Transports of Delight

By Peter Tiplady

This article first appeared in the March 2003 edition of Sailing Today

Emma and I have always enjoyed trailer sailing small boats. So maybe you do have to get dressed lying down and you can’t sail as far or as fast as a 30 footer. There comes that time in the Autumn when the weather is too cold, the nights are too long, and it’s time to call a halt for another season, whilst the cruiser folk don their thermals and flash up the cabin heaters. Still, you can be 100 miles from home by 8 or 9 o’clock on a Friday evening, snug in some quiet backwater, able to lie afloat or take the ground and with the prospect of new waters to explore over the weekend. A week is ample time to get to the West Country and back without the worry of being storm bound in Dartford.

Living just outside Brighton, we’ve spent the last 10 years or so trailer sailing, initially with a Drascombe Longboat Cruiser and then its successor, a Coaster, visiting the East Coast, Chichester Harbour, the Solent, west coast of Scotland, the West Country, Ireland and the Gulf of Morbihan with many of the longer trips involving Drascombe Association rallies.

The Falmouth area has always been one of our favorite places. The sheltered waters of Carrick Roads and the River Fal with their many small anchorages are ideal for a small shallow draught yacht. We towed our Enterprise dinghy down there during the Queen’s Silver Jubilee, camping near St Mawes and had a great time, so the prospect of a rally based at Mylor Marina in the Golden Jubilee year presented another opportunity for a couple of weeks in the area, with time to sail there and back from Plymouth.

We aquired ‘Siesta’, our Drascombe Drifter about 5 years ago. At 21’6 LOA she’s 3” shorter then a Coaster. With a long keel and two bilge keels rather than a centre plate, she draws 2’0. At about a ton, she’s twice the weight of a Coaster but with a larger cabin (not to mention a huge double berth and a cooker with a grill, so you can have toast with your breakfast). She’s a tad too heavy to launch and recover every time we sail, so we keep her on a drying pontoon in Portsmouth Harbour and sail in the Solent most weekends with occasional trips to Poole, trailing further afield for summer holidays.

So, one Friday evening last July saw us on the slip at Gosport, winching Siesta onto the piggyback trailer for the drive to Plymouth, behind ‘Littlefoot’ our venerable 4X4. Four hours later, at around midnight, we pulled into the truck stop at Lee Mill, just off the A38 and about 6 miles short of Plymouth, for a few hours sleep in the boat. With its all-night loos it’s a good place to stop - maybe not as good as Polyphant on the A30 Launceston by-pass, where the lady who serves the teas and bacon rolls is on station by 0530. First light next morning and we were on the public slip at the Mount Batten Centre in Turnchapel. Built for flying boats, the slip is ideal for any size of trailer sailer. We launched and motored to the visitors’ pontoon at the nearby Plymouth Yacht Haven, to finish rigging the boat and meet our friends Jim and Lyn with their Drifter ‘Lady Bess’ with whom we planned to sail to Falmouth.

With a forecast of fine weather and a light southwesterly breeze, we were on our way by noon, for an uneventful passage across Whitsand Bay, past Looe Island and into Fowey for the night. The harbour was crowded with visiting yachts and we motored past the china clay wharfs and into Pen Poll Creek, a quiet backwater surrounded by low hills, to dry out for a night on the mud. As the light faded and the curry and red wine slid down, we watched Roe Deer playing on the hillside and a Buzzard come in to feed its youngster, perched in a tree by the edge of the creek.

Sunday morning saw us tied up on the Town Quay, for showers in Fowey Gallants Sailing Club and a quest for those most essential of stores when cruising in Cornwall – fresh pasties. Fowey is a wonderful place to visit by boat, cars being banned from many of its narrow streets, with the main shops, pubs and restaurants concentrated by the harbour side. By 11.00 we were off, beating out of Mevagissey Bay against a light westerly breeze, before tacking to round Dodman Point and cross Veryan Bay, passing through the shallow water north of Gull Rock, reassured by the presence of a large catamaran dive boat that we had made the right choice, as the bottom slid by clearly in view and fronds of seaweed reached up for us. What we took to be large spherical fishing floats, about 2’0 across and just below the surface we later learned where jellyfish. The wind freshened and we finished the trip with a glorious reach past St Anthony Head to Pendennis Point, before tacking across the harbour to anchor off St Mawes, just outside the tiny bay at Place Manor and one of our favorite overnight spots where, sadly, a notice now stands on the foreshore, banning boats from anchoring there overnight.

