After our wild launching/retrieving experience in Scotland, we played safe and chose Totnes at the top of the River Dart as the starting point for our West Country cruise. At 2 p.m. on Sunday 31st July, the car drew alongside a dingy little slip as odd drops of rain started to fall.

We had two hours before high water and spent every minute of that time preparing the boat and becoming soaked in the steady vertical rain. The water rose inch by inch up the slip with never a ripple. Only 50 miles westward along the coast the Darwin was foundering in a gale off Dodman Point, with the loss of 31 lives. We felt scarcely a flutter of this gale.

The car and trailer were left in a free public car park and Eric sculled down river to find the nearest anchorage out of the way of steamers and sheltered from the wind. Everything was soaking wet and the sky solid grey. A furious row ensued over the setting of the awning, crew had a total mutiny and Skipper wished he’d never come.

Next day the sun shone and Eric spent the whole morning patiently examining his air bed for the leak which had let him down overnight. It had to be found as the air bed was vital gear — buoyancy. In the afternoon we motored back to Totnes as the wind was in our teeth and there was very little water for tacking.

We stocked up with plenty of reading material (5 books and 2 newspapers) before sailing down with the aid of a fresh breeze to Mill Creek just above Dittisham. A fine anchorage but slight swell.

Tuesday was grey and gusty. We inspected the large collection of yachts off Dittisham and pressed on in fits and starts down river which here has steep wooded sides making the wind come from all directions. At Dartmouth the wind became more true and we were glad of our reef. Took a look at the entrance and Walfleet Creek recommended by John Deacon in his article in a past Bulletin and decided it was too crowded for us. By now another gale had been forecast so we decided to make snug at the top of Old Mill Creek. However, the chart was not handy and we soon hit the mud in the entrance so carefully laid out both anchors between the various naval craft and settled down to a good reading session.

Wednesday mid-morning, the wind had abated a little and because more trouble with the air bed was reported, we close-reefed, to sail the ¼ mile to Dartmouth and found it pleasantly sheltered under the lee of the wall. The crew was in need of exercise so we made our way up to the gale-swept heights above Dartmouth. Returning by way of a 1 in 3 hill we were glad to be on foot. Large notices on the harbour front stated that the Boatel would sell water at 5/- per ton or part thereof. We filled our 20 lb can from the public tap in the gardens and surreptitiously disposed of the offending air bed in a litter basket.

The fish and chips were delicious and the new air bed entirely satisfactory. Excellent place, Dartmouth!

The wind continued to moderate but we chose a more sheltered spot for the night’s anchorage as we had received quite a battering by the wind the previous night.

Thursday the 0640 forecast was reasonable W. 3—5 and the sun shone from a cloudless sky when we dropped Dartmouth astern heading S with one reef in company with three or four other yachts. We went inside the Skerries Banks to keep in the smoother water and made excellent progress. Arrived at Start Point at slack low water so passed within 200 yards of the lighthouse. It was just as well we were wearing our “heavy weather” gear — life jackets and safety lines — as the next two hours were more than exhilarating. With wind against tide and the coast from Prawl Point to Salcombe tending to be a lee shore we tacked well out to sea to avoid the breakers caused by the shallowing bottom. As the boat raced on over and through the waves I could see Eric sitting well out through the streaming window. I tried to keep looking out of the window to fight off the increasing feeling of sea-sickness but there was nothing to look at but the heaving sea and sky. I closed my eyes and lay flat and tried to think of nothing, when splash, a wave had managed to enter through the cabin hatch so the cover had to be put in place. When I felt I could not hold another minute the sculls thundered overhead, I climbed over the centreboard as the floor boards on the other side came up to meet me and glued my nose to the ventilator holes in the hatch cover. That eased my rebellious stomach, now all I had to do was hope fervently that we would make Salcombe on this tack. We did, and sickness was soon forgotten in reading up the entrance directions and bailing out the cockpit. As we sailed into the lee of Bolt Head the wind came in little puffs from all directions and the surface of the sea became a lazy swell. Looking astern I was petrified by a wave which raised itself about 3 feet above the calm surface, curled over and broke-oburasily on the bar. No wonder this bar is to be feared in onshore winds.

A brisk passage through the Bog did not allow detailed inspection of all the yachts but skipper was anxious, as usual, to get his three-meals-a-day in, so a delightful anchorage was found inside the entrance of Frogmere Creek sheltered from the wind. High water was not until 6pm so after sustenance we ran the remaining three miles to the top of the creek to look around Frogmere village. How pleasant to scramble back along the shore to patient, lonely Aurora. It was necessary to motor back to our solitary anchorage as the channel was tortuous and the wind hard in our teeth.

Friday’s forecast was W. 4—6 and sunny, so leaving Aurora at a boat yard mooring for the day (as we have no tender when cruising) we walked to Bolt Head. Salcombe was packed with people and cars being regatta week and we stopped to watch some rowing races between teams of five lusty Devon men. As we were about to be ferried out to Aurora the maroon went off and the chap standing nearby leapt into a dinghy, had the engine going in a second, and within a minute had climbed aboard the lifeboat. He was the engineer, and certainly made a smart getaway that time. Within seconds smoke was rising from the lifeboats chimney, and then an age seemed to go by before the rest of the crew arrived. It is a pity that lifeboats are so often called out needlessly.

