her brain exercised – while Skipper pottered with new electronics, fitting the indoor elements of a new AIS transponder.  This will allow other vessels to ‘see’ us, and our identification details, on their onboard computers.

The wind was forecast to blow from the East, so the crew aborted plans to explore the Helford river, famous for Daphne du Maurier’s Frenchman’s Creek, and stay where we were, hoping for better weather in a few days.

Wednesday 22 March

After enjoying a little early sunshine in the cockpit during coffee and lunch, with the help of the new porch shelter, Mate rigged the washing line and spread the fruits of yesterday’s toil all around me to dry in the breeze. It proved a good opportunity to air thoroughly my interior – there’s few enough of those when my crew live aboard all winter.

We were visited by a dory apparently steered by a spaniel, the human in which, with unnecessarily bad grace, demanded £15 for overnight use of one of their (several) unoccupied mooring buoys. He didn’t have the courtesy to offer us a receipt for said fees, and we declined a second night of such hospitality, electing to move maybe three cables (half a kilometre) downstream to anchor off Church Creek for free.

Supper was a steak for Skipper and a ready-made gluten free vegetarian pie for Mate, with roasted Charlotte potatoes and green beans. My crew were careful to keep lights to a minimum as there was no wind to keep the wind generator rotating to give us power in the batteries. They did remember to switch on my anchor light, so any vessels passing in the night know I’m here.

Tuesday 21 March

At last, sunshine and a view. In between enjoying lots of texted birthday greetings, and a couple of phone calls, we prepared to depart Falmouth to explore upriver. By the time we were ready to leave, having filled up with water, the tide was on the ebb and the wind had blown up. Full wet weather gear donned, in view of looming dark low clouds rolling in from the West, we set off up the channel. Even with the trees still dark and bare, it was an attractive potter until a short sharp hailstorm stung the crew’s faces. Mate turned me in a neat double circle to await the crossing of the King Harry Floating Bridge, a chain ferry at Trelissick pontoon, and we finally picked up a buoy near the top of the navigable channel in Malpas Reach, well on the way to Truro.

Puzzled by a peculiar smell through a late lunch, Skipper finally traced it to the starboard stern quarter, where my huge new ball fender had been left blocking the heating outlet. It seems little damage was done, but a large quantity of soot had been deposited on both the fender and my hull, and the smell pervaded the cabin until the system was able to clear itself through. Fixing the essential boat heating would not have been high on Skipper’s list of ways to enjoy his birthday.

In contrast to last year’s special birthday at Ronnie Scott’s in London with family and friends, a quiet supper was prepared by Mate: avocado and cherry tomato salad in balsamic dressing, pan fried scallops in garlic butter with lemon rice and purple broccoli, and a slice of M&S’s best New York cheesecake to finish.

Monday 20 March

This morning I enjoyed an impromptu visit from the crew of my friend Second Lady, whom we met in Dartmouth in a very wet July 2015. They were invited to sample leftover cake with their morning coffee, as a thank you for kindly taxiing my crew to a doctor’s surgery at the top of a steep hill (in the pouring rain, or as it’s known in Cornwall, liquid sunshine) for Skipper to get a poorly toe looked at.

Mate took advantage of the ride to take a load of laundry to Bubbles on Killigrew Street, where she was happily distracted from the chore by an entertaining conversation with a very pleasant young male attendant. By the time all was mostly dry, so was the weather, and the downhill walk homewards was much more pleasant. Some final fresh provisions were picked up in town, and they returned home in time for a brief siesta. Supper was decidedly fishy – some sort of smoked haddock Florentine creation, the odour lingering far too long for my liking.

Sunday 19 March

Promptly at 1000 our guests arrived to enjoy coffee and said cake over a pre-sail briefing, and then put me through my paces out in a windy Carrick Roads. Due to the gusts they set a triple-reefed main with a part-furled staysail, really only pocket handkerchiefs, and Skipper made sure they each had a good session at the helm and adjusting my lifting centreboard. They seemed impressed that I was steady and stable at six knots, and I heard them say how comfortable and quiet I felt underway in the galley and saloon. They already have a nice boat, but are looking for something a bit bigger to take them on more exciting adventures, and I hope I made them realise one of my new 45.9 stablemates would be just the ticket!

We went back to the Visitors’ Haven for the soup and some of Baker Tom’s lovely focaccia, and more discussion about my finer points. It’s good to hear how enthusiastic my crew still are about me.

Saturday 18 March

This morning Mate was up early, having seen signs around town for the Market, on Thursdays and Saturdays from 9am. Bertha was called into commission and the crew set off to The Moor, Falmouth’s market square (and main point for bus arrivals and departures). They found a total of four stalls set out for trading, of which one was a gentleman offering that day’s harvest from his smallholding, including beautiful green-topped carrots in bunches, and white goose eggs. He’d already sold out of rhubarb, so Mate was unable to cross many items off her list, but they did enjoy a friendly chat, before reluctantly resorting to Tesco for some of the remaining requirements.

Skipper ferried the load home for me to mind while Mate waited for lunch to cook: a hot fresh gluten free vegetarian pasty, and a still-not-traditional lamb version in regular pastry for Skipper. These were enjoyed whilst meandering down Arwenack Street, full of pretty shop windows in between a wide range of places to eat. They continued their stroll around the outside of the National Maritime Museum, finishing up with a brief look in Trago, from where they soon emerged empty-handed.

After a rest from the morning exertions, Skipper prepared me for sailing and washed the salt off my decks. Meanwhile Mate got busy in the galley, baking a delicious gluten free orange, pistachio and polenta cake, and making some spicy carrot and parsnip soup for the following day. Supper was fresh lemon sole from the lovely local fishmonger, with roast new potatoes and buttered green beans.