CONNEMARA TO BANTRY IN STRANGE TIMES - NET
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CONNEMARA TO BANTRY
IN STRANGE TIMES
Fergus Quinlan
(Fergus and Katherine built Pylades, their 12m van de Stadt-designed steel cutter, themselves,
launching her in 1997. In 2009 they departed on a three-year circumnavigation, recounted in
Flying Fish 2013/2, and in 2016 followed this up with a ‘Russian Voyage’ to St Petersburg and
back – see Flying Fish 2017/1. In 2020, however, COVID-19 kept them closer to home...)
It was a grim background to an interesting year. In March, the plan was to take Pylades
from her Bellharbour winter mooring to the Galway Boatyard, but due to inclement
weather and little daylight coinciding with the high tides, the trip was postponed. The
virus then swept in like a rising tide scuppering plans for the Azores but, thankfully,
the lockdown did not trap Pylades in the Galway yard. The weather over the following
two months was glorious and, as Pylades was on a mooring only 800m from our house,
we passed our incarceration rowing out to work on her, watched by seals and serenaded
by the call of the cuckoo on the tranquil bay.
7th June: Pylades finally sails to Galway and emerges from the tide under the boatyard
manager’s watchful eye. Over the following socially-distanced four weeks, with helpful
tips from a local diesel mechanic we fit new engine supports, a clutch plate, gearbox,
flexible coupling, stern gland and cutless bearing. The time ashore also allows us to
apply antifouling at a leisurely pace and not, as we usually do, racing a rising tide.
18th July: Finally sailing west we pick a mooring at Cashla Bay, the simple joy of a
glass of wine sitting in the cockpit enhanced by the satisfaction of a smooth-running
drive train and a dry bilge. The next day dawns fair and, after weaving our way north
inside the Namackan, Fair Service and Skerd rocks, we anchor off St MacDara’s Island.
After a very brief, chilly swim, we walk the land.
21st July: A slow sail takes us to the gorgeous Gorteen Bay where we anchor and, as
ever, explore the fascinating interface between sea and land. Next morning a front
arrives, all day dragging its cold, wet rags across the bay and boat – time for onboard
jobs and lighting the fire at wine time. With the clearance, an intriguing entry in the
excellent Irish Cruising Club West Coast Cruising Guide* brings us on a tricky passage
into the heart of Connemara, where we anchor off the very deserted village of Aill
na Caillí or Ailleenacally. In its shoal harbour lies the aesthetically-challenged ex-
schooner Manissa, a boat once seen not to be forgotten. Distant memories of a meeting
with the owner come back – he told me of digging a hole in his garden and forming
a clay mould into which he laid the fibreglass. When we spoke, he was on his way
around the coast with his daughter – I think I prayed for their safety. The intriguing
story of the boat’s owner and the village is essential reading if one intends to visit –
* The Sailing Directions for the South & West Coasts of Ireland, 15th edition. Edited by
Norman Kean and published by Irish Cruising Club Publications Ltd.
168
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search the internet for ‘Aill
na Caillí by Turtle Bunbury’.
We explore the crumbling
cottages and hear the playful
echoes of children long dead.
A beautiful stream cascades
through the village and its
pool before running off to
the sea.
24th July: In deteriorating
weather a southwest wind
starts to kick against the ebb.
We up anchor on becoming
tide rode and re-anchor at
Cartron Bay. Next morning,
a grey, wet day, we move to
Roundstone where we buy
crab claws at the market.
While shelling them is a
messy business, it is worth the
work as, with a quick fry in
garlic butter, they are the best
we have ever tasted.
After a few days of pleasant
reading we decide to head
Aill na Caillí back to the Aran Islands.
The electric anchor windlass refuses to operate, however, so with stout gloves the
chain is hauled aboard and we sail for Kilronan, flying along in a fresh northwest
wind. For well over a week we have been watching the progress of Danú as she sails
towards the Aran Islands. Aboard are our daughter Vera, her husband Peter and
our two grandchildren, Lilian and Ruairí*. We secure at Kilronan and prepare a
welcome. Also in position are their friends aboard Golden Harvest.
