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West Country COVID diary

started appearing off Cornwall. I have seen them in the Pacific, but there is
something rather un-British about a fish the size of a sofa. Our target was
Cotehele, poking deep into Dartmoor, as the old industrial quays offer a
fascinating glimpse into the commerce of former days. We did get close,
and were delighted to pass under the Tamar bridge, but by then torrential
rain had set in, the world was rather grey, the tide was running out fast,
getting ashore for a soaking dog walk seemed rather a struggle, so we cut
our losses and headed back to Plymouth. The Tamar and Lynher are high
on the list for next summer’s lazy days.
November

Plans to head back up to the Camel had been delayed by a seemingly
endless series of gales in late October, but the announcement of another
lockdown beginning on 5th November made for yet more obsessive
checking of weather apps, as I couldn’t comfortably leave her unattended
on her Mylor mooring for a month lest I came back in December to find
just the mast tip visible. With a more than usually optimistic assessment of
the forecast, there was something of a weather window from the wee
hours of 4th November, so we headed around the Lizard and at the
Runnelstone the inner passage looked lively but doable. When we were
spat out near the Brisons, the seas were so impressive that the hope of
resting at St Ives or Hayle looked very unlikely, and we were reconciled to
our contingency plan of a slow slog north into a F5 north-easterly, slapping
into the turbulent echoes of Storm Aiden and Hurricane Zeta, to catch a
favourable tide over the Doom Bar next dawn. But that was before we
made contact with our saviour, Ben Lawlor, the Deputy Harbourmaster at
Hayle. We’d been in touch via the SOA website, and, after some “maybe
yes/maybe no”, over whether it was wise to try for Hayle, he came out
with his rib to lead us in. That was a great moment! You could not see any
passage beyond the surf, so we seemed to be simply driving full pelt at an
impressive surf beach, but, after a mutual thumbs up, with Ben leading the
way, on full revs, we plunged at the waves, lifted the stern, and then, after
a brief wild ride, found ourselves in the serene and sunny millpond of Hayle
Harbour – as surreal an experience as Lucy’s discovery of Narnia through
the back of the wardrobe! Once we were tied up at a pontoon, I confessed

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