We’re
weather bound today for the first time on the journey. In fact, we’re
experiencing lousier weather than at any time during the actual ocean crossing,
which is slightly amazing.
Arcturus is on a mooring (free!) in
Skerries, a small seaside town 15 miles north of Dublin. The harbor (or more
appropriately, ‘harbour’) is wide and shallow, with a large fishing pier at its
eastern fringe. There are several moorings to the west of the pier, and we are
one of maybe half a dozen sailing boats in at the moment, though we haven’t
seen any other people on any of them. They appear to live here (I spoke with
Tom yesterday, an engineer at the sailing club, and he told me that in another
two weeks all the boats will be hauled and stored for the winter, so it really
is the tail end of the season here). Further in, inside the pier, several
smaller boats (dinghies, fishing boats and small racing boats) reside on their
own moorings. At low tide, the harbor dries, and this smattering of craft,
perhaps two dozen or more, lay scattered around the bay, high and dry, like a
yachting graveyard. Very close in, right off the main street in town, three of
four bilge-keelers literally ‘stand’ on their hulls, balanced by their rudders,
their decks six feet off the ground (which is surprisingly solid for how muddy
it appears). Against the pier lives the fishing fleet, one or two large steel
boats and several smaller ones, though it doesn’t appear that they go out very
often. In the last three days we’ve been here, nobody has been around much.
Yesterday though, one of the big ones returned to the pier, after having been
gone at least as long as we’ve been here, so it appears they venture rather far
out to sea (they are certainly built for it).
There
are at least two seals in the harbor who routinely make an appearance near the
fishing pier. Three times while we were in the dinghy, one big one would poke
his head up and just sit there, looking around with those big friendly eyes and
just letting himself bob in the water while he did so. The first two occasions
he was quite close to the dinghy, which, rather than inciting a fearful
reaction, simply made us want to reach out and pet him. They really look like
pooches – upon seeing the first one, Ullis shouted ‘A seal! Or, a dog!’. Mia
and I have decided that they are lazy seals that live here and get fed by the
fisherman who routinely line the pier in the afternoons looking for mackerel. I
joked yesterday that the one big guy we’ve seen quite often was waiting for
that fishing boat to return, wondering where his dinner was.
Ashore,
one main street stretches for half a mile or so, with a line of buildings
behind it, the street marking the edge of the harbor, which has a three-foot
stone wall on its western side to guard against the stormy weather (the north
and west quadrants of the harbor are completely exposed to the weather, and
yesterday when it was blowing hard from the NW in the morning, their was a
significant chop – my dinghy ride ashore to drop Ullis off was interesting…fine
going in, as the wind and seas were with us, but rather wet and slow coming
back out, especially without the extra weight of Ullis and her gear to keep us
stable). Behind that one row of buildings is a long stretch of beach, which,
depending on the tide is either about 15 yards wide, or 100. The town is built
on a long, narrow peninsula, the sheltered harbor to the west, the Irish Sea to
the east, and ‘Red Island’ at the peninsula’s northern tip. They call it Red
‘Island’, but it’s not really an island at all, just a wider, island-shaped
blob of land on which are the ruins of and old tower. There is a lovely
restaurant/hotel at the end of the road, The Pierhouse, with which Mia and I
became acquainted with yesterday when we realized we wouldn’t be going
anywhere.
As
the town stretches away to the south, the peninsular gradually widens until it
meets the main land, and the one road split into two at a small roundabout that
has a rather large statue of a cormorant in it’s center (speaking of cormorants,
when I dropped Ullis off yesterday, there was a big one sitting in a
half-flooded dinghy that was tied up to the fishing pier. We came right up
close to him, so close that my oars touched the dinghy on which he was
standing, and yet he didn’t so much as flinch at our presence. He just sat
there and looked at us with a goofy expression, his huge webbed feet standing
wide on the dinghy seat and his large, friendly eyes staring at us. A guy came
by in a larger boat to tow the derelict dinghy away, and the cormorant went
along for the ride). To the left, the road continued along the beach
overlooking the Irish Sea, while to the right, it continued around the wide
bay, houses lining both sides. The storefronts were in the town center, a few
blocks inland.