29th July: An exhilarating moment at 1900 as Danú and her precious cargo round
into Kilronan harbour and tie alongside Pylades. It’s an emotional reunion. With much
to catch up on, we pop champagne and gossip into the evening. A few beautiful days
are spent walking, talking and repairing the windlass electrics.
2nd August: Danú sails for Parkmore, Kinvara; Pylades leaves at 1800 for Dingle. To
avoid entanglement in pot markers we exit the Aran Islands in daylight, planning to
arrive in the Blasket Sound at dawn. Our sail south starts well – leaving the Gregory
Sound we can just lay the waypoint off the Blasket Islands. However, as the night
progresses the wind slowly backs, until the light at Loop Head is flashing off the starboard
* For the first part of the back-story, see To Seek, to Find, and Not to Yield on page
124 of this issue. The concluding part will follow in Flying Fish 2021/2.
170
Welcoming the children home
bow. Before scratching the cliffs, we tack and motor-sail out into a swell and sea that
grows more contrary with the approach of Sybil Point. Dawn, however, is enchanting,
passing through the always-rewarding Blasket Sound. Having run the gauntlet of
‘Fungie the Dolphin’, a significant attraction at Dingle Harbour entrance for 37 years
but now believed deceased,
we tie up in the marina at
1000. Later we walk the
Morning in Blasket Sound busy town. Peering through
dusty windows of favourite
pubs we see our ghosts
on empty stools where,
in better times, we had
supped ale and sung songs.
Paraphrasing Richard the
Third ... ‘A vaccine, a
vaccine, my Kingdom for
a vaccine’.
5th August: Following a
leisurely sail to Valentia,
tying at the copious
breakwater we are delighted
to hear the sound of
summer, screams of happy
children pier jumping and
swimming. The density of
traffic somewhat mars our
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Pylades (just right of centre) at Derrynane
walk up the gorgeous road to the slate quarries, but nevertheless we revel in the area’s
rich biodiversity. The following day, we move a short distance and anchor off Beginish
Island to swim and go walkabout.
With just whispers of wind we motor-sail to Derrynane and find all the visitors’
moorings taken by unattended boats. Due to the mixture of moorings and anchored
boats our anchoring proves tricky – we foul a heavy chain at the western point of the
harbour and, with no tripping line, it takes time and a friendly passing boat to sort
it out – but finally, we manage to anchor in this most pleasant spot. Ian Heffernan,
Master Mariner, hails us from Kadoona. We had met previously at different locations
during our circumnavigation in 2012 and, gathering for socially-distanced drinks on
board, we meet his partner Katherine Quinlan – an astonishing coincidence, but no
relation so far as we know – and their recent son Brendan, and enjoy a great evening
catching up on past adventures.
Next day, while walking the mass path at Derrynane, I reminisce about teaching
children to swim on the adjacent beaches – children who now have children who swim
like fishes and sail oceans. Memories flood back of sailing around the area in 1976 in
my first Pylades, a 17ft Express Pirate with its Seagull outboard, and of pints and songs
in Bridie Keating’s pub. Tempus fugit. The water temperature allows snorkelling gear
and an inspection of the prop and shaft anodes – they are wasting too fast, perhaps an
electrical leak to be chased.
10th August: Exiting Derrynane we note a small green tower under construction
on the middle rock at the entrance – a new starboard beacon to reassure first-time
entrants to the harbour. Our waypoint is adjacent to the Stickeen Rock and by 1330
we are anchored in Ballycrovane. Landing at the boathouse slip, we walk south up
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the lovely winding path. At the entrance to the coastguard station is a recent sign
summarising the revolutionary events that took place there in 1920. A hundred
metres further, on the right side of the path, are the remains of a house destroyed by
an accidental fire in 1947. This low ruin is where Katherine’s mother Joan was born
– a small timber plaque on the wall names the thirteen children born in the house.
