West Country to the Isles of Scilly
Lorraine Owen rediscovers her old cruising ground during a summer of COVID restrictions
A rediscovery of an old cruising ground during a COVID summer
Like many people, we have found the winter COVID restrictions particularly trying, and are pinning our hopes on a safe summer to come. The memory of the weeks we did manage to spend on the water last year has certainly lifted our spirits.
There was a time last spring when we thought we wouldn’t have a cruise at all. We were not even allowed to go out on the river to check that Thea, our homebuilt motorboat, was OK.
Fortunately, we had excellent harbour staff who checked the security of moored boats. As restrictions eased in June we could visit the boat for day trips but could not stay overnight, and certainly not visit another harbour.
On 23 June the Prime Minister announced that, on the glorious 4th of July, cafes, pubs, restaurants and holiday accommodation could open for business, with the appropriate social distancing and wearing of masks. Boat owners all over the country heaved a sigh of relief and, I believe, a number of new and second-hand boats were bought as a means to a ‘safe’ holiday.
Like many people, my husband Tom and I, together with Buddy the cat, were probably safer on board the boat than at home. We were naturally socially distanced on the boat, and we tailored our summer cruise in terms of where we went and who we met to suit the new circumstances.
We stayed away from towns and busy holiday areas and used our previous experience of the south west coast to pick more isolated anchorages, but with access to small shops and outdoor cafes and bars.
We have always included stocking up boat supplies as part of our weekly grocery shop throughout the winter; it’s a great way to make a mundane domestic chore into a vision of adventures yet to come. Therefore we didn’t have to risk extra trips to the supermarket for boat provisions and we were able to load our stores on board in very short order.
Seizing the moment, we got ready to cast off and set out on our journey. First though, we topped up our water tanks in case that proved difficult while we were away. By this time, wiping down the standpipe with disinfectant before and after we filled our jerry cans came automatically.
Our summer on board had always
included two or three months in the Isles of Scilly. This year it looked as though that would not be possible. By July the islands were still COVID-free and it seemed reckless to visit them, even though our home county of Devon at that time also had relatively low levels of infection. We have a number of friends in the Scillies and we did not want to be the ones to jeopardise their health. So, our plan was to have a more extended cruise along the south coast of Devon and Cornwall, visiting harbours we normally speed past.
Pub lunch in Plymouth
Our first stop was Plymouth, and the natural anchorages of the river Tamar. A favourite haunt is the deeper water at the entrance to St John’s Lake. When we first came here some 30 years ago there was always an early morning alarm call from the naval dockyard opposite. That has long gone, but there is still enough activity to keep you interested – if only the constant patrol of the dockyard police launches. Either side of high water you can leave a dinghy at Southdown Marina and then take advantage of the quaint little café to have coffee and a bacon sandwich. There will still be enough time to hike over the hill to Cawsand/Kingsand and get back before the tide drops your dinghy in the mud. Or you can walk along the side of the estuary to Cremyll and Mount Edgecombe.
We’d hoped to meet friends for a ‘distance’ lunch at one of the marinas off the city but COVID restrictions meant visiting boats were not welcome as marinas struggled to ensure a safe space for their berth-holders. Consequently, we met up at the Edgecombe Arms which has plenty of outdoor space to allow small groups to picnic.
This was the first time we had met up with people outside of our small home ‘bubble’ and our first experience of pub service being delivered at the table rather than the bar. It worked well but the whole encounter was odd – something we’d learn to get used to as time went on.
We decided not to stop at Fowey. Anchoring is prohibited within the harbour, which means rafting up on a swinging mooring or alongside a pontoon. The lifting of COVID restrictions for boat travel meant there were increasing numbers on the move and we would have been in closer quarters
‘This was the first time we’d met up with people outside of our home “bubble”’
than we’d have chosen to be.
So on we went to the river Fal. Again, we didn’t go to Falmouth itself as we expected it to be fairly full and we peeled off to starboard to anchor up in the river Percuil, behind St Mawes. In ‘normal’ times we’d have taken the dinghy ashore and walked back alongside the river to St Mawes for exercise and to visit their little Co-op, with maybe a stop at the sailing club for coffee or a beer. This path is quite narrow, and we didn’t want to take the chance of a close encounter with other walkers.