Saturday it blew a gale and rained hard all day, but we were very comfortable back in the evening at our anchorage. Eventide and a Westerly motored into the creek. The Westerly spent a long time charging round trying to find a suitable spot being blinded by his cabin lights but both were high and dry in the morning.

Sunday the forecast was again W. 4—6, so we spent the day exploring Collapit lake and the channel to Kingsbridge. Mostly sunny but the wind was strong. If one has to be weather bound it would be difficult to think of a better place than Salcombe from a dinghy cruiser’s point of view. Returned to our anchorage to find the other boats hadn’t moved.

Monday’s forecast SW. 3—5, sunny. Dropped down to Salcombe for supplies. The west-going stream did not begin until 2 pm so there was plenty of time. Found water difficult to obtain as there were no public taps. As there is no public harbour wall or frontage Eric had to stay with the boat. We passed out of Salcombe at about noon hastily stowing the shopping and donning our “heavy weather gear”. I always craftily take the first trick at the helm to delay the seasickness! After a couple of hours of long tacks against the tide in glorious weather we had made about 5 miles progress wested and could nearly weather Bolt Tail to lay a straight course for Plymouth. Aurora could just cope with conditions under full sail though she was making plenty of spray fly. As the tide turned I graciously handed over to Eric as he likes hard sailing. Three hours later at the Mewstone a salt-caked skipper was only too pleased to give his right arm a rest from the helm. He had been hanging on to too much sail for the last hour because he did not want to reef so near a lee shore (it takes us about five minutes to lower the sails, put the reef in and raise them again). A reefed Folkboat had crept up on us but when abreast had turned off into the River Yealm, rolling badly after her sails were down.

The sky looked lurid to the west beyond Whitsands Bay and I was glad to be gaining the shelter of Plymouth Sound. In the gathering dusk we sailed past the naval ships up the Hamoaze and, having heard another gale forecast, chose a very snug spot inside the naval school moorings just inside the St. Germans River.

Next morning it was still not blowing quite gale force and the rain did not start until the awning was stowed and we were all ready to break out the anchor. Cloud was at sea level and the scene was a study in greys with indefinite outlines. We ran swiftly upriver in pouring rain and fierce gusts scarcely able to make out the banks in the mist. Below St. Germans the mud called a halt to this helter skelter progress and we had a hard beat back, even though the banks here are heavily wooded and the river running at right angles to the gale, to a sheltered spot on the bend of the river we had earmarked. The trees were roaring overhead until the next morning and our oilskins were soaked inside, but we were snug in the cabin and it was very humid.

Wednesday was bright and sunny and Eric was determined to do some real exploring so we went all the way to the top of the River Tiddy until the ditch was becoming too narrow to turn round. Amongst the reeds we discovered, or were discovered by, two young Cornish canoeists wide eyed in astonishment at this ocean-going vessel in their backwater. The upriver trip was accomplished by sail and oar but on the downriver stage it was necessary to call on the engine because the wind was ahead and too strong to scull and the river too narrow to beat. Two or three times we went aground as the mud banks are extensive and unmarked. There was a house on one bank, the garden being enclosed by a battlemented wall. At each battlement a cannon peeped out. There seemed to be enough tide left for a hasty exploration of Sconner Lake. Being a small creek and overhung with lichen-covered trees we felt as though we were discovering the upper reaches of the Amazon. The tree-clad hills blocked out the wind and the only sounds were the birds and the plop of the oar. As we rounded the last bend an unpleasant smell assailed us and there before our eyes was a council rubbish tip! We beat a hasty retreat before this evidence of civilization and scurried down river as the tide was ebbing fast.

In the late afternoon we came to rest at our sheltered anchorage just below the naval school moorings — the forecast had not been very promising. Splendid entertainment was provided for the rest of that day by the lads having rowing lessons. The youngsters were placed eight in a galley with a large man with suitable voice in the stern. Their heads and shoulders appeared above the ample topsides and each wielded an oar about 12ft long. Their progress was like that of a centipede, their “legs” appearing to go forward in waves, when not acting independently. One little chap found the only way he could get his oar in the water was to pull above his head!

Next morning, Thursday, the cloud was again at sea level, the atmosphere humid, and inland here the wind force 5 SW. Even though we only intended running over to the Saltash ferry — a distance of about a mile — it was necessary to reef. A mooring was obtained from a small yard and we returned with car and trailer in the evening to haul out on the disused ferry slip. Although rather steep and the lower part slimy as it was low water the retrieving took place without mishap. As we prepared the boat for her road journey in the shadow of Brunel’s superb old railway bridge and the brand new Saltash toll bridge standing side by side, the rain continued to fall in the gathering darkness.