19 - 21 May 2022
The passage from Bangor to Peel on the Isle of Man is about the same distance as that awful stretch from Campbeltown to Bangor. But what a contrast!
It was an early start, but not quite as stupidly early as the previous one. So we had time to eat some breakfast and down some Stugeron. It was a calm and sunny morning as we left Bangor. A few miles along the coast we passed between the mainland and a little island called Copeland, after which we could point Goldfinch's bow towards Peel, unfurl the sails and cut the engine.
From then on we had a good six hours or more of perfect sailing. The wind was mostly Force 4 or 5, and the direction of the wind meant we could almost steer exactly the course we needed. The breeze fluctuated from time to time during the passage, so we were kept busy reefing and unreefing to adjust the sails to the conditions. Most of the time we were doing at least 6 knots, and with the favourable tide we were frequently getting closer to our destination at 7 knots or more. This was Adam's last passage on this trip, as he had to fly home at the weekend, and he made the most of it by being at the wheel for at least half the time.
When we reached the Isle of Man we were only about half a mile downwind of the entrance to Peel Harbour. We started the engine, furled the sails, and motored the last short stretch. There is a footbridge at the entrance which swings aside every half-hour to allow boats with masts to pass in. Once past this we were guided to our mooring berth in the marina, arriving at about quarter past two in the afternoon.
There is a pub on the waterfront called the Creek Inn which Mike and Bryan remember from a previous trip when they'd arrived after an exhausting passage and found to their delight that there was a festival of traditional Manx music, with live performers in the pub. This time there was no band, but the Okell's bitter was nevertheless very welcome. I tried to contact the marina office but Thursdays are early closing day, so there was no one there.
The next day we took a bus to Douglas, the capital of the Isle of Man. On the way we passed Tynwald Hill, an artificial mound built from soil taken from all of the different parishes of the island. The Tynwald is the Isle of Man's parliament, which claims to be the oldest in the world, dating back more than 1,000 years. Normally it meets in Douglas, but once a year on 5th July it gathers at Tynwald Hill with full pomp and ceremony to promulgate the legislation that has been passed in the previous year. The Island is a Crown Protectorate, with a status similar (but not identical) to that of the Channel Islands; its Head of State, the Lord of Mann, is the Queen.
We arrived in Douglas around lunchtime, and took appropriate action in a pub right by the station. Then we boarded a little steam train down to Port Erin. Fans of Thomas the Tank Engine will remember that the stories are set on a fictional island called Sodor, between the Isle of Man and Britain. The name came from the fact that the local bishop is formally known as the Bishop of Sodor and Man. The word 'Sodor' comes from a Norse word meaning 'South Islands' and originally referred to the Outer Hebrides; but it's been centuries since the bishop had any influence over those islands, and his title is just an archaic leftover. The Revd Awdry, who wrote the Thomas stories, thought that the poor old bish should have an actual Sodor to oversee, so he made up the extra island. Anyway, as you can imagine, the station at Douglas from where we took the steam train is packed with Tank Engine-abilia.
The train ride was enjoyable, passing through rolling green countryside and along the coast. Port Erin is a pretty seaside town, with a beach that boasts an old Victorian bathing machine. This is a kind of covered cart on wheels, where refined ladies could step down through a trap door and enjoy the benefits of sea-bathing without being seen.
It was wet in Port Erin, so we weren't able to enjoy its charms in comfort; but really the point of going there was the journey, not the arrival. We returned to Douglas by bus, again through picturesque scenery, and then went back to Peel. We had planned to eat out that evening, but we hadn't booked a table, and being Friday night all the nice-looking places were full. We eventually found the Marine Hotel, an unpretentious place where we had some decent food.
On the Saturday we had a relaxed day in Peel. On the harbour-front there is a museum called the House of Manannan. This tells the history of the island from pre-historic times right up to the present, via a series of realistic tableaux with audio recordings of real or imagined people speaking of their first-hand experiences of living in Man. It starts with a family group huddled in their hut with a storm raging outside; the grandfather is telling a story to comfort his granddaughter, and through this story we hear something of their mythology. In subsequent tableaux we are shown the Celtic people and the invasion (or perhaps immigration) of Vikings; much of the island's culture, like that of Orkney and the Hebrides, is the product of the blending of these two cultures.
After visiting the museum some of us walked up the hill overlooking the harbour. It was a clear sunny day (for the time being) and there were great views over Peel town, and also out to sea. A rally of yachts were arriving from Ireland; about half a dozen turned up more or less together, but there were at least as many more stretched out in a line, the furthest being almost on the horizon. They had had a breezy crossing.
It was our last night on the Isle of Man, and Adam's last night of the holiday. We dined on wood-fired pizza from Black Dog, which had not been open on Friday night.
The next day we had to get up early to catch the six o'clock opening of the footbridge. But the next day is a different story.
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