Calypso had her first taste of the open sea last year and seemed capable of attempting a longer cruise along the south coast this year. The troubles we had last year I would attribute mainly to my inexperience, worn fittings, and a lack of respect for the weather. So we launched at St. Mawes with rather cold feet, and a lot of new fittings and equipment including a Seafix RDF which would pick up the shipping forecasts from Dulwich on 1500m.

Wednesday, 2 August. The widest slipway in St. Mawes gave us three inches to spare on either side of the Wayfarer's six foot beam. Once afloat and rigged, Calypso was loaded up to deck level. We set off in a very unseamanlike manner with barely any room to put one's feet. I was sailing with George Greenwood again, and we were both keen to be off as soon as possible as we had both been working flat out for the last 48 hours doing a year's worth of essential fitting out that had accumulated while I was working in Australia. The non-essential fitting out we planned to do during the cruise while waiting for tides or weather.

George has a Godmother in Mylor so we beat across Carrick Roads in a light nor'wester, making the passage unreefed - a pleasure we were to enjoy only once again in the cruise. The wind was funnelling down Mylor Creek, and we found short tacking amongst our piles of provisions too much for us, so made use of our new auxiliary power. We had previously always relied on paddles, but I have now been overwhelmed by the arguments in favour of oars, and their biggest drawback - that they are awkward to stow - has been overcome by cutting each of a pair of nine foot oars in two, and jointing each half with a scarfe inside a length of steel tubing reinforced with two layers of glassfibre matting and two coats of fibreglass filler. The blade half can be used as an oar for the rubber dinghy, or as a paddle if needed in a hurry when there is not time to assemble the oars. We took an oar each and tested the strength of the joints to the limits of our own strength thus getting up the creek in a very short space of time. Calypso was left on moorings while we went ashore, as George's Godmother had kindly lent us her sitting room for the night.

Thursday, 3 August. It took us all morning to sort out the stowage system, doing some more fitting out between showers, but we were off at 1150 with four rolls in the mainsail, hoping to reach Mevagissey by evening. The Falmouth Estuary is so obviously suited to dinghy cruising that we were sorry we could not spend some time there, but both of us are more attracted to the open sea, and we had only ten days ahead of us before George was due to leave for a Continental holiday. We left Falmouth in the midst of a squall with six rolls in, but the weather cleared quickly and we were soon running goosewinged under full sail in bright sunshine, George relaxing on the floorboards reading the Times in the shelter offered by our new PVC spray cover. We gave the Dolman a good berth to avoid the tide rips and as we were ahead of schedule set a course of 60° mag. towards Polperro, racing a squall on the way. We were on the verge of victory when it outmanoeuvred us by splitting in two forcing us to reef down to seven rolls. However, by the time we reached Polperro, it was getting dark, and the wind had dropped fortunately, as the entrance is notoriously tricky in a sea. We left Calypso on a drying berth alongside the harbour wall with one boat roller as a fender and the other under her transom, and made a point of clearing the rocks from underneath her before her ⅜" ply bottom grounded. The harbour is very picturesque and completely unspoilt by tourism, but the village is rather commercialised and George had no difficulty in finding an excellent bed and-breakfast for 15/- each. We see little point in roughing it when one can find good accommodation at that sort of price.

Friday, 4 August. The 0640 forecast was "Plymouth NW 4 - 6 gale 7 later, thunder, good'', but this was later modified to "6 locally". We did some more fitting out on the stowage layout until Calypso refloated, and we were off at 1450, reefed to the first batten on starboard gybe. When five miles north of the Eddystone Lighthouse, we tacked onto port gybe and headed for Cawsand Bay a recommended anchorage behind Rame Head. Ten minutes later, at 1625, the helm went limp and Calypso spun round into the wind twisting the rudder to an almost horizontal position in the process. When we had sails down and drogue out, I had a look over the stern to see that the stainless steel transom pintle had sheared off, and the top pair of rudder fittings was badly twisted. I put a bolt through the hole the pintle had left behind, as a substitute, but this too was unable to take the strain for long, so we resorted to steering with an oar lashed under the mainsheet horse, and got under way under jib alone. There were a lot of fishing vessels converging on Looe, and I feared a foul weather forecast, but the 1758 mentioned nothing above Force 5, I had bought a mackerel line in Falmouth, but we had been unable to use it so far due to excessive speed. Now that we were under jib only, we put it out and soon pulled in a couple for supper, one before and one after a rather vicious squall which drove us fast enough to start the Elvstrom Superman bailer sucking again. We reached Rame Head at 1925 and once round, had to beat to Cawsand, so hoisted the main with four rolls in. It was encouraging to see how well Calypso was balanced in smooth water with this rig - she could be helmed by crew weight, without a touch on the steering oar. Calypso was beached on a couple of boat rollers then we fried the mackerel and George went off in search of a bed-and-breakfast. We took our gear and valuables along, then I returned to the boat to put out stern line at low water, and spent two hours finding the b-and-b again! Cawsand is only a small village, but I was completely lost in the maze of narrow winding streets all of which looked identical to me.

