Here are four images taken yesterday morning at Duckpool on the coast of North Cornwall.
A combination of low tide, bright sunshine, and a cold, easterly, offshore wind.
This is a wreckers’ coastline – to be avoided on a lee shore.
Yesterday it was a place to take the air after Christmas.
Photography is often frustrating because what you are able to record is a small fraction of what you want to record. Sometimes it’s what is outside the image that makes the image itself worthwhile. At other times it’s better not to try but to leave the moment alone.
This was the case the other morning when we set out to enjoy a short sail.
As we left the Sound, the wind strengthened and steadied from the west. We settled on a course south south west, Eddystone on our starboard bow – four and a half knots across a gentle swell.
The sky had been heavily overcast all morning – a dark layer of stratus that shut out the sun and promised rain. But, for now, there were clear patches of blue sky showing in the west.
It was that approaching blue sky that held our attention as, four miles out, we watched the coast come to life – cherished Cornwall unveiling in the sunshine.
First the Dodman, then the steep cliffs around Fowey, the green fields behind Polperro and on to the bright houses of Looe, sunlight flashing on expectant windows; Downderry sparkled along the water’s edge, pointing to Portwrinkle still hidden behind Rame, before the headland itself beamed out at us.
Silenced, we breathed in the startling November light, marvelling at the clarity of detail, excited by the intensity of the experience. Behind us the sea seemed to darken.
Suddenly, inland, the high chimney stack on Kit Hill stood proud in the sunshine. Next, a group of buildings on Plymouth Hoe, white beacons in the afternoon, overwhelming their less fortunate neighbours. In the foreground, the Breakwater leapt at us. And the whole stunning display moved eastward – scudding along the South Devon coast.
By now, Cornwall was dark again and disappearing fast.
Five miles out we turned for home, basking in our own ten-minute spotlight before, with the Cornish coast lost behind Rame, the gloom bore down on us. Dartmoor disappeared behind the city, leaving it without background – bleak, solemn and solitary, enveloped in drizzle.
We rounded the Breakwater in the murk, the band of drizzle mercifully lifting as we crossed the Sound.
A little later, dry and ashore, we watched the next band of rain cross the Cattewater, blotting out the familiar view.
It was a day to treasure – a day when there was more to sailing than the sailing, more images than could possibly be recorded.
On tuning the boat
The Open 60s are in Les Sables d’Olonne undergoing final tuning for the Vendee Globe.
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I remember one day, in my early teens, sailing Falcon solo out of Fowey, around the Cannis Buoy off Gribben Head and back again – all of three miles.
A big adventure for me.
Falcon – early sixties, racing with my Dad and sister
That day, the wind was light, the sea calm, the sun shining – (it always shone on those days). It was the day I learnt what sailing was all about. I got to thinking about my being the connection between wind and sea. Take away the boat and here was I, sitting a few inches above the water, my feet below the waterline, moving steadily along the coast with just the wind to drive me. If I got the balance right, even for a few seconds, the equation would be sea + me + wind = performance Add Falcon back into the equation and it became:: sea + hull + tiller + me + sheets + sail + wind = performance Fantastic, I thought, the wind may change, the sea state will vary, but, with an adjustment of a sheet here, a quiet movement of the tiller there, I can ride the energy between them. What I was recognising in my rather slow way was that sailing is about sailing – any talk of a destination, or of racing, or of my voyage to the Cannis buoy and back was just an excuse to be out there moving across the sea. Many years later, when I heard someone say: “Life’s a journey, not a destination.” I thought: “Oh. . . just like sailing.”
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So . . . tuning – improving performance on the water. The general equation is: hull – tiller – person – sheets – sails (with some fiddly bits in between – or a lot of very sophisticated fiddly bits on an Open 60). Start with tuning the person. Well, this one learns a lot writing about sailing, learns more reading about it, but never learns as much as when he’s out there doing it – and he needs to take more exercise.
