Out, baby, out

Been awhile, hasn't it? The simple truth is that we didn't do any bloggable sailing over the latter part of the season. The reason? Mainly crappy weather. We got out for day sails here and there and a good overnighter, spent at anchor off North Berwick, for Dad's birthday at the end of August. There was some good sailing to be sure, but nothing noteworthy.

Now Fettler is on the hard once more, ready for the winter maintenance projects to begin. The lift-out was an interesting affair. It was originally scheduled to take place on the 25th of October. This, by an unfortunate though not unpreventable coincidence, was the same day that we had flights booked for a little break in the south of France. Our plane was expected to depart at 1230 and lift-out was to commence at around 0800. Very tight. I booked a ticket on a later flight as a fallback position.

The day dawned anything but fair on the 25th. The forecast was for gale, to severe gale, possibly even to storm force winds and heavy rain, but the harbour secretary was determined to go ahead if at all possible. Re-booking the crane is a costly business so even if we could get some of the boats out during a lull in the storm it would mean time and cost savings later. The crane arrived and set up and the first of the boats (with me aboard as helper) motored into position. At that point the crane driver, very wisely, called the whole thing off.

Shortly after that, the wind really got into gear. We had a job even getting the boat back out onto her mooring and then boarding the launch for a seriously wet ride back to the pontoon.

At the airport, our flight was delayed for hours as the wind was so ferocious they couldn't open the cargo doors on the plane to load the bags in. This was particularly irksome to us as we only had hand luggage.

Anyway, we made it to France and had a fine, restful week on the Mediterranean coast and the lift-out was rescheduled for the day after our return. That day dawned as fair as any ever has. Perfectly still and clear. Once the ice thawed off the pontoon and boats' decks all was well.

The actual lifting of Fettler was a bit of a trial for us, it being the first time. Actually, no, the lift was fine. It was the setting down that was a bit hair raising. Really it was only due to the fact that it was the first time on a brand new cradle, so there were many adjustments to be made, while the boat was still hanging in the slings. Given sufficient time, this wouldn't have been a problem but everybody was champing at the bit as there were 31 boats to be lifted on a short autumnal day. There were 'helpers' rushing around on every side, adjusting this and that, while I tried to rush around and get things overall the way I wanted them to be. Twice I had to shout as they tried to rush the slings off before we were set and when I couldn't hold them back any longer she still wasn't sitting quite upright or straight, but close enough that I could put things right by adjusting the cradle with the boat in place.

We have a full programme of maintenance and upgrades planned for the winter months and will keep posting here as we go. The idea is to have her ready to go anywhere. An escape pod, if you will, in case this credit crunch thing reaches its logical conclusion. Sea-steading. That's the way to go.

Tae a Bridge

A great deal has been said about the Forth Bridge in the 118 years since it was completed (there's a good overview in the Wikipedia article: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forth_Railway_Bridge). We have to add though, that it's probably best appreciated from the water below. A truly monumental structure!
The idiot politician who suggested a few years ago that the bridge should be scrapped to save on maintenance costs should have been hung.

Drying out on the harbour floor?

Granton harbour at low water. The first time we heard about boats with only one keel in drying harbours ("they all lie down when the tide is out, but stand up again when the water returns"), the notion seemed pretty alarming. In fact, it's not so bad. After all, the boat reaches those sort of angles at sea often enough so things belowdecks are stowed securely enough to stand it.

We had a nice little north Edinburgh holiday this weekend. The original plan was to head out Friday evening and anchor off Inchcolm Island but, after moving the boat from the mooring to the pontoon, we were just too lazy to go further and decided to spend the night there. The decision was made easier by the vicinity of the Starbank Inn - a superb real ale pub just by Newhaven harbour. We haven't spent much time in this part of town in the past but enjoy it now, particularly as it has quite a different feel to central Edinburgh.

Saturday morning was a low, low tide and we found ourselves stuck in the mud even on the pontoon (where there is a dredged channel). No matter, there was breakfast to be gone out for and jobs to do on the boat so it was easy to pass the time until the tide floated us again and we could head out for a fantastic day's sailing.

Sallying Forth

As promised, two of the last three weekends have been pleasantly passed on the waters of the Forth. On our first excursion since arriving home we took Martin along with us to Aberdour, on the Fife coast opposite Edinburgh, spending a peaceful night at anchor before cruising out towards the Bass Rock the following morning.

