But we didn’t go to Lundy because the wind was in the north. Instead five boats turned up on the Tamar: Alan Glanville’s Ness Yawl, two Tideways (Aidan de Ia Mare’s Dinah and my Baggywrinkle), John Giles’s sturdy 17 footer and John Kuyser’s Westray 16 . The five of us and a shanghaied Billy McLellan sailed from Plymouth to the Yealm for the night, and then on into Bigbury Bay. All this was described in a slightly unorthodox report, which our ruthless publisher left on the cutting room floor of the last Bulletin. Perhaps it will appear this time. RB

“And ‘yere ‘tis m’dear,” as they say in Devon. It arrived too late for inclusion last time, and in any case there was no room for it in the last issue. I thought it had departed to the council dump together with 2 cwt of old DCA manuscripts. However it was found folded up under one corner of the computer; put there to stop it wobbling. PB

You don’t go to Lundy in a Northerly

Southwest Rally, purportedly out of Appledore 2-4 May 1998

Two days before, Billy McLellan and his sailing bag boarded the ferry from Ireland. “I’m off on an adventure!” he told his wife. Then that morning he was picked up from Tiverton Parkway station by a bearded fellow who drove him to Plymouth instead of Appledore and sailed him out onto the water of the Tamar estuary, muttering constantly about the bigness of the sailing bag and the smallness of twelve foot dinghies. And now Billy and the luggage have been abruptly bundled off onto a blood red Viking ship that emerged menacingly from a side creek.

Roger Davis sits in the wheelhouse of his 45 foot ketch in the evening sun. He has come a long way since those far off days when he used to be the South Coast secretary of an organisation dedicated to cruising in rather more cramped craft. Suddenly they are all around him. Five blue and yellow burgees atop five small dinghies, dodging in and of the moored boats as they tack up the Yealm. “But that’s a Tideway!” he cries. “I used to have one of them, and there’s another one!”

The sun sets over the lonely upper reaches of the Yealm. Far up the silvery channel, five small figures snuggle down under the awnings of five small boats. A sixth figure struggles up a long hill with a huge bag over his shoulder, towards the beckoning light of a distant B&B.

The big ketch glides along, her powerful rig soaking up the miles across Bigbury Bay. But a small varnished dinghy has slowly crept up on her under sail, and is now grimly keeping pace, only a boat’s length away. A figure leans out of the wheelhouse. “I had forgotten how well they could go,” he says. Did I imagine that wistful note?

We long remember those fair voyages when the weather sings and the tide flows fine and true. This rally was one of them.

Milford Haven May 23rd - 25th

Milford Haven is miles from almost anywhere else, but unlike say Falmouth, people don’t seem to feel that it is worth towing a boat all the way there. Yet the Haven is a wonderfully characterful sheet of water — full of challenge, interest and yes, much beauty too, and you jolly well ought to give it a try! This year we experimented with a base camp ashore at Lawrenny, half way up the Estuary. Other than the midges it was an ideal location, handy for exploring both the secluded upper reaches as well as the dramatic oil port lower down. Helen and I in Baggywrinkle were joined by regulars John and Linden Kuyser in their Rachel. But there was also a fresh hull: a solid 14 foot clinker dinghy, owned by Kevin Evans and crewed by his son, both bravely attending their first DCA rally. We broke them in as gently as we could, and took the Saturday afternoon flood into the more restful reaches of the estuary, right up into the remote East Cleddau, to explore the prettily tended waterside ruins of the church that Brian McClellan and I discovered last year.

On Sunday there was no more pussy footing around. We were all up at the crack to catch the ebb down under the big bridge at Neyland and out into the expansive and seriously commercial lower reaches of the Haven. As this was Kevin’s first experience of sailing in open tidal waters, our three boats kept close together among the moving supertankers and great oiling jetties. The strong local tides took us smartly down to the mouth of the estuary in time for lunch at the pub in the pretty village of Dale, and then all the way back, a fascinating round trip of some 25 miles, in good time for tea among the midges. Roger Barnes

Falmouth Week and the Tall Ships’ Race July 11th - 19th

Noel, Pamela and Beth Cunniffe and Thu Post Boat camper Beth Ken, Mary, Matthew and Patrick Brown Wanderer Swift Jeff and Carole Smith Seafly Southern Spirit Ian Page and Paul Harrison Suffolk Beach Punt Peregrine Shirley Andrews, Malcolm & Janet Lawrence Lune Whammel Swallow Albert and Joyce Hattersley Falmouth Bass Boat Spirit Aidan De La Mere Tideway Dinah George and Isobel Saffrey Topper Cruz Aurora Ron and Sheila Howell Lune Pilot Ronshe Eileen and ?? Drascombe? ? And apologies to anyone missed out

It was a windy and sometimes wet week at Falmouth this year with the added interest of the Tall Ships’ race starting on Sunday 19th from Falmouth. As the wind had some west in it most of the time the entrance to St Just Creek proved lively for departures and arrivals. The windy conditions made for a slow start to the rally and none of us ventured out of the estuary at all. We all had lots of practice under well-reefed sails.

Sailing was possible most days with the exception of Sunday when the forecast gales sent a number of us on wet walks rather than even wetter sailing. By Monday it had cleared up a bit and under Aidan’s guidance (and handouts of local information such as tide times and local radio frequencies) three boats arrived at the Smuggler’s early for cream teas but willing to indulge in pasties instead. As with most of the sailing during the week the trick seemed to be to get to the western edge of Carrick Roads and then to use the more sheltered conditions on the Mylor shore to travel north or south as required. George spent the night at Ruan Lanihorne for the annual DCA visit and came down on the morning tide, into the westerly winds. Other boats spent Tuesday visiting St Mawes, where the Beach Punt seemed keen to dwell in its nominal habitat. Fortunately there were enough willing hands to tempt it back into the water.