We
remain in Skerries longer than expected thanks to the weather, which is only
now becoming typically Irish – wet and windy – whereas the past two weeks have
treated us rather kindly. We knew from the outset that we’d stay here at least
two night – all three of us wanted to go into Dublin, and the Dart train got us
there in only half an hour the other day. We strolled around the city and
finally found an old pub in the Temple Bar area (in fact, the first pub I’d
visited on my last foray into Ireland, with Michael, my friend from Prague
during my English teaching school), and sat down to watch the final of the All
Ireland Hurling Championship, between Tipperary and Kilkenny. Hurling is a
Gaelic game, kind of reminiscent of field hockey, except that the ball is
usually airborn, and players can catch it barehanded and run with it for a
stretch. Scoring is accomplished in one of two ways – the easier points are had
when a player tosses the ball to himself and takes a swing at it, knocking it
through a goal post, not unlike an NFL field goal (however, he does so while
everyone else is trying to kill him and get the ball). The more difficult
points are had by similarly knocking the ball into a soccer-style goal, with a
goalie in front. Kilkenny won, upsetting the reigning champions from the year
before. The atmosphere at the stadium was quite lively, and every pub in Dublin
was overflowing with people in for the game.
Ullis
left yesterday. Mia and I had a long debate about whether to leave or not and
high-tail it 30 or so miles north to Annalong, a small fishing village in
Northern Ireland, and the only real shelter north of here. The weather was
calling for gales from the S-SW by evening, with heavy rain and limited
visibility starting in the afternoon. Given the very high tidal ranges, and the
accompanying strong currents associated with them, we could only leave Skerries
at 11am, at low tide, when we’d have a fair current behind us for the ride
north. This would give us only a six-hour window or so of reasonable weather,
and that if the system arrived on time. Looking at the GRIB files, it was quite
obvious we were in for a blow, as a large area of low pressure was hovering
just west of the country and making it’s way towards us. In the end, we decided
to take a known quantity – or nice and sturdy (and free!) mooring here in
Skerries, rather than an unknown fishing pier only 30 miles further on. The
dinghy rides in to shore and back would be uncomfortable, but at least we could
relax knowing the boat is safe. It’s frustrating when you’re trying to make
miles to have to sit and wait.
The
wind arrived, late last night when we were getting ready for bed (which by now
consists of donning long underwear and wool socks and slithering into our
sleeping bags, on opposite settees, and trying to stay warm. It’s not that cold
here yet, but without heat on the boat, it gets chilly at night. I end up
pulling my bag right up over my head, and by morning, my hair, which by now is
almost as long as it’s ever been, is matted flat down to my forehead, further
exaggerating the illusion that I’m in fact wearing a helmet). In the end, we
could have made Annalong no problem, or even Ardglass, our intended next stop a
further 15 miles up the coast, but we’re safe here anyway. Mia and I instead
sat inside the Pierhouse for most of the morning on our computers, and then
sauntered into town and to the community center in search of showers. We
counted last night, that since leaving Annapolis on July 4, we’ve had a total
of 10 real showers, including the ones yesterday in the women’s locker room of
the community center. Half of them could hardly count as ‘real’ from a
shoreside perspective – the pressure was so weak at William-the-Swedish-Chef’s
house in Crookhaven that it was difficult to get the soap out of our hair,
while the showers in St Pierre (2), Kinsale and now here, had no adjustment for
temperature, and were luke-warm at best. Nonetheless, the water was fresh and
came from a spigot rather than a bucket, so they counted in our minds. The two
girls at the community center were quite friendly, and offered us the showers
for free, but had to turn on the hot water first, and it would take twenty
minutes or so to kick in. They let us relax in the staff kitchen, offering us
tea while we waited for the water. Kenzie and Carol (I think), ended up joining
us up there, and we chatted for a while about traveling and Irish culture.
