25th - 26th May 2022
Goldfinch's logbook, in which we record key navigational events for each passage, has a heading at the top of each page saying 'Voyage from .... to ....'. It is our practice to fill in the departure port but leave the destination blank until we've got there. In a sailing boat dependent on the weather and the moods of the sea, it would be tempting fate to commit to ink the name of the place you are going to.
Yesterday, 25th May, was a perfect example. I ended my last blog post by saying our next intended destination was Arklow. The weather forecast was fairly positive: a Force 4 from the west. So we hoped our passage southwards would be tolerable, despite the various ailments that afflicted the crew. It was quite breezy as we left Howth, and by the time we were out at sea it was clear that the wind was a good force stronger than predicted, and from a more southerly direction (which would make sailing that way harder).
At this stage Mike reported feeling more or less recovered, but with (in his words) a throat like a badger's armpit. Chris was feeling quite poorly, and stayed below in her sleeping bag. Bryan and Debbie were getting very early cold-like symptoms but for the moment were relatively active. My back was somewhat better: I thought it would be OK to steer, but not to do any winching or pulling on ropes. So with good intentions we set out, not at 100% fitness but ready to face a day's brisk sailing.
As we started to cross Dublin Bay our self-confidence went overboard (as did my hat, caught by a particularly cheeky gust). The sea was choppy and the wind quite strong, so we had to roll away more than half of our sail area to avoid being over-canvassed. Then Debbie voiced the thought that was going through everyone's head: 'I'm not really enjoying this.'
This was only an hour into the passage. If we were already feeling uncomfortable, it would have been unbearable long before we reached Arklow. So we decided instead to divert to nearby Dún Laoghaire, just to the south of Dublin.
Unfortunately this meant turning straight into the wind and waves. It's impossible to sail directly into wind, and in conditions like this even using the engine is difficult and unpleasant. So we changed our minds again and decided to go back to Howth.
When we were nearly back across Dublin Bay we realised that Dún Laoghaire now lay in a somewhat more convenient direction, so we had one last change of plan for the day and turned that way.
Dublin itself is a busy port. In the bay there are two Traffic Separation Schemes. These are something like dual carriageways for ships, each consisting of two lanes in which traffic may only travel in one direction. Small vessels like Goldfinch are supposed to avoid entering these if possible. The existence of these lanes means that large ships coming or going in or out of port will inevitably converge on them. As we turned towards our latest intended destination we had to deal with three ferries coming out of Dublin (one of them a high-speed catamaran), one coming into Dublin, and a cargo vessel approaching from the south. Having successfully dodged these vessels we safely reached the side of the bay that is outside the main shipping channels and carried on towards Dún Laoghaire.
This is a large artificial harbour to the south of Dublin, where there is a huge marina. We called them on the VHF but got no reply, so Bryan tried phoning them, and we were allocated berth SG21, but with no instructions about where that was in the marina. By chance we picked the right side of the web of pontoons, and safely made fast at just after ten in the morning, less than three hours after setting out from Howth.
It was time to take stock. I had been able to steer for a short time, but it was clear that a longer passage would put a strain on my back; even just sitting when the boat is underway involves muscular effort. Chris was looking very pale when we arrived at Dún Laoghaire, and it seemed only a matter of time before Bryan and Debbie succumbed to the virus. Meanwhile we had a message from Adam back in Cambridge saying he had tested positive.
It was still only Wednesday, and we had train tickets back home from Milford Haven on Sunday. So one option was to wait a day or two and continue the journey, maybe going to Arklow on Friday and then across to Milford on Saturday. This last passage would have been about 80 miles, which would take well over 12 hours: possible for a fit and healthy crew but daunting for an ailing one.
Officially we kept our options open; but speaking personally I think I'd already decided that it would be better to stop now, leave the boat in Dún Laoghaire and fly home from Dublin. When we return in June we will be about two or three days behind schedule; but this was always going to be a possibility due to the unpredictable nature of the weather (though I must admit I hadn't expected Covid to play such a big part this year). The overall plan of circumnavigating Britain is still very much achievable, though some of the details may have to change.
On Thursday I decided I was mobile enough to venture gingerly into the town. In an old converted 19th-century church there is a maritime museum in which I learned that the town was originally referred to by its English spelling (Dunleary), and changed its name to Kingstown after a visit from George IV. It changed back to its old name, this time with the proper Irish spelling Dún Laoghaire, in 1920. The museum also tells the story of the sinking of the RMS Leinster in 1918, torpedoed by a German U-boat in Dublin Bay, with more than 500 lives lost. The submarine, whose crew were almost all aged 19-20 (including the captain), was itself destroyed by a mine later that year, with loss of all hands.
As I write this it is very windy outside. With so many yachts in the big marina, the noise of the wind is magnified as it howls through the masts and rigging, accompanied by the incessant tapping of halliards against aluminium masts. Perhaps it sounds worse than it is; but I for one am glad that we have decided to end this month's leg here (and that the marina are happy to accommodate us).
So here we are till Saturday. We've strolled round the town, and we have stocked up on food and other essentials like gin and wine; but we can't responsibly go to the pub or a restaurant till everyone is over the virus, so apart from brief walks we are confined to the boat. Still, it's a nice enough spot and we are at least safe and comfortable.
See you next month.
Gosh, you’re facing no end of challenges! I think you’re wise to call it a day for the moment, and get back to when you’re all fit again, anyway, we need you back in the first row of basses! cheers peter