That was when I discovered that the clamp that secures the tiller to the rudderstock was fractured. Fortunately the assembly still held together thanks to the bolt that had formerly clamped it tight. Thinking back, I knew it to have been in one piece when we left the Azores, as I had removed the tiller then, but noticed sometime during the crossing that there was more play than usual on it. At the time, I put this down to wear on the fitting, as it had been difficult to get it tight in the first place (in fact this tightening must have precipitated the breakage). Still, the part was likely original and 40 years of stress and strain will take their toll.

Back in the harbour, I started asking around to find out where we could get a new clamp made - it's not the sort of thing one can find off the shelf. The first person I asked (Robin, a fellow member of the Forth Corinthian Yacht Club) mentioned a foundry in Powderhall (an Edinburgh district) where other club members had work done in the past. He couldn't remember the name of the place but it was easy to find on the net (http://www.laingsfoundry.co.uk/index.htm).

I removed the broken clamp the following Friday and we went along to the foundry where the friendly, helpful and informative Andrew Laing agreed to take on the job for the very reasonable sum of £25. First though, he asked me to check with an engineering firm down in Leith (George Brown & Sons) whether they could/would machine out the various holes as it would be cast in solid bronze. George Brown turned out to be very helpful as well (possibly because he's a fellow sailor?) and by the end of the next week (that's last Friday) we had the new part.

We were very pleased to find that these old firms of traditional craftsmen are still going strong and will still take on small one-off jobs without charging the Earth.

Settling in nicely

We've been busy washing and drying most of our gear, and had our sails drying in the garden during one of the rare sunny days recently. We've also had time to finish the processing of our Azorean coffee, and just had a cafetiere of it with breakfast - delicious!

Yesterday evening was the first time in quite some time that we've gone out for just a wee leisure sail, with no particular destination, and it was lovely. We zoomed back and forth across the Forth at 6 knots, watching the seals, sea birds and a fine rainbow. Superb scenery begins right outside the harbour. We are definitely happy that we've made the decision to keep the boat close by rather than somewhere on the west coast.

On Sunday, we plan to continue the exploration of our home waters - maybe making it out to the Isle of May, a bird sanctuary off the Fife coast. Plenty of daysailing opportunities. And we'll have to practice drying out against harbour walls (no boozing reference intended), since most of the harbours around here dry at low water.

39° 52' N, 3° 7' E to 37° 44' N, 25° 40' W to 58° 00' N, 3° 20' W to 55° 59' N, 3° 13' W

The wind was still easterly when we left Burghead, and the most exasperating day followed. We were tacking down the Moray Firth towards Rattray Head, making only minimal progress. We actually went as far north as 58 degrees on the offshore tack, to just south of the Beatrice oil field. At one point Jim looked at the 'time to waypoint' on our GPS and it said: 'Forever.' It actually said 'Forever'. Luckily, the wind died during the wee hours on Sunday morning and we could motor around the corner, along the bleak and featureless coast, or so it seems on a grey and windless day, around Peterhead.

We were getting quite glum from lack of sleep and progress until four impressively fast and fun black and white Common dolphins showed up near Montrose and rode our bow for more than half an hour. Dolphin visits always seem to bring luck, and things picked up from then on. We were sailing downwind at a nice clip with the jib poled out, making rapid progress until we rounded Fife Ness into the Forth of Firth.

The wind then died down, but we were in home waters and got quite emotional seeing the familiar sights of home - Bass Rock, Berwick Law, Arthur's Seat, the Pentlands and the Bridges. We were also amazed, as on the previous occasion when we sailed these waters, at the wildlife to be found just outside the city. There were puffins and gannets a go-go bobbing on the water, lots of guillemots with chicks, and seals basking on the buoys.

We pulled in just after low water, with Jim's dad (Gordon) there to welcome us. We then indulged in a large pizza feast, shower and rest at home before returning to the Forth Corinthian Yacht Club in the evening to sort out the details. By 2230 Fettler was on her new mooring.

In all, we've voyaged around 4,500 nautical miles since taking up our stewardship of the Fettler in Mallorca last spring. It's concentrated living out there, on the edge. Time itself stretches in a funny way and one can't help learning, growing and feeling closer to this Earth by the end of it.

Burghead rendezvous

It was already 1300 by the time we made it into the Inverness Firth and we wanted to push on as far as possible, but the east wind determined that wouldn't be very far at all. Most of the harbours on the Moray coast are tidally restricted and the only good option seemed Burghead, a small fishing port where, according to our pilot book, 'a vessel drawing 1.5m should [our italics] be able to enter at low water springs'. Of course, it was low water springs when we arrived and we can report that a vessel drawing 1.4m can't quite enter at LWS. We stranded on the sand just in the harbour entrance for five minutes before the tide lifted us off.

