CONNEMARA TO BANTRY IN STRANGE TIMES by Fergus Quinlan

(Fergus and Katherine built Pylades, their 12m van de Stadt-designed steel cutter, themselves, launching her in 1997. In 2009 they departed on a three-year circumnavigation, recounted in Flying Fish 2013/2, and in 2016 followed this up with a ‘Russian Voyage’ to St Petersburg and back – see Flying Fish 2017/1. In 2020, however, COVID-19 kept them closer to home...)

It was a grim background to an interesting year. In March, the plan was to take Pylades from her Bellharbour winter mooring to the Galway Boatyard, but due to inclement weather and little daylight coinciding with the high tides, the trip was postponed. The virus then swept in like a rising tide scuppering plans for the Azores but, thankfully, the lockdown did not trap Pylades in the Galway yard. The weather over the following two months was glorious and, as Pylades was on a mooring only 800m from our house, we passed our incarceration rowing out to work on her, watched by seals and serenaded by the call of the cuckoo on the tranquil bay. 7th June: Pylades finally sails to Galway and emerges from the tide under the boatyard manager’s watchful eye. Over the following socially-distanced four weeks, with helpful tips from a local diesel mechanic we fit new engine supports, a clutch plate, gearbox, flexible coupling, stern gland and cutless bearing. The time ashore also allows us to apply antifouling at a leisurely pace and not, as we usually do, racing a rising tide. 18th July: Finally sailing west we pick a mooring at Cashla Bay, the simple joy of a glass of wine sitting in the cockpit enhanced by the satisfaction of a smooth-running drive train and a dry bilge. The next day dawns fair and, after weaving our way north inside the Namackan, Fair Service and Skerd rocks, we anchor off St MacDara’s Island. After a very brief, chilly swim, we walk the land. 21st July: A slow sail takes us to the gorgeous Gorteen Bay where we anchor and, as ever, explore the fascinating interface between sea and land. Next morning a front arrives, all day dragging its cold, wet rags across the bay and boat – time for onboard jobs and lighting the fire at wine time. With the clearance, an intriguing entry in the excellent Irish Cruising Club West Coast Cruising Guide* brings us on a tricky passage into the heart of Connemara, where we anchor off the very deserted village of Aill na Caillí or Ailleenacally. In its shoal harbour lies the aesthetically-challenged ex-schooner Manissa, a boat once seen not to be forgotten. Distant memories of a meeting with the owner come back – he told me of digging a hole in his garden and forming a clay mould into which he laid the fibreglass. When we spoke, he was on his way around the coast with his daughter – I think I prayed for their safety. The intriguing story of the boat’s owner and the village is essential reading if one intends to visit – search the internet

* The Sailing Directions for the South & West Coasts of Ireland, 15th edition. Edited by Norman Kean and published by Irish Cruising Club Publications Ltd.

24th July: In deteriorating weather a southwest wind starts to kick against the ebb. We up anchor on becoming tide rode and re-anchor at Cartron Bay. Next morning, a grey, wet day, we move to Roundstone where we buy crab claws at the market. While shelling them is a messy business, it is worth the work as, with a quick fry in garlic butter, they are the best we have ever tasted. After a few days of pleasant reading we decide to head back to the Aran Islands. Aill na Caillí The electric anchor windlass refuses to operate, however, so with stout gloves the chain is hauled aboard and we sail for Kilronan, flying along in a fresh northwest wind. For well over a week we have been watching the progress of Danú as she sails towards the Aran Islands. Aboard are our daughter Vera, her husband Peter and our two grandchildren, Lilian and Ruairí*. We secure at Kilronan and prepare a welcome. Also in position are their friends aboard Golden Harvest.

* For the first part of the back-story, see To Seek, to Find, and Not to Yield on page 124 of this issue. The concluding part will follow in Flying Fish 2021/2.

29th July: An exhilarating moment at 1900 as Danú and her precious cargo round into Kilronan harbour and tie alongside Pylades. It’s an emotional reunion. With much to catch up on, we pop champagne and gossip into the evening. A few beautiful days are spent walking, talking and repairing the windlass electrics. 2nd August: Danú sails for Parkmore, Kinvara; Pylades leaves at 1800 for Dingle. To avoid entanglement in pot markers we exit the Aran Islands in daylight, planning to arrive in the Blasket Sound at dawn. Our sail south starts well – leaving the Gregory Sound we can just lay the waypoint off the Blasket Islands. However, as the night progresses the wind slowly backs, until the light at Loop Head is flashing off the starboard for ‘Aill na Caillí by Turtle Bunbury’. We explore the crumbling cottages and hear the playful echoes of children long dead. A beautiful stream cascades through the village and its pool before running off to the sea.

