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Erm? They're Clive and Les aren't they?
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Fowey 26th July
26th July, 2005
Not sure what happened with this morning. We had such plans to go around to the town pontoon and refill the water tanks. We were going to visit the yacht club for showers and maybe pick up some fresh pasties for lunch. But suddenly it was 11.00 o'clock and we were running out of time to go anywhere so we cast off lines and left the Bavarians. Quintet was bound for Fowey.
It was another grey morning which turned into a grey day so pictures are a bit thin I'm afraid.
We hoisted full sail in the river and turned and headed out to sea, a steel grey, lumpen, wallowing sea. But with the wind in the north, we were soon doing good speed, albeit a bit rolling until we turned the corner and headed west. Then Quintet settled down with the bit in her teeth and started to gallop towards Fowey.
I ran out the fishing line but not one bite even when using the now pungent garfish as bait. It would seem that the fish around here are sluggards, couch potatoes (couch chips, I suppose). Mind you, it would have had to have been a pretty nippy fish to catch a hook at that speed.
Lunch was just a simple cheese roll, with a glass of cider (which is starting to show its age) so not even photographs of culinary triumph.
About 4.00 in the afternoon the wind eased a bit and the tide which had been under us went slack. The centreboard started to bang in its case but we hardened up a little to get a bit more speed and close the coast to get out of the foul tide and it quietened down again. I guess if the board was tighter in the case you'd never be able to get the it up and down at all.
At 5.00pm the log reads 'Rain again. No fish'. And at 6.00pm the log reads 'Rain again, again. Still no fish'. So I guess that you can tell the sort of day we were having. But by then we were closing Fowey Harbour entrance and looking forward to getting out of the rain.
A pair of gigs raced out of the river and disappeared into the mist, although we could still hear words of encouragement to the crews through the murk.
We motored up the river and spotted the Harbour Master so asked directions to an appropriate buoy for the night. We would never have chosen the buoy he pointed us to as it definitely was not marked 'Visitor'. I think it says 'Private' but the Harbour Master said, so.
Clive has been really good at placing Quintet next to mooring buoys so I just reach over the side and thread a line through the top ring and we are moored. But today! Well! We must have gone round that buoy three times at least. I couldn't have reached it if my arms were long enough for my knuckles to drag on the ground.
Clive insists that I should use the boathook but what good is that if you have a ring on the end of the hook and you still can't reach to pass a line through it.
We do have one of those mooring snap hook things which is great to put on but equally impossible to reach to unhook when you want to leave. He'll just have to get better at following directions! So there.
In the end a couple in a passing dinghy took our line, passed it through the ring on the mooring buoy and passed it back to us. And we were still miles from the buoy. Oh, the embarrassment, the humiliation!
Fowey didn't look that inviting, through the mizzling rain, so we decided to stay aboard tonight. Cassoulet (the French supplies) is bubbling on one burner while potatoes boil on the other. I hear the pop of a cork. So all is well with the world.
Please let the sun shine tomorrow.