We would be leaving Milo in Scotland for a month and wanted to leave her in a  beautiful place. As we sailed between Holy Island and Arran and entered Lamlash bay we knew we had arrived at Milo’s temporary resting place – there was no discussion, both Rosamund and I were adamant that this was where we would like to leave Milo – in a beautiful place sheltered from the prevailing winds. But when we landed and spoke to Jim of the Holy Island Ferry Company, we learned that the Brodick-Ardrossan ferry was on strike the next day and there was no way that our son Andrew would be able to meet us with his car.

Andrew does not do “not possible” – even though he only got back from Rotterdam late on the Friday night, he left with the kids (Hugh, Percy and Skye) early on the Saturday morning to catch the 11:10 ferry from Ardrossan to Brodick as foot passengers. We decided to sail to meet them at Brodick and this was a different sort of sailing with no urgency. We were able to sail all the way even when the wind dropped, we just waited for it to rise again – unlike the earlier passages when we had to get to a particular port by a particular time to catch the tide. This was another taste of things to come – a new more relaxed sailing schedule.

It was lovely meeting the Ardrossan ferry towering over us like an ocean liner. There they were on the galley way below the bridge – Andrew distinctive with his huge rucksack and Hugh, Percy and Skye recognisable by their energetic waving.

We’d moored Milo in the middle of Brodick harbour and we were soon all on the boat. First a briefing to the new crew on the rules: no toilet paper down the heads, life jackets to be worn at all times when on deck, harnesses to be clipped on when going out of the cockpit and on the front deck, and only then with permission of the skipper, and no hanging about in the companion way. We explained that the wind was fresh and could get fresher when we rounded the headland, so no-one was allowed forward of the cockpit.

We were not disappointed – we had to tack back to Lamlash with a force 4 wind, occasionally gusting 5. Hugh wanted to have a go at the helm and although Milo was difficult to hold when tight hauled and slightly over-sailed, Andrew explained to him how to hold the course by looking at a recognisable point in the distance and then cross-checking with the compass. After a while Hugh said, “I’m getting the hang of this, Las Vegas here we come”. Where that came from we weren’t sure but we all laughed and did not like to say that Las Vegas was landlocked – maybe he was thinking of Los Angeles!

We tacked to get into Lamlash harbour past the port marker buoy for coming out. Our plan was to anchor off Holy Island and then climb to the summit, but it was far too exposed and choppy so we decided to moor in the relative calm of Lamlash which was sheltered by the Kingscross Point headland. Andrew was set on barbecuing, but plans for a beach barbecue had to be abandoned due to the worsening weather and it was starting to rain. Andrew persuaded us that his barbecue had a cold bottom so could stand on the port transom seat. We were able to put the canopy up leaving the aft port flap folded back to expose the barbecue to the elements. Later as I was relaxing on the starboard transom seat having a well-earned gin and tonic, I noticed a tender being rowed past with two people aboard – half joking I said, “fancy a gin and tonic?” – “are you serious?” replied the oarsman, “I’d love one.” We welcomed them aboard – a father (Tom) and his son from Hamburg.  Their outboard was not working and Tom had had to row about a mile through strong winds and choppy water to get back to his boat Baxkiste, which was moored downwind next to ours – no wonder he was willing to stop for a rest and a gin and tonic. He’d been trying to get the outboard motor fixed as their whole family had planned a meal out at the Drift Inn that evening. Always wanting to problem solve, I suggested they could borrow our outboard as we were not using it that evening – an offer they took up later that evening. These chance meetings at sea are always fun as we learned from them some places to explore further north and we were able to recount some of our experiences on what would be their route south.

It was a fine meal with steaks, hamburgers, sausages and salad followed by a selection of cheeses – then getting the kids ready for bed after their early start that morning. The first chapter of Arthur Ransome’s Peter Duck was the incentive to get them to bed early. Snug in the front cabin – the skipper (Ian) between the three writhing youths slowly gained their attention with the story which involved the Swallows and Amazon’s going to sea in a ketch with Captain Flint – appropriate, as we’d just completed our first group voyage aboard Milo.