Burghead is quite a small harbour and still a good size active fishing fleet. We first of all rafted up against a squid boat but were told by a friendly fisherman that it was going out later that night so we shifted to the inner part of the harbour, where Jim executed an impressive three-point turn and rafted up against the only other yacht.

Ken then joined us with his dog Kelly and we can say that it's easier to get a hound aboard at high water than to get it off the boat, across two other boats and three metres up a ladder on the harbour wall at low water the next morning.

We hadn't heard of Burghead before, but it's in Brodie country - the castle is quite nearby - so it seemed a good choice. It turned out to have a Pictish fort and well ("Access at all reasonable hours"), a fine coastal walk and beach and we were sorry to leave, especially since it was the day of the local fete. We also checked out one of the local pubs, which had only slightly less than five dogs in it (dog ownership seemed to be mandatory in town) and Ken and Jim made full use of the sailor's rest room, which came complete with stereo and pool table!

Out of the Canal

After an enforced stop in Fort Augustus - because the lock-keepers called it a day after locking a bunch of boats through the other way at 4pm - Martin and I (Jim) rushed Fettler into the first lock at 8am the next day, along with five other sailboats and a wee powerboat. The lock-keeper wasn't impressed, throwing a bit of a strop when I showed reluctance to shift after coming starboard side to along the lock wall. Fettler ended up rafted up to a powerboat full of friendly Faroe islanders (4 brothers) who assured us we'd be welcome in Torshavn and left me with phone numbers, while walking both vessels through the series of locks, while I motored ahead or astern to assist. Great strategy for getting through the locks as Martin and I merely had to keep ahold of the lines tethering us to Mighty Fine as the Faeroese did the rest of the work.

We then sailed the length of Loch Ness before a stiff breeze, enjoying the dramatic Highland scenery and the peace of sail power after a spell of motoring. We left the boat at Caley Marina, downed a swift half pint at the Clachnaharry Inn (great pub) and took the Megabus down to Edinburgh and the working week.

Sonja and I returned on Thursday night and met Ken for a more leisurely pint in the Clachnaharry Inn. The next morning was gorgeous, and we were lucky to slip through the Muirtown locks at 0830 sharp. The tide under the Kessock Bridge runs up to six knots so we decided to wait for slack water, giving us the opportunity to take in a cooked breakfast (£2.65 at the local Co-op) and hang out at the Clachnaharry Sea Lock in the brilliant sunshine.

Truly lovely, the Caledonian Canal. Looking forward to going through it at a more leisurely pace, some season soon.

Coming home

We pulled into Granton at 1330 this afternoon after a bit of a hard slog down the coast. Delighted to have made it! We will move Fettler onto her new mooring buoy this evening.

Peel to Fort William: the full story

We left Peel at 3.30pm, just as soon as the tide allowed. It was still blowing Force 6 but from the southwest, the sea state was moderate and we had a nice sail towards the Mull of Galloway in the evening sunshine. Just as we were approaching the Mull, Jim decided to peruse the pilot book about the Forth & Clyde Canal and came across a passage that said 'air draught 3 metres'. Since Fettler is a boat with a low profile we hadn't thought this a problem before, as long as we took the mast down. However, Jim's mind wandered aft to the the radar tower and realised immediately that it wouldn't clear. It was lucky he discovered this then, before turning the corner - we could simply head for the Mull of Kintyre!

We were both a bit excited about this sudden change of plan since it meant some double quick passage planning up to Fort William, an area full of outrageous tidal streams. Just as we were settling down again, we had our first incident. At around 11pm the wind died and Jim had gone to double reef the main sail so that we could motorsail. When he lowered the boom, the topping lift (which holds the end of the boom up) worked out of its jamming cleat and whipped wildly around the mast, wrapping itself several times around the mast and stays. There was no way of retrieving it without going up the mast.

We quickly secured the boom, got out the Mast Mate (a webbing ladder for climbing the mast) and hoisted it. Meanwhile we were rolling around. Jim then climbed halfway up the mast until he could reach the topping lift and tie a second rope to it. We started untangling the topping lift, but as the light was failing we reached a dead end where we couldn't see what it was hooked on. Time for another trip up the mast. Jim managed to get all the way up, clinging to the mast for dear life, and we did get it sorted pretty quickly.

