Let me resume where I left off. After a leisurely Tuesday morning tied up on a pontoon mid channel in Dartmouth, we sailed out and headed down the coast Devenish Coast to Salcombe. We sailed in fine, sunny weather and arrived to find that most of the mooring balls were already taken and we ended up a little way off the town quay (near The Bag for those who care to look at a map). The sail up the channel past the town was “quite lovely”. 
Believe it or not – Salcombe in Devon is the “in-place” for UK celebrities to own a summer house or to retire too. From Michael Parkinson (famous chat show host) – to members of Led Zep – to Mary Berry (she’s a cook and writer of cook books) – the place is now overrun with the in crowd (actually the ones I’ve just mentioned are the “on their way out crowd”. It didn’t seem that way when we were there. The place seemed to have a slightly “colorful grubbiness – use to be nice kind if look. Said simply – dirty! Apparently, and this is according to Wikipedia, the source of all knowledge – the population grows from just over 1000 in the winter to 25,000 in the summer. Where do they all stay? Who knows! Frankly, who cares for reasons that will become more apparent. We got out our tender/raft and inflated it, attached the brand new but rather too small Honda outboard on it and spent 30 minutes playing with it to get it to work (as men of the sea tend to do). It had been slightly over filled with engine oil (like x3) and smoked massively as it ran – making us like like a clown car arriving in the circus ring. We headed into the townie bit to find a decent pint. The pub sitting right on the main dock, which from afloat looked lovely – wasn’t! It was dirty and smelly and the tables outside were populated with mainly younger folks smoking profusely! Their conversations had a liberal smattering of “well Johnny” and “then James” and the girls all seemed to have their war paint on by 5.30 in the afternoon and something of a rather smoked yellow tan with long straightened hair falling demurely (or annoyingly depending on your POV) in front of their sun glasses, attentively listening to whichever antics Johnny and James had gotten up to while racing some boat or other earlier in the day. I surmised that they were dingy racing by the brightly colored flotation jackets they were all still sporting (type 3’s I believe). Or, may be they were just obnoxiously colored flack jackets and they were your undercover/out of cover Government sorts. I have to confess, and I possibly had no real right to, I felt somewhat nauseous, by the sounds and sights around me! These were the stereotypical yahoos one might expect when in a place invaded by the privileged (and featured in many BBC comedy progs). 

Now I have been to Martha’s Vineyard in the US (a decent approximation for Salcombe may be) and that too has a similar issue, but I didn’t hear or see the showboating that was going on in Salcombe. What struck me most of ALL – was the level of smoking. Of course you already know of my annoyance with this outside pubs, so I won’t go on about it again – much, but why we’re all of these youngish 20 and 30 somethings smoking? Anyway, not my issue really (other than they were doing it in a beer garden and spoiling our time watching the antics on the water in front of us) – smelling, dirtying – and on and on…… “Move on Nick”.

Suffice it to say we moved on, found a much nicer place to drink and returned to our boat ready to cook and east and enjoy a night of further banter and argument.

My reflections on Salcombe – it could be much nicer – it could be cleaner – it could be more authentic, it could be brighter – so effort needed by everyone especially you – you big, fat, grubby looking, but ever so polite landlord of the King’s Arms right on the main landing – you need to clean your act up more than anyone and stop abusing guests with your dirty, smelly pub, littered beer garden and inflated prices for not very well kept beer! May be Parkinson likes things this way? Who knows?