That night turned out to be the worst night of our whole trip – gale force winds, noise from the rigging, crashing beer bottles across deck in the middle of the night, non-stop pitching and rolling, but by 8am the winds began to moderate and after a full English breakfast

we were swimming off the back of Milo and Skye and Percy were bailing the water out of the tender. The water was very very cold (11.6degC) but was refreshing – not water to linger in. All the kids dipped in but came straight out again with a yelp.

Time to get shipshape and leave. I always feel anxious when leaving Milo on a mooring, but Jim had given me confidence by riding by to inspect our mooring warfs before we disembarked. He also promised to keep an eye on her and kindly came out to pick us up with all our luggage and deposit us on the quay – that way we could leave the tender on Milo lashed to the foredeck without worrying about her – “how much do we owe you, Jim, for the taxi service”. “oh nothing he said, you’re a customer of mine now.”

We all took the bus to the Ardrossan Ferry and Hugh, imitating his father, insisted that he carry the rucksack – much to the amusement of the passengers on the bus who applauded and cheered him when he did eventually manage to turn round in the gangway on an overcrowded bus without disabling too many passengers.

At Ardrossan, we squeezed into Andrew’s car and returned to Edinburgh and a lovely welcome home meal prepared by Rebecca after her heavy on-call day at work.  It was strange for Rosamund and I to return to civilisation, but it had been a gradual and relaxed 2 day process before we eventually returned to Bristol and home again.

From Stranraer we decided to head straight for the isle of Arran as the weather was worsening, hoping to meet Andrew and kids there two days later at the weekend. We were not disappointed as the route to Arran took us past a small island called Ailsa Craig. On the chart it looked tiny but even 5nm out in the mist it looked like a huge volcano rising out of the sea.

As we approached there were increasing numbers of northern gannets and guillemots flying near the boat. The gannets are huge – distinguishable by their black wingtips and their peach coloured necks. They flew high and kamikaze dive-bombed into the sea, making a huge splash.

This photo montage illustrates how a Northern Gannet (Morus bassanus) dives for fish off Aisla Craig in the Firth of Clyde, Scotland (adapted from swanson-media.com).  

As we passed close to the lighthouse on Ailsa Craig we could see a ruined church tower or castle on the hill and a few ruined houses near the remains of a landing strip. We could well have headed straight onto Arran as there was little sign of wild life on this side of the island, but as we were progressing well with the tides we decided to circumnavigate the island. Along the north side were the remains of an old mining railway line, bridges and what looked like a kiln. We read in the pilot book that the island was indeed volcanic and was made of granite – a very fine granite that was used for making curling stones.

As we rounded to the north face of the island we began to see the first of many gannet breeding colonies – then on the west side seals on nearly every rocky outpost. Sometimes they slid into the water as we passed, at other times they did not, preferring to brazenly stare at us.

The north and west sides of the island were vertical sheer cliffs with numerous ledges formed from crystallised granite ideal for breeding birds. There were so many gannets that the cliffs looked snow coloured, the noise was deafening and the smell of iguano strong. For the first time we felt that we were approaching wild places — a taste of things to come next year when we would explore the western islands.

We set sail for our final destination – Arran feeling elated by the Ailsa Craig experience. As we approached Arran the winds moderated and we saw Holy Island emerge from the sea in its full glory shrouded in mist and mystery.

It was just over year ago when holidaying with the grandchildren in a croft cottage in Badrallach a little north of Gairloch that we had the idea of sailing to Scotland. Seduced by the thought of voyaging by boat between the Western Isles we wondered if we could sail along the coasts of England, Wales and Ireland to reach Scotland.