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Looking at the picture of Falcon, I remember Dad being very critical of it – he didn’t like the way we’d set the mainsail and spent some time working on it – adjusting and readjusting the set until he got it right. I now realise how much the picture affected him. He became very particular about setting that sail. I guess he used pictures to critique the boat and then . . . . oh, good grief! I’m turning into my dad!
The gannets started it.
We were about three miles off Polperro, heading towards an invisible Rame Head. Low cloud was hiding the cliff-tops, cutting the view with an unnatural straight line. The colours of the day were shades of grey. There was no one but us and a lone fishing boat, some way ahead off Looe Island.
In theory, 090 degrees would place us just south of Rame, but not in this wind, in this tide, in this visibility, at this speed – 020 (if she would head that) to take us well south until we could see it.
We had been watching the gannets since we left Fowey, their brilliant white backs shining, contrasting with the ink black tips of their long narrow wings – not fishing but flying in two and threes, vigilantly, almost lazily.
All at once, everything changed. Action crackled in the air.
Over there, they were diving.
“Dolphin!” Tony, at the helm, pointing towards the shore.
“There’s another . . . . and another . . . . they’re everywhere!”
Sure enough, everywhere you looked, a dark, finned, back would rise easily out the water and slip back, leaving an emptier surface . . . to be replaced by others near and far.
I grabbed the camera, forgot to put it on video record and went forward.
From the pulpit, I watched three dolphins, two of them twisting around each other, shoot under the bow, then another – not breaking the surface – just looking. Out of the corner of my eye, not six feet away, a shiny back had turned and was swimming alongside us. Two more crossed beneath me.
The sea was full of movement. The excitement was contagious, you could put out a hand and feel it. You could smell it.
The dolphins were doing what comes naturally, of course – herding a shoal of (probably) mackerel. Spinning it around, pushing it, playing with it. Lunch in grand style.
In the few minutes it took us to appreciate the moment, they were gone, moving west behind us – all that activity rapidly slipping astern. We quietened down. Time to put the kettle on and talk about it.
Forget our strictly human feelings, we just happened to be there, a bit part in a world that is bigger than us, older than us – one that constantly needs tending.
But . . . to stand at the bow of your own boat in a sea full of dolphins!! Can it get much better than that?
In April we spent a week based in Fowey.
Blue Mistress had the whole of a pontoon to herself – a pontoon that will become crowded with visiting boats as the season goes on.
Taken from an article in the Bideford Weekly Gazette dated December 1st.1936.
FATE OF THE “CERES”
The 125 years old “Ceres”, veteran of the merchant service, her course now run, lies at the bottom of Bideford Bay, somewhere off Baggy Point.
The “Ceres” sprang a leak on Tuesday night while on a voyage from South Wales to Bude, and foundered after her crew had put off in her boat and had been picked up by the Appledore lifeboat.The Captain is Mr Oswald Jeffery, a married man, whose home is in Richmond Road, Appledore, and the mate Mr Walter Ford, a married man of Irsha Street,, Appledore.They reached Appledore in the lifeboat at about 11 o’clock, and on arrival the Rev Muller offered a short prayer of thanksgiving for their safety.
Captain Jeffery said,” We left Swansea on Tuesday bound for Bude with a cargo of slag.. Because of the weather we intended to go in over the Bar for the night as it was to rough to venture on to Bude. At 8 o’clock I went below to rest for an hour, leaving the mate in charge. An hour later he told me there was water in the engine room. We manned the pumps. We tried to get the ship over the Bar, but the water made her roll badly, and I gave the order for the ship’s rowing boat to be launched. I fired two rockets, and we abandoned the vessel. We lay in the shelter of the “Ceres” which was sinking, and were taken onboard the lifeboat.
Dr. Valentine stood by in case medical assistance was needed, but although wet through, neither the captain nor his mate appeared any the worse for this ordeal.
The “Ceres” was owed by a Bude firm of coal merchants, and was built in Salcombe.
Ketch Ceres 1811 – 1936.
Built in Salcombe, Devon in 1811.She carried stores as a revitaling ship at the blockade of Brest during the Napoleonic wars. Was the oldest sea-going vessel afloat until she sank in Croyde Bay one November evening in 1936. My late father Walter Ford always maintained that she sank because the vessel had recently had a new timber set in, and this had swollen and had displaced the much older timbers which surrounded it.
