If I knew then what I know now...
Milford Haven to Cahore Point, Arklow, Wicklow, Dun Laoghaire and Howth. Friday and Saturday 21st and 22nd
Fully charged up and with our shiney new alternators in place we got up the anchor and headed round the corner into the St. George's channel. The sea at this point is very much subject to the huge swells that grow up out in the vast Atlantic and where they bounce off the Welsh and Cornish coast they seem to make a huge messy sea when the wind blows. Sailors call this sea lumpy. I would call it really quite uncomfortable. Small boats turned back in the face of the waves coming in from the Atlantic, but we went on. If I knew now what set of events were about to occur, I think I might have turned back too.
For the first hour or so outside Milford Haven we were thrown around regularly and spent much of the time restowing kit that was making itself free, but once past Grassholm it was much smoother, and less smelly too (Grassholm is white with guano). That said, there is the occasional huge wave, about the size of a small house that comes from the side and makes us grab onto things (and each other). It is a strange motion because instead of being an obstacle in the way, the wave become geography; the boat rolls as the wave starts going under one side, comes upright at the top of the wave and then rolls the other way on the downward side. Although these waves were much bigger than the coastal ones they are far easier to handle because we are riding them.
It is now almost 36 hours later and we have not had a night's sleep. I have been grabbing naps when it was not too obvious but Skipper has been on the go constantly. The weather and navigation have been so unreliable (I blame myself for the latter only) that he has not been able to let his attention drop for a second.
All of the problems we had stem from my lack of good sense. We had the chance at Milford Haven to buy the paper charts for Ireland, but because the chandlery was being difficult I thought we would "make do" (yes, I know) with a larger scale chart and the Reed's Almanac that gives details of marinas and places to anchor. That was a fine plan, until we found out that the Reeds is not really detailed enough. We also found out that our electronic chart system that sometimes works (when it blinking feels like it) and puts a picture of a boat on the chart to show us exactly where we are) does not "do" Eire.
We discovered how vague Reeds was when we gently bumped over some rocks in a supposedly good anchorage at Cahore Point. Very disturbing and quite nosiy. Fortunately this boat was made to be sailed by fishermen, people (we have met a woman-skipper) whose main interest is making money and getting home rather than being out there just for fun, so the keel is shod with iron and the hull, after decades of seasoning in salt water, is tough enough to take this kind of gentle exfoliation. However, in the night that followed, there were scores of journeys up and down the ladder to the engine room to check the bilges for extra water that might indicate a leak. From making land at about 8pm, perfectly timed for a quiet evening at anchor with the prospect of dinner and a glass of rouge, instead we decided we had no alternative but to make for the next safe harbour which was Arklow another 3 hours up the coast.
Nightmares often have the quality of the dreamer being out of control and at Arklow, as warned by Reeds, we could see nothing of the tiny harbour entrance in the pitch black, we were also usure of our position and the electronic charts were no help so decided to head on again for Dun Laofhe as the book indicated an easy anchorage. We were already tired and bruised and dirty from being thrown around in the St. George's Channel and it was turning into a long night. We estimated that Dun Laighoare was about 4 hours away and I really thought I wouldn't be able to do it.
The navigation was very difficult; my glasses need replacing and the anti-glare coating is now so bad it feels like looking through frosted glass. To save the skipper's night vision I was using a hand-held torch to read the charts and get up and down the stairs. We were watching vigilantly for buoys warning us of shallows and rocks, which are a constant shadow to this coast. Some of the buoys on the radar were "extra", some seemed to be marked differently from the notes on the brand new chart.
Every step of the way we were trying to work out if a buoy was flashing "quick 6 and then one" or "very quick 6 and then one" and with tiredness comes hallucinations, as the lights appeared to become free of their lines and float up and up and around in the pitch dark sky. There is nowhere for a navigator to stand on the tiny bridge and the skipper had to stand so see out of the open windows, so we had been on our feet all night, and trying to keep our balance in the choppy seas. Perhaps one of the worst things was the heat coming up from the engine making us sleepy and the noise of it thundering away that kept us awake. In fact, it is not possible to talk normally over the engine noise on the bridge so I was getting pretty tired of shouting directions to the skipper all the time. At about 3am there was a lighting of the horizon in the north east and we knew that the worst was over. It turned into a millefeuille of textures and colours, the brightest of which was the intense flamingo pink that the sea does so well.
