19th to 20th June 2022
On 18th June I flew back to Dublin. The flight was delayed by nearly two hours, and when I emerged at the other end, a quick search revealed that the only way of getting to Dun Laoghaire before 10pm was to take a taxi. The rest of the crew were already back on Goldfinch, and were sending me messages to say that there was currry and wine waiting for me, but the wine was fast disappearing.
I got to the boat before all the wine had gone, and enjoyed a fine plate of curry cooked by Mike.
In the morning, most of us walked up to the Forty Foot for breakfast. This is a Wetherspoons pub near the harbour, named after a local famous outdoor pool. People have enjoyed this pool for over a hundred years, and it is mentioned in James Joyce's Ulysses. There is an information board in the pub which says that there are many theories about why it is called the Forty Foot, but no evidence to support any of them. While pondering this, we enjoyed breakfasts of pancakes and maple syrup, eggs, bacon and sausages. There were only two visible members of staff, one cleaning and the other one taking and delivering orders (though presumably there was also a cook in the kitchen). The lady serving was, like Lily the housemaid in Joyce's Dubliners, literally rushed off her feet; but she remained cheerful, adding to our enjoyment of the leisurely morning.
But this is a blog about sailing, so we better get back to the boat. We left Dun Laoghaire shortly after one pm, and once we were out in the bay we unfurled the headsail and cut the engine. It was sunny as we sailed through the Dalkey Sound, between Dalkey Island and the mainland, and continued southwards. There was a fine Force 4 from the north.
This was a splendid passage, mostly under sail, and a welcome antidote to last month's experiences. You may remember that last time I posted in this blog we were somewhat downhearted, beset by bad weather, bad backs and Covid, and nowhere near Milford Haven, our target end port for May's leg of the Two Summers voyage. Now, after a three-week break and blessed by fair winds and fine weather, all those cares were cast aside. We often joke that sailing is nice when it stops, but sometimes, like now, it is nice while it's happening.
In the early evening we arrived in Arklow. It is a small harbour with a narrow entrance; we moored up alongside the long pontoon, squeezing into a small gap between two other boats - quite a tricky manoeuvre in gusty winds and surrounded by other boats, and shallow water only a few feet away.
The plan was to continue the next morning to Kilmore Quay, on the south-east corner of Ireland. I had looked at the tidal streams and worked out that unfortunately we would have to leave Arklow at four in the morning. When the harbour master arrived he asked us what time we were leaving, and we told him how early it was. His first reaction was to comment (truthfully) that that was a terrible time to have to get up. Then when we told him we were heading to Kilmore Quay, he said it was completely the wrong time, as we would have foul tide all the way. This was not what my tidal app had told me, and I must have looked askance at him, so he said he would check. I also checked and double checked, because it's always worth listening to the locals. But I came up with the same answer - four am.
Later the HM came back and gave us the bad news: I was right. Sometimes the locals are wrong too!
This close to the solstice the nights are short. We were up before the sun, but it was already easily light enough to see as we slipped our lines and left Arklow. The weather was fine again, and the forecast didn't promise us much in the way of wind; but as it turned out we managed to sail about half of the way, including a delightful hour or so sailing 'goose-winged' with the mainsail out to one side and the headsail on the other. This is only done when the wind is more or less directly behind the boat, and it can be tricky to steer in anything but the most benign conditions; but that is what we had.
The time did come, however, when the wind was simply not strong enough to keep us going at a reasonable pace, so the engine came on and we motored the rest of the way, arriving at Kilmore Quay at about lunchtime.
This corner of Ireland is known as the Sunny South-East, and claims to enjoy more sunshine than the rest of the island. Kilmore Quay is a charming place that seems to have grown organically around fishing and then, in more recent years, tourism. The marina where we berthed Goldfinch is in a small harbour with a narrow entrance; and on the way in the entrance was made even narrower by a large fishing boat that was parked there. In the town there are holiday cottages and all the establisments that their customers could require - seafood restaurants, shops and a pub-cum-hotel which provided us with a welcoming pint after lunch and with a tasty meal in the evening (though Mike ordered a seafood platter, and the staff were somewhat bemused by his requests for the tools needed to crack open his crab claws; in the end he did it by brute force).
We went to bed well fed and watered, ready to take on the long passage that was to come.
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