Arriving now in PortPatrick in Dumfries and Galloway we now realise that this is just the beginning of a new adventure. Will we sail to St Kildas in the Outer Hebrides? Will we sail to Eday in the Shetland isles? Will we sail around the Northern tip of Scotland to Betty Hill where the Mackay side of our family gathered after the Sutherland clearances. Would we sail into Poulteney Town (now Wick) where my great-great-great-grandfather, Robert Sutherland, was a fisherman and mysteriously disappeared at the age of 40 in the 1840s? Will we travel through the Caledonian Canal? Will we circumnavigate the United Kingdom and travel down the East Coast, visiting places where Ros’s mother grew up in Norfolk? Imagining new voyages and ventures for next year, the first year of my 70s, is both delightful and daunting.

Crossing the North Sea from Ardglass in Northern Ireland to Portpatrick in Scotland was beautiful – one of those blue sky almost cloudless days that you’d love to have on the beach as there was no wind – but not sailing. Initially the winds were light and from the South and coming from behind us. It was a good opportunity to try the shute for the first time.

Seeing the north sea like a mill pond reminded us how capricious the British weather can be. One day calm and the next day stormy. Sea ports all have tales of those lost at sea and this has taught us to respect the sea and plan carefully – if in doubt do not set out.

In fair weather we have started to observe the bird and wild life around the boat – particularly guillemots and gannets. In Portpatrick we were berthed against the harbor wall from which we were treated to a lovely display from a group of black guillimots on how to dive and “fly” underwater.

Black Guillemot – its red feet clearly distinguish it from the common Guillemot 

The significance of this trip was that we were again crossing borders – this time from Eire and the Euro to Northern Ireland and the pound sterling. We left Carlingford Lough on the flood tide – what a contrast to two days before – we were out on the high seas in just over half an hour with the treadmill, but it had taken nearly 2 hours against. Carlingford flew a beautiful rainbow flag as we left – how they did it, we do not know, as we could see no rain.

While the passage to Ardglass was uneventful, it was special to us as it was the first passage that we could sail most of the way. The winds were fresh force 3-5 and we were on a broad reach and making good progress.  Also we had a clear view of the Isle of Man with its distinctive mountainous profile.

On arrival in Ardglass we found Doyles a welcoming cafe for lunch and enjoyed some of the most delicious fish we have ever eaten. In the evening  Ros created an amazing omelette using up all of our on-board ingredients.

I’m dedicating this post to Rachel Roddy for three reasons. Firstly it was her blog that inspired this one, secondly she writes about food and thirdly the Roddy family on the male side hail from Carlingford Lough  and Greenore.

What I love about Rachel’s blog is that it interweaves the food preparation with the local culture in both the UK and Italy so that the food you prepare from one of Rachel’s recipes gives you more than just the taste, there is the story behind it, the history, the source and the seasoning.

Eating on the boat while you are sailing is not easy – particularly when you are beating against the wind and the boat is angled at 45 degrees. Frequently you hear the sound of plates and mugs crashing across the galley onto the floor. The best we have done for lunch are Rick Stein’s biscuits and a lump of Lancashire  cheese. On a calmer day we have even managed something heated up from a tin – beans on toast.

But arrival in port is a different scenario. During the voyage Ros will have researched the best restaurant in town and in Carlingford our choice was The Oystercatcher Bistro run by Harry and Marian Jordan.

We both chose oysters for our first course – how could you not when on the menu it said, “coming to Carlingford and not having its oysters is like going to Paris and not visiting the Eiffel Tower or New York without visiting the Statue of Liberty”. Put that way we had no choice.

They arrived in their shells on a bed of olive green seaweed. They were delicious. The locals say that the unique sweet taste and high meat content of the Carlingford Oyster is one of nature’s real treasures and it is rumoured that the Romans brought the cultivation of oysters to Carlingford.