The night she sank was flat calm and the sky clear.
This is one of a number of posts on the Ketch “Ceres”. They are presented in a random order as and when I have found, or been given, new material. If you are interested in maritime history and would like to read more, please use the Search facility on the top right-hand side if this page (‘Ceres’). If the Search box does not appear on your current screen, then click on ‘Bill’s Boat Blog’ – (or the title of this entry, then ‘Bill’s Boat Blog’), to be taken to the correct page.
Re picture on page 90.
The ketch Ceres is said to be the oldest sea-going craft in existence. She was built at Salcombe, Devon, in 1811, and began by trading to Northern Spain, more than once having narrow escapes from French and American privateers. In the years 1818 and 1814 she was employed by Government carrying British military stores in connection with Wellington’s Peninsular War operations, subsequently reverting to her owners and resuming ordinary trading. She first came back to Bude in 1826, and has been in the ownership of her present owners since 1852. She was altered in rig in 1865, and subsequently was cut in two and lengthened by 13 feet, being registered 44 tons and carrying 85 tons. In 1912 she was successfully transformed to a motor ship by the successful installation of a 30 h.p. semi-Diesel engine, which enabled her to keep close to the shore and so avoid the fate of several other coasting vessels sunk by submarines off the North Cornish coast during the Great War. Ceres is still in active commission, having passed her four-year Board of Trade survey in 1930.
(Photo by J. H. Petherick, Belle View, Bude. Sent by Mr. J. W. W. Banbury, Lloyd’s Agent, Bude, Cornwall.)
This is one of a number of posts on the Ketch “Ceres”. They are presented in a random order as and when I have found, or been given, new material. If you are interested in maritime history and would like to read more, please use the Search facility on the top right-hand side if this page (‘Ceres’). If the Search box does not appear on your current screen, then click on ‘Bill’s Boat Blog’ – (or the title of this entry, then ‘Bill’s Boat Blog’), to be taken to the correct page.
When you explore the history of a boat, any boat, you quickly discover you are not the only one interested in her. Ceres was particularly well-known and appreciated by a wide variety of people. The piece below, from the P.S.N.C. Magazine, was written by someone with a far greater call on her than I – the great-grandson of the original owner.
The History of the Ceres.
The Ceres was built at Salcombe, Devon, in 1811 for my greatgrandfather, William Lewis, of Bude, Cornwall, for the Spanish-London fruit trade. He went master of her, and during the Peninsular War she was employed carrying stores to the British troops in France, under the Duke of Wellington. On the death of my great-grandfather in 1829 my grandfather, ”his only son,” not 18 years of age, went master of the Ceres, and kept her in the coasting trade until 1855, when he sold her to Captain P. M. Petherick, of Bude, who went master of her. In 1866 he was relieved by his eldest son, Captain W. W. Petherick. In 1884 he was relieved by his brother, Captain Walter Petherick, who retired from the sea in 1930 after being master of the Ceres for 46 years. I have known the Petherick family since my childhood. Finer sailors never walked a ship’s deck.
My grandfather had many souvenirs from the Ceres, including the two old flint lock pistols which his father and the mate carried to shoot Napoleon and his bodyguard if they attempted to board the Ceres; the old horn lantern that was lighted by a tallow candle, made by the crew ; the lantern, the only light, was carried at the bowsprit end when possible, to light the Ceres to glory; the old bull’s horn which was used as a foghorn; also a piece of flint and steel used to strike a light with.
This is one of a number of posts on the Ketch “Ceres”. They are presented in a random order as and when I have found, or been given, new material. If you are interested in maritime history and would like to read more, please use the Search facility on the top right-hand side if this page (‘Ceres’). If the Search box does not appear on your current screen, then click on ‘Bill’s Boat Blog’ – (or the title of this entry, then ‘Bill’s Boat Blog’), to be taken to the correct page.
Beyond Steeple Point 