And so on we went from Salcombe to Fowey the next morning, but not a journey for the faint of heart (and I’m not referring to the dirty Kings Arms again). You see, and we couldn’t, that we left Salcombe in very, very thick fog. I hadn’t skippered in fog like this before and I would have happily stayed tucked up in bed reading and drinking hot Green Tea left to my own devices, but Tom the training skipper was having nothing of it! So we put up our radar reflector (not sure why one would ever take one down), switched on our Radar, placed a man on the bow (actually Trevor wearing a lime green hat that could surely be seen from miles, even through thick fog) and out we ventured. Within a mile we were head on with a tug towing something and signaling to us that she was out there. We had already seen her on the radar and also on AIS – a tracking system on the Chart Plotter that provides information about the vessel and it’s heading and speed. The tug boat behaved Impeccably and we both turned to starboard to avoid collision. We sounded our fog horn (a spray can with a plastic horn on the top – hello there – Elite Sailing – get something a bit more substantial – lives at risk here)) and everything went swimmingly! To cut a long story short – we emerged from the fog after about an hour and had a wonderful sail down to Fowey arriving under thick clouds, but nothing that could take away the splendor of this gritty, pretty, old working port. We also passed by the infamous Edlestone Lighthouse off on our Port side – visible but not close enough to touch – but we passed it. Fowey is pronounced Foy if you don’t know, and well, why should you. After topping up our water tank at the town quay, we were looking to head over to the other side of the river and nab the last of the Mooring Balls and settle in for the night – but we chanced our hand and hailed the Harbour Master on the radio and asked about staying on said Town Quay – “of course you can” said he, to our surprise – and so we did! Tied up, shut everything down, had a cup of tea and did some prep for the evening meal and then headed off to see the wonders of Fowey. It has a great Victorian influence, but much much more. It really is a very pretty place that still bustles around the river and the trades that come from it – and not just tourism. It also employers a town cleaner – unlike Salcombe.

As we set out the clouds parted and the sun came out and that required a team pint on the river, in town. While the others figured out the best beer – I headed off to find wine to accompany the Ragu Foweynaise that was partially cooked and waiting for us back on the boat. I chanced upon a small newsagent come general store and blundered upon both a fantastic (but small) wine selection (and very reasonably priced) and also just the right glue to fix my sailing shoes (didn’t work in the end – so Timpson’s in Exeter glued the toes back together and refused any payment – quality). Staffed by the owner (originally from the Chester, but a 16 year veteran of Fowey by way of London) – he was a man who insisted on providing for the simple pleasures and that included personally investing much time in selecting the wines, tying very nicely printed labels to them and then offering them in very trend clear plastic bags without the charge. Glorious!

After dinner we sat and chatted to the guy in the boat next to us. He was a 60 something, single handed sailor – he had two hands but traveled alone – really? “Been sailing for 12 years and gettin the “ang of it” he told us. He kept his boat up on the Bay of Cardiff and he had sailed it down the North Cornish Coast around the Lizzard and up to Fowey and would start heading home if he could only fix his engine. “The wife thinks I’m a bit of a nutter”! He might be, but I admired him and wished I had the same balls he had! However- loneliness creates a sort of nutter mentality and he exemplified it superbly!

So – topish marks for Foyer – where we spent a slow next morning and then headed out for a blow down to the Helford River!

We made great time down the shortish trip across to Helford with Force 3 to 4, occasionally 5 winds giving us over 8 knots against a back drop of a stunning coastline and with calm seas to sail over – life really doesn’t get much better then that! Entering the Helford is like slipping into Narnia – a world of unreal rural beauty. The place is stunning and inviting, a really quite magical place.

As we looked to find our resting place for the evening – a French Boat cut right across us and did a veritable hand break turn to take an open Mooring Ball – thought to be the last one. How rude (may be they had advanced warning of the exit vote and we’re having one last go at us Brits). No matter, we spotted a marked ball – suggesting it belonged to a private individual and wasn’t a visitor’s ball. Over the radio the Harbor master thought it might be up for grabs for the night – but we would have to wait for the Buoy Allocation Master to arrive and give his blessing (that was his title – I kid you not). Bugger that – we moored up and figured they could move us if they wanted to, but they would have to find us first and there was no way we were going to spend the night on the Helford cooked up onboard! Again – a cup of tea and we headed ashore to the delights of the Shipwrights’ Pub, for drinks and dinner and a view to die for – photo below – but it really doesn’t do it justice!