On Wednesday a small convoy visited Falmouth to look at the tall ships and found the harbour already busy and parking congested. By Thursday the wind had eased to a steady 3-4 so we met at lunch time at the Pandora in Restronguet Creek, where Ken and Mary’s giant size pennant provided valuable guidance to late arrivals. After a few drinks we retired to our boats, in a pleasant raft of traditional dinghies, or the beach for lunch before setting off for a memorable visit to Falmouth. By now a large number of sailing ships had arrived and the harbour was seething with spectators and its normal business such as the ferries. The forest of masts and spars, and the singing of some of the crews made a deep impression. I believe there may be some photographs.

By Friday the wind had picked up again and only Ian and Paul’s boat made the Smuggler’s for cream teas. A number of other members arrived by road. Some of us hitched a ride back with Ian and Paul and had a brisk sail back to St Just once the vexations of King Harry reach had A gathering at the Pandora, Restronguet Creek been overcome.

Trethem Mill camp site seems better than ever — we had some jolly evenings round the picnic table even if winkles extracted with nappy pins were not to everyone’s taste. Pascoe’s Boatyard was friendly and accommodating, despite being the main launch site in Roseland for boats seeing off the tall ships. Those of us that knew Keith Jones missed his gentle enthusiasm but look forward to future years at this excellent venue. Thanks to Aidan for his rally organisation. George Saffrey

Douarnenez August 8th - 16th

This was an experiment with a rally abroad, and although it was less well attended than the Organiser had hoped, it was a great success in most other respects. For a short while there were even three boats in attendance, although Andy Morley only managed one day with us in his little Pico, most of which we spent looking for his mislaid family. Eventually we found them, but then we realised we had now lost Andy. So the day passed in the usual Morley fashion. Another elusive character was Jim Vallis. I am sure I glimpsed him on a huge yacht, but he was obviously ashamed of not being in his Nimrod, because he kept a low profile after that.

Due to poor visibility, light winds and drinking too much at an impromptu midnight barbecue on the organic goat farm we happened to anchor off, Helen and I nearly missed John and Josephine Perry, sailing down the Rade de Brest in John’s impressive own-design, (and nameless) grey boat. We spent the night anchored alongside each other in the little bay at Roscanvel, just below the church: a last chance to rest before we sailed out of the Rade, on passage round the Breton coast.

To pass through the cliff girt entrance of the Rade de Brest, and then shape a course across Camaret Bay, through the rocky passages of the Chenal de Toulinguet and the Tas de Pas, and then around the Cap de la Chevre, is dramatic enough. But the intensity of the experience was heightened by the stream of historic vessels that sailed along with us — luggers, gaffers and great square riggers — all converging on one place. For we were but a small part of a nautical pilgrimage to the cradle of the traditional boat renaissance: the lovely coastal town of Douarnenez.

In recent years the boat festival has become rather ubiquitous, but nowhere seems to throw a festival as well as Douarnenez, where it all started. It is not that the boats are any more attractive, or that the booze is better, or that the music is of higher quality, (although all of these are probably true). What is missing from the other, later and brasher festivals is the town of Douarnenez itself, and the way that the festival is embedded in the locality and in the attempt of this declining fishing port to establish a new and viable future for itself. To take your boat to Douarnenez is to become, in some way, a native of the town itself. When eventually you sail away again, you find that your life has become entwined with the life of this little town, and you know for certain that you will one day return.

Fowey September 19th - 20th

Huge crowds turned up for this rally, and once again the weather was lovely — ‘Southwest Rally Weather’, as we now call it down here. My Tideway was joined by Aidan de Ia Mare, also in a Tideway, Jim Vallis and his crew in a Westerly Nimrod, Liz Baker in a Cormorant, John Cole and his son in a Gull, and John and Babs Deacon in their 14 footer Jady Lane. This was my first visit to Fowey, and I was very taken with the place. While the massive fleet assembled for the sail to Mevagissey, we chatted on the pontoon and compared boats. Then suddenly whoosh! — Aidan was off. He had some success racing at the Portsmouth Festival of the Sea, and the trophy has gone to his head. And he no longer seems to get distracted by taking photos or drinking coffee anymore, and it’s a devil of a job to catch him. Desperately the rest of us gave chase, and indeed most of the fleet managed to congregate on the beach in the outer harbour of Mevva, but John and Babs had long since given up the battle and returned to Fowey. The fleet became even more separated in the light airs of the return passage, but Aidan, Liz and I separately decided to row up to the head of Pont Pill for the night, and were amazed to find each other at anchor in such a remote spot. The objective for Sunday was Polperro, and again Aidan was off like a bullet from a gun. By the time Liz and I arrived off the little port, he and the Coles had already re-emerged, yet the coast still seemed to be an unbroken cliff. The narrow cleft of the entrance only opened up at the very last minute. So Liz and I entered the minuscule inner harbour and, like all who have entered Polperro under sail, we were enchanted.

Salcombe October 10th- 11th

A vile forecast of gales and misery greeted those planning to attend this rally, and so other than the poor Organiser in his Tideway, only George Saffrey turned up in his Cruz. Well, all the rest of you should have realised that it would be Southwest rally weather and come along too, as it was utterly delightful. The weather did blow up, but only overnight, when we were snugly at anchor in a little cove, and both days were balmy. The forecast did however put us off from attempting the proposed coastal trip to Bigbury Bay, so apart from a brief foray over the bar on Saturday, we spent our time pottering in the little estuary and visiting all the boatbuilders and chandlers — which is undoubtedly one of the most pleasurable ways to pass an autumn weekend. Roger Barnes