Sailing to the Scilly Isles
- Cathy@zusetsu
- 6 days ago
- 17 min read
If you think this looks idyllic, and sailing is - the bright sails, the light breezes, and the flash of dolphins in a glittering sea - let me share with you the reality of our summer sailing. First of all, while we had spent the winter months dreaming of sailing to the Scilly Isles, let me tell you we didn't make it.
My husband Rich had spent the winter making our boat look lovely. In January you would have found him with our boat up on hard standing, anti-fouling her below the waterline, replacing the silver sticker that runs below her gunwale, replacing her name, polishing her so that the river water reflects in her hull. She looked beautiful and well-cared for when she was relaunched in February.
We have new ropes and new rigging - bright stainless steel wires running up to the mast, and new guardrails neat and shiny above the decks.
At weekends, while I'm kayaking out to sea or reading in the cabin, Rich is fixing something, improving something, upgrading the navigation system, maybe. Our boat looks beautiful. She's a 29 foot Jeanneau Sun Odyssey, by the way, which we've had for maybe 20 years, and we've enjoyed many family adventures on her. She's full of memories for us.
Inside the boat you would never believe that our two boys grew up on this boat - on weekends and holidays sailing the English and French coast. She's polished wood, and she's in remarkable condition.
This year our dream was to sail to the Scilly Isles - those lost isles of Lyonesse where Arthur's queen Guinevere was said to have been born. But our sailing has been less frequent for one reason or another over the last two or three years. We're a bit rusty, although we're very keen to get back to the skilled boat handlers that we were. We're hoping sailing might be a big part of our future.
We had two precious weeks on our boat this summer. It's always a stab in the dark whether the weather will work out for us. We've had many a holiday berthed up in a grey marina with the rain tipping down and the wind howling. But when it works, when the sea is streaked with navy and green, and the waves are rolling, and the shearwaters blow past on their iron-like wings, it's an experience like nothing else.
As the first weekend blew past in a series of summer gales, I sat cosy in the cabin, reading the guidebooks about sailing to the Scilly Isles. Two things leapt out at me. One, was that it's best not to call them the Scillies, as local people don't seem to like that so much. And two, if you're new to the Scilly Isles, you should not even contemplate the passage from the Cornish coast unless the weather is fair with light winds and settled.
It's because we're looking at tidal races beyond the Lizard and along the foot of Cornwall towards the last shelter at Newlyn harbour. And we're learning about Atlantic swell, uncharted rocks among the approaches, no marinas for shelter once there but some visitors buoys which may get busy.
Dartmouth to Yealm
The strong winds were blowing over, and we were keen to make up time, so we sailed for Yealm from our home berth in Dartmouth.
Yealm is a jewel-like anchorage. The woods surrounding the river creeks reflect deep greens in the tranquil water. It's an enchanted place of seahorses and ospreys. And it's a sheltered place when the wind and waves are getting up in the bay that fronts nearby Plymouth. Yealm is just around the corner from Plymouth, marked by a large diamond-shaped rock. There's a tricky sand-bar, and a marked channel for yachts to pass in deep-enough water. Even so, we made a couple of attempts before backing away - the depth under our keel reached just 0.6m which was toe-curling, and people were walking on the sand bar nearby!
We slowly motored towards the visiting yacht pontoon, and all spaces were taken by double-rafted large yachts and a massive cabin cruiser at the back. But the kindly men on the outer yacht called to us that they'd help us get into the tiny space that was left in the middle.
As they raced from their boat, over the rafted yacht next to them and onto the pontoon, I changed over mooring ropes and fenders so that the men could pull us into the space. Rich was motoring in a perfect angle slowly towards the further end of the space as I threw the front line. I saw it picked up out of the corner of my eye as I raced to the back of the boat to throw the rear line.
And then something inexplicable happened! I glanced up, to see the bow of our boat heading almost directly towards the pontoon! I watched with horror as my dear old boat hit it - something that I've never witnessed before! And then I turned to see my husband and one of the crew from the outer yacht desperately trying to untangle an anchor from our guard-wires, and our inflatable dinghy rapidly heading for an anchor-puncture too!