I was woken through the night by the steady dripping of rain coming through the numerous open hatches (left open because this boat needs airing constantly and there wasn’t a drop of rain in the forecast). Well it rained! The crew had agreed to rise and be ready to push out by 8.30 so that I could motor us the 7 Nm’s over to Falmouth to catch my trains towards Exeter and on to the North East and our niece’s wedding. When we arose – it was pouring outside – but it was really wet inside – not as a consequence of the open hatches (which I had closed shortly after the rain started), but to the devastating news that the vote was for coming out of Europe and you’ve had my views already on that. The rain stopped as we Said goodbye to Helford and the sky showed blue. The consolation of leaving was the journey that would take me the wedding and to be reunited with Bernadette. 
I think I am at last settling down to life on the boat and to the rhythm of sailing like this. I don’t think I’ve quite reached the “constant enjoyment” phase yet! The learning is great and the environment seems to be improved. Certainly the beard is longer! I also believe I’m starting to think better and deeper about the future – well at least I’m trying to figure out the right questions! Nothing deep is stirring yet – but let’s give it time!

So here I am in Exeter Station supping a cup of Green Tea and waiting to go and get my hair cut (who would have thought that Exeter would have a Toni and Guy – but not 3G phone connection – just GPRS – I bet that changes once we’re out of Europe – not). One last thing – I bought my train ticket on-line from Trainline – an App and service I love. There wasn’t a Ticket Machine at Flamouth Docks station to collect the pre-paid ticket – but the friendly conductor on the first train told me it was fine – I had a ticket based on my on-line booking confirmation – so did the next 2 conductors. HOWEVER – Jobsworth of Exeter who stood boldly at the ticket barrier – he was having none of it. “You have traveled without a valid ticket and that’s a problem”.

“Have I appropriately bought a ticket and given Great Western the money – via Trainline – for a ticket”

“Yes sir you have”

“Am I presenting you with physical evidence of that purchase on my phone and with the credit card I used to purchase the ticket”

“Yes Sir you are”

“OK – so what have I failed to do that I should have?”

“You needed to get a valid printed ticket before starting your Journey”

“Is there a ticket office or a ticket machine at Falmouth Docks Station – or Falmouth town for that matter?”

“No sir, there isn’t”

“Where would I get that printed ticket from then?”

“From a station along the way sir”

“Every train was late and I just – and I mean just caught each connection – so how would that have worked then”

“With some degree of difficulty sir”

“So what do you suggest then?”

“I will let you through this automated barrier and you can go to that machine there and get your ticket – and then bring it back to me so I can validate it”

“You do realize this is the termination of my journey – don’t you”

“I do sir, but you need to go and print it out or face a fine for traveling without a valid ticket”

“Seriously dude – you want me to do this”

“I most certainly do sir”

So I did it and I took the ticket back to him and insisted he keep said ticket and suggested he should keep it somewhere dark and just behind him (he looked puzzled at that. – so may be not as funny as I thought it was).

Of course – rarely to these funny things work out and they usually come back to bite us and this one sort of did. By this time, traveling on over-crowded trains that either didn’t have toilets or they were in constant use (trains in Cornwall and Devon are very busy and toilet use seems to be a part of everyone’s journey) I was in reasonably urgent need of a toilet. In fact – sitting was going to be uncomfortable and lunch was beckoning me. Where was the toilet – it seemed the only one was back through the barrier and on the platform.

I asked Jobsworth’s younger and seemingly more lenient colleague if there was another toilet and he said no and opened the barrier, insisting I go through and use the one on the platform. Junior Jobsworth then disappeared so by the time I came back, Senior Jobsworth was back in place. I told him where I’d been.

“You might be needing that ticket after all sir to get back through”

I suggested he let me though anyway – I hadn’t travelled anywhere and then I was irritatingly  clear that I wasn’t going to touch anything that had been where that ticket had been since I gave it to him – nothing with bodily fluids.

“Well that’s for you to decide sir”. I know which way he voted yesterday.

Pip pip!

N