ACROSS THE CELTIC SEA
Having been bewitched by Roscoff for the last few winters, Helen Melton and family finally break free and sail to Ireland via Scilly
Helen Melton and her family sail from Roscoff in France to the Isles of Scilly and Ireland
Dragging the crew up from their selfimposed isolation, nearly 30 hours into our passage, was met with a few grumbles, until they clambered up on deck. Even the most hardened of teenagers would have struggled not to be impressed with the striking scenery opening up ahead of them and no one on board needed reminding which film these islands had featured in. We hovered off Skellig Michael to admire the 1,400-year-old monastic beehive huts perched high above us. As we approached Little Skellig, the film score we were all humming changed. It was now
the Jurassic Park theme that filled the cockpit rather than Star Wars as we marvelled at the clouds of gannets circling above us.
In 2014 my family and I moved. We had lived in Milton Keynes, keeping Seaeye, our 43ft Westerly Ocean, in Plymouth’s Mayflower Marina. Moving to the north west meant some rethinking was required, our conclusion being to spend a couple of summers travelling in a slow loop towards an eventual destination on the Clyde in Scotland. We journeyed south first, along the Brittany coastline as far as the Golfe du Morbihan and back, berthing for a winter in Port La Forêt and then for two winters in Roscoff.
DELIGHTFUL ROSCOFF
Roscoff, on the Côte de Granite Rose, was an unexpected highlight. A newly-completed marina expanding the site of the ferry and fishing ports meant we could catch the overnight ferry from Plymouth and walk to the marina, eliminating the need for any low-cost flights. We soon fell in love with the clean, modern and attractive marina buildings with their wide walkways, plentiful hot showers, and a bar and restaurant on site and after four years we were still further south than we had intended. Determined to reach Scotland, we decided to relocate Seaeye to Kilrush, Ireland over a two-week holiday.
The weather was forecast to be lively over the next few days so after arriving in Roscoff with my mum, Marjorie, we spent the time provisioning the boat, waiting for calmer weather. We finally cast off our lines, steering north-west to make the most of the strong west flowing ebb tides off the Brittany coastline. All being well we would make landfall in the Isles of Scilly after dawn.
As our sons Alex and Ben were teenagers, we had organised proper night watches in pairs, swapping every four hours, with my husband Steve as skipper floating between where necessary. We set off on a fetch – a great point of sail for our boat with her blade jib and fully battened mainsail – making good progress at over 6 knots in 13 knots of wind into a 3m swell from the north-west. We expected that this would drop off as we left the coast but it remained throughout the journey due to a deep low stalled over Iceland which was affecting the sea state. It made for an uncomfortable 19 hours. My mum, with more sea miles than any of us and an Atlantic crossing under her belt, lay in her berth calculating the cost of flights home from St Mary’s.
Despite Seaeye’s excellent progress and the vast number of dolphins seen along the route, making landfall was a delightful relief. We headed directly for St Mary’s harbour, via St Mary’s Sound to pick up a mooring buoy. Unfortunately, the swell from the west and the south in the wind meant that we didn’t find the visitors’ moorings terribly comfortable.
The afternoon was spent leisurely tucking into a meal in The Atlantic Inn, window shopping and walking around The Garrison while we waited for high tide and an opportunity to move.
We cast off after 1900 and crossed the Tresco flats with plenty of water underneath our 1.8m keel before dropping the hook in a beautifully serene anchorage in time to enjoy the sunset. Tresco reminded us of a quieter version of Salcombe and we spent an idyllic few days there, both in New Grimsby and then after a straightforward motor around the headland, Old Grimsby Sound. We explored the beautiful and lush Abbey Gardens and enjoyed a chilled glass of rosé in The Flying Boat. We ate breakfast at The Ruin Beach Cafe and restocked at the well provisioned shop on the island. Alex launched his drone on the stunning walk around the northern headland and Steve and the boys dinghied into Old Blockhouse one evening to swim in glorious tranquillity from the beach there.
On the morning we departed for Ireland, there was a clear weather window, but the long-range weather forecast remained iffy. We decided to bypass the headlands and inlets of the West Cork and Kerry coastline in favour of heading straight for Dingle whilst the weather was on our side. This would be over 30 hours at sea, the longest unbroken passage I or our sons had attempted. Setting off close hauled into 12 knots of wind, the swell thankfully dropped off the closer we got to the Irish coast but after the first day the wind was increasingly heading us, so we chose to motor-sail to maintain progress. Somewhat wary following the passage from France, Alex and Ben rapidly disappeared down below and lay reading and sleeping as only teenagers can. Dolphins again came to say hello frequently and whilst the sail was a cold one, the stars overnight were incredible; layer upon layer stacked above us as we travelled along gazing upward.
Dawn broke as we arrived off the Bull Rock, the most southwesterly point along the Beara Peninsula and purported in Irish legend to be the ‘Gateway to
The stars were incredible, layer upon layer above us as we travelled along gazing upward
the Underworld’. A few hours later we passed slowly through the Skellig Islands keeping an eye on the flotilla of tour boats in the distance, heading out from the mainland full of visitors. Dingle Bay is notorious for its short, steep seas but we crossed comfortably. Arriving in Dingle, a place we knew well by land, was a wonderful rush. The marina was quiet, we had to ring to check in and get the code for the toilets, and there was plenty of space on the visitors’ pontoon. The popular centre with its restaurants, bars and tourist shops was only a short walk away.
The next three days were spent enjoying the Dingle peninsula. One day we walked to Ventry Bay and ate at Páidí Ó Sé’s – a pub owned by and now a shrine to the Irish Gaelic football manager who grew up locally and who died suddenly in 2012. The pub is filled full of portraits of famous political people, sports stars and celebrities who have visited over the years. The next day we cycled around Slea Head in squally weather, incredibly only getting wet in the first and last half hour of the journey. We hired bikes, stopping to immerse ourselves in the history of the place along the way. We marvelled at Fahan Beehive medieval huts, watched the Blasket Island ferry manoeuvre in and out of Dunquin Harbour and then continued to the Great Blasket Island Centre to soak up some of the heritage of the community that lived on the islands, the furthest west you can get in Ireland, until 1953. We also made sure to fit in a trip to the famous Dick Mack’s pub and leather shop, enjoying a pint and the craic whilst Alex had a belt made.