‘Karmatoo’ is a 17’ 6” home built one-off junk with cabin

“You do realise that sailing the Anglesey coast can be a lot different to lake sailing?” My friend Norman assured me that he did, so one weekend in July ‘95 found us setting off from Port Dinorwic to catch slack water at the Swellies, that well known stretch of water between the Britannia and Menai bridges. Passing Nelson’s statue on the Anglesey shore, the view approaching Britannia bridge is always impressive, and passing under the mainland span you instinctively look up to check the mast even though you know it’s a 100 feet up there. To me the Swellies has a mystique of its own, as does Llanddwyn Isle, the Cymyran Strait and many more. Some of the more remote spots give you the feeling that, when you leave, they will remain deserted till the next time you visit. A nice feeling, even if it’s not true. Having negotiated the Swellies, we picked up a mooring just past the last of the islets north of Menai and had some lunch.

As soon as the ebb took hold we were away on a run up to Trwyn Du. Downwind sailing is one of the satisfying aspects of my junk rig. Balance the sail properly, making it near enough a square rig, and you surge along with hardly a hint of rolling, unlike more conventional rigs. With the tide under us and the forecast of SW 4/5 being boosted by the funnelling effect of the strait, Beaumaris soon whizzed by and I began to enjoy the sailing. I should have noticed a subtle change in my friend’s behaviour. Accompanying me on Windermere one weekend he couldn’t wait to get hold of the tiller and stay there. This time there was not the same enthusiasm. He seemed concerned about the following seas which were now giving us a roller coaster ride. I assured him they would lessen in the shelter of the cliffs past Trwyn Du. Charging through Puffin Sound I made the mistake of going out between Dinmor and Ten Foot Bank buoys. This led us away from the Anglesey coast, and, as Red Wharf Bay opened up, we met the waves piling up from the increased fetch across the bay.

Norman had now retreated into the corner of the cockpit, taking on a jaundiced look, his grip on the cockpit coaming severely testing its flexibility. Technical note — Karmatoo has no flexible parts. He was now discovering the ‘facts of life’ at sea. Fact 1: DISCOMFORT. Golfing waterproofs are not marine standard. Having no hood, he was, in effect, wearing a drainpipe. Feeling charitable, I gave him my hood. I was now wearing a drainpipe. Fact 2: SEASICKNESS. No explanation necessary. Fact 3: FEAR. Not having the knowledge of, and the confidence in Karmatoo that I have, he was understandably apprehensive at the sight of six miles of rough water separating us from our destination, Moelfre.

Beating across those six miles took us the best part of three hours, during which I failed miserably to convince Norman that this was all part of normal sailing. This failure was apparent when he seriously asked if I could call for the lifeboat on the VHF radio. I didn’t realise it at the time, but he really thought we were in need of rescue. In fact, Karmatoo, well reefed, two panels up, was sailing upright, shouldering her way through the frequently breaking waves and, in retrospect, building my confidence in the boat as I hoped it would in the many different conditions we all have to expect.

As we neared Moelfre the ebb was taking charge, and so I tacked. Stemming the tide our progress was slower, and we appeared to be pointing in the wrong direction. This cheered Norman up no end. He was aghast. He also resembled someone recently exhumed. For his benefit I dropped the sail and started up that thing at the back, and we motored in dead into the wind and waves. It was like hitting one brick wall after another, but at least pointing in the right direction. Once through the boats already moored, I anchored just short of the permanent moorings and dropped back to join the others, intending to keep watch and adjusting the scope as necessary. I wasn’t up to calculations at the time.

I could now give the patient my full attention. Of course he hadn’t brought a change of clothes, so, getting him to strip off, I sorted out some clothes and got him into his bunk, gave him a bucket, and curled up in the cockpit to keep watch. I must confess to feeling pretty rough myself by then. Bobbing about at anchor is not my favourite part of sailing. As darkness descended and our anchorage seemed secure I turned in, and I think we both slept well.

Up early, and knowing we’d have to be away soon after seven to ride the tide back into the Straits and to time the Swellies right, I woke Norman and brought him up to date. He said he’d had a good sleep and felt much better, so I got on with preparing to set sail. Yesterday was obviously fresh in his mind for he ventured that if I could set him ashore he could make his own way home. I was obviously not going to pull up anchor until the boat was ready to sail, and told him so, assuring him that we’d have a really good sail back. The forecast had been for it to die down over night — early morning mist at the moment — with SW 3/4 later. I thought I heard him call to someone. The next minute I was fending off an open fishing boat while hearing Norman say, “Could you give me a lift to the shore?”. “No problem,” was the reply. “Thanks, sorry Stuart, I’ll have to get ashore, hang onto my things for me. See you!” and he was gone. It was the ‘Bounty’ in reverse. (Read this article title backwards).

The most enjoyable moments take only a moment to tell. Suffice to say, the sail back was superb. Just over an hour to Puffin Sound, brilliant sunshine and a beat made easy with the flood down the Straits to Menai. Here I picked up a buoy with plenty of time for a proper meal while waiting for HW slack to go through the Swellies. Back at Port Dinorwic, a trouble-free retrieval and I’m on my way home.

This is post mortem time for the weekend’s events. Verdict...? I am not made of skipper material, and my friend should not have been subjected to the conditions we experienced. A proper skipper would have realised that you can’t talk someone out of seasickness or fear, and would have been understanding enough to change plans; perhaps to have anchored at Lighthouse Cove until LW slack and go back into the Straits to pick up a mooring for the night. A better verdict would be that there is no room on a small boat for a passenger. My golden rule from now on is, “Take only a competent crew or go single-handed”.

Sorry Norman!