Saturday, 5 August. George went off to Millbrook in search of high quality stainless steel bolts so that we could make a jury pintle. I could not understand why it had broken as we are both conscious of straining the steering having broken a tiller, rudder head, blade down-haul and now the new stainless steel fittings in the last two years. We were especially conscious of it this year as I have put a brass hinged joint in the tiller to make the stern locker more accessible when under way, and this had been strained on Thursday as I had not tightened the bolts enough. The steering is stressed severely when weather helm develops on a broad reach, and this can be reduced by loading Calypso stern heavy. Also, should she start broaching, we would not attempt to correct it, but with the plate up let herslide broadside on to the wave until the crest helped knock her bows round on course again.

There was a forecast of Force 6 later, and the weather chart showed a much deeper depression moving in from mid-Atlantic and we thought Salconbe would offer good protection from the weather. Calypso was high and dry when we wanted to set off, but resting on the two boat rollers lashed under her, so we rolled her thirty yards down the beach, George positioning our three boat rollers while I attempted to check her downhill progress with the help of the anchor - she weighs over a quarter of a ton with all the cruising gear on board. We rowed out of the bay, then had a pleasant run up the coast cooking lunch on the way. George reckoned we would be unable to boil water satisfactorily on our home made Gaz powered gimballed cooker, so I put this to the test by successfully poaching some eggs to go with the main course. We decided not to put out the mackerel line till later as we would both prefer them as fresh as possible for supper. When I did put the line out I had four in inside ten minutes so George attributed me with beginner's luck. I then caught an unwanted fifth while untangling the line. Steady rain built up as we approached Salcombe and the wind came in short sharp gusts. We gybed at 1740 and George took her over the bar, goosewinged, having some anxious moments as the sea was breaking unpleasantly. We tied up at the public jetty and had supper crouched under the spray cover. We were not allowed to leave Calypso on the jetty overnight, so George carted off our gear (including a sleeping bag as I had only found one single bed in Salcombe) while I rowed Calypso over to an unoccupied mooring. I rowed back in the 7 lb Japanese rubber dinghy still wearing my one-piece oilskins which are essential whatever the weather, as the only practical way of propelling this craft is by lying on the canvas floor with head and feet dangling over each end.

Our plan on this cruise was to make short daylight passages as far as Salcombe and then wait for 24 hours clear weather in which to cross Lyme Bay to Weymouth - the nearest port on the other side. It seemed unwise to attempt the controversial inshort passage around the Bill as an inaccurate landfall could be disastrous, so we based our plans on doing the offshore passage of some 70 sea miles. The 0202 forecast was encouraging: "SW 2-4. backing S 4/5", and we planned on leaving in mid-afternoon to catch the morning flood off Portland Bill.

Sunday, 6 August. The day was spent doing odd jobs: fitting on jibsheet jamming cleats accessible to the helmsman, fitting more stowage clips and extra stern hatch lashings, amongst other things. It took us three hours to fit a new drogue fairlead as this involved drilling two holes through a bronze chain guard with a wood pushdrill. We drilled one hole each.