We arrived at Dun Laoghaire at about 6 am and it would have been lovely to anchor in the marina, but the only person answering the phone was the security guard, who we discovered did not know that "trawler" meant a fishing boat and that starboard is on the right. We were just reversing into a lovey clean and tidy berth amongst the tupperware when he came running along to tell us that we could not stay. So, we had to manouevre again carefully out of the narrow channel and out into the bay.
We found that the anchorage outside was calm and in the brilliant morning sunshine things began to look up again until, that is, Skip discovered that the main engine bilge pump was not gushing away as usual. The bilge pump needs to be running to make sure that the water that leaks in around the propellor shaft can be got rid of, otherwise there would be water in the gear box and all sorts.I must confess that when he told me there was nothing practical I could do once I had fed him a monster "Irish Fry" and two pints of tea, after 24 hours of being awake and on my feet I could not stand up any more so had 3 hours sleep. In this time, he fixed the pump and a large wind got up, making the anchorage uncomfortable. As the wind increased we decided we had to pull up the anchor to find better shelter and getting it winched takes two of us because the huge chain does not go on straight; someone must use a rope to guide each 2m length slightly sideways with a rope as it is turned onto the massive spinning reel by the main engine hydraulics. This is a noisy, fast, difficult and potentially dangerous job, but somehow we managed it. We engaged gear and set of yet again, at 11 am across Dublin Bay to Howth.
It is the proper thing to contact a Harbour Master before you drive into his domain, so I spoke to Howth's HM who was reluctant to let us in because they do not have non-commerical craft here. I managed to persuade him that we desperately needed charts and hydraulic oil for the steering, both of which were true. He might also have heard the beginning of tears in my voice and I think that did the trick. He very kindly put us on the emergency berth by the ice dock, a priviledged position for a non-professional in amongst all the other old trawlers, and they are old. Some seem to be in far worse condition than Herione and some of them are still out ther in all weathers bringing in the fish.
Our harbour master is Captain Rajah who is a "deep sea man", i.e. a ship's captain from the merchant navy, and he says that the Royal Navy have too much money, the fishermen no respect and the yachties more money than brains, I was not sure where we fit it, but I am sure he'll think of a category for us.
Once we had the lines on and had a shower we went to sleep, and did not wake for a couple of hours until it was time to go out for a curry and to catch up on the Web-log. Sleep is delicious when you know you are safe after a long and difficult night. The sun was shining down the fish-hold hatch, warming the old carpet and if we could have been bothered to move, our feet too. The shouting and noise on the docks faded in our ears as we dozed off. For that kind of bliss it's almost worth spending the night fighting sleep, hallucinations and bad temper.
The boats at Howth all seem to be of the same era as Herione, they are more often than not made of wood with a smilar "cruiser" stern, typical of the older boats. Perhaps this is why people are not as interested in Heroine here, they see this kind of thing everyday but in Milford Haven where the boats are much more modern (although they are rusty and covered on guano too) they see H as a bit of an antique, which is fair enough.
I imagine that Howth at one time was a prosperous fishing village with some scenery around it, but now it has three golf courses and the fishing industry provides "flavour" for visitors seeking that elusive Irish experieince that they want to take home. I say elusive only because you'd need to be Irish to have it, and then perhaps you might not want it.
Our night at Howth (prounounced "Hooth" by the way) was peaceful, sunny, restful and fun but it is full of Germans and shi-shi cafes. It appears that the actual fishing fleet rather than the abandoned old wooden ones that we saw is very modern thanks to government grants and that they were all out getting Dublin Bay prawns, which apparently are fetching £24 a stone, so just £1.50 per pound, which I don't think is bad. All the boats along this coast are prawn fishers, there is no white fish left here. The fishermen in the Republic have a fairly good fuel subsidy which makes a huge difference to their income. When the Heroine was fishing she would have used about 1500 gallons a week, costing about £3500 in the UK.
There are some very handsome harbour seals in Howth, so I am including a picture of the most photogenic. He has curly hair down the back of his head and with the water it looks like a glossy pommade, a bit like a matinee idol.
