Browses in Cornwall

Mark's Wife (Jo) and Son (Adam) joined us at the Helford River.

From Jo:

"A land between seas, like a green and gold quilt bunched up and with folds and cleavages dense with trees, trailing a fringe of granite and slate, grey and dark grey, the crooked ancient leg of Cornwall extends as though dipping its toe in the Atlantic, testing the waters."

Adam and I arrived at Helford river on foot, to make a rendezvous with Goldfinch whose crew had just brought her round Lands End from Milford Haven in Wales. They had that look: red-eyed, sleepless, but satisfied, after a long passage.

Once our bags were on board and all had eaten lunch, some snoozed in the afternoon. The evening looked set to be sunny and calm, and we hailed the river taxi to take us ashore for supper at the Ferry Boat Inn, which served delicious food and a good range of beers. The sun came out as it set, showing off Helford River at its most peaceful and picturesque, and we skimmed stones and explored rockpools uncovered by the retreating tide. As we stood on deck watching the sky turn to gold, a Male Choir from Mousehole sang in close harmony, wafting their songs over the golden rippling water.

The ship's company is content and accustomed, and Goldfinch herself is comfortable and reliable. However on the short trip to Mevagissey I managed to bang my head twice very hard on her bulkheads  - a necessary stage to pass through for new crew as you mould yourself to the boat and learn to move about her cabins. Very soon though the boat is home and ample space for living. The tiny harbour at 'Meva' is snug too, only accommodating half a dozen yachts because it is a serious fishing village. Sacks of scallops were stacked on the quay, lifted from burly fishing boats with chain-bags slung along their sides. Families chugged about on pleasure craft, and kids dropped long lines to catch crabs and shrimps. It was a warm sunny Saturday and we joined crowds of leisurely weekenders, exploring the narrow lanes ashore, ice creams in hand. In the evening we were joined by Sally (who knows everyone) for some pasta cooked on board, and red wine spilt on deck.

We left promptly in the morning for Fowey, another river anchorage where we hitched up to a ricketty island pontoon. Adam now got the measure of the dinghy outboard and pootled about the shoreline, and ferried us to town and back for provisioning or strolling. A restaurant was picked for our evening meal  - The Globe, owned by someone Sally knows  - and the river taxi relieved us of £4.50 each return.

The morning brought heavy showers and some thunder but by the time we left for the river Yealm the sun shone and there was wind for sailing. A good passage, although Adam was a bit sick and couldn't face his pasty - the last of Cornwall as we crossed the border into Devon. Bryan launched the 'chute but the wind shifted, so we tried using it a bit like a spinnaker instead, which carried us along at 4 knots or so. It did look like Aunty Mabel's knickers though.

Mike swimming in the Yealm

 The roly, uncomfortable motion gradually eased as we neared the Yealm, a steep winding river entrance, beautiful in the afternoon sun. Goldfinch tiptoed over the shallows, following a tricky path dictated by day-marked leading lines, into a charming pool where we picked up a visitor's buoy*. Wooded banks stoop over the little creek which seems to trap the sun as the tide ebbs away over the bar, lending a feeling of being gently sealed off, hidden away for a few hours in tranquillity. Adam cruised around in the dinghy again, reconnoitring, and discovered excellent showers. Sausages and mash were prepared by Chris and Mike while a shore party ventured to the Dolphin for a pint of Tribute.

Yealm River (Adam)

The ailing outboard only just got us all back for supper, which we ate on deck, in the last of the evening sun. Adam pronounced: every place we visit is more beautiful than the last! As we squeezed over the bar and out again the next morning, heading for the Dart, we all vowed to return and be recaptured.

* From Bryan:
As a footnote to the above, when we arrived in the Yealm, we were greeted as usual by a Harbour master wanting his dues.  The dialogue went thus:

HM: "Boat's name and home port?"
Bryan: "Goldfinch, Ipswich"
HM: "Well done. You have come a long way"
Bryan: "Err yes,  via Inverness actually"
HM: "Ahh, your navigation's not so hot then..?"