'Mind your leg!!' I yelled at Rich, as it came within the orbit of their menacing-looking anchor too.
Thankfully our boat got untangled, and we were safely pulled into the mooring space. But we were stunned. What had just happened! How did a smooth comfortable entrance into this space suddenly turn into such chaos? Had an inexperienced helper pulled the front line and brought the boat bow-first onto the landing stage?
Tranquil Yealm hides a secret - the fierce springs tidal races which sweep through the river. Later in the holiday, when we returned to Yealm, a yachtsman casually told us of the chaos the spring tides cause on that pontoon, suddenly switching a boat's direction.
Down in the cabin, we were busy dropping a bottle of smoothie onto a plastic container in the small fridge, and shattering the lid. We dropped the water chamber of our compact coffee machine and chipped the end. My hairdryer plug fell onto the table, creating a small dent. Richard's glasses came apart in his hands. And when I stepped up on deck in my old Dubarry sailing boots both of the soles fell off.
Yealm to Falmouth
Next morning we started early for Falmouth, keen for a long passage at sea and to take a big stride down the Cornish coast, so that we were near as we could get to our last harbour and launch for the Scilly Isles: Newlyn.
The sea was calm, like molten metal, and when the sun broke through the clouds we had the lightest of breezes and blue skies to help us on our way.
We opted for the Premier Marina in Falmouth, booking a berth as we neared the river entrance, and navigated the sill and mud to make it into our space.
We were happy to have reached so far south. Our Scilly Isles trip was looking promising. We would need to check the weather forecast later, to see if the high winds were on their way back, but so far so good.
We walked across the maze of pontoons to the harbour office and a man walked in and swore several times at the woman in front of us. It was not the welcome we were expecting!
We walked up to Sainsbury's to reprovision the boat with food for the passages to Newlyn and St. Mary's, and returned to the marina for pizza and a drink, overlooking the boats as the sun began to set. It was tranquil and beautiful.
When we returned to the boat, the tide was out, and big gobs of estuary mud blinked at us from across the way. We stepped onto the boat and she didn't move. Her keel was wedged into the mud!
Next morning, once the sea water had reached the 2 metre mark and we were safe to cross the sill, we let go of the lines and reversed slowly out of our berth. I was sat at the bow and saw that Rich couldn't quite make the sharp turn to the right owing to the mud-trap behind us. I saw him edge the boat forwards a tiny touch, and then heard him adjust the gear into reverse. But the boat didn't move into reverse. Rich revved the engine to move the boat backwards quickly, but instead the boat launched forwards hitting the pontoon and slightly riding upwards. Black oily smoke shot across to the boat next door decorating their fenders in black smuts.
We scrambled with the lines to leap off the boat and tie up, and then assessed the situation!
The metal linkage rod had failed, and we had no reverse gear. So we resigned ourselves to a day having coffee in Falmouth and enjoying the excellent bookshop, and then later Rich tied up the engine with an assortment of tie-wraps as we couldn't find a replacement rod in Falmouth.
This had been a crucial day for us in our passage to St Mary's. We could see thundery showers and strong winds approaching later in the week, and we had had a brief weather window to reach the Scilly Isles and get away again. This day was our one chance, and in Falmouth we resigned ourselves that we wouldn't be reaching the Scilly Isles this summer.
Time is what you need on a boat. We've had sailing holidays in the past where we've sailed to the Channel Islands and the coast of France in benign weather, only to nervously see on the weather charts blustery gales building, ready to sweep through. We always have to get back.
If we could have an extended time, we could wait out bad weather for as long as it takes.
But when you're sailing within a short weather window you have to be flexible! We knew we could have a brilliant time sailing the coast of Cornwall and Devon, and so this is what we purposed to do!
Once Rich had fixed our engine, and I had cleaned up our neighbour's boat and the pontoon with buckets of environmentally friendly soapy water, we moved from our mud-trapping berth round to one on the outer pontoons, alongside the bigger boats, where we could leave whenever we wanted.
The view in the late afternoon light across the water was tranquil and beautiful.
Falmouth to Helford River
In the early morning sunshine, our boat glided over the glittering waters beyond Falmouth and across to the enchanting river of Helford.
