Coasting Cornwall
Trevor Cherrett completes his West Country cruise during the idyllic, long summer of 2018
Falmouth, Fowey, Helford, Truro Lostwithiel, St Mawes, and more in a 22ft wooden harbour launch
Three years after setting out from Exeter I finally reached Falmouth in my 22ft wooden harbour launch Morgana. I couldn’t help noting that the return train journey took less than three hours...
But in that journey along the Devon and Cornish coasts, Morgana navigated some 15 harbours, eight rivers, and 16 creeks, wintering at Totnes and Plymouth along the way (PBO March 2017 and April 2018).
They were all beautiful or fascinating, and often both, but the ones that perhaps stick most in the memory are the ‘out of the ordinary’ ones, the ones least visited.
Like the visitors’ pontoon at Teignmouth, watching the crowds by day and listening to the thudding of a freighter passing to the docks at night; mooring at the tidal bank on Mill Creek above Dartmouth, where Raleigh might have stepped ashore, and Victorian ladies bathed; slipping up Bantham’s chalk stream river; or making careful way upriver to former boatbuilding and trade centres such as Calstock and Morwhellan on the Tamar, Lostwithiel on the Fowey, or Ruan Lanihorne on the Fal.
My third-year mission was simple: get Morgana to Falmouth, the final
destination of my south west coast journey. This passage turned out to be the most eventful.
Plymouth to Fowey
At 1300 on Sunday 20 May 2018, I slipped Morgana from her winter moorings at Plymouth Yacht Haven under a blue sky and a light south-easterly. I picked up one of my regular crewmates, Mike Smith, from the quay near Mayflower Steps, and steamed out of Plymouth Sound for a passage to Fowey – a modest endeavour but not immune to the universal feelings experienced by sailors of all kinds.
I was, as Rear-Admiral MJ Ross described passing Lizard Point in 1839, and as quoted by Michael Palin in his book Erebus, ‘bounding before a favourable breeze over the blue waves of the ocean, fairly embarked in the enterprise we had all so long desired to commence, and freed from the anxious and tedious operations of our protracted but requisite preparation’.
I’d planned to pick up a westerly tidal current along the coast but expected a bit of a lumpy chop in the Hoe approaches where the sout-east wind was blowing over the ebb tide. I was not disappointed.
What I hadn’t expected was that after rounding Rame Head the wind was fresher than forecast along the channel, surging us along. I went below to sort out crashing bottles. For the first time on Morgana I felt queasy – out of my usual position looking forward to the horizon – and retired to an aft seat to recover. Mike was gripping hard on the wheel as he concentrated on adjusting our westerly course with the wind on our aft port quarter, while I sat still and watched the gannets and puffins.
It was getting cloudier and cooler, and the shoreline ever more obscured. Somehow the smattering of yachts and fishing boats across the sea had scattered and disappeared. By 1600 Looe Island was a smudge and Polperro invisible – both inaccessible in any case because of the ebbing tide. We passed the tolling bell of Udder Rock at 1645 and surged on to Fowey in the gathering gloom, relieved to enter a near-deserted harbour at 1725.
We moored on the Mixtow pontoon some five hours after leaving Plymouth. The passage had been rough but Morgana hadn’t missed a beat.
Trips upriver
Now in Fowey there was time to explore upriver. But once you get above the busy moorings along Wiseman’s Reach the channel is poorly marked, so care is needed above Penpoll Creek, Golant and St Winnow. These are destinations in their own right but I was keen to go up the lovely tree-clad river Lerryn to the village’s excellent Ship Inn for a pint and a pie. The trip boat from Fowey is useful to follow if you have trouble navigating the unmarked meandering channel. On return I even managed to ‘rescue’ a self-drive boat that was having trouble with its engine.
Next I went up the river Fowey itself, which after St Winnow snakes narrowly through open meadows to the old port of Lostwithiel. I had two attempts at this trip. The first time Mike and I turned back at the railway bridge just before the town – it looked too shallow on a neap tide. My second attempt was on a spring – with Chris, a friend with a home in Polruan.
On a gorgeous summer day we got right up to the ancient medieval bridge. Holidaymakers were paddling and swimming in the bridge pool, giving us just about room to turn round and moor up, and time to grab a pint in the excellent Globe Inn. A superb takeaway fish and chips provided our supper for returning on the ebb.
Fowey is a wonderful haven for
‘I slipped Morgana from her moorings under a blue sky and a light south-easterly’
boating, and I wasn’t going to rush away. I had time to relax at That Café at the Quay, Mixtow, a kind of Cornish Greek taverna specialising in laid-back social drinking and eating; enjoy the pubs, restaurants and shops of Fowey (including an excellent bookshop) and Polruan; and meet up with old friends visiting this popular destination. Fowey is, of course, also a working port: for shipping china clay, building and repairing boats.
Forays from Fowey
I also made time to explore other harbours along the coast. The first was Polkerris, an hour away on one of those lovely sunny days we had that year, with friends to lunch at the local restaurant. But mooring on the harbour wall was more difficult than it looked: just a single iron stake to tie up to.