Jim then went below for a little well-earned rest, while I took up my night watch. I could see a few fishing boats and ferries, but nothing to worry about until I started brushing my teeth. That's when I spotted a vessel on what looked like a parallel course to ours. It was approaching rapidly and I flashed a strobe light on our mainsail to make sure they'd see us. There was no time to check my original compass bearing to see if it was changing. Suddenly this fishing boat cut across our bow and I jumped up to the wind vane, changing our course 30 degrees - we missed a collision by a couple of metres. I could see that there was no one on deck. They must have just set the autopilot, and they didn't even notice that they almost sank our boat. Jim heard my cry of alarm, jumped out of bed and just saw the blinding lights of the fishing vessel as it passed at high speed.

The next part of the passage went very well. We arrived at the Mull of Kintyre at exactly the right time to take advantage of the strong tide and rounded it in the morning sunshine. I saw our first puffins of the trip just inside the Sound of Jura. But alas the pleasant weather was not to last and soon we were navigating by GPS and radar in the fog and rain and motoring as there was no wind.

The next tidal gate was the Sound of Luing, where the stream runs at up to seven knots. This sound is just after the (in)famous Corryvreckan Whirlpool, which runs west at the same time as the Sound of Luing runs north. We had to be very careful not to get sucked into that. Again, we timed the tide right. Stan, our autopilot, couldn't cope with these crazy waters, and Jim took the helm. The water looked like it was boiling around us. There were whirlpools and eddies and upwellings aplenty. Our speed peaked at 9.5 knots over ground (with the engine only contributing 4.5).

After that, I slept for the only two hours I was going to get that night while Jim took us into the Firth of Lorn and past Oban. Then we were both needed to go through the Lynn of Lorn in the dark. Most of the buoys and islets weren't lit and we had to change course every half a mile or so to make a safe course through. We had just reached the safety of Loch Linnhe, a very deep and hazard-free loch, when the engine suddenly cut out.

Luckily, a faint breeze was just coming up and we hoisted the jib. Initially we thought that we'd miscalculated the fuel level and therefore topped up our fuel. Jim started the engine again, and it seemed fine, but since there was wind, we shut off the engine and sailed through the night. Loch Linnhe was very atmospheric at night - hardly any light and high mountains in shades of grey lining both sides.

Jim was getting his 1.5 hours' sleep for the night when I decided to wake him as we were approaching the Corran Narrows. Loch Linnhe is shaped like an hourglass, and at the Corran Narrows the tide runs very strongly. This time we weren't there at the right time - 3 knots of currents were against us, and we were only sailing at 3.5 in the light winds. Jim decided to use the engine to help us through there, but it cut out after a minute or two. We then crept through the last part of the Narrows at 0.1 knots over ground.

Once we were on Upper Loch Linnhe, Jim got down to business, bleeding fuel lines and trying to figure out what was wrong with old Sven, our 40-year-old Sabb engine. He quickly found that the breather valve to the fuel tank was totally clogged up, creating a vacuum that starved the engine of fuel. We got out the pipe cleaners and started cleaning it, but as we found out later, it's almost 50cm long and we couldn't get it cleared while under way. However, Jim hit on the idea of opening the fuel filler cap slightly and this worked a treat.

While Jim was toiling in the engine compartment and we were sailing back and forth outside Fort William, I caused an accidental gybe and one of our winch handles was caught by the mainsheet, flipped into the air and overboard. Good thing we had a spare.

We then entered the Caledonian Canal around 9 in the morning and had to go straight through a lock. I had a hard time throwing our lines up in my state of utter exhaustion. We tied up while we were waiting to go through the second lock, and a very nice thing happened. A guy came up to us and said: 'I know the man who built this boat.' Turns out his father was a good friend of Fettler's original owners, Joe and Val Rickerton (hope this is spelled right). Val is still alive, and he was going to let her know that Fettler is still going strong.

As we were pulling away to go into the next lock, one of the lines holding the tiller jammed and Jim just managed to get us clear of the boat next to us. Almost clear, that is: One of the two wires supporting the radar tower was hooked by the fluke of its enormous anchor and snapped. This was the final straw - it was time for some rest.