Fully charged up and with our shiney new alternators in place we got up the anchor and headed round the corner into the St. George's channel. The sea at this point is very much subject to the huge swells that grow up out in the vast Atlantic and where they bounce off the Welsh and Cornish coast they seem to make a huge messy sea when the wind blows. Sailors call this sea lumpy. I would call it really quite uncomfortable. Small boats turned back in the face of the waves coming in from the Atlantic, but we went on. If I knew now what set of events were about to occur, I think I might have turned back too.
For the first hour or so outside Milford Haven we were thrown around regularly and spent much of the time restowing kit that was making itself free, but once past Grassholm it was much smoother, and less smelly too (Grassholm is white with guano). That said, there is the occasional huge wave, about the size of a small house that comes from the side and makes us grab onto things (and each other). It is a strange motion because instead of being an obstacle in the way, the wave become geography; the boat rolls as the wave starts going under one side, comes upright at the top of the wave and then rolls the other way on the downward side. Although these waves were much bigger than the coastal ones they are far easier to handle because we are riding them.
It is now almost 36 hours later and we have not had a night's sleep. I have been grabbing naps when it was not too obvious but Skipper has been on the go constantly. The weather and navigation have been so unreliable (I blame myself for the latter only) that he has not been able to let his attention drop for a second.
All of the problems we had stem from my lack of good sense. We had the chance at Milford Haven to buy the paper charts for Ireland, but because the chandlery was being difficult I thought we would "make do" (yes, I know) with a larger scale chart and the Reed's Almanac that gives details of marinas and places to anchor. That was a fine plan, until we found out that the Reeds is not really detailed enough. We also found out that our electronic chart system that sometimes works (when it blinking feels like it) and puts a picture of a boat on the chart to show us exactly where we are) does not "do" Eire.
We discovered how vague Reeds was when we gently bumped over some rocks in a supposedly good anchorage at Cahore Point. Very disturbing and quite nosiy. Fortunately this boat was made to be sailed by fishermen, people (we have met a woman-skipper) whose main interest is making money and getting home rather than being out there just for fun, so the keel is shod with iron and the hull, after decades of seasoning in salt water, is tough enough to take this kind of gentle exfoliation. However, in the night that followed, there were scores of journeys up and down the ladder to the engine room to check the bilges for extra water that might indicate a leak. From making land at about 8pm, perfectly timed for a quiet evening at anchor with the prospect of dinner and a glass of rouge, instead we decided we had no alternative but to make for the next safe harbour which was Arklow another 3 hours up the coast.
Nightmares often have the quality of the dreamer being out of control and at Arklow, as warned by Reeds, we could see nothing of the tiny harbour entrance in the pitch black, we were also usure of our position and the electronic charts were no help so decided to head on again for Dun Laofhe as the book indicated an easy anchorage. We were already tired and bruised and dirty from being thrown around in the St. George's Channel and it was turning into a long night. We estimated that Dun Laighoare was about 4 hours away and I really thought I wouldn't be able to do it.
The navigation was very difficult; my glasses need replacing and the anti-glare coating is now so bad it feels like looking through frosted glass. To save the skipper's night vision I was using a hand-held torch to read the charts and get up and down the stairs. We were watching vigilantly for buoys warning us of shallows and rocks, which are a constant shadow to this coast. Some of the buoys on the radar were "extra", some seemed to be marked differently from the notes on the brand new chart.
Every step of the way we were trying to work out if a buoy was flashing "quick 6 and then one" or "very quick 6 and then one" and with tiredness comes hallucinations, as the lights appeared to become free of their lines and float up and up and around in the pitch dark sky. There is nowhere for a navigator to stand on the tiny bridge and the skipper had to stand so see out of the open windows, so we had been on our feet all night, and trying to keep our balance in the choppy seas. Perhaps one of the worst things was the heat coming up from the engine making us sleepy and the noise of it thundering away that kept us awake. In fact, it is not possible to talk normally over the engine noise on the bridge so I was getting pretty tired of shouting directions to the skipper all the time. At about 3am there was a lighting of the horizon in the north east and we knew that the worst was over. It turned into a millefeuille of textures and colours, the brightest of which was the intense flamingo pink that the sea does so well.