Welcoming the children home

bow. Before scratching the cliffs, we tack and motor-sail out into a swell and sea that grows more contrary with the approach of Sybil Point. Dawn, however, is enchanting, passing through the always-rewarding Blasket Sound. Having run the gauntlet of ‘Fungie the Dolphin’, a significant attraction at Dingle Harbour entrance for 37 years but now believed deceased, we tie up in the marina at 1000. Later we walk the Morning in Blasket Sound busy town. Peering through dusty windows of favourite pubs we see our ghosts on empty stools where, in better times, we had supped ale and sung songs. Paraphrasing Richard the Third ... ‘A vaccine, a vaccine, my Kingdom for a vaccine’.

5th August: Following a leisurely sail to Valentia, tying at the copious breakwater we are delighted to hear the sound of summer, screams of happy children pier jumping and swimming. The density of traffic somewhat mars our walk up the gorgeous road to the slate quarries, but nevertheless we revel in the area’s rich biodiversity. The following day, we move a short distance and anchor off Beginish Island to swim and go walkabout.

Morning in Blasket Sound

With just whispers of wind we motor-sail to Derrynane and find all the visitors’ moorings taken by unattended boats. Due to the mixture of moorings and anchored boats our anchoring proves tricky – we foul a heavy chain at the western point of the harbour and, with no tripping line, it takes time and a friendly passing boat to sort it out – but finally, we manage to anchor in this most pleasant spot. Ian Heffernan, Master Mariner, hails us from Kadoona. We had met previously at different locations during our circumnavigation in 2012 and, gathering for socially-distanced drinks on board, we meet his partner Katherine Quinlan – an astonishing coincidence, but no relation so far as we know – and their recent son Brendan, and enjoy a great evening catching up on past adventures.

Next day, while walking the mass path at Derrynane, I reminisce about teaching children to swim on the adjacent beaches – children who now have children who swim like fishes and sail oceans. Memories flood back of sailing around the area in 1976 in my first Pylades, a 17ft Express Pirate with its Seagull outboard, and of pints and songs in Bridie Keating’s pub. Tempus fugit. The water temperature allows snorkelling gear and an inspection of the prop and shaft anodes – they are wasting too fast, perhaps an electrical leak to be chased.

Pylades (just right of centre) at Derrynane

10th August: Exiting Derrynane we note a small green tower under construction on the middle rock at the entrance – a new starboard beacon to reassure first-time entrants to the harbour. Our waypoint is adjacent to the Stickeen Rock and by 1330 we are anchored in Ballycrovane. Landing at the boathouse slip, we walk south up the lovely winding path. At the entrance to the coastguard station is a recent sign summarising the revolutionary events that took place there in 1920. A hundred metres further, on the right side of the path, are the remains of a house destroyed by an accidental fire in 1947. This low ruin is where Katherine’s mother Joan was born – a small timber plaque on the wall names the thirteen children born in the house. Katherine relates stories of her childhood and holidays spent in the area with her parents. We continue our nostalgic ramble to Eyeries village. The next day dawns fine and the skipper jumps into the sea, a refreshing start to the day. We later explore the little hidden creek to the north of the harbour and sections of the adjacent road.

13th August: Being swept through the Dursey Sound at speed is a delight, and in no time we anchor in the designated area at Castletownbere. Going ashore with a bag of empty bottles to dispose of, we enquire at the library and, informed that the bottle bank is a few miles out of town, slouch off. But the woman of books runs after us and volunteers to get rid of our load ... kindness abounds. After a wide-ranging conversation with a local shipwright about the Spanish At the home of Katherine’s fishing fleet, mother’s family in sinkings and Ballycrovane boat building, we peruse the local art gallery and go shopping. Back aboard the noise of trawlers running generators flat out eventually drives us to pick up a quiet mooring on the other side of Dinish Island. Breakfast concluded, we slowly motor east to Lawrence Cove Marina, take on diesel and wander the quiet village. The skipper reflects on the excellent training he received from the now-departed Les Glénans sailing school.

At the home of Katherine's mother's family in Ballycrovane

15th August: Motoring anchorage a few miles to Lonehort Harbour on Bere Island, the tricky-looking entrance is approached with caution and we sound our way in, slowly. We feel very snug in this excellent anchorage which, to boot, has the warmest Irish water we have swum in. According to archaeological investigations the Vikings started constructing an inner breakwater, still visible near low water. We walk to the adjacent army firing range butts. Recalling days in the army reserve, training as a sniper, the skipper deliberates with Katherine how the target system and safety procedures work. The main point made is that, mercifully, targets do not return fire!

In bucketing rain we stroll back to the dinghy, such heavy rain that Katherine’s automatic lifejacket inflates. But rain does not stop wine, thankfully, so a good evening and night’s sleep ensues. Next morning, while enjoying a leisurely breakfast, we are shaken by what sounds like someone playing a kettle drum very rapidly and loudly on our steel deck. Rushing to investigate we behold a red flag over the butts and a line of soldiery with automatic rifles expending lethal fire.