We tied up at the first available pontoon, where I slipped on the wet boards when jumping ashore with the lines and bruised my shin. Jim then fixed the radar stay, while I got a blissful 90 minutes of snooze. Jim rested up a little as well before our crew, Able Seaman Martin, arrived and helped us negotiate Neptune's Staircase, a series of eight locks that take boats up 21 metres. Just as well that Martin had decided to join us, since it's tricky with less than three. After that, we decided to call it a day and stop the night in Banavie, especially since the lock keepers had warmly recommended the Lochy Bar. Unfortunately, this hostelry was fully booked and the only other hotel bar in town was closed because of a wedding so we had to take a cab into Fort William to get a well-deserved dinner and a pint. And this time we really got an early night.

No photos for this one - we were too damn busy!

Canal cruise

We had a lovely time on the Caledonian Canal this weekend after what has been the most challenging and toughest leg of the trip so far - involving the topping lift coming loose and wrapping itself around the mast, necessitating a trip up the mast at sea; a near collision with a fishing boat; going through tidal gates in fog and rain; engine breakdown; a winch handle overboard and a snapped radar stay. Our levels of endurance were tested beyond limits! Full account to follow.

I had to leave the boat at Fort Augustus to return to work, but luckily our friend Martin is helping Jim to sail Fettler to Inverness today. The lads are sailing on Loch Ness as I type with a nice southwesterly breeze pushing them across the loch. The Canal is truly beautiful and it's been a tonic looking at the amazing scenery while making our way across. Next weekend our plan is to pick the boat up in Inverness and sail the rest of the way to Granton.

CHANGE OF PLAN!!!

Latest from the sailors: "Big plan change. We can't go through the Forth and Clyde. Now heading to Fort William for the Caley Canal."

And because this post-er has been so SLOW at posting this update (&*^&%%^%%$% computers!!!), I can confirm that they arrived in Fort William, made it on to the canal and even picked up a drifter (Martin). He has been put to hard labour assisting Jim and Sonja getting through the one million locks along the canal.

We look forward to seeing them back in Edinburgh soon!

Peeling out

Looks like we'll be shifting on for the Clyde this afternoon.
Have been busy updating our posts right back to the Azores with photos and even a video clip, so be sure to check all the way back to 'Fettling'!
Smashing place, Peel. We've visited the Isle of Man before and were really keen to return. Not disappointed.
The early night failed to materialise last night, after we met a very nice and interesting couple at the pub here. We got chatting and went first back to their beautiful house for coffee, cakes and homemade damson and sloe gin before repairing to the vessel for a nightcap of Azorean aguardente.
Wish we could linger...

Baltimore - Peel

As Karen kindly informed you all, we arrived in Peel on the Isle of Man this morning after a 2 and a half day journey up from Baltimore. We left on Sunday evening, as soon as the gale had passed and had a beautiful few hours of gentle sailing before the wind conked out altogether and we had to motor. It was light winds or motoring all the way along the south coast and around the corner. We had a bit of a job rounding the Tuskar rock, actually, as the wind died when we were nearly there and there was 3 knots of tide running against us.
Once we rounded the bend, the tide turned and we moved quickly up to the north. As the day wore on, the wind gradually returned and then increased until, by late afternoon, we were having some great sailing under what we call our 'Trade winds rig'. That's the full main out on one side with the jib poled out on the other.
By nightfall, the wind was up to the point where it commenced our third gale of the trip so far. By now we were down to double-reefed main and storm jib, and so it continued through the night.
The passage from that point was incredibly fast. We had a little tide in our favour and that, with the gale of wind behind us, pushed up our average speed over ground to around 7.5 knots!
There was also a lot of shipping to deal with, particularly between Dublin and Holyhead. The most interesting encounter was when I spotted a warship cruising along beside us. I hailed them on the VHF, to make sure they knew we were there, and had a little chat with the radio officer on board HMS Grimsby. Good fun.
We were happy to arrive here this morning and tuck into the shelter behind the breakwater. The inner harbour is tidal, so we rafted up against a fishing vessel on the outer wall, went for showers and lunch, returned to the boat for a snooze and then moved into the inner harbour.
It's a beautiful spot. We're going to wander around a bit, have a pint or two and then an early night.