One of the good things that happened for many people this year was the discovery of new paths and walks in places that they thought they were quite familiar with. We found a little-used route into the village using a higher and broader path across the fields and in through the top limit of the housing. The view was lovely, and this was definitely something we’d do again.
We hoped to stop for coffee at the Idle Rocks Hotel but, understandably, the hotel had decided to limit its facilities to its own residents. This proved to be the case for other hotels throughout our cruise. The Co-op had arranged their COVID compliance well and we felt perfectly safe doing our shopping. As a bonus, we were delighted to find that the sailing club was open and, again, had good distancing arrangements in place.
Moving further up the river Fal, we anchored at a spot called Maggoty Bank, just north of King Harry’s ferry and abreast of Old Kea Church. There is some wonderful deep sticky mud here and we’ve ridden out many a gale, certain that we’d be in the same place the next morning. Previously we’d take a dinghy trip up to Malpas, and then walk into Truro for the day but the city didn’t seem an attractive proposition with holidaymakers starting to arrive in some numbers.
The Walk Cornwall website showed us a number of rural walks we hadn’t taken before, and we had an excellent circular stroll starting and finishing at Malpas and taking in Trennick and St Clement.
On to the Helford
Having decided to go further west to the Helford, we motored up the river and anchored off the entrance to Porth Navas creek. Going ashore to Helford village was another curious experience as we worked our way along the narrow streets trying to give other people a safe space to pass. The little shop was doing its best to cope with all the visitors and we felt sympathy for the staff working under such difficult conditions.
We had hoped to be able to support the local economy by having lunch somewhere, but every option was either closed or, with limited seating available outside, full. Later that day we moved further up-river to stop in a charming anchorage off Tremayne Quay. From there we took a dinghy trip to Gweek and, as ever, were fascinated by the myriad of boats in various stages of repair or conversion.
The Black Swan pub had space for us in the beer garden where we were able to watch the world go by – mostly populated on a Sunday afternoon by chaps of a certain age riding massive motorbikes.
Drifting gently back downriver in the sunshine was dreamlike – just the call of the birds and the popple of the river. Like everyone else we had become acutely aware of nature’s sounds without the distant drone of traffic or planes. While we were anchored in the Helford, we heard from friends in the Isles of Scilly that a fair number of tourists were already arriving and that we would be welcome. As pensioners we’d been very cautious about our contacts and social distancing since the beginning of lockdown and, at this point, there was little infection in Devon and Cornwall, so we felt assured that we’d present no threat to the islanders. So off we set with glad
‘Going ashore was a curious experience, trying to give other people a safe space’
hearts – the islands had been our cruise destination for over 20 years, and we were so happy that we’d get the chance to see them this year.
For days AIS showed flotillas of boats travelling in the same direction, as the Scillies were perceived as a ‘safe’ destination. Apparently, chandlers were inundated with requests for Scillies pilot books and the anchorages within the islands were as busy or busier than we had ever seen before.
It must have been a worry for residents, certainly those on the off-islands and those not dependent on visitor numbers, who had to deal with the influx of tourists by ferry, boat and plane.
The day we arrived was perfect Scillies weather – oily calm with the pink sunset reflected in the water; one of those evenings when you could have anchored with a toothpick. Some ‘Islander’ friends were already anchored off Tean and we were able to have a cockpit soiree across the water. We had a glorious sunset and considered ourselves blessed to be there.
Followers of Thea
In the morning we had a pleasant surprise as a couple of chaps sped up to us in a fast RIB waving a copy of Practical Boat Owner. It featured an article we wrote in 2017 about the first time we brought Thea to the islands, and one of the chaps was gesticulating at the magazine and shouting ‘we’re here because of you, and it’s wonderful’.
They were there on their very lovely and very large motorboat – three adults with two children, whose spirit for adventure allowed them to complete their holiday despite the tail end of a hurricane passing through the islands with gusts in excess of 60 knots. We were caught in two storms of some magnitude, which resulted in a total of three visits to our anchorage by St Mary’s lifeboat within a few days.
Fortunately for us they were nothing to do with Thea, but we got used to seeing a fully illuminated lifeboat metres off our stern in the wee small hours. In fact, two boats were torn from their moorings and then struck rocks within the sound.
In order to avoid the relatively busy streets of St Mary’s, we spent most of the summer within our small social bubble on Bryher and Tresco. We hadn’t seen these friends since last summer and it was so difficult not to hug them at first sight.