Later the chef, Harry Jordan, came to talk to us. He was passionate about the Carlingford Oyster and how it should be eaten. He thought additives like lemon and Tabasco (although provided) spoilt the real taste of the oyster. He explained that oysters take about 3 years to grow and can filter over 55 litres of water a day. It is the nature of the local water that determines the flavour in each oyster. Carlingford Lough is unique in that there is a huge exchange of water with each tide which provides the nutrients on which the oysters feed. In addition, freshwater flowing in from the mountain sides north and south of the Lough give Carlingford Oysters a very rich and distinctive flavour – a sweet slightly nutty one followed by a slight tannic and lingering after taste.

Harry’s passion for his oysters has now extended to an oystercatcher van. He now dispenses oysters to passers by in order to give as many people as possible the opportunity to experience their unique taste. He added that talking to us, with us sitting at our table and him standing over us, was as if he was telling us what to do and how to eat the oysters – he could not really do that. But in the street he was on a one-to-one with the passers by and could look them in the eye – they had no chance of getting past Harry without tasting at least one of his oysters.

So Rachel, my challenge to you is to compare how oysters are prepared and taste in Carlingford, the land of your forefathers, to those in Sicily where I know you have gained great insight from Vincenzo’s grandmother’s recipes and if, along the way, you can come up with some simple tasteful recipes for sailors to prepare on the high seas – that would be great as there is a huge market out their looking for inspiration.

Howth to Carlingford Lough

On reflection we should have left Howth at 8:30 to enter Carlingford Lough at high water at about 3pm. In practice we left at 11:30 after taking advantage of our first marina internet access at Howth Yacht Club. I think we were lulled into a false sense of security by the fact that all the tide charts have slack water in the Irish Sea off Dundulk Bay and Carlingford Lough, so if we left with northerly tide flows it would not really matter when we left. The winds were predicted westerly 3-4 rising to 4-5 about 6pm, but we found virtually no wind at the beginning of our voyage and so had to motor sail. We even shook out a reef in the main we’d had the day before in order to gain some advantage from the very light winds – which we came to regret later.

The sail past Ireland’s eye off Howth, then Lambay Island and on past Rockabill Lighthouse was lovely. The weather looked set fine, at least where we were, but there were rain clouds north, south and east of us.

 Ireland Eye off Howth with its white guano covered rock on the right

Passing Lambay Island with the Ireland Eye in the distance emitting smoke – we were not sure if this was a controlled stubble fire or an out of control bush fire as it had been going on for several days

Passing Rockabill lighthouse in the middle of the bay – much like the Eddystone lighthouse off Plymouth Sound except this one has a large house on it. 

We then read about Carlingford Lough – “Tides run fast in the entrance of Carlingford Lough” said the pilot guide with a picture of the current round one of the buoys. Ros called Carlingford Marina and they could give us a berth – “ pick up any one you fancy” was the response. I then spoke to them about the tidal streams coming in and out of the Lough – “4-5 knots”, “Oh” I said, “My engine only does 5 knots!” – “Let us know if you get into any trouble” was his reply. We then looked at the chart. It did look complicated. There was a “dog-legged” channel dredged in 1993 for the first 2500m (1.5nm), marked by pairs of green and red bouys – first 1-2, then 3-4, then 5-6, then 7-8. The odd buoys being green and the even buoys being red – seemed simple, but by 7-8 they were starting to stagger. Then there was a lone starboard buoy (No 9) as you entered a wider channel and then a further lone starboard buoy (No 11) as you entered a second multiple dog-legged channel 3600m (2nm) which was dredged in 2006. From then on there were a further 8 buoys all higgledy piggledy, 13, 15, 17, 19 and 21 starboard buoys and 10, 12, 14, 16 port buoys ending in the pairing 16-21 as you entered the main Lough and deep water. In between the two channels there was a short respite of about 2000m (1.1nm) of slightly deeper water, which we were thankful for later when an unexpected event happened.