Off at 1630, and it took an hour to beat out to the Bar against the flood. The sea was decidedly choppy outside, and what had been a blue sky was now criss-crossed with cirrus. The 1758 forecasted Force 6, but we hoped it would be less than this in the night and decided to continue if the wind moderated in the evening. The wind was SE and we had a good thrash to windward reefing three times on the way until we had 9 rolls in the mainsail at 1905. About this time we noticed a layer of cloud moving rapidly towards us from the west causing a high sunset. It seemed to have suddenly sprung from nowhere and soon covered most of the sky. We could not ignore this, so once clear of the Start Point Race, we bore away on a course of 050° until we sighted the Skerries buoy, then bore away further to 010° on a course for Dartmouth as dusk descended. It was exciting sailing as we were exercising the minimum control on the helm for fear of damaging our jury pintle. We would have run the risk of broaching with the plate up in this sea, so had it three-quarters down. She seemed happier in this weight of wind with the mainsail reefed down to an area smaller than that of the foresail. I remember asking George what he though, of our decision to call off the Lyme Bay crossing, and his reply was "There are too many bloody fools on the ocean anyway - there's no need for us to be two more." Nature's early warning system had impressed us both.

Dartmouth is reputed to have an easy, all-weather entrance. Conditions were obviously far from ideal as there was a heavy swell (the coastguards had warned us of this before we set off) and it was a lee shore, so we took the normal precaution of assembling the oars in case of an emergency. We couldn't find the sector light and steered further to starboard, soon picking up a green fixed light which indicated that we were too far to port. Continuing on starboard gybe, we were getting very close to the rocks to the east of the approach when we suddenly noticed a red light: we had been looking at a green street lamp and the real sector light had only just been turned on. Tacked onto port gybe and sailed some distance before we were in the white sector. The swell was beginning to break as we passed the Castle Ledge buoy, and we soon doused the main as the wind became unpredictable under the cliff. The sea began to break very heavily and two crests broke over the stern. When within a cable of the Castle, George started rowing, as we were no longer making progress against the ebb stream. However, we were through the narrows inside half an hour and went ashore for a drink at 2230. I took a spell at the oars as we went further upstream while George took over duties of navigator and cook. The Gaz light we carry has the power of a 70-watt electric bulb; when hung from the boom, it serves as a good navigation lamp in addition to providing excellent illumination. We picked up a mooring, and after supper, kipped down with plastic bags over our sleeping bags to keep out the rain.

Monday, 7 August. It blew hard and rained all night, and in the morning, we ran upstream to Dittisham under jib only in search of a better mooring. En route we heard the forecast: "S/SE 6/7 going to E/SE 8 later". Dittisham looked unpleasant in that weather, and after I had been ashore to tell the coastguards of our safe arrival in Dartmouth, we set off to beat back with eight rolls in the mainsail and the small jib up. The wind was very gusty,. funnelling upstream between the steep hills on either side, and we found that we would lose too much way in the lulls so that we had little control in the gusts. Calypso seemed much happier with three of those rolls out, and was definitely on our side. I was at the helm at 1540 when we capsized. An exceptionally heavy gust must have hit from abeam or abaft the beam as neither of us saw it coming, and the mast was in the water almost before we realised it. George was unfortunately caught the wrong side of the gunwhale and Calypso went 180° upside down. We stood on top to take stock of what was floating off, then righted her, and I downed sails and started bailing while George swam around picking up gas cylinders, boots, oars, etc. Neither of us had lifelines or buoyancy-aids on (we were completely unprepared for a capsize inland): I threw George's May West to him deflated and it really came into its own as he was able to slip it on easily and pull the ripcord. I wanted to run back to Dittisham, but George thought of getting a tow to Dartmouth, so I gave him our lung-powered horn to attract the attention of a passing outboard dinghy, but it wouldn't work - we later discovered it jammed with a piece of seaweed. However, someone soon stopped and towed us to Dartmouth while we finished bailing and assessed damage: lost overboard was the drogue, a small tupperware of emergency tools, the spare jibsheet, a sail batten and the unused radar reflector - all these items and some others were out of their proper stowage positions. The stern locker and most of the Tupperware was dry but the bow locker was flooded meaning that our sum total of dry clothes was one shirt and one sweater which had been kept relatively dry inside my one-piece oilskins. The RDF stowed in the cockpit must have been underwater for over two minutes but still worked, although at somewhat reduced power.

When we tied up at Dartmouth, occasion demanded that we break into our emergency rations and put a match to one of our cans of self-heating malted milk. We stayed the night in the Boatel, using the boiler room for our clothes; our own room was soon an indescribable mess with electric razors, alarm clock etc, being dried on our cocker, a dozen or so damp charts hanging, pound notes drying on the wall amongst a host of other items. To raise morale we read our sodden copy of "Once is Enough", the story of "Tzu-. Hang's" somersaulting and dismissing in the Roaring Forties, surely the most enlightening book for shipwrecked mariners.

