I towed into this part old, part new, city in time for tea on a fine June afternoon, found my way down to the Barbican where Plymouth has a fine slipway and a car park — all public. The slip is in two parts, at right angles to each other, the tide was low so I drove down the first ramp and launched down from the lower one. Until the gear is properly stowed my fourteen footer always seems over-full but there was room to swing the seagull and I set off in search of a mooring. The only place I could find was in Sutton Pool, tied to the wall by the bow with the stern held off on one of the many lines from the locals’ moorings. The wall was full of boats and fenders were necessary, the pool is in an old part of the city with traffic at the top of the wall. All facilities readily available but no quiet. I got the vehicle parked for the week, had a drink, cooked supper and started to look forward to my 1964 cruise.

Next morning I was ordered to report to the harbourmaster’s office, a new and fine building by the pool, his staff were friendly but still charged me seven and sixpence which I thought excessive until I learned it would entitle me to the pool for two weeks. This made it cheap, except that I was not planning to stay that long. I had to wait around Plymouth for a couple of days for my crew to join me, so I decided to explore the River Yealm.

With a light westerly breeze I sailed out and, once clear of Mount Batten Point, had a comfortable cruise along the east side of the harbour. Soon after the breakwater I had my first look at the Mewstone. There appeared to be plenty of water between it and the Wembury Point and that was my shortest course, but I decided to pass outside. The weather was fine and the sailing was grand so I stayed due south until a mile or two from the rocks, and then let her go with a following wind for where I charted the Yealm to be. So cunningly is its entrance blended into the hill that it is quite impossible to find until you are there. The approach takes three directions almost at right angles to each other. They are clearly marked if you know where to look, which I do now, but then I did not, and before I had found the marks I had myself uncomfortably close to submerged rocks off Mouthstone Point. I shall not make that mistake again. When safely inside I sailed up to Yealm Pool, borrowed a mooring and took a late and leisurely lunch.

I have not yet found one of these west country rivers to give any protection from wind; they all have hills on both sides, mostly wooded, but they all seem to act as wind tunnels. The Yealm is no exception. It was about 1600 hours when I set off up river, up tide and up wind. I motored slowly in search of shelter from the wind. To stay afloat was necessary because the tide would be away when I would wake next morning so I did not consider the mud in Thorn or in Shallowford Cove. When I reached Steer Point I had still found no shelter, and above here the river dries. On the point is a fishing lodge, I assumed they owned the buoys outside so I made fast to one of these, assembled my coracle, rowed ashore and picked my way over the slippery beach to the lodge. It was difficult to find anyone who knew about the moorings, the skipper had heard there were shark off the Eddystone and had immediately put to sea, he could have been right because I had sailed in company with a shark for several minutes during the morning, that unmistakable curved fin showing clearly above the water.

This was the first season I had used my new folding “cabin” and this was its wind test. It sheltered me well while I prepared the vegetables and brewed tea; before I had finished my supper the wind had dropped and all was calm. How different from my mooring in Plymouth. Here I was surrounded by wooded slopes with little sign of any life.

The second day was again fine, I went ashore after breakfast to say “thank you” and fill my water bottle. Water was short, in fact I think I had more on board than they had at the lodge, so I took none, rowed back to Jady Lane and set off for the sea, and Plymouth. The sun shone all day but the sailing was quite different from yesterday because now I was sailing westward and into the wind. Even when I had cleared Mewstone I had to tack several times to keep clear of the rocks off the point and the east side of Plymouth harbour. By early afternoon I was approaching Batten Point and I was hungry so I ran off into one of the bays, dropped a hook and enjoyed a late lunch. The swell was less comfortable than I had expected so at tea time I motored into Sutton Pool, there I was back between the buildings instead of the trees, with the rattle of the traffic instead of the birds, but with all modern conveniences.

The morning train from London brought my crew, and when we had settled the extra kit we set out for the west. The sailing was good in the harbour. We left the breakwater to port and on to Penlee Point. From here the wind proved difficult; it was not too strong but too westerly. On the southern tack we made a little ground, but seemed to lose it the other way. After several attempts to clear Rame Head, and with a whole week to spend, we gave up and sailed back to Plymouth and Sutton Pool. This was my third night in the Pool and the seven and six was becoming less extravagant.

The next day I was determined to get to Looe. Everything was in our favour except the wind which was the same as the previous day. Again we made good progress to Penlee Point and again we had trouble to westward. By the middle of the day we had struggled round Rame Head, I don’t know why we thought we might make better progress via Whitsand Bay but we were quite wrong. The rocks on the west side of Rame Head looked hard to me and we were between them and a strong west wind, I knew I was dependent on the engine and I was glad we had one. It was now clear that we would not sail to Looe on this day, Looe Island was visible but seven miles up wind, we were about the same distance from Plymouth and this was one of the few occasions when my crew and I could not agree. I wanted to get away from Plymouth even on the engine; crew said if we can’t sail why go? Of course he was right. We could have had a grand sail back, but like the great guy he is he gave in. It seemed an age that we punched against that wind and when the Seagull finally got us into Looe the tide had started to ebb and progress was difficult. It was about 1900 hours and we were tired so we took the first available spot against the east wall just beyond the slipway. A step in the wall protected us from the full force of the tide. There are iron ladders to the road and all seemed well. Supper for two was quickly prepared — we were hungry. As the water gradually lowered our boat towards the clean shingle bed of the river, we realized to our dismay that it was not flat as it appeared, but sloping steeply towards the middle of the river, and that when we sat on it our boat might well capsize. This was a problem new to us and we had no sure answer. To tie the mast to the wall would hold her upright but would we be awake to let go when the river flooded in the early hours? I wished I had a pneumatic boat roller this would have done the job. Instead we fixed the biggest plastic fender we could find under the bilge furthest from the wall, moved all the heavy items of kit to the side nearest to the wall and then, the impossible, both slept on the wall side of the boat. I do not say “in comfort” because our feet had to share the space beside the plate case and crew had his head up the sharp end, but we did keep her on an even keel. When we woke the water was back.