 Overview of passage plus detail of buoyage into Carlington Lough

When motor sailing we’d worked out we’d arrive at Carlingford Lough at 6pm when the exiting tide would be in full flood (ie 5knots) so we decided to take our time and sail there slowly entering the Lough about 8pm when the tide had eased – which was great. It was lovely to have the motor off and relax in a gentle breeze – most of our other trips had been more pressured to get to a port by a specific time, but now we were not in a hurry – well we weren’t, but the wind had other ideas. It slowly increased from force 3 to force 4 gusting 5 and we were sailing faster and faster. We eventually arrived at the Carlingford Lough entrance buoys 1 and 2 at 6:30pm only half an hour after maximum flood tide. I do not know why I made this decision, but we were going so well under sail that I decided to sail in through this narrow channel. We were making 6 to 6.5 knots through the water, but when we entered the channel we had to change course and we were very close hauled and healing over at quite a steep angle as we were now rather oversailed for the wind. It led to an exciting sail, but with very slow progress creeping in at about 2-2.5 knots.

 Port Buoy No 4 at the entrance to Carlingford Lough showing the force of the outward flowing tide of 4-5 knots.

It was like being on a treadmill and running as fast as you can but hardly getting anywhere. Can you remember as a kid trying to run up the down escaltor and seeing if you can get to the top – stop for a second as you run out of breath and you go backwards. Well this was a bit like that but we were on a water treadmill sailing like the clappers but getting nowhere. My worry was that the wind would suddenly drop and I’d go backwards – I had the engine in reserve of course but this would only give us an extra 2 knots at the most. It took half an hour for us to creep through the first channel and then we had a short respite as the treadmill slowed a bit in the deeper water and we started to make 3 knots. Suddenly from nowhere there was this loud foghorn sound and there in front of us it looked as if a section of the side of the mountain was moving toward us – it was the 14,759 ton Seatruck – Clipper Pennant as we saw later as it passed. It came out of the sun and was backlit so we had not seen it, but it was huge and bearing down on us at great speed as it had the 4 knot tide with it. The horn meant that it had no manoeuverability, so even though I was under sail, I had to give way. Unfortunately, I was loughing up to lose wind in the gusts and this took me right into its path so I was forced to bear away to starboard causing us to heel wildly until Rosamund could loose both main and jib to spill wind and take us to the extreme edge of the channel. As it passed close to port and leeward of us, we lost all wind and were probably heading backwards for a while on the treadmill until what appeared to be ages later when it had passed and we picked up the wind once more and headed for the second channel. It took us almost two hours to do the 4.6 nautical miles through the entrance to Carlingford Lough but on the treadmill we’d done 9.1 nautical miles as I later learned from my log and trip meter.

The Clipper Pennant – a RoRo Transport Ferry passing close on our port beam doing 12 knots heading for Heysham, England.

Carlingford Marina was certainly a haven for us from the high winds that were now developing from the west. In the lee of Carlingford Mountain it gave great shelter. Being in a fiord the harbour did not need the protection of a conventional sturdy harbour wall. Carlingford was, like the buoys, another higgledy-piggledy arrangement. I remember as a kid how I used to love building things with packs of cards – starting with two to make a triangle, then another two and then place one on top to stabilize it – repeat this a number of times and you get a structure on which you can build more structures and so on. Take one link out and it often collapses. Well Carlingford harbour seemed to be constructed rather like that and in their case there were some links missing. There was also a huge concrete ship in the middle of the harbour – that acted like a landing stage. You had to cross this ship to get off the marina up metal stairs that were fixed relative to the pontoon, which meant that the concrete ship was actually floating and anchored.

 The Cretegaff in Carlingford Marina today.  Had been the clubhouse before the new one in the background was built and is now the fuel barge and deck to reach the pontoons.

An except from Isle Of Man Today gives some of the history of this vessel – ‘During the First World War, when steel was in short supply, the British Government commissioned a series of sea-going barges designed to carry 1000 tons of coal. A number were built of reinforced concrete at various locations around the country. To pull these barges a small fleet of concrete ocean-going tugs was also built.

