24th to 25th June 2022
When we woke, the sea and the sky had both lost their fabulous blue colour, and it was a grey windy morning, with clouds that threatened to soak us. Time to leave Paradise, before the weather gets too unpleasant.
The Isles of Scilly, strewn as they are with submerged rocks, are famous for requiring careful navigation. Charts of the area show all the rocks, but they also mark the position of hundreds of wrecks, a grim reminder of sailors who have got it wrong. Most notoriously, in 1707 the splendidly-named Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovell, returning to England after fighting the French, was killed along with nearly 2,000 sailors when his fleet ran onto the Scillonian rocks. This disaster was one of the things that prompted Parliament to pass the Longitude Act, offering a massive financial reward to anyone who could find an accurate way of finding longitude at sea. The best-known beneficiary of this Act was John Harrison, who developed a series of clocks that kept time with unprecedented accuracy, and did so even on a ship on the rolling ocean. If a navigator could tell what time it was in Greenwich and compare that to the local time (noon defined as the moment when the sun is highest in the sky) he could determine his longitude east or west of Greenwich with reasonable accuracy. Star sights can also give a position, if you have an accurate timepiece. None of this would probably have helped Sir Cloudesley, sailing on a dirty night in November when not a star could be seen.
Nowadays, with satellite navigation systems, the problem has gone away. The plotter on Goldfinch has a little picture of a boat overlaid on a chart of the area, meaning 'you are here'. There are various established tricks you can use to make sure you miss the rocks, usually by lining up two conspicuous landmarks: as long as they stay in line, you know you are in safe water. We followed these as we sailed round St Mary's, keeping Great Minalto in line with Mincarlo and suchlike; but it is so much less stressful than it was a few decades ago, knowing exactly where you are at any moment.
The last buoy you pass as you leave the Isles of Scilly is called Spanish Ledge, marking a dangerous shallow area between St Mary's and Gugh. It prompted us to sing the old sea-shanty:
Farewell and adieu, to you Spanish ladies
Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain,
For we've received orders for to sail to old England;
We hope in a short time to see you again.
We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors,
We'll rove an we'll roam over all the salt seas,
Until we strike soundings in the Channel of old England;
From Ushant to Scilly 'tis thirty-five leagues.
The rest of the song is about a passage up the Channel, naming some of the major headlands that we will pass as Goldfinch returns home.
As we said farewell and adieu to the Isles of Scilly, there was a fresh breeze from the south-south-west, with some big rolling waves. For much of the passage it was wet. In these conditions the admirable Marvin finds it difficult to steer, so we had to have a person on the wheel, doing their best to keep the boat on course as the waves made her lurch one way and the other. The blue of Paradise was a fading memory; but we had all helped ourselves to Stugeron, and there was a certain perverse excitement in steering the boat in these conditions. We even had yet another encounter with dolphins: this time they seemed to be revelling in the big waves, jumping high out of the water and turning on their sides so they came down with a flop.
After six hours we arrived at Newlyn. This is primarily a fishing port but they do welcome yachts: if you phone the harbour you get a recorded message that includes the comforting words 'we will never turn anyone away'. For a sailing boat going between the Isles of Scilly and the mainland, Newlyn is almost the only conveniently-placed port. It is possible to get into Penzance, but not at all states of the tide, and for anyone wanting to go round the Lizard the times never work out in your favour.
Newlyn did indeed welcome us, and we were given a berth rafted up next to another yacht, and close to a small fishing boat. The harbour was full, and many of the fishing vessels were quite sizeable. It was a Friday, and lots of boats had seemingly come in recently and were planning to stay for the weekend.
We asked the harbourmaster if there were any good pubs nearby. He gave us a list of three or four. One of these was not recommended if you weren't a fourth-generation fisherman ('it will go quiet when you enter'). But the Red Lion suited our purpose, and after a couple of pints there we returned to the boat for dinner.
The next day we had a look at the weather forecast. It was similar to the day before, with perhaps slightly less wind but slightly bigger waves, as the sea had had a chance to build up energy. The direction of the wind was also similar - south-west. The forecast for the day after was for very strong winds, so we had a choice between going now (Saturday) or waiting till Monday. We decided to go.
Our next destination was Falmouth. Between us and there was the Lizard. This mighty headland is the most southerly point of mainland Britain, so once we had passed it we would have completed the set: Lowestoft in the east, Dunnet Head in the north, Ardnamurchan Point in the west, and now the Lizard in the south.
The Lizard gets its name from the Cornish Lys Ardh, meaning High Court, so it's not really anything to do with reptiles; but as it happens, its profile as you approach it from seaward is very alligator-like. Its most southerly corner is the only part of the mainland that dips below the line of 50 degrees north latitude. Any big headland like this gets in the way of the tide as it flows up and down the Channel, and if you try to go round it at the wrong time you can experience some very rough and dangerous seas. The recommended approach is to arrive off the point when the tide is just beginning to turn, so the impact is at its least.
The first three hours of our passage were exciting. As predicted, the wind was not quite as strong as the previous day, but it was fresh enough, and our sails were well-reefed. The waves were mostly bearable, though from time to time we went through a patch of big rollers coming at us from the side, tipping the boat over and knocking us off course. But the rain held off, and much of the day was sunny, so we cautiously agreed we were having fun, touching wood and scratching the backstay so as to avert any bad luck that might have been caused by that admission.
I had planned to pass the Lizard a good two miles off; even at slack water the fresh breeze could kick up an uncomfortable sea at the corner. With the wind direction we had, we didn't quite make this offing, and rounded the point about a mile off. It was quite bouncy for a while, but not intolerable.
Once past the headland, our course turned north-east and the wind was behind us. We furled the mainsail and contined under headsail alone. Suddenly, now we were moving with the wind, the conditions appeared to be much calmer. The waves were behind us, so we weren't being rolled, and the sun was still shining. With the favourable tide we were making a good seven knots much of the time.
We kept these relaxing conditions until we were at the entrance to Falmouth Harbour. It is a wide entrance. On the left is Pendennis Castle, and on the right is St Anthony Head, with its cute lighthouse that featured (so I am told) in Fraggle Rock.
In the middle of the entrance is Black Rock, marked by an unmissable isolated danger beacon. Shortly after we passed it we were hit by a squall, with a sudden blast of wind and a downpour of rain. In the harbour were a number of sailing boats, including the pretty traditional gaff-rigged Falmouth oyster dredgers; as well as being used for leisure sailing some of these boats are still used for commercial fishing, under sail. In the squall they were being laid flat on their ears.
Falmouth is a big harbour, used for commercial traffic as well as yachting. There are a number of marinas there; the first two I called said they were full, but the Falmouth Haven Marina said they could probably fit us in. We found a spot rafted three deep on the northern pontoon. With the forecast promising a strong blow on Sunday, no one was planning to leave.
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