Atlantic creatures

So, Sonja's post the other day gave a brief overview of the weather we encountered on the crossing. That will be fleshed out later, once we're back in Edinburgh and can add photos, etc. Now for the wildlife.
We had heard from quite a few folk that the deep Atlantic expanses are quite barren of animals. That was also our experience on the voyage from mainland Portugal out to the Azores but not this time. Pretty much every day for the first 8 days we saw dolphins or porpoises, who were happy to come and play with the boat for awhile. The most fantastic thing was when they came during the hours of darkness and both they and the boat left glowing green trails of phosphorescence behind them.
We also encountered whales several times. The first was a bit of a shocker for me sitting on night watch in the cockpit when a whale blew right next to my ear. Nearly jumped out of my skin! Fortunately it was downwind, so I was spared the odour of its breath.
The next day, we actually saw them. Sonja was looking out over the stern when she saw something that she took for a weather phenomenon at first. It turned out to be a pod of 3 pilot whales, spouting before sounding.
The day after that, I was up on deck (having a pee, as it happens) when I saw what looked like a large cloud of brownish smoke nearby. This of course was another spout, but emanating from a much larger specimen this time. Probably a humpback - a true leviathan of the deep. Even the small portion of it that was sticking out of the water was much larger than Fettler.
Aside from seabirds (Storm petrels and shearwaters, mostly, switching to Fulmar petrels, gannets and guillimots further north), the most frequently sighted animal was the Portuguese man o'war. A particularly nasty jellyfish if you get entangled with it, but very interesting to see with its own wee purple sail up.
Sea turtles we saw several times and I saw the dorsal and tail fins of a swordfish one morning.
That was all in the first 8 days. After crossing the 48th parallel, both the abundance of wildlife and the weather changed. No more dolphins were sighted until we were coming around the Irish coast the other night.

FETTLER PROGRESS UPDATE

Jim and Sonja came near enough to land to send the following text:

"Arrived Peel, Isle of Man, this morning after tearing up the Irish Sea like a rocket in the teeth of a gale. First Manx cat sighted already."

Does Pinkerton have competition for becoming their ship's cat???

Storm force

Had to leave off blogging rather abruptly yesterday as the boat we were rafted up against decided to pull out and head for a different harbour with better shelter from the west. The forecast was bad enough to convince the organisers of the Round-Ireland Race to delay the start, with F9-10 expected in the vicinity of the Fastnet Rock. We therefore decided to get off the pontoon ourselves and take the vessel out to one of the mooring buoys in the bay. Good move. The winds in the bay peaked at 50 knots at around 0300 and, though we were tossed about a bit, we had a good and worry-free night's sleep.
We spent the morning and early afternoon doing various little jobs on board before Dermott (the super-friendly Harbour Master) suddenly appeared in a RIB asking if we'd like to be taken ashore for a couple of hours. Good chance to get the latest weather files and plan our strategy for the next few days.
The winds are supposed to go down this evening, so we'll likely pull out later on and make a break for it. Looks like there'll be another Atlantic depression coming through on Thursday so we're planning to get as far as we can by Wednesday evening, before tucking in somewhere to wait out the next spell of weather.
We'll do our best to complete the account of our crossing in good time. It's a bit tricky though, as when we have a few spare moments, we just feel like relaxing a bit. Anyway, managed to download the photos off the camera yesterday and they're looking good so you should all be in the picture soon.

the smooth and the rough

We had left Ponta Delgada with a forecast of light to moderate winds for the first four days, and this held true. In fact, we had Force 3 and 4 from the east for most of the first eight days and were beginning to wonder if things could really be this easy!

Then we crossed 48 degrees N, the pressure began to fall, and our first gale, from the northeast, was upon us. Since it was coming from the direction we wanted to go in, it was a straightforward decision to heave to and wait it out. You can see from the video clip below, taken while hove-to, that things were actually pretty calm on board. I got a bit of a jolt at the end and lost it, but it gives a fair impression.

We spent a comfortable night hove-to (actually got more sleep than usual) among high seas before things moderated and we got under way again, only to encounter a second gale a day later. This time, it was from behind so we ran in front of it for a while, then hove-to again. In total, we spent 25 hours hove-to on the trip.

This was the first time we had experienced full on gales on board Fettler, and it was a very positive experience. She hove to beautifully, and we felt safe inside.

Things were decidedly damp after the two gales, but luckily the next day was beautifully sunny, and we managed to dry out and had a great run past the Fastnet Rock and into Baltimore, a wonderful natural harbour with a cute, colourful village.

More later - we will spend tonight on a mooring buoy as the weather is picking up and then continue towards the Isle of Man tomorrow afternoon.

Safely arrived

We reached Baltimore in Southern Ireland yesterday evening, after a voyage of 11 days and 5 hours. Superb!
It was an incredible experience. Feels a lot longer than 11 or 12 days, but in a good way.