Tim Evans was meant to be organising the North Western group's Anglesey rally this year. But Tim Evans had sold his West Wight Potter and bought some huge hull that he assures us will soon be converted into the dream dinghy cruiser, so sorry but he would not be coming. No one else knew where the rally was meant to be. Evans had kept it vague. This being the case Helen and I decided that what we wanted to do was explore the south coast of the island. An offshore wind was forecast and the tides were right to sail out from the Menai Straight.

We launched at Porth Dinorwic at 7.30 on the Friday evening and soon Baggywrinkle was slipping south down the straight in the evening sun. Wooded slopes came down to the shore on each side. It was all rather reminiscent of Windermere - but with Caernarfon Castle. Eventually we crept into a little rocky cove on the Anglesey side, just opposite Caernarfon, and snuggled down for the night under the boom tent.

We were still having our breakfast the next morning when we saw a red sail way in the distance, moving fast down the straight towards the narrows. The binoculars revealed it to be the junk-rigged Karmatoo, Capsize Calcutt's famous own design. Soon it vanished round Abermenai point. We gulped down our breakfasts, struck the camping cover and gave chase. Caernarfon bar is a famously dangerous place on an onshore wind. The pilot book whips itself into paroxysms of horror about it, so I kept the book well away from Helen. But today the wind was from the north and the place was unruffled. As we emerged from the narrows, Karmatoo was just a speck in the distance, but we were confident of catching her. Tideways may be old and fairly heavy, but they can sail like little witches when they've a mind to (whatever Len Wingfield says).

We took a short cut across the shallows and caught up Calcutt off the mouth of Maltreath estuary in a very lumpy sea. The wind was now a good force 4 and a bit. It was being funneled down the deep estuary and throwing up a particularly vile chop in which we both hove-to. Our boats bounced about like water rabbits. We shouted to each other at the top of our voices but could not make out a word of what each other was saying over the noise of wind and waves. Somehow we managed to indicate to each other that we would sail on up the coast in company and look for a suitable anchorage for lunch.

As we no longer needed to race, we pulled a reef in Baggy's main and dowsed the jib. Helen could now take a break from flinging the sea out of the boat with the baler only just as fast as it came leaping back in again, and at last had an opportunity to enjoy the scenery. The view was impressive. On the horizon, beyond a screen of rocky islands, the dark cliffs of the coast were rent by a series of deep coves. The sea was dark with squalls, but the sun glistened on the water and Baggywrinkle breasted the waves ably under her reduced sail.

The southwest coast of Anglesey is usually a treacherous lee shore, dashed by the fierce waves of the Irish Sea and swept by strong tides. Although it was on its best behaviour that day it was still a strange, wild coast. On one of the islands a great circular wall had been thrown up against the seas to provide a plinth for a medieval chapel. A little further on was a little cove that looked good for a lunch stop. Here we anchored side by side and Capsize Calcutt showed us around his vessel. She is full of hi-tech features and big round holes cut in the frames to save weight. In comparison to a twelve foot dinghy she is huge beyond imagining. Her cabin even sports a fixed galley and other luxuries we can only dream of. As Calcutt built Karmatoo in a forlorn attempt to expunge the "capsize" epithet, she is rugged and weatherly and has clearly been designed with regular roundings of the Horn in mind.

We left Karmatoo anchored there. As her crew had taken Monday off she was bound further up the coast to Trearddur. In view of the strong wind we had decided to drop back a bit, so we could be sure of getting back to Porth Dinorwic on the morrow. So we sailed slowly back down the coast, calling in at some of the coves that we had missed on the way up.

Where should we stop for the night? There was nothing suitable in the pilot book, but the 1:50,000 OS Map (that special dinghy cruiser's chart), marked a likely looking tidal creak going up to a small village called Aberffraw. The entrance to the creek is hard against a rocky cliff at one side of a wide sandy beach called Traeth Mawr. The narrow channel curves sharply to port around the cliff then bends back to starboard and heads inland to the village. Considering the narrowness of the entry, and that the bay must be a mass of breakers in an onshore wind, we were surprised to find a couple of small fishing boats at anchor in the small haven within.

Aberffraw is an unpretentious little place, but it is not unattractive and it boasts no less than two shops and a simple pub. We could not resist a pint in the pub, but went back to the boat to cook our evening meal and wait for the ebb to settle us on the sand for the night.

Sunday dawned with sun again, but rather less wind - so our fears of sailing further up the coast the night before were proved to have been groundless. No matter, we had the prospect of a leisurely day to while away before the evening flood would take us back up the Menai Straight to Porth Dinorwic. So after breakfast we sailed south along the coast to Llanddwyn Island and landed to explore. All the other (rather larger) yachts were moored in Pilot Cove, as that is the recommended anchorage. But as the wind was still northerly, we crept between the outlying rock stacks at the tip of the island into one of the narrow rocky bays beneath the old lighthouse. So while Pilot bay filled up with yachtspeople out for the day to enjoy the sun, we had our little cove to ourselves. The wind was blowing straight off the beach, so we dug our anchor into the shingle and pushed Baggywrinkle off so that she lay quietly in the middle of the cove at the end of her warp.

Llanddwyn Island is an enchanting place. Apart from the terrace of old pilots' cottages and the lighthouse there are many interesting coves and the ruins of a chapel to explore. By midday the sun was baking down out of a cloudless sky, the sea was a deep blue and it was all improbably Mediterranean. These unlikely conditions began to attract sports boats like a jar of jam attracts wasps. By the early afternoon our lonely bay was a-buzz with fibreglass craft clamped to huge outboards and the beach was crowded with their brightly-clad crews. We began to feel under-dressed for the occasion, so we set off rather earlier than I had intended for Caernarfon bar and the entrance to the Straight.

We landed on the lonely dunes that form Abermenai point, at the mouth of the Menai Straight, and mooched around for a bit. There wasn't much to see other than the sea, but we looked at it a lot and debated whether the tide was still going out or finally on its way back in. Eventually we could wait no longer, and set off on the long beat back to our launching site.

At low tide the Menai straight is less like Lake Windermere than a drought-ridden reservoir. The channel is shut in by massive sand or shingle banks, and the constrained tide runs particularly strongly. As the flood strengthened against the wind, steep standing waves with roaring white tops began to build up in the channel. Off Caernarfon Castle the conditions were particularly bumpy. We tried to keep to the side of the channel, out of the main stream, but the water shallowed rapidly and we kept on banging our centre plate on the bottom. Each time we would yank it up with a jerk, go about and do battle with the white water once more.

Early Tideways are astonishingly wet in short steep seas. They basically can't be fussed to rise to them at all, they just keep right on going until they're out the other side. Meantime the crew have gone through the rinse cycle. This sort of thing went on for some time. Now and then we would heave-to for a serious pump and bale, and then set off again for another drubbing.

Two hours after we set off from Abermenai, we arrived back at the brightly coloured waterfront houses of Porth Dinorwic. The tide had not yet reached the foot of the public slipway, and the beach below it was a dubious mixture of nasty sharp rocks and shopping trolleys, so we made free with the sailing club slipway nearby. Then a thorough mop down of crew and boat, and we were ready for the long drive back to Sheffield.

On the answerphone when we got back was a message from Colin McLennan. He and his daughter had taken their GP14 to Trearddur on the impression that the rally was there. They had daysailed about and seen no other DCA burgees. Eventually they asked the Coastguard if he knew of any little boats off the coast. "Oh yes", this worthy fellow replied: "We've been keeping an eye on them. They've gone to Llanddwyn Island".

Is there no privacy at sea anymore?