Tuesday, 8 August. Tuesday saw us getting essential gear replacements, and as George threatened to mutiny if we set off without a radar reflector, I went to Salcombe to get one. We were hoping to make another bid for the Lyme Bay crossing that evening, and as the RDF would be almost essential for the offshore Portland passage, George had it checked and stripped down at a radio repair shop, but was informed that the "reduced power" was due to poor reception in Dartmouth, and the set was quite OK. We could still wring water out of our spare clothing that evening, but what we were wearing was slowly drying. Another complication arose that evening as George's father rang the Boatel and forbade us to attempt Lyme Bay. He later modified this by insisting that George be in Berkhamsted by 6.00 p.m. the next day. The cup was almost dashed from our lips as I had just contacted the Met. Office and had the best weather forecast I'd heard for a week: "SE 4/5 perhaps going down to 3 in the night and veering, thunderstorms, vis. moderate becoming poor"; although the shipping forecast reported a shallow depression right on top of us.

We left at 2230 and rowed out into a dead calm, but the swell was breaking in the approach and everything was thrashing around. The radar reflector crashed on deck causing a ghastly tangle with all the rigging. George gave up the struggle of trying to untangle it when I said I could see in the dark. A yacht was approaching the entrance from the east under power and for want of anything better to do we indicated our presence by flashing an I - the sound signal for port tack. Over the water we heard a startled cry: "Buoy double flashing fine on port bow, sir." They came to investigate and offered to tow us into Dartmouth.

Wednesday, 2 August. The wind picked up at 0130, and I cane off watch a 0200. I had agreed to flash a W (for Wayfarer) to the Berry Head coastguard every hour, but they had changed watch by the time we were in range. I hoped that medical supplies would not be rushed out to us due to interpretation of W in the International Code of Signals. We had probably missed the Portland tide, so aimed for the Lyme Bay Buoy, from which we would be able to set a course for Lyme Regis, the only feasible harbour between Exmouth and Weymouth. I put five rolls in the main before kipping as the wind was rising, Calypso was still throwing a lot of spray around and one-piece oilskins plus waterproof blanket were essential for undisturbed sleep.

George woke me at 0500 to take bearings on the two lights - Berry Head and Start Point - before they were turned off, as the first pink light percolated through the mist, It was then that we discovered the RDF was not working thus completely destroying any hopes of rounding the Bill. George had overstepped his two hour watch, his excuse being that he hadn't got the time (his watch was one of the capsize casualties), and during my watch I was unable to wake him for the 0640 forecast. We continued on a course of 080° mag. until 0715, when we had a shrewd guess at where we were and set a course of 040° as the buoy had not yet shown up.

The morning mist soon lifted to reveal an almost cloudless sky, so we were soon stripping off our layers of damp night clothing and airing then in the rigging. The next three hours were very nerve-racking as we seemed to be planing almost continuously towards a sharp horizon with no sign of land behind it, This was the first time we had ever been truly out of sight of land (the nearest land when we altered course was 20 sea miles) and we had very little confidence in our dead-reckoning ability. However, by 1020, the coastal fog had begun to lift and Golden Cape showed up dead ahead where we were hoping it would be, and we altered course towards Lyme Regis. There was a long SW swell running, seeing very impressive as it was rising above horizon level, and the thought of what this would do near the Lyme Regis entrance worried me as one is advised not to attempt Lyme Regis in anything more than a Force 4, and it was blowing southerly Force 5 at the time. However, it started breaking about two miles offshore, and there was nothing left of it at the harbour entrance, which proved to be considerably easier than anticipated.

Lyme Regis was full of holiday makers making good use of what turned out to be the first fine day for nearly a fortnight. George had to catch a bus home at 3.00 p.m. The people in Lyme Regis were extremely friendly and helpful, and I left Calypso on a borrowed trailer in the dinghy park with most of her gear in the harbourmaster's building. George is an excellent crew, and in practise our responsibilities are equally divided, so that whoever is on watch is also skipper - an excellent situation in a small boat.