As skipper, I decided to stay on board while the others dined. Chris kindly brought me a Cornish pasty to munch on (and very nice it was too), but getting everybody back on board was not straightforward either. Morgana’s rubber dinghy was challenged to bring four crew of a certain age back from the beach, and get them aboard on the stern ladder.
Looe and Polperro were also ‘musts’ to visit. It was late July before I could get the right weather, tide and crew for this trip. Mike Smith was once again my first mate, and we set off with a blue sky, a hot sun, and a light south-westerly. Spinnakers billowed across the horizon, fishing boats bobbed around the rocks, canoes paddled along the shore. Pink human bodies clustered on secluded beaches.
At Polperro we negotiated the tricky entrance and picked up a buoy in the outer harbour on the harbourmaster’s instructions. We ate our lunch while watching the local youths diving off the harbour walls.
At Looe we followed the pleasure boats inside the island and tootled round the harbour. It was hot and heaving with people. We left in good time to steam back to Fowey. Mission accomplished.
Well not quite. The south-westerly had picked up a bit and this time we were pitching into waves that had grown alarmingly in just a few hours. The bottles were jangling again. Morgana is well built with a sturdy bow and she will ride forward comfortably, even though these waves were as high as I had ever seen her handle. I slowed down, and prepared for another rough passage.
It was just then that it happened. Something a motorboat skipper fears most, and without warning. The engine faded and lost power. It didn’t cut out completely, but we were making no way, and the south-westerly was blowing us towards the rocky cliffs east of Udder Rock. My stomach lurched. It was soon clear that the engine was not going to pick up properly, so we took action. I contacted my ‘marine breakdown assistance’ operators and informed them of the situation. They advised me to contact the coastguard (thanks!). Mike rigged up the two anchors that I carry as we drifted towards the rocks. I contacted the coastguards – they were busy in Falmouth but sent a message to boats in the area. I was now coaxing the engine to drive in spurts, enough to keep a position for a while, in touch with the tolling bells of Udder Rock.
In the meantime, we could see a yacht creaming towards us from the east. Whimbrel had picked up the coastguards’ message and the skipper contacted us, offering help. It was a reassuring relief that another boat was within reach. My engine was responding sporadically, enough to push us along at two or three knots, with Whimbrel convoying us back to Fowey.
Whimbrel’s response had been brilliant. Sadly her skipper and crew did not have time to accept my offer of a stiff drink or three – I owed them many thanks as we crept back into harbour with even greater relief than our arrival the previous month.
I could appreciate the words of John Killigrew, one of Falmouth’s 16th Century protagonists: ‘recounting the joyes of this worlde affirmeth none so greate as after a dangerous storme to have a sodayne and safe arrival in a secure port’.
The problem was dirt in the fuel. Two theories emerged. One was that I’d filled up with more diesel than usual, possibly dislodging muck from the top of the tank. The other was that the unusually steep pitching of the boat in the south-westerly had disturbed particles in the tank. Perhaps it was a bit of both.
Fowey to Falmouth
After the excellent Mixtow Marine had sorted out my fuel problems, I departed Fowey Harbour on a sunny morning in late July of that gloriously hot summer.
The sea looked like the proverbial mirror that I always dreamed of but rarely encountered, moving ever so slightly, with wavelets no greater than the creases on a silk shirt. Small fry scuttled on the surface. Gannets wheeled and dived. Anglers fished from boats off the rocks. The conditions were perfect.
Yet even on that beautiful day there was one more hazard to encounter. With Stephen, another crew stalwart, we headed straight for Mevagissey. A collection of widely-spaced buoys were planted across the water in front of the port, not marked on the chart. It looked like some kind of fish farm, maybe mussels. At the last moment I realised they were connected by strong ropes just beneath the surface. My glorious final passage nearly came to a very sticky and premature end.
Mevagissey looked positively Mediterranean. I picked up a buoy and met up with another old friend and experienced sailor, David Bucknell. The original plan was to lunch in the port, but conditions were so good I decided to press on to a rendezvous with old friends Mike and Catherine in their yacht Kohai off Chapel Point, for a final convoy westwards to Falmouth. It was a perfect sea for a gentleman’s launch. The tidal overfalls at Dodman Point were slight, and dolphins surrounded us in Veryan Bay in what seemed like a welcoming party.
We took the passage inside Gull Rock, slipped inside the Bizzies, and rounded the iconic lighthouse at St Anthony into Falmouth Harbour. We picked up David’s mooring in the Percuil river, and later celebrated at the very welcoming and sociable St Mawes Sailing Club.
The main part of my mission had been accomplished, and almost to perfection.
The weather was so good I decided to stay on the next day and join Mike and Catherine for a trip to the Helford River. Kohai moored at Helford Passage and we all took Morgana up the well marked channel to Gweek on the late morning tide. After lunch in the Black Swan there was little time to explore this legendary haven of classic boats before returning.