‘Both the tugs and the barges had names which began with the word Crete and the idea was to use them to transport coal to Europe and Russia.

‘During the Second World War a further series of concrete barges was constructed. The durability of the material is borne out by the fact that there are still a number of such vessels in existence today, although no longer in commercial use.

‘In the 1930s one of the large ocean-going tugs, the Cretegaff, was purchased by a Captain Stephen Portus, who was a pilot and tug owner in the port of Garston on the River Mersey. For a short time he undercut the Isle of Man Steam Packet Company for the job of bringing in to the Island the English daily newspapers.

Launch of the Cretegaff in 1917 in Southwark 

When we went into the clubhouse to see if we could get some food we discovered that Saturday night was “music night”. A party of women had just arrived for a birthday celebration and there was a live music show just being set up. We were greatly entertained while we ate our meal, by the live music and the craic.

Live music at the Carlingford Yacht Club.

Leaving relatively early compared to the Irish, I said to the waitress when paying the bill how much I’d enjoyed the music. ” Oh, that’s just as well” she said, “he’s my husband!”

Compared to our earlier passages the passage to Howth was relatively uneventful. We took advantage of the strength of the tide by timing our departure for 6:30am, about an hour after low tide to catch the force of the tidal streams going north. Unfortunately, instead of westerly winds they were more like northerly so we were forced to motor sail most of the way with just the main up. But we had 3 knots of tide at times so 5 knots became 8 knots and we raced towards Howth. On two occasions despite relatively light winds we came across overfalls. The first was Breaches Shoal which was marked on the chart, the second was between Greystones and Codling Bank and was not marked. As wind was against tide these were disproportionately rough and as we were pitching into the waves I was surprised at one point by the bow going under and the boat, despite the motor, coming almost to a halt. I noticed that the water became quite shallow over the shoal (of course) and then sloped steeply away into deep water resulting in these huge transitional waves.

Note shoals north of Wicklow – Breaches Shoal (marked) and an unmarked one between Greystones and Codling Bank

Marine Traffic chart showing our track from Arklow to Howth after it was first detected north of Wicklow.

We had several near misses that looked threatening. One a huge tanker that looked as if it was going to run us down and the other the Stena Ferry probably from Angelsea. Both in the end cut in front of us to go to Dublin by about 0.7nm but nevertheless their size made it feel like a few hundred yards! The AIS of course did predict they’d miss by that margin but I took regular bearings in the old fashioned way just to check.

The Stena Ferry reminded us of the time Rosamund & I took our bikes on the car to Angelsea and then came across on the Stena Ferry to Dublin. We cycled through Dublin to the railway station and took the train to Cork where we were met by Richard Beard who drove us to Lough Hyne near Baltimore where they have a most beautiful house on the Lough. We stayed there with him and Irene for a few days before cycling on round the South Westerly tip of Ireland. I remember talking to Irene about one of her outbuildings that was rather ruined. Richard had purchased a day boat and we had fun sailing round Baltimore bay. “Wouldn’t it be good if we had a boathouse” said Irene. I sketched something on a piece of paper and was amazed the next time we visited to see it not only built, but the boat in it and places to change and shower as well. It was no coincidence that several years later when Richard had given up sailing the boathouse became extra accommodation for the expanding family and friends.

Howth was everything our Irish sailing colleagues had promised. The House restaurant was also excellent. Rosamund and I both ate fresh crab and hake. The Howth Yacht marina was huge (300 berths) and extremely well equipped. There was also an excellent Marine Supply shop and chandlery nearby, so I took advantage of some free time to both refuel and calibrate the fuel tank. We had nearly run out of fuel on the last trip because I’d noticed that the fuel disappeared more quickly when near empty than when full – I later discovered that this was because most boat fuel tanks are triangular in shape in order to fit in the hull and fuel gauges do not compensate for this – my calibration showed that the 71 litre tank held only 28 litres in the bottom half of the tank and 43 litres in the top half.