And
now, we remain on board. The wind is whistling in the rigging outside, and has
slowly shifted from the south overnight, to more WSW this morning, meaning
there is substantially more fetch for the wind to kick up a nasty chop, making
our mooring that much less comfortable, and the prospect of a dinghy ride
ashore that much less appealing. Rather than pick up my book, as I usually do
in the morning with my coffee, I got out my computer (I’m currently involved in
three books at the moment – The Lord of the Rings, which I’ve put down
indefinitely; Donnie Brasco, a book
about the Mafia that I bought the other day in Dublin, and which is currently
holding my attention; and the Stieg Larsson Millenium
Trilogy, which I’m listening to on my iPod, mainly when I have to
hand-steer on watch or when I’m doing dishes, to pass the time. It’s amazing
how clean the galley gets when I’m listening to that book – it’s so captivating
that I take extra time to clean just so I can listen longer). I have two
articles due today, one for Spinsheet
and another for Yacht Essentials, and
I know if I don't’ start writing straight away this morning that I will get
distracted or find an excuse not to get started.
Given
the delay, September is advancing far too swiftly for our liking, and we have a
hell of a lot further to go than I allowed for. Scotland is still at least five
or six sailing days away, and it feels like the fall weather pattern is quickly
kicking in, making for fewer and shorter weather windows. We can do about 40-50
miles per day quite comfortably, and have charted several stopping points
around those distances up the coast. The passage planning is slightly more
complicated than we’re used to, having to play the tides, so often you only get
half the day with a fair tide, and can really only use 7 or 8 hours to keep
moving. However, with a fair tide, we can make 7-8 knots, which still lets us
make good mileage, even with a shorter window. So now Mia and I are considering
leaving the boat in Scotland for the winter, as the prospect of a
late-September North Sea crossing (which will take us at least three days, and
more likely five or six) is seeming less and less enjoyable as the days go by.
If we can work something out with the Swedish customs that would allow us to
import the boat next summer, we’ll do just that, and return to Scotland with
fresh energy and (hopefully) more money, so we can really enjoy this last part
of our adventure rather than it feeling like a burden.
Mia
is baking bread, and I’m about to make breakfast.
---
So
much for that idea. Scotland was scuttled nearly as quickly as it entered our
thoughts. I made an attempt to contact Swedish customs yesterday, to see if
they could give us some leeway considering the seasons, and allow us to leave
the boat in the UK over the winter, bringing it the rest of the way next spring
or summer. According to the immigration laws, I have one year to import all of
my belongings from the date that I officially moved to Sweden (which I take to
mean January 25, 2011, as that was when I last entered the country on my new
residency permit, after having been away more than a year and a half, which
qualifies under the guidelines set forth on the immigration website). So we’d
need a few months of leeway if we left the boat for the winter. Customs was
closed yesterday, so we never got through.
This
morning, however, I spoke to a reasonable man in Goteborg, where we’d
officially be importing the boat. He was helpful, but maintained that not only
can they NOT give us an extension, but also, they can not even determine my
one-year eligibility without both myself and the item to be imported (in this case
the boat) being present in Sweden. He spoke at length with Mia in Swedish, to
more clearly explain the situation, and she came away with the feeling that he
was merely doing his job and playing by the book. Apparently there is no way
around this, as he was the highest up in that office. So to Sweden we’ll
continue, North Sea be damned.
---
Mia’s
getting bored. She’s on to the last book in the Harry Potter series. A running
joke for most of the Atlantic crossing was asking each other what the
characters in our books were up to. I was reading The Lord of the Rings, while Clint and Mia were each reading different
books in the Potter series. ‘How’s Potter doing?’ was invariably answered with
‘Good – he’s in school!’ no matter what was actually happening. My response to
‘How’s Frodo doing?’ was always ‘He’s out traveling!’ This never got old.
We’re
stuck on the boat. The wind has continually increased since I started writing
this morning, and the chop in the bay is big enough now to douse any ideas we
may have had of going ashore. Getting to the pier wouldn’t be a problem, but
the return journey in our tiny rowing dinghy would be quite impossible. We’re
rocking and rolling on the mooring, and the Coast Guard comes on the VHF every
hour or so to update the gale warning. A sea buoy off the west coast of Ireland
is reporting waves over 15-feet, with wind gusts in the 50s. We have a steady
25 knots, gusting into the 40s in our anchorage. I continue to give thanks for
our free mooring, which seems solid-as.
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