Monday morning and it’s across to Falmouth Visitors’ Haven for showers and supplies. Ideally placed for the town, FYH is a great place to call for stores, as evidenced by many foreign – flagged yachts moored there, some not moving for the whole of our time in the area. You are made most welcome by all the staff, the loos and showers are spotless, you pay a £5 deposit for a swipe card to use ‘the facilities’ for the whole of your stay and ‘please come back as often as you like’. Coffee in the town, shopping, lunch on the pontoon, then we’re off, for a lovely beat up Carrick Roads, past Mylor and Turnaware Point to drop the hooks in Channels Creek, that most lovely of small boat anchorages, with Trelissick House (NT) on the hill above the creek, finishing the day with an after-supper walk up through the park and the reward of wonderful views down Carrick Roads.

Tuesday morning, it’s overcast, not to say foggy and Jim and Lyn are calling us from ‘Lady Bess’, anchored about 50 metres away. Something about a trip to Tresco which sounds a bit ambitious, The Scillies, especially in such poor visibility. I mean, we haven’t finished breakfast yet and we thought they were enjoying being with us, you know, in Falmouth. ‘No’, they say ‘TESCOS – in Truro!’ So off we go, up the Fal, past the King Harry Ferry, past Malpas (turn left) and its heronry and up the last half mile of twisting channel to the very (back) doors of the supermarket. The small pontoon is taken so we raft up against the wall opposite and climb ashore for (more) provisions, inc. fresh meat for an evening barbecue, some petrol (5 litres gone already – heck) and a look round the covered market (red shoes for Emma and one of those fleecy ‘techno’ towels for me). Then it’s off with the first of the ebb (it’s very shallow behind Tescos – we think some of the pleasure boats run on wheels) and down to Ruan Creek to raft up for lunch and a laze.

Early evening and we are on one of Pasco’s Boatyard mooring buoys off St Just, waiting for the tide to rise so we can get into the tiny drying pool below the church. The barbecue is lit, steaks on, wine poured and here comes Mr Davey of Pasco’s Boatyard in his launch with one of his customer’s boats tied alongside and yes, we are on the very mooring he wants, but wait – he picks up another buoy, moors the customer’s boat and then joins us for a drink and a chat. ‘Going into the pool for the night?’ he asks ‘just watch for the rocks as you go through the entrance and feel free to pick up the trots below the church’. What a super chap!

Next morning finds me in what John Betjeman described as ‘to many people, the most beautiful churchyard on earth’, much visited and photographed by coach parties, but to land from the dinghy in the quiet of first light and walk the round the steep slopes of the graveyard with its brook and the stands of exotic trees and shrubs or to sit in silence for a few moments in the ancient church is an experience which never ceases to move me.

Back on board and I am brought back to earth with a bump. We have a terrible smell of petrol in the boat. We suspect the female part of the fuel line – engine connector is split. Coffee and toast are off and it’s whilst eating a bowl of muesili that I motor us back to Falmouth and up the Penryn River to Robin Curnow’s Outboard Shop, stopping munching every couple of minutes to prime the fuel bulb before the outboard stops. ‘It’ll be the female part of the fuel line - engine connector which has split’ they tell me in Curnows as I blurt out my tale. ‘Here’s one and better take a spare, cause they do go from time to time’ Back to the boat, swop the connectors, prime the bulb and still the leak. A closer examination reveals it’s the male part, mounted on the front of the engine which is leaking. So, it’s back to Curnows, the caffeine withdrawal symptoms really kicking in by now. ‘You want a what?’ says the youth behind the counter ‘Cording to our computer, the nearest one is in Exeter and today’s Wednesday’ A voice from the storeroom chimes in ‘we have got just one’ he says ‘cause his Tohatsu is the same as the Mercury and Mariner you know’. Ten minutes later, back on board, complete with a 6mm ring spanner loaned by one of the lads in Curnows to change the fixing bolt and we are in business. Coffee and toast are ready by the time I have returned the spanner. We now carry our own spanner and if anyone wants a female fuel connector, we have three. That evening finds us out in Carrick Roads, to watch those beautiful Falmouth working boats race around the buoys.