Being on a boat inherently attracts sociable people but we had to remind ourselves that these were not ‘normal’ times and we couldn’t meet up en masse in cockpits or in large groups for barbecues on the beach.
We were struck by the lack of understanding of some tourists who seemed to think that, because the islands had been designated ‘COVID-free’, they could stroll in and out of shops without a care in the world, not wearing a mask, nor realising that they themselves had a duty of care not to introduce the virus to the resident population.
We queued to visit the tiny off-island shops, cafes and stalls who did a sterling job to keep both residents and visitors fed, but we had a serious supply issue on board. Thinking we’d not be meeting up with many, if any, friends while we were away, there was now a definite shortfall in stocks of wine! Fortunately, we managed to arrange a delivery to our ‘bubble’ friends on Bryher and together were able celebrate Tom’s 70th birthday – maybe not the large gathering of family and friends I’d planned, but a lovely day nonetheless.
With little opportunity to go inside a café or bar to use wifi we blessed the fact that we had invested in an unlimited data deal for our mobile phone. Using that as a hotspot we could connect to the internet on our laptop to do ‘life admin’, check on the news or weather, or watch a video on board.
With every possibility of another lockdown looming in the autumn, we left the islands a little sooner than we’d have wished in order to make sure we didn’t get stuck in a harbour away from home. It was time to travel back along the coasts of Cornwall and Devon towards Dartmouth.
Back to the West Country
Once again, we looked for anchorages where we’d be able to avoid too much close contact with others and this time we chose the shallow water south of the entrance to Restronguet Creek in the Fal. From here we took the dinghy into Mylor marina and then walked along the pretty path up the side of the creek to Mylor Bridge with its shop, butchers and pub.
Another option was to walk along the scenic coast path back to Flushing, taking in the broad span of Falmouth Roads, St Mawes with its castle, Pendennis Castle, the docks of Falmouth and the river up to
Penryn. A further dinghy trip took us to the famous Pandora Inn but, as ever in this popular pub, it was pretty crowded making it difficult for people to keep a sensible distance apart.
It was time then to move on to Plymouth and the Tamar, and we went up-river beyond the Torpoint ferries, turning to port to take the river Lynher which meanders up to the lovely little anchorage known as Dandy Hole. This has always been a favourite of ours, and especially so this year when we were looking for more isolated spots to stay.
There are small boat explorations to be made from here, being very careful of the
‘We felt like we had gone back in time to the cruises of our impoverished youth’
tide – the mud is deep and wide as the water drops. A small tender has less than three hours either side of high tide to do anything useful.
We took a dinghy trip up to St Germans and found, to our delight, that the Eliot Arms was serving drinks in their beer garden. We met a couple – at a safe distance – with whom we established an immediate rapport. They were the proud owners of a Harley Davidson and told us about the Harley rallies which used to be held here on the Eliot Estate. They spent a constructive lockdown in the spring building a large shed in their garden which they fitted out as a bar, to which they could invite their social bubble.
On our way back through the village we stumbled across a disused graveyard – totally overgrown but hauntingly beautiful.
More exploring
We spent a second day using the dinghy to explore the tributary passing Treluggan boatyard, and then motoring on to the Notter Inn. As the water became increasingly shallow it was just about possible to leave the dinghy, run up to the pub and drain a swift half before haring back downstream on the falling tide.
We thought about calling into the river Yealm or Salcombe on our way home, but decided that both would be very busy during the last week before children go back to school – some for the first time in many months. So home to Dartmouth we motored, with very mixed feelings. It had been wonderful to be able to spend a couple of months afloat, but it had certainly been a very different experience.
The spectre of COVID had significantly altered both cruising and life in general.
We felt like we’d gone back in time to the cruises of our impoverished youth, relying on ourselves for our company and entertainment, taking picnics or a Thermos ashore instead of buying lunch or coffees somewhere, and finding new paths off the beaten track and new creeks for the dinghy.
Like many summer cruising folk we have a number of friends who we only see when we’re on board Thea. In the spring of last year it had seemed unlikely that we’d be spending any time on board and certainly we wouldn’t be taking a trip to the Isles of Scilly. The joy of seeing the faces of friends, albeit at a distance, was certainly the icing on our summer cake.
Who knows what 2021 may bring, but I know we’ll make every effort to take full advantage of whatever time we are allowed to spend on board and underway. And if it’s a repeat of last year, then actually that’s fine with us.