We arrived at Dun Laoghaire at about 6 am and it would have been lovely to anchor in the marina, but the only person answering the phone was the security guard, who we discovered did not know that "trawler" meant a fishing boat and that starboard is on the right. We were just reversing into a lovey clean and tidy berth amongst the tupperware when he came running along to tell us that we could not stay. So, we had to manouevre again carefully out of the narrow channel and out into the bay.
We found that the anchorage outside was calm and in the brilliant morning sunshine things began to look up again until, that is, Skip discovered that the main engine bilge pump was not gushing away as usual. The bilge pump needs to be running to make sure that the water that leaks in around the propellor shaft can be got rid of, otherwise there would be water in the gear box and all sorts.I must confess that when he told me there was nothing practical I could do once I had fed him a monster "Irish Fry" and two pints of tea, after 24 hours of being awake and on my feet I could not stand up any more so had 3 hours sleep. In this time, he fixed the pump and a large wind got up, making the anchorage uncomfortable. As the wind increased we decided we had to pull up the anchor to find better shelter and getting it winched takes two of us because the huge chain does not go on straight; someone must use a rope to guide each 2m length slightly sideways with a rope as it is turned onto the massive spinning reel by the main engine hydraulics. This is a noisy, fast, difficult and potentially dangerous job, but somehow we managed it. We engaged gear and set of yet again, at 11 am across Dublin Bay to Howth.
It is the proper thing to contact a Harbour Master before you drive into his domain, so I spoke to Howth's HM who was reluctant to let us in because they do not have non-commerical craft here. I managed to persuade him that we desperately needed charts and hydraulic oil for the steering, both of which were true. He might also have heard the beginning of tears in my voice and I think that did the trick. He very kindly put us on the emergency berth by the ice dock, a priviledged position for a non-professional in amongst all the other old trawlers, and they are old. Some seem to be in far worse condition than Herione and some of them are still out ther in all weathers bringing in the fish.
Our harbour master is Captain Rajah who is a "deep sea man", i.e. a ship's captain from the merchant navy, and he says that the Royal Navy have too much money, the fishermen no respect and the yachties more money than brains, I was not sure where we fit it, but I am sure he'll think of a category for us.
Once we had the lines on and had a shower we went to sleep, and did not wake for a couple of hours until it was time to go out for a curry and to catch up on the Web-log. Sleep is delicious when you know you are safe after a long and difficult night. The sun was shining down the fish-hold hatch, warming the old carpet and if we could have been bothered to move, our feet too. The shouting and noise on the docks faded in our ears as we dozed off. For that kind of bliss it's almost worth spending the night fighting sleep, hallucinations and bad temper.
The boats at Howth all seem to be of the same era as Herione, they are more often than not made of wood with a smilar "cruiser" stern, typical of the older boats. Perhaps this is why people are not as interested in Heroine here, they see this kind of thing everyday but in Milford Haven where the boats are much more modern (although they are rusty and covered on guano too) they see H as a bit of an antique, which is fair enough.
I imagine that Howth at one time was a prosperous fishing village with some scenery around it, but now it has three golf courses and the fishing industry provides "flavour" for visitors seeking that elusive Irish experieince that they want to take home. I say elusive only because you'd need to be Irish to have it, and then perhaps you might not want it.
Our night at Howth (prounounced "Hooth" by the way) was peaceful, sunny, restful and fun but it is full of Germans and shi-shi cafes. It appears that the actual fishing fleet rather than the abandoned old wooden ones that we saw is very modern thanks to government grants and that they were all out getting Dublin Bay prawns, which apparently are fetching £24 a stone, so just £1.50 per pound, which I don't think is bad. All the boats along this coast are prawn fishers, there is no white fish left here. The fishermen in the Republic have a fairly good fuel subsidy which makes a huge difference to their income. When the Heroine was fishing she would have used about 1500 gallons a week, costing about £3500 in the UK.
There are some very handsome harbour seals in Howth, so I am including a picture of the most photogenic. He has curly hair down the back of his head and with the water it looks like a glossy pommade, a bit like a matinee idol.
posted by Pomme at 9:24 pm
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