I was now safely harboured in Falmouth, first at Mylor Yacht Haven and then later at Falmouth Marina near Penryn, to savour the atmosphere and explore one of the world’s largest and most beautiful harbours. An important port too for centuries – for shelter, especially at Penryn in the days before Falmouth really took off; for building boats and trading from upriver creek sites now long abandoned; for the famous packet service to the Mediterranean, Caribbean and the Americas; and most notoriously for pirates and privateers. The wide and deep Carrick Roads remain important for tankers, cruise ships, and naval ships in for refitting.
Creek-crawling up the Fal
So my final mission was to explore the Fal river, its many creeks and tributaries. The most obvious is the Truro River, a couple of miles north of Turnaware Bar, where the wide Fal estuary narrows to a woodsteeped stretch of river spanned by the King Harry Ferry. Truro was of course once an important port importing coal, timber and other materials since the 17th Century, and still retains a navigation authority whose boundary stretches to St Just and below Mylor. Most importantly for me it also maintains a buoyed channel which is invaluable for negotiating the tidal stretch above Malpas and which enabled Morgana to reach the city with comparative ease. Sadly, Truro seems to have neglected the recreational potential of this waterway, and there are limited facilities for visiting boats.
Opposite Falmouth, St Mawes offers moorings and access to a pretty town well stocked with shops, pubs, restaurants, and a convenient venue for celebrating our arrival. And for a quiet, lushly-wooded escape I took Morgana up the Percuil River with locally-based friends David and Dorthe Bucknell: this river offers a sheltered anchorage and an idyllic journey as far up as Trethem Mill bridge.
Only curlews, peewits and other waders will disturb you in the upper reaches, but there are few navigation marks and
‘The sea looked like the proverbial mirror that I always dreamed of but rarely encountered’
care needs to be taken to navigate the channel with the tide.
Likewise in the busier but equally lovely creeks to the west: Mylor Creek, which at least has some withies to mark the shore, and where I met up with family relative Peter Maddock, cleaning up his 1934 classic yacht Gauntlet to sell; Restronguet Creek, for the excellent Pandora Inn near the entrance, and even up to the splendidly restored but very shallow Devoran Quay on a Spring tide, for the Old Quay Inn if you have time (sadly we didn’t).
Further north Morgana explored the smaller Pill Creek, Channals Creek, Lamouth Creek and Cowlands Creek, including the delightful little bight at Coombe, sheltering a few boats and cottages. But these are not just waterside idylls, they contain historic sites for an ironage fort, a copper-exporting wharf, and serious boatbuilding. This was a bustling industrial area in the 17th and 18th Century.
On the eastern shore St Just is an equally delightful destination, offering a pontoon for visiting boats for several hours either side of the tide. Here you can walk round the harbour pool to the beautiful church, and have coffee or lunch at the café. There are even public toilets.
Back at Falmouth it’s well worth tootling up to Penryn on the tide to experience the bustle of boatyards, ferries and waterside businesses which give the original port great character. Last but by no means least, there is the River Fal itself winding eastwards up Ruan Creek. It was September by the time Mike and I took Morgana up to Ruan Lanihorne and the excellent King’s Head, on an early evening tide. But this trip is no breeze. To quote local historian D.G Wilson: ‘Now it is only possible for small dinghies to go... to Ruan Lanihorne on a good tide’.
The channel gets iffy when the creek widens out, and although the parishioners of Ruan Lanihorne are to be congratulated for providing an excellent quay, the bed of the creek is not too smooth for going to ground: helpful advice from local author Philip Marsden, and a reconnaissance at low tide, indicated that it would be possible near the middle of the channel, but in the end Mike and I decided on safety first and, after an excellent lemon sole at the King’s Head, we beat a retreat in the gathering gloom to the main river pontoon just above the junction with the Truro River.
A bright, starry night was followed by thick fog in the morning, but then we were delighted (and put to some shame) to see a small yacht crewed single-handedly by a young woman emerge from the creek. Apparently ‘inspired to follow us’ the previous evening, she had taken the ground at Ruan Lanihorne in our place.
Reflections
My journey from Plymouth to Falmouth was a marvellous mixture of (some rough) coastal passages, happy harbour visits, and explorations up tricky creeks.
Lining up the ducks of weather, tide and crew in a workable schedule is – as most sailors will know – a very time-consuming and underestimated logistical task; avoiding strong winds at sea, especially on the beam (my bottles survived in the end); and always ascending creeks on the half-flood tide, preferably a spring.
Navigating these creeks was a particular challenge. There were few navigation marks – not even withies – unless there was a boatyard or working quay at the end; and plotters cannot always cope – I sometimes watched my boat apparently navigating across a field!
With her 1ft 10in draught, Morgana is ideal for harbours and creeks, yet sturdy enough for reasonable coastal passages. Although as countless onlookers have remarked, Morgana is handsome, she is not just a showboat. But I decided that Falmouth would be as far as I would go westwards. As one cruising guide has it, ‘the stretch of coast from Helford to Lizard Point, though strikingly beautiful, is unforgiving and has claimed a large number of boats in the past’. It was time to return to her home port of Bristol.
Morgana is a strip-planked cedar harbour launch designed by Andrew Wolstenholme and built by Win Cnoops of Star Yachts, Bristol.