All my waterproofs packed and it was off on the SouthWest airline flight from Newcastle to Plymouth. The board gate information gives a counter down in minutes labelled ‘Time to shop’. Musing at the queues of woman holding plastic sacks of toiletries to maintain them during short flights I boarded to find my manly waterproof jacket smothered in flowers as a woman packs a large bouquet into the overhead locker.
I had to get to Southdown Marina near Millbrook which is a long taxi ride (fortunately I shared the first part of the ride to Plymouth station) then onto the chain ferry at Torpoint and an exciting ride down single track roads as the taxi driver is adjusting his sat nav. I joined the boat – which is a lovely catamaran, scaring Jim on board who was busy fixing his heater as I bounce on board. Andy an RAF Hercules pilot/navigator arrives, followed by Jordan a Bulgarian Yachtmaster examinee (and not Peter Andre’s ex).
The first night is a simple motor down the creek to an anchor point, where we learn about anchoring a catamaran with a claw to adjust its pivot point and settle in for the night. My cabin has its own toilet (head) and shower (in the same space which makes toilet cleaning easier…) and a ladder with which I chimney up between the wardrobe and the ladder and hurl myself into the narrow gap which is the bed.
Breakfast was fried cheese with plum tomatoes – what a start to the long day (they were all long days – starting early and finishing with lectures on diesel engines or navigation – this was no joy trip this was serious learning). Sailing around Plymouth Sound off the scary looking breakwater whilst naval destroyers cruised around. Busy little place. Captain Jim got us all together with the weather forecast – it was not looking good. Force 7 gusting Force 8 and in the wrong direction too. So he asked us in turn ‘would you consider going on a trip down the coast in weather like this, without me on board’ – we each in turn replied ‘absolutely not’ – and he said ‘Good, so lets go then, we need to be out of Plymouth as Jordan is getting tested there’. Gulp. We got the boat ready and drove through the four posts marking the exit to Plymouth and into a very rough English Channel.
We were being chased by HMS Daring at one point doing its manouvers and after an hour of bouncing around all over the place whilst I was in looking at charts it all got too much for my anti seasickness bracelets (I had forgotten to take my crystallised ginger as I had assumed we were just going to be in the calm waters of Plymouth Sound) and I promptly threw up over the back rail losing breakfast in a trice. I was put on the helm as looking at the horizon helps but lunch followed over the back and I was timing the projectile vomiting with helming quite well until I had nothing left to give to the fishes.
The entrance to Fowey harbour was impressively scary but Jim took over and we were soon in calmer waters. We parked near the lifeboat (they weren’t going out in weather like that) and I took the chance to go for a walk on land that doesn’t sway in all directions. We had to move up river to avoid the worsening wind and settled on a pontoon for the night.
Black wet suited Customs officers visited us in the morning on their scary black rib – possibly wondering about Jordan’s endless supply of Bulgarian chocolate and asked us various questions about our course before wishing us luck and heading off in their black boat again to interrogate someone else.
We had to pop into town to the post office (whilst it was not on strike) and another chance to wander around the picturesque town of Fowey (home of Daphne Du Maurier) – we had tied up and Jordan and I were strolling off the pontoon when another yacht came in at speed, in the same direction as the river current and smashed into the front of our catamaran. It had turned out that Mervyn (or Swervin’ Mervyn as he came to be known) had picked up something round his prop and didn’t have the ability to stop – he tried scuba diving but got told off for not having a diving licence. We suggested we could tow him tomorrow to a dry dock which he took up and we left to do pontoon bashing and mooring in the river to our hearts content.