With no sign of wind and the promise of heat we decided to linger for another tide. I walked up to the harbour to see where we might have moored had we arrived in time to reconnoitre. The shark fleet was out so I don’t know how much room they occupy. The harbourmaster had no suggestions, he only seemed surprised that the local river boatmen had let us use the wall because from there they do their trade. This did not prevent the master taking my two bob for one night or more providing I was forced back by weather. As the sun approached its high we aired kit, wandered across to the beach for a very quick swim and then took lunch. There was no wind so we motored south and between the mainland and Looe Island hoping to find some wind along the coast. There was a little, but progress was very slow until outside Fowey. Here there was enough wind, funnelling out of the river to make us tack hard before getting our first sight of Fowey.

On the west and just inside the entrance is a cove sheltered by a point called St. Catherine’s. It looked most attractive with a sand beach and access to the road, so there we chose to drop our hook. We decided to walk before supper and I prepared the coracle and rowed around for a few minutes while crew tidied the boat. I shall never know how or why, but as I came alongside I capsized the coracle, and in less than a second the skipper who had combed his hair and changed his shirt to go ashore was floundering in a couple of fathoms of clear Cornish water. Never before has my coracle failed me even when it has had two aboard and the shopping and the water. I must have done something to deserve it.

Our sixth and seventh days were hot, lazy and most enjoyable but were not good for sailing. From Fowey we drifted round Gribbon Head to that wonderful old and now disused harbour of Polkerris. This I recommend to any dinghy cruiser. True I have only seen it in good conditions, but there is a sound old wall protecting a tiny bowl of sand. If you want the full benefit of the wall you must take the sand. Once moored there is a tea shop and a pub., there is no bread, paraffin or meat. To walk back to Fowey is more than two miles.

I wanted to sail to Mevagissey but had to abandon the idea for lack of wind. We tried hard to sail back around Gribbon but eventually had to content ourselves with a gentle potter with Seagull eastward to Polperro. Here there is every facility, little space and a lot of fish. The tide was not convenient to take the ground and to stay afloat we had to accept boats on both sides but the place has charm which outweighs the congestion and the smell. I don’t know why the Stanford’s chart has no “inset” chart of Polperro — it is well worth a stay.

Our eighth day gave us our best sail. It was cooler with a good breeze from the west and before noon we were off Looe with all sails set, bound for Newton Ferrers. Rame Head is about twelve miles from Polperro and both lunch watches had been taken before the head was on our port beam. From here to Newton Ferrers is about eight and this time I knew the way into the River Yealm. With this wind we could have sailed to Salcombe which was the most westerly point of our 1963 cruise but my crew wanted to see Newton Ferrers and we had to stay handy to Plymouth to which we must return next day. We enjoyed a grand sail round the Mewstone and up the Yealm with enough water to take us right to Newton and into a little creek opposite the village called Noss. It dries, but this was convenient for us on that night. We dropped a hook where we thought we could cause no obstruction and brewed tea, then prepared supper and rowed a few strokes to shore. There is a good pub at the water’s edge and some facilities but any serious shopping should be done on the other side in Newton Ferrers itself, a walk up river and over the bridge.

On our last day the wind still blew from the west so we had to sail hard to get back to Plymouth. To make the most of the day, and in search of a leisurely lunch, we tacked off the Mewstone and sailed for Cawsand Bay on the west side of Plymouth Harbour. It was a wet and exciting sail suitable for the last day of a cruise which had lacked sailing wind. Once in the shelter of Cawsand all was calm, crew made himself so comfortable that soon after we had enjoyed our lunch he was fast asleep. The afternoon grew warm and it seemed a pity to wake him so I tried to set enough sail to get us into the harbour without disturbing him. I had some success and settled down to a slow sail along the west side of the harbour. All went well while I held a course for Mount Batten Point, but as we cleared Redding I had an urge to sail round Drake’s Island. This I did but not before I had become completely out of control in the cross tide that dominated the Devonport side of the island at that time. Helplessly I watched my boat drift on to one of the marker buoys, there was a horrible crunch which proved too much for my sleeping crew who woke to offer his help, fortunately it did not prove too much for the old clinker timbers which just creaked, bent, collected a little black paint from the buoy, and then went back into position.

The sun shone that Sunday evening into Sutton Pool, I had found a bottle of wine while crew had cooked the supper and after coffee we lounged on our sleeping bags with the stern half of my folding cabin “open”. There are still many things I have to learn about this sport but I already know this is a good way to celebrate the end of a cruise.