Day 26
Friday 28th May
Forecast quite good to get to Scilly. Light southerly wind. I motorsailed all the way, taking exactly seven hours. There was little sea and
visibility was very good. Porth Cressa is a lovely anchorage and handy for Hughtown, but the wind started to get up, and soon the boats were rocking and rolling. All the yachts cleared out. My nearest neighbour suggested Green Bay, on Bryher as being most sheltered, with the added benefit for bilge-keelers that you dry out on the sand over low water, thereby guaranteeing a still night. It took an hour to sail over and re-anchor. There is G3 coverage, too. So all is well again.
Friday 28th May
Forecast quite good to get to Scilly. Light southerly wind. I motorsailed all the way, taking exactly seven hours. There was little sea and
visibility was very good. Porth Cressa is a lovely anchorage and handy for Hughtown, but the wind started to get up, and soon the boats were rocking and rolling. All the yachts cleared out. My nearest neighbour suggested Green Bay, on Bryher as being most sheltered, with the added benefit for bilge-keelers that you dry out on the sand over low water, thereby guaranteeing a still night. It took an hour to sail over and re-anchor. There is G3 coverage, too. So all is well again.Day 27
Saturday 29th May
As predicted, it blew mightily in the night, but sitting high and dry gave me a good night's sleep. Woke early and as the boat lifted, I set the anchor drag alarm, but I need not have bothered. The wind veered about 90 degrees in the early hours as the front passed, but this is a sheltered place.
So a lazy late rising was in order and I dutifully rose at 09.30 as soon as the boat dried out.
After a hearty breakfast it was time to explore, and donning wellies, I waded through an inch or two of water towards the shore, meeting my friend and guide of last night, Mike, another livaboard, on the beach. As we chatted a tractor drove onto the sands and began raking for cockles. We passed the time of day for some time before going our separate ways. I found a dirt track from the beach leading uphill past cottages with delightful gardens, and found the pub. Called Hell Bay, it was not what I expected. It is basically a motel without cars, very yuppy, and staffed by what can only be described as “beautiful people”. Not a hair, not a freckle out of place. There is even a golf course, so you can imagine the clientèle. I was able to order a coffee and read the newspaper, and found a very good little guide book. The views here are amazing. It puts me in mind of Bohusland, on the west coast of Sweden. Granite crags rising majestically from the sea. Only here the climate is so mild they seem to be able to grow anything. Whilst I read the cricket report from Lord's the heavens opened. A good sign: the cold font must be here, and it would soon be sunny again. The shower was brief and presently I was trotting down the track to the post office and shop, which was amazingly well-stocked. Here I got a pasty, bread, milk and tomatoes and a very useful little spade, intended no doubt for the construction of sandcastles, but well suited for digging in the anchor. As the wind was still veering westerly I hauled the anchor round more to the west and dug it in. The sun was now out, but the wind was still quite strong. Apparently this bay is the best shelter in the whole archipelago. Mike said he would go over the charts with me and show me the best anchorages. He intends to “neap” his boat, a Westerly Consort, and carry out maintenance on the underwater hull. It is now spring tides, so he will be high and dry for a fortnight.
Saturday 29th May
As predicted, it blew mightily in the night, but sitting high and dry gave me a good night's sleep. Woke early and as the boat lifted, I set the anchor drag alarm, but I need not have bothered. The wind veered about 90 degrees in the early hours as the front passed, but this is a sheltered place.
So a lazy late rising was in order and I dutifully rose at 09.30 as soon as the boat dried out.
After a hearty breakfast it was time to explore, and donning wellies, I waded through an inch or two of water towards the shore, meeting my friend and guide of last night, Mike, another livaboard, on the beach. As we chatted a tractor drove onto the sands and began raking for cockles. We passed the time of day for some time before going our separate ways. I found a dirt track from the beach leading uphill past cottages with delightful gardens, and found the pub. Called Hell Bay, it was not what I expected. It is basically a motel without cars, very yuppy, and staffed by what can only be described as “beautiful people”. Not a hair, not a freckle out of place. There is even a golf course, so you can imagine the clientèle. I was able to order a coffee and read the newspaper, and found a very good little guide book. The views here are amazing. It puts me in mind of Bohusland, on the west coast of Sweden. Granite crags rising majestically from the sea. Only here the climate is so mild they seem to be able to grow anything. Whilst I read the cricket report from Lord's the heavens opened. A good sign: the cold font must be here, and it would soon be sunny again. The shower was brief and presently I was trotting down the track to the post office and shop, which was amazingly well-stocked. Here I got a pasty, bread, milk and tomatoes and a very useful little spade, intended no doubt for the construction of sandcastles, but well suited for digging in the anchor. As the wind was still veering westerly I hauled the anchor round more to the west and dug it in. The sun was now out, but the wind was still quite strong. Apparently this bay is the best shelter in the whole archipelago. Mike said he would go over the charts with me and show me the best anchorages. He intends to “neap” his boat, a Westerly Consort, and carry out maintenance on the underwater hull. It is now spring tides, so he will be high and dry for a fortnight.
