A cruise in a 19’2” Ness Yawl, Sail and Oar 30th March — 5th April 1999

It was early evening on Tuesday March 30th and the boat yard was almost deserted. Mylor Creek, to the north of Falmouth and once a naval dockyard in the age of sail, now quietly awaited the start of the sailing season. A broad public slip gently slopes onto the beach. It was there that Lowly was launched from his road trailer and the camping gear stowed. Rowing to the lee of the outside marina pontoon I moored up, and erected the tent. A local farmer showed me where the car and trailer could be parked for no charge, right on the waterfront, and close to the slipway. I then drove to a pub at Mylor Bridge for supper and a drink whilst studying the charts and tide tables.

After breakfasting at the pontoon I hoisted sail and reached across Falmouth Road to St. Just Creek in a force three south-westerly. Falmouth Road is a wide expanse of sheltered deep water surrounded by countryside of outstanding natural beauty. The morning was spent sketching on the beach at St. Just in Roseland — where the 13th-century church is so close to the water that boats are moored to headstones. As the tide fell I sailed out into Carrick Roads and over to a club pontoon in Falmouth. I needed to replace my portable radio, an inseparable companion on solo trips, and to reacquaint myself with a home-baked pasty shop on the quay. On the sailing club balcony I enjoyed a drink and a view of a harbour alive with boats; large merchant ships, naval craft, tourist ferries, yachts and sailing dinghies. Once the yawl was under way again, the flood tide and breeze carried us quickly up to Turnaware Point where I landed to await more of the flood. This was because Ruan Creek, the intended destination, dries at low water. Navigating a bend beyond Turnaware to enter the narrow King Harry Passage was startling. Huge sea-going ships lay at anchor to await either work or the breakers yard. The sight is most unexpected. The estuary is narrow, densely wooded and very beautiful but of course winds are fickle. More giant ships lay around the next bend. Now the tide was flooding strongly up Ruan Creek, though I still managed to run the centreboard into the mud several times. The whole area is a nature reserve and the woods are truly beautiful. Roads do not approach the creek at all and hence there are no houses and no development. Herons were spaced along the foreshore as regularly as angling competitors on a canal. Several pairs of buzzards circled high over the treetops. I met no other boat under way. The last half a mile involved wriggling through narrow channels and grassy banks to Ruan Lanihorne on the very top of the tide, with 4.9 metres drying heights showing on the chart. The quay is a 10 metre concrete straight edge separating the little road from the Ruan River. We lay alongside and put up the tent. Several passers by stopped to ‘talk boats’ (something I sorely miss in landlocked Oxford). I was told that boats rarely overnight there. Certainly it would be tricky for a keel boat. One couple invited me along to the pub and regaled me with local stories — she a primary teacher in St. Mawes and he a helicopter pilot servicing the lighthouses of the southwest. They lived next door to the pub but at closing time insisted on accompanying me back to the boat to ‘ensure I got down the wall safely’, for the tide had dropped two metres to the mud. It was a beautiful clear moonlit night and a very peaceful camp-site.

Up early to get away at high tide, I rowed down to investigate a disused metal foundry before hoisting sail and tacking back down the creek for two miles to its confluence with the Fal. I anchored in Channels Creek for coffee and then went ashore in the grounds of Trelissick House, which like much of the land surrounding this loveliest of cruising areas, is owned by the National Trust. I then sailed back to Mylor via Restronguet Creek in order to use the marina shower and enjoy the beach whilst waiting for the tide to turn. At 1600 Lowly sailed down Carrick Roads, rounded St. Mawes Castle and entered the Percuil River. Once through the expansive harbour that is St. Mawes, the yawl wound between lovely hilly countryside in a north’easterly direction with occasional patches of light wind — but always a favourable tide. After several miles of this I was so pleasantly relaxed that the head of navigation at Trethern Mill took me by surprise. A clear following wind was pushing Lowly at 3 knots when suddenly there was a little road bridge across the river and nowhere to go. A sharp gybing U-turn ran the bow into the bank. It was pure ‘Navy Lark’. I then retreated half a mile, rowing back downstream away from the road and houses to overnight at an isolated anchorage on a river bend. In the morning I sailed back, through banks of flowering shrubs with prolific bird life, and anchored for coffee at Cellars Beach on St. Anthony Head. Lowly then rushed over sparkling blue water back to Falmouth and landed in front of the Custom House. I set out an anchor and a mooring line to a high wall in order to keep the boat afloat on the falling tide. I had a look around the old harbourside town and did another spot check on the quality of the pasties (as a Cornishman I know an informed opinion will be expected when visiting relatives in Penzance at the end of the cruise). An hour before low water Lowly set off around the Falmouth Docks and out to the harbour entrance in the company of a lovely black hulled schooner. I rounded Pendennis Point and crossed Falmouth Bay to Rosemullion Head, passing inside the Gedges which were just awash, and so into the Helford. I beat up river as far as Helford Passage and landed on the beach amongst holiday makers. There I spent the afternoon, in the garden of the waterfront pub, watching walkers and cyclists come and go on the little ferryboat.

I had been trying to telephone a friend from Penzance during the day but it was early evening before I got a reply. Robin said he would be over immediately. I suggested meeting at Gweek, the head of navigation, and set sail. However the wind had died with the day. I had to take to the oars and row hard as there was no more than an hour of flood left to cover the four miles. I rowed in sets of 500 pulls of the oar, counting out the 50’s aloud to help cover the distance. I did make it, albeit as darkness fell. As I came up to Gweek Quay Robin and two friends called out from the gloom.

Thereafter speed to the pub was swift and we had a very noisy evening. At midnight I stood regarding the boat which was lying at an angle not conducive to a good sleep even in my slightly intoxicated state. A little voice in my brain told me to bring my sleeping bag ashore and then urged me to ignore the possibility of rain. Of course it did rain and it also dripped off the tree I lay under. Too sozzled and too lazy to get it sorted I covered myself with the boat tent and propped up an airway with my waders! It was not the best night I have ever had. Robin was to join me in the morning but as he had not arrived an hour after high water I rowed and sailed back down to Helford Passage to await him there. However his motorbike broke down, so I set off in sunshine around Falmouth Bay again. This time I sailed close to the shore all the way to enjoy the scenery. I entered Falmouth on the new flood and sailed up to Restronguet Creek and then on to the Truro River. I found a sheltered anchorage in a bay with a disused boathouse and settled to a peaceful late afternoon and evening.

Towards full flood I heard the sound of a pulling boat being driven hard. It was followed by another fifty or so pulling gigs, racing, probably from Falmouth to Truro. Some were two oared and some four but the majority had four each side, eight rowers and a cox. This type of boat, formerly used to take pilots to inbound sailing ships, has enjoyed a marked revival in Cornwall, Devon and South Wales. Village clubs fielding teams of men, women and juniors are to be seen training on the water on evenings and week-ends in preparation for the summer galas. This climaxes in the world gig championships, staged each year at St. Mary’s in the Scilly Isles.

The next morning, Easter Sunday, I explored Cowlands Creek at the top of the tide before dropping back down to the beach at Trelissick House again. After lunch I took the last of the ebb back down to Mylor and recovered the boat. In conclusion I would commend this area to any DCA member who has not yet sailed there (the NW Region regularly rallies there in the spring). It is beautiful, safe without being tame, full of interest and with good facilities, including scores of good dinghy campsites and excellent waterside pubs.