By Thursday, we had seven or eight boats in the area, in anticipation of the weekend rally. A friend living locally organized a barbecue for everyone in the garden of his house in St Mawes and we spent a delightful night anchored at the top of the Percuel River. Friday is spent lazily, with lunch moored to a buoy in Restronguet Creek, off the famous Pandora Inn and that evening sees about 30 boats rafted on the pontoons at Mylor Yacht Harbour where in, typical Drascombe fashion; an impromptu barbeque is organized on the nearby foreshore.

The weekend rally saw everyone sail round to the Helford on Saturday morning, mooring off or going ashore for lunch in the Ferryboat Inn. In the afternoon, the wind piped up to made for a lively and often wet sail back to Mylor for the open boats, with a fresh northerly blowing straight down Carrick Roads but by Sunday morning, conditions had moderated and we enjoyed an friendly race up the Fal, with everyone short-tacking past the laid-up merchantmen for lunch rafted up off Smugglers Cottage.

By Sunday evening, many of the boats had left and, with the forecast of the a bit of a blow and the first rain of the trip, we sailed back to the Helford in company with Lady Bess and into the tiny harbour of Gillan Creek and St Anthony. Screened almost completely from the sea, this is a lovely sheltered anchorage for a small boat when you can lie snug, anchored in clean sand. The next day dawned grey and damp; a time to stay put, but having had the foresight to pack a pair of walking boots, the cliff path beckoned and I rowed the dinghy ashore, intent on a hike to Coverack. In the event, I got as far as Porthallow, the old Pilchard fishing community, quiet and seemingly deserted on this wet morning but was rewarded by the sight of a huge four – masted barque beating sedately out of Falmouth and around the Lizard. That evening saw us on the drying pontoon in Porth Navos, that tiniest of marinas, to eat with Jim and Lyn in the little bar / restaurant.

Awake at 0530 next morning for the forecast – ‘NW, F3-4, Occ 5, rain later, good, moderate’. Ideal and we are off by 0830, with a fine reach to The Dodman, as the tide kicked in beneath us, rafting up with Lady Bess off Gorran Haven for lunch by 1300. A phone call from Jim and we had the Harbour Master’s permission to berth in Polperro for the night, squeezing in amongst the fishing boats and Ryder, the restored nineteenth century lifeboat, to be entertained by a Fishermen’s Choir singing on the quayside whilst we demolished a fish and chip supper.

I guess the entrance into Polperro Harbour is about 40 metres across, a narrow cleft in the cliff, which makes the harbour almost invisible from the sea. On Friday morning the fog was so thick that, as we left at 0900, we were steering by compass and GPS - we couldn’t see either side. Life jacketed, clipped on, torch and whistles at the ready, we motored the two boats out in tight line astern over a flat calm to keep each other in view and, we hoped, to present as large a radar target as possible.

Well south of Looe Island, we turned east for Rame Head and after a while the fog to the south lifted. We could see a number of small fishing boats and, about a mile away, a frigate apparently stationary on the oily swell but inshore, the fog persisted. After a couple of hours, a motor sailer emerged from the mist, ahead and inshore of us and proceeded to sail in circles and figures of eight. We moved closer, looking for the skipper hanging over the side, held by his safety line, or collapsed at the helm with a heart attack, but no – there he was – fishing off the stern. We resumed our course in silence and in due course were rewarded with a tiny break in the gloom and the welcome sight of Rame Head before the fog closed in again

An hour later, and we were safely tied up in Plymouth Yacht Haven, bathed in brilliant sunshine. We celebrated our deliverance with generous tots of single malt, as the foghorns of shipping in the Sound and up the Hamouze continued to blow. A couple of hours later and we were hauled out and, by lunchtime the next day, Siesta was back on her mooring at Gosport and ready for the Solent the next weekend. Distance driven, about 320 miles. Distance sailed about 140 miles.

Peter Tiplady
January 2003.