Day 28
Sunday 30th May
Dull drizzly day. Cheered myself up with a full monty breakfast, then put the dinghy in the water and got ready to hit the big time. The notice by the quay said there would be a ferry to St. Mary's at 10.45. I bagged up the accumulated rubbish and packed a folding brolly, then rowed to the shore, leaving the dinghy up past the high water mark, as I thought, then set off along the track to the quay. I overtook a family going the same way and fell into conversation with the father. They are spending a week's holiday here, and come here regularly. At the quay a ferry came in from Tresco and went on to St. Mary's, so on I got, the only passenger. It took about fifteen minutes to cross the sound.
Sunday 30th May
Dull drizzly day. Cheered myself up with a full monty breakfast, then put the dinghy in the water and got ready to hit the big time. The notice by the quay said there would be a ferry to St. Mary's at 10.45. I bagged up the accumulated rubbish and packed a folding brolly, then rowed to the shore, leaving the dinghy up past the high water mark, as I thought, then set off along the track to the quay. I overtook a family going the same way and fell into conversation with the father. They are spending a week's holiday here, and come here regularly. At the quay a ferry came in from Tresco and went on to St. Mary's, so on I got, the only passenger. It took about fifteen minutes to cross the sound.
Hugh Town is no place to be on a wet Sunday. Most of the shops are shut, and as the place is about the size of Headcorn, the sights are soon taken in. Visibility about half a mile when not raining, less when rai
ning. The brolly was in action from the start. Coffee was called for, and I think there were more people in the pub than in the rest of the town. All the tables were taken, but there was a small annexe to the rear where I found a place, and wrote postcards whilst eking out the cappuccino. Cheaper than in Maidstone. There is a limit to how long you can make one coffee last, and all too soon I was out in the drizzle. Because of the spring tides, low water would prevent the return trip to Bryher before three o'clock. The sensible thing to do was to have Sunday lunch somewhere. I lit upon the Pilot's Gig Restaurant. The place was almost full, a good sign usually, but perhaps the weather was playing its part. There was one table left. When it came, and promptly, it was excellent. Quite the best broccoli and Stilton soup I have ever had; a fine roast lamb with 6 veg; apple pie with cream and a pint of Boddington's, followed by coffee. Two more postcards were written. The room began to empty. One waitress brought her own lunch out and began to eat.
Calling the other lady over I enquired about Ted and Kate Pearce, some friends from way back who were thought to have retired here. The waitress did not know them, but said she knew someone who might, and spoke to an elderly couple opposite. They waved me over. It turned out that they were friends of the Pearce's, and brought me up to date. They had always had a cottage on St. Mary's, but when they retired could not get planning permission to enlarge it, so they ended up in Marazion. Ted had passed on about five years ago, but Kate was still very much alive . They gave me her address and telephone number. And it was nearly time to get the ferry back. On Bryher I picked up some new potatoes from a farm stall and made my way back to the boat. Mike had clearly been working hard on the hull and keels of his yacht. He invited me in for a cuppa, and we fell to yarning about boats, harbours and motorbikes. The lapping of water informed us that the tide was back up, and we suddenly thought of my dinghy. When we looked, it had drifted off and was about 50 metres away. There was no wind, and it wasn't going far. We quickly launched Mike's tender and he rowed me out to it. Then Murphy's Law kicked in, and a gentle zephyr drove the inflatable back to shore! One of life's little tricks. It was good to row out to Pepsand and change into dry clothes. Later I rang Kate and we had a good talk.
ning. The brolly was in action from the start. Coffee was called for, and I think there were more people in the pub than in the rest of the town. All the tables were taken, but there was a small annexe to the rear where I found a place, and wrote postcards whilst eking out the cappuccino. Cheaper than in Maidstone. There is a limit to how long you can make one coffee last, and all too soon I was out in the drizzle. Because of the spring tides, low water would prevent the return trip to Bryher before three o'clock. The sensible thing to do was to have Sunday lunch somewhere. I lit upon the Pilot's Gig Restaurant. The place was almost full, a good sign usually, but perhaps the weather was playing its part. There was one table left. When it came, and promptly, it was excellent. Quite the best broccoli and Stilton soup I have ever had; a fine roast lamb with 6 veg; apple pie with cream and a pint of Boddington's, followed by coffee. Two more postcards were written. The room began to empty. One waitress brought her own lunch out and began to eat.Calling the other lady over I enquired about Ted and Kate Pearce, some friends from way back who were thought to have retired here. The waitress did not know them, but said she knew someone who might, and spoke to an elderly couple opposite. They waved me over. It turned out that they were friends of the Pearce's, and brought me up to date. They had always had a cottage on St. Mary's, but when they retired could not get planning permission to enlarge it, so they ended up in Marazion. Ted had passed on about five years ago, but Kate was still very much alive . They gave me her address and telephone number. And it was nearly time to get the ferry back. On Bryher I picked up some new potatoes from a farm stall and made my way back to the boat. Mike had clearly been working hard on the hull and keels of his yacht. He invited me in for a cuppa, and we fell to yarning about boats, harbours and motorbikes. The lapping of water informed us that the tide was back up, and we suddenly thought of my dinghy. When we looked, it had drifted off and was about 50 metres away. There was no wind, and it wasn't going far. We quickly launched Mike's tender and he rowed me out to it. Then Murphy's Law kicked in, and a gentle zephyr drove the inflatable back to shore! One of life's little tricks. It was good to row out to Pepsand and change into dry clothes. Later I rang Kate and we had a good talk.
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