13. Selkie Dancer – Holyhead – 12th August
We restarted our trip on Sunday 6th with a long sail from Ardrossan to Bangor. We felt then, and still do now, that we are missing a crew member. Dad’s daily calls or messages are conspicuous by their absence. However, in another way he is very much still with me on the journey and always will be.
The next day we had another long sail to Peel, Isle of Man, but a lovely one in sunshine and with a good wind. The Isle of Man seemed to us a lack lustre kind of place, Peel was a difficult approach in rolling seas with an awkward wait for the tide gates to open and a bridge to rise. We waited for some big boats to sort themselves out in the confines of the inner harbour and before we could get in the b******s at Douglas harbour control promptly lowered the bridge and shut the gates. AAGH! The prospect of rolling around without being securely tied up for the night did not fill me with joy. After a tense talk on the VHF and a rather piqued and petty response we were told, like naughty schoolchildren, that we hadn’t made our intentions clear so would have to wait for fifteen minutes. Eventually we were let in and rafted up to another boat but I’m afraid our initial welcome to the Island was repeated in the attitude and welcome of others.
We took a bus ride through a valley, across the island to the capital, Douglas. Douglas appeared to be a typical British seaside town of the fifties with a long front full of boarding houses and fading grand hotels with names such as the Imperial and the Empress and a Gaiety Theatre and Opera house that had seen better days. We whisked ponderously along the front in a horse drawn tram pulled by Douglas, the carthorse who seemed to be infected with the same ennuie de vivre as the rest of the population – how heavily did he clip clop along. On our return along the route of the famous and imminent TT race we passed bends and prominent pieces of wall carefully bandaged up in anticipation.
Now in Holyhead it is blowing a hooligan but where was the wind when we needed it in the middle of the Irish Sea? Our trip from Peel on the Isle of Man started off so well with the prospect of North West 5 or 6 winds forecast and a strong wind warning in place. It was a long way and I was looking forward to a strong sail. Well, the Isle of Man must have its own micro climate because we had a stonking sail until we began to leave the island behind and then the wind died and we had to motor for the remaining eight hours! We saw a Nimrod, some ferries and a few lost birds. The auto pilot was called into service and the time went by. Don’t know what we did but the time passed quite amicably, listening to the radio, dancing to music, reading my latest cheery book, ‘Wreckers’ by Bella Bathurst.
But here in Holyhead we have met up with Mac and are spending some good time with him. Today lunch in the mess, a sit in his helicopter and straight on to an empty beach for a beautiful barefoot walk to Rosneigr.
Tomorrow we are off up a hill with a picnic. We aim to head south to Phwllheli on Monday and then on to Aberystwyth and Fishguard. Berths available – Welsh speaking an advantage.
Jinti and Andy
14. Selkie Dancer – Dale (Milford Haven) – 25th August
We have come from the top left to bottom left of Wales. When in Holyhead we were encouraged to go south through the Menai Straits. It had looked very pretty when we gazed down onto it in glorious sunshine from Mac’s car but when encountered in a head wind, wearing all the wet weather gear plus ski-ing goggles to aid visibility in the driving rain it was a slightly different picture! However it was an interesting navigation exercise and we felt we had earned some ‘cred’ by successfully going through ‘the swellies’ an infamous stretch between the two Anglesey Bridges.
We stopped in Caernarfon and rafted up in the harbour. We had a fascinating visit to the Royal Welsh Yacht Club, allegedly the oldest British yacht club, located in one of the towers along the city walls. We were treated to a tour and told a lot of tall Welsh tales. We left to continue south in a thunder storm, spent a very rolly night in Porth Dinlaen and left early for Aberystwyth, the most expensive marina yet with absolutely nothing to offer. It poured with RAIN, it was Saturday, there was a QUEUE in the launderette, the internet café was SHUT, the Post Office had SHUT and the library wouldn’t let you use the internet unless you were WELSH! The only redeeming feature was the magnificent war memorial featuring a delicate lady throwing a wreath into the sea supported, by a very much larger, bare breasted Teutonic female.
Had a horrible sail or rather motor to Fishguard via Newport Bay. Newport Bay being the setting for Andy’s formative years – let’s not go there! The wind was on the nose and the sea unfriendly. Things only looked up abeam Cardigan; the sun came out and both wind and sea abated, we were ambushed by dolphins coming close alongside. Next we saw a seriously wounded or spastic dolphin lying on its side its single flipper flopping about. This was later identified as a sun fish. The entrance to Newport Bay required the positioning of the BIGGEST ensign, only the keenly observant would have spotted that it was temporarily supported by a broom handle! We had watchers on the cliffs and a friendly call on the VHF requesting a second pass for photos – felt very special.
We anchored off Lower Fishguard and were soon enfolded in the bosom of the family. There followed several sessions of catch up during walks, picnics and suppers.
Two relations and a new boyfriend (not mine) joined us the night before we set off for Milford Haven. Unfortunately we had one of the worst nights at anchor EVER. They thought it was normal and were thinking we were amazing, we thought it would put them off sailing forever. They were very stoic, the sea was rather worse than the wind and four out of five were sick. As ever there is always something to raise the spirits, on this occasion the passage through Ramsey and Jack Sounds. What a contrast, through clashing rocks millpond smooth then almost sucked down the plughole of whirling, splashing standing waves. I’ve never seen anything like it.
So now it’s off to Cornwall and our first taste of England.
Jinti and Andy
The selkie at Dale
The Early Years 