Rich had been stoic in light of the unceasing bad back he had brought with him from Dartmouth. Sailing is physical, and there's no respite. We opted for a very gentle day, easily catching the hand-grab visitor's buoy and tying up. We launched our inflatable dinghy which we had strapped across the back of the boat with a simple but curiously effective system of two long, crossed, lowering ropes.
The outboard engine is always awkward. It's awkward and heavy to lift out of the cockpit locker, and even more awkward and heavy to lift into a tied-on dinghy which is moving in the sea water swell. Not a good thing for a bad back.
But we were ready to go exploring, and on this glorious summer day of clear water and light we motored up to Frenchman's Creek because, yes, I am a huge fan of Daphne du Maurier's writing. The creek is beguiling.
Later, we headed across to the yacht club pontoon, and walked into the idyllic little buntinged village of Helford, oohing at the cottages we would love to live in, and admiring a dinghy parked like a car on the side of the road.
We found our way into the unbelievably quaint thatched Shipwright's Arms, and it was love at first sight as I looked at the amazing interior of the bar: the white cobbled walls, the low ceiling, the ship lanterns and the wood burning stove, and the model of the Mauritania on the mantle.
We sat at a table looking out across the sparkling river. What a spot! We were so hungry, and dinner was a treat - my big bowl of tomato tagliatelle and burrata with pools of green olive oil was so inviting, I confess, I bolted it. And something went down the wrong way. And when this happens, sometimes my lungs rebel - they clamp shut. I looked at Rich, and with my last breath mouthed, 'I can't breathe!'
He looked alarmed as he's never seen me on the 3 or 4 occasions this has happened before. He was asking, do I thump you? Do the Heimlich?
Gradually, I came to, and I really enjoyed my lunch after all!
From this glorious backwater we motored in our dinghy across the river to land alongside the back of our boat, and I scrambled to get off. But as I tied the painter to one of the rear shrouds, a newly-rigged stray wire punctured a vein in my finger casting blood all over the back of the boat!
Helford to Fowey
Evenings on the boat are for reading. I ploughed through Natalie Haynes, A Thousand Ships, which was quite appropriate with its tales of those Greek ships pulled up on the beaches at Troy. I loved Under the Net by the fiercely brilliant Iris Murdoch. And I read Daphne, of course - The House on the Strand, a curious tale set around the lanes above Fowey where we ventured to next. It's a nice thing to walk in a writer's footsteps, and look out to the places that inspired them.
Ahh, Fowey. I love Fowey - I would live there like a rocket. We were out at sea as the sun was still rising, and it was very heaven. The sea was limpid and flat, and the sun's strength grew as we made our way up the coast of Cornwall. The coastline was stunning in late August - beautiful vivid colours of ripe wheat and forest green, mauve rocks, and the ever-changing beauty of the sea. We were joined by delicate white kittiwakes in flocks.
And some time into our passage, an orange inflatable boat bearing holiday-makers crossed our bow and settled in a space where we suddenly realised there were dolphins! It's always a magnificent thrill to see their sharp black fins curl into the water. And when I saw the holiday-makers dressed up in their robust wet-weather gear and lifejackets, I felt I knew how they were feeling, because I remember the excitement I felt when we were off the coast of Hokkaido in early summer, looking for orcas on a whale-watching boat. I was so happy we all got to see the dolphins beyond Falmouth bay!
And I love the wildlife out at sea. We have long hours to contemplate the wind and the water and the birdlife. We see juvenile gannets flying past like dappled missiles. Fulmars with their snub noses. Shearwaters flying low over the water with their taught, curved wings. And I was thrilled to see graceful sandwich terns . Where are the terns these days? I used to see so many.
Fowey has a dramatic entrance. The river is sheltered behind a giant rock, and as the boat glides into the river, houses crowd around the entrance like they are tottering on the cliffs. The water opens up green and full of light. There's Polruan on the right side, many houses still the original grey, with the ship building place on the foreshore so redolent of Daphne's first novel, The Loving Spirit. I loved that book when I was a teenager. The heroine cannot go to sea, so her sons carve a figurehead for their ship in her likeness, so that she can be with them in kind. You can see the figurehead of Jane Slade which inspired Daphne on the corner of her blue and white house, Ferryside, which overlooks the river.