At lunch time Rosamund and I left for Dublin on the Dart train. It was rather a culture shock to suddenly arrive in the centre of a busy city. We had different objectives for our visit – I wanted to focus on the waterfront, while Ros wanted to do some shopping. As we both wanted to visit Trinity College and go to see the book of Kells and have a Guinness afterwards – we ended up doing everything. The Guinness was a highlight as they were playing live music in the pub we chose in the Temple Bar area and for me the tall ship in the waterfront area was a highlight as it was the 90m training ship, the Cuauhtemoc (1,755 tons) from Mexico and was open to the public so I was able to see around it. I’m fascinated by these ships as my great-grandfather, Jean Canese, captained one like it in the late 19^th century on voyages to New Zealand and back. The Cuauhtemoc was a modern version built in 1982.

The impressive vaulted library at Trinity College Dublin – we thought Percy would be at home here knowing his love of books – we visited the Book of Kells in another section of the library

The Mexican training ship Cuauhtemoc

Not sure what Joanna would have thought of the new architecture on the river front. The new exhibition centre was like a Guinness can tilted on its side – the swing bridge was more elegant but in contrast to all the other bridges.

The new exhibition centre – young boys in wetsuits were diving and somersaulting off the bridge (shown below) – much to the amazement of the crowds.

It was a relief in a way to return to the peace and tranquility of the waterfront at Howth and we were pleased with our decision to eat again at The House.

View from Howth Cliff Walk

A heron walking on the seashore.  We also saw one on the pontoon and assumed it was responsible for all the crab debris scattered about

We were very happy to have reached Dale. We have camped on the Marloes peninsular in Pembrokeshire since the 1960s  and the late May bank holiday had become a ritual camping week with the Roddy family, the children, the grand children and many other friends. It was our starting to sail three years ago that broke this ritual for us and voyaging to Dale by sea was a symbolic return to a part of the country we loved.

The Marloes red beach looking out toward Skokholm Island.  Skomer is just out of site on the right.

We motored ashore in our tender to meet Kevin Rogers at the Dale Sailing Club – we had a drink on the roof terrace overlooking the bay.

Dale Sailing Club with the new “The Moorings” restaurant

Looking out from Dale Sailing Club terrace – Ros with Kevin Rogers who had lent us his mooring while his yacht was being repaired.

 Earlier we had passed one of our favourite pubs, the Griffin. Many a year we had spent camping on the Marloes peninsular using the Griffin as a meeting point for a drink afterwards – sitting out on the wall in the evening sun while the children played on the beach. We were horrified to see that new owners had built a modern annex as a restaurant and terrace, which jarred with the beautiful row of stone houses and destroyed the view from the harbour.

Ros on the wall near the Griffin 

The Griffin with the new extension in the foreground

But all was not lost as you could still sit on the wall and enjoy a pint as long as you kept your eyes firmly seaward. And the good news is that Paul Garnish and his wife who used to run the Griffin are now running “The Moorings”, a restaurant at Dale Sailing club. We had a very enjoyable meal there of freshly caught fish.

Next day we were to return to Bristol for a week and Kevin once more came to our aid, borrowing a friend’s fishing boat to transport us and all our luggage to the pontoon.

Kevin at the helm of his friend’s fishing boat transporting us and our luggage to the pontoon. Milo is in the background on his mooring.

He promised us a better solution a week later when we were due to return and he was true to his word. He took his own tender out to Milo and brought her single handed into the pontoon to welcome us in the evening sun on our return from Bristol.

 Kevin bring Milo alongside the pontoon at Dale to greet us on our return from our week away.

After a meal at the Moorings with Kevin and Tina we retired early. The next day would be our long anticipated passage across the Irish Sea.