On leaving the battleground of Bere Island we enter another. Out on Bantry Bay the sea is churned by gannet, guillemot and gull and a whale breaches repeatedly to the south of us ... the mackerel shoals are having a hard time. Passing south of the Cracker Rock into Bantry harbour, we anchor north of Rabbit Island. Landing on Whiddy by dinghy, we organise bike hire for the following day with Tim O’ Leary the ferryman. Images of Whiddy as merely a repository for oil reserves are banished as we whizz down the hills, hollering like children. It is one of those memorable days of summer when the air is luxuriant with the scent of wildflowers and meadow grass. At one stage the island was a British fortress and boasted three heavy gun batteries guarding against a return by the French. Climbing to the main battery entrance a ‘No Entry’ sign has to be bypassed to traverse over the trench moat into the decaying settlement, for a fine view and a position to reflect on the existing state of a once-proud empire. Unfortunately Bank House, the little pub at the quay of which we had great reports also, alas, has no entry signs – ones we cannot bypass.

In tranquil Lonehort anchorage

18th August: The VHF carries a warning regarding Storm Ellen. Cancelling plans to anchor at Glengarriff we slip across to Bantry marina where Michael, the marina manager, reassures us of shelter. We stick on a few extra lines and springs. At midnight the eerie calm is shattered by a violent burst of wind that heels the boat and thus it howls all night, but we are on the weather shore and all is well. When the wind veers the next day we jump around a bit, but are generally okay. As the weather looks grim for a few days we repaint the rear cabin and Katherine plays her cello.

23rd August: The voyage home commences. Against a fresh westerly we motor-sail back to a flat calm mooring at Dinish Island, Castletownbere. The Met Office is warning of a new storm – Francis – but we reckon we can get to Valentia before it hits. It is a bumpy enough ride in unstable conditions ... one can smell trouble. Arriving a few hours ahead of the wind, we tie inside the fairly deserted Valentia pontoon. Regardless of where we secure, we will suffer the storm’s admittedly small fetch from some quarter. At 0200 the storm screams in from the southeast. We are battered, one fender bursts and both of us are on the dock in horizontal rain. Pushing the boat off is not an option, but with difficulty we insert more fenders and a tyre. By 0500 the wind veers southwest and the pressure is off. As the storm intensifies from the west at dawn the shelter increases – we think we made an okay choice.

In Bantry, sheltering from Storm Ellen

26th August: Having given the sea a few days to allow the swell to lose its rage, we depart Valentia at 1530 and catch a fair wind and tide north through the Blasket Sound. On exiting the sound, however, the wind disappears and the confused sea tosses us around playing havoc with the mainsail. Despite our best efforts to stabilise and flatten the main, it shatters slides so we drop it. At 2110 we hear “Mayday relay, Mayday relay, any in the vicinity of Kerry Head please respond”. We respond, and In Bantry, sheltering the coastguard from Storm Ellen requests our position, speed and the number of persons on board. A man fishing from the rocks at Kerry Head had been swept into the sea. A helicopter and three rescue boats are approaching the reported position, but we are 17 miles off and thankfully the coastguard releases us from involvement. The victim, unfortunately, is not recovered. Pylades is well beyond Loop Head Light before the sea becomes somewhat regular and a semblance of civilised sailing can be restored. At 0900 we tie up at Kilronan, followed by a day of rest – it takes a least three days at sea before one gets into the rhythm of sleep, one night always leaves us a bit shattered. Over the next few days we walk to the Black Fort and delight in the gossip of the island. The fishermen, and people in general, go out of their way to make us welcome. 29th August: a fresh north wind provides fast sailing back to our mooring at Parkmore. The wind direction gives little shelter in the mooring field and our pickup buoys have become a tangled mess. It takes an hour of work and the loss of a boat hook before we lasso the mooring in the choppy water. Opting not to unload Pylades until the predicted calmer conditions of the following day, we head home.

We have a 30-year-old tradition that goes back to the days of Pylades as a Sabre 27 – we sail over to Galway Docks to celebrate our respective birthdays on 13th and 14th September. It is not easy to explain to people who drive to Galway every day why we find this such an enjoyable experience. The satisfaction of no traffic, then finding a vacant berth – this time the harbour master’s – buying birthday bits, seeing a film in the adjacent Pálás cinema, chatting at the docks and an excuse to dine out. Maybe it is simple pleasures for simple folk!

In Valentia after Storm Francis

15th September: We motor from the docks across a mirror-calm bay to New Quay, and tying at Linnane’ s Bar we bolt on the timber leg. Over the next few days, while Pylades rises and grounds to the rhythm of the tide, the sails, furnishings and books are transported home to the attic and the shaft and prop anodes replaced. Finally, on 17th September, we disconnect our timber leg and, with a spring tide and perfect weather, head around the Finavarra spit to Ballyvaughan Bay. Approaching the bay’s southeast corner we are gripped by the tide and swept in a nerve-tingling gauntlet through the tight gap between the reef running out from Scanlan’s Island and the south shore. Then on through the shoal water of Muckinish Creek, to pick up our winter mooring in the slack water of Béal na Clugga. We dinghy back to our house, thanking Pylades for our adventures on the west – another great season.

Black Fort at Inishmore