OWNERS’ ADVENTURES
[ PART 4 ]
Having made it from Yorkshire to South Wales in just five days aboard his 18ft open sportsboat, Ian Furby pushes on up the West Coast of Ireland in his bid to circumnavigate Britain in less than 12 days
DAY 6: 15 JUNE
The alarm was set for 3.30am but I didn’t need it as I was awake and watching the stars grow dim as night slowly turned today. I put on full yachty wet gear. It was a little chilly and I had the Irish Sea to conquer. Teeth brushed, bunk stowed, engine started, navigation lights on and lines slipped, I backed out of my berth and made my way to the lock.
By 4.45am I was steaming back up Milford Haven. The water was like glass. I passed St Ann’s Head and turned northwest towards Skomer Island, 10nm away. That was the point when I had to decide if I was heading across to Ireland or sticking to the Welsh coast.
With the sun rising behind me, I started singing the 80s classic Should I Stay or Should I Go in the hope it would help me decide. The sea was flat enough and I’d already plotted a route to Rosslare. I made my decision. Ireland it was.
For the first 10nm, a slight sea state meant I was only making 17-18 knots but then the waves flattened and my speed lifted. All I could see in any direction was sea, sea and more sea. Then 100m ahead of me I suddenly caught sight of a dorsal fin. “Whale ho!” Backing off, I waited to see if I could get a better look but no such luck. It didn’t reappear.
The next couple of hours passed uneventfully until Channel 16 burst into life on my VHF. Minehead Coastguard were issuing a small vessel warning for exactly the area where I was headed. When I’d checked the weather yesterday, everything looked fine but now a southerly Force 7 was fast approaching – not pleasant in a 40ft boat, near suicidal in a small, open 18-footer.
That was the first piece of bad news; the second was that due to soaring cases of Covid in the UK at the time, any English boat owners setting foot on Irish soil would be locked up, flogged and stoned. Or something like that. Too bad, I was well over halfway across by now so I decided to crack on before that damn storm caught up with me.
A short while later, Ireland appeared out of the clouds. Rather than going into Rosslare, I headed north towards Wexford. It was at this point that I made an almighty cock-up. The bay leading into Wexford is guarded by sandbanks – loads of ’em. Some are visible above the water while others lurk just beneath. I had the Garmin zoomed in and wasn’t paying enough attention. By the time I realised, I was on the wrong side of one of these lowlying sandbanks. I pulled up and considered my options. What I should have done was backtr