We caught a buoy near to Polruan, and sat as Fowey across the river swung into view.
Fowey is boats, and twisty streets, gorgeous houses, a castle with an unspoiled park, and Tristan - of the Arthurian legends. His memorial stone is a walk up and out of the town. And we were here at the end of the regatta, with muscle-bound men fiercely rowing in the old lifeboat/pilot gigs, racing out towards the sea.
That evening we were thrilled to discover that our little pool of swinging visitor's boats were alongside the launchpad for the town regatta fireworks. We were so close, and there's nothing quite like feeling like you're almost in those massive starry explosions! We could follow the sketchy scratched trails of the tiny rockets tracing their way up into the black, and then BOOM! Those huge starry dahlias engulfed us, our mast and our rigging, it was really good fun!
I mean, we both got firework ash in our eyes, and next morning we awoke to a boat covered in ash, but no matter - a few buckets of seawater should put her right. Only, the rear cabin's window was open, and seawater flooded onto the top of the cupboard and dripped down onto the carpet.
Fowey
It was a beautiful day, and after breakfast at a cafe we continued walking through the gorgeous town which was strewn with bunting, towards the beach and the headland. Of course, I then saw a map which indicated that the house called Menabilly which Daphne loved so much, and which she used for the iconic Manderley in Rebecca, (you know, last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again...), was somewhere in the fields beyond that Gribbin headland. I couldn't stop my legs skipping along in excitement. I mean, I didn't expect to see the house, but, oh! to walk where Daphne walked! And to look down at the foaming waves breaking into the swirling navy and luminous green coves below and think, is that where Rebecca's boat was wrecked? It was awesome!
But my Rich had a bad back, but he was determined to come and to enjoy his holiday. He took some wonderful drone shots of our walk along the dusty August paths along the stunning coastal path. He did suffer for it the next day, however.
Fowey to Yealm
Our sail from Fowey to Yealm was beautiful. A long day with light late-summer breezes and a gentle sea.
When we reached the Yealm entrance we had to wait for the tide to rise enough for us to be able to pass into the sheltered river, and we swiftly picked up a visitor's buoy. We were taking no chances on the pontoon!
All was good. We had a lovely view of the river, and we were hungry and looking forward to a meal at the pub. We lowered our inflatable dinghy easily on its modest contraption of the two crossed lowering lines, and I chirped that I would row us the distance to the harbour office pontoon, from where we could walk along the pretty river to the village pub. It meant Rich didn't have to carry the outboard motor and aggravate his back.
I love rowing! I'm a kayaker, and I used to row in all sorts of river rowing sculls. I had a dinghy as a teenager which I sailed and rowed, so I have lots of experience! What I'd forgotten, because we always use the outboard motor, is that the rowing facility on our inflatable dinghy is crap!
There's no purchase with the oars, they're too short, and the paddle bits are not at all broad. And they pop into a contraption which can't bear the weight of you pulling on them, so they are always threatening to pull out. What's wrong with good old rowlocks! Anyway, our dinghy now had the weight of two fully grown adults in it, we had let go, and we had not taken into account the sweeping tides which had caught us out earlier in the week. Honestly, the river was like a slalom! I barely rowed, it was more a case of steering as we swept along so that we didn't career like a pinball into a series of moored boats.
Anyway, we got to the harbour office fine, and the walk through the village was enchanting and the pub very welcome!
Rowing back to the boat was another matter though. It was hard work in such a little boat! I'd row a short way against the tide and the left oar would pop out. Sitting behind me, Rich lent forward with of all things, a traveller-size tube of Japanese toothpaste and wodged it into the rowlock to fix the oar in place. Eventually we made it against the tide and, with relief and as the light was falling, pulled up to our boat and clambered aboard.
I went to unlock the cabin door and the lock wouldn't move. A few days earlier, I had lifted up the perspex door and the inside lock-shift knob had fallen off. So Rich had replaced it. He'd bought a new lock a while ago, but they are hard to find online and the replacement was of cheaper material, and the key a lot more flimsy. Even though we were now locked out I did not want to force it, because there was a good chance the key would break in my hands. Rich tried too, but he couldn't open the door to our boat either. We glanced at the hatches, and they were all shut fast, so no chance of shimmying in through an ajar window.
It was at this moment that Rich let out a loud swear.
And then he did something that surprised me. Instead of being the considered, logical, and talented engineer that I know him to be, he got hold of the door and vigorously shook it. But of course, he was being logical and considered I discovered afterwards, when we stood below in the cosy cabin. He knew how the lock worked as he had replaced it, and he knew what the lock needed to be shifted to open.
Ahhhh, what a relief! Let's make a coffee, using our chipped coffee maker. He reached into the fridge for the milk and dropped it. It felt like several seconds passed as we stared at the large bottle of milk now spreading over our cabin floor and dripping down into the bilges. We were silently stunned! But we leapt to work, mopping and anti-baccing, until all was fresh and good again.
Yealm
We were checking the weather forecast, and the weather that we had fled from down beyond the Lizard was catching up with us. Thundery showers were forecast and strong winds. It was difficult to find a weather window in the last days of our holiday in which to sail up to Dartmouth. We thought long and hard about this, checking the weather regularly through the day, because it was shifting and changing all the time.
We decided to stay and enjoy Yealm one more day, then make a break for Dartmouth after the thundery showers had gone over next morning. It was forecast that there would be an afternoon sunny spell with winds reaching Force 5 as we sailed past Salcombe. We took into account the sea state too, knowing that the high winds would unsettle the sea, and with the wind on the nose for a lot of the way, we had to consider what the conditions would be like over Start Point in a wind-over-tide situation.
We decided we would give Start Point and the skerries a lot of water, and head further out to sea to pass it.
In the meantime, we walked to the lovely cafe up on the green, and later in the day returned to the pub. It was the same careering dinghy slalom ride down to the harbour master's office, where he grinned and said, 'You had another go, then!'
But it was when we came back from the pub and attempted to row that the toothpaste tube popped out of the rowlock, and then the oar popped out of the rowlock, and the oar began to rapidly float on the tide around the corner of the river. An old boy sitting on the pontoon called out, 'That's going well!'
We retrieved the oar, and took one each, and solemnly paddled the dinghy between us against the wind and tide back to the boat swinging on its buoy.
Yealm to Dartmouth
Next morning a slight nervous tension hung in the air, as the rain clattered down and the thundery clouds blew over. I checked the weather forecast, and then checked again. There was a clear weather window, and it was happening slightly earlier than we had hoped for. We set off knowing that the winds would begin to drop as we reached Dartmouth, but that they would be feisty for a good part of the journey.
Black seas rolled past us like mountains. The swell pushed us forward but the tide then clawed us back. The one or two lone boats that were out at sea too, disappeared behind the rolling waves and spray. Our boat dove down into deep troughs, and rose up again climbing a wall of sea water.
I took the helm, concentrating on our position on the rolling compass, and any objects in the sea which I needed to avoid. I'm happier having to concentrate on our passage than looking behind us at the mountainous seas! And it gives Rich the freedom to concentrate on the sails and the charts and our course, plotting the way to take us away from Start Point where we have experienced the chaotic nature of this treacherous headland in the past.
These passages are about endurance - there are hours and hours of the boat leaning into a valley of sea, twisting, and riding up on the foaming waves. 21 knots of wind blew us past Salcombe. We ate a packet of chocolate biscuits to keep our energy up!
But you know, I am so glad we did this. It was exhilarating, and confidence building, bringing us back to our confident younger selves who shared in the most magnificent adventures with our young family.
This was a testing two weeks for us. We are looking towards our future and have been thinking seriously about upgrading our boat to something more seaworthy where we could spend more time. We laughed to think about this holiday in which one minor difficulty happened after another, that our boat was playing up because we were thinking of selling her!
Everything that happened was overcome, with good grace and humour, too.
And more than anything, what shines out from this trip is that we simply love it out there. Love the sea and the birds skimming past and the way it makes you feel. I've written this blog because it may be the start of a new chapter for us - let's wait and see!
Cathy
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