Katherine relates stories of her childhood and holidays spent in the area with her
parents. We continue our nostalgic ramble to Eyeries village. The next day dawns
fine and the skipper jumps into the sea, a refreshing start to the day. We later explore
the little hidden creek to the north of the harbour and sections of the adjacent road.
13th August: Being swept through the Dursey Sound at speed is a delight, and in no
time we anchor in the designated area at Castletownbere. Going ashore with a bag of
empty bottles to dispose of, we enquire at the library and, informed that the bottle bank
is a few miles out of town, slouch off. But the woman of books runs after us and volunteers
to get rid of our load ... kindness abounds. After a wide-ranging conversation with a
local shipwright
about the Spanish
At the home of Katherine’s fishing fleet,
mother’s family in sinkings and
Ballycrovane boat building,
we peruse the
local art gallery
and go shopping.
Back aboard
the noise of
trawlers running
generators flat out
eventually drives
us to pick up a
quiet mooring
on the other
side of Dinish
Island. Breakfast
concluded, we
slowly motor east
to Lawrence Cove
Marina, take on
diesel and wander
the quiet village.
The skipper
reflects on the
excellent training
he received from
the now-departed
Les Glénans
sailing school.
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In tranquil Lonehort
15th August: Motoring anchorage
a few miles to Lonehort
Harbour on Bere Island, the
tricky-looking entrance is
approached with caution and
we sound our way in, slowly.
We feel very snug in this
excellent anchorage which,
to boot, has the warmest
Irish water we have swum in.
According to archaeological
investigations the Vikings
started constructing an inner
breakwater, still visible near
low water. We walk to the
adjacent army firing range
butts. Recalling days in the
army reserve, training as a
sniper, the skipper deliberates
with Katherine how the target
system and safety procedures
work. The main point made
is that, mercifully, targets do
not return fire!
In bucketing rain we stroll
back to the dinghy, such heavy
rain that Katherine’s automatic
lifejacket inflates. But rain does
not stop wine, thankfully, so a good evening and night’s sleep ensues. Next morning, while
enjoying a leisurely breakfast, we are shaken by what sounds like someone playing a kettle
drum very rapidly and loudly on our steel deck. Rushing to investigate we behold a red flag
over the butts and a line of soldiery with automatic rifles expending lethal fire.
On leaving the battleground of Bere Island we enter another. Out on Bantry Bay the
sea is churned by gannet, guillemot and gull and a whale breaches repeatedly to the
south of us ... the mackerel shoals are having a hard time. Passing south of the Cracker
Rock into Bantry harbour, we anchor north of Rabbit Island. Landing on Whiddy by
dinghy, we organise bike hire for the following day with Tim O’ Leary the ferryman.
Images of Whiddy as merely a repository for oil reserves are banished as we whizz down
the hills, hollering like children. It is one of those memorable days of summer when
the air is luxuriant with the scent of wildflowers and meadow grass. At one stage the
island was a British fortress and boasted three heavy gun batteries guarding against a
return by the French. Climbing to the main battery entrance a ‘No Entry’ sign has to be
bypassed to traverse over the trench moat into the decaying settlement, for a fine view
and a position to reflect on the existing state of a once-proud empire. Unfortunately
Bank House, the little pub at the quay of which we had great reports also, alas, has no
entry signs – ones we cannot bypass.
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18th August: The VHF carries a warning regarding Storm Ellen. Cancelling plans
to anchor at Glengarriff we slip across to Bantry marina where Michael, the marina
manager, reassures us of shelter. We stick on a few extra lines and springs. At midnight
the eerie calm is shattered by a violent burst of wind that heels the boat and thus it
howls all night, but we are on the weather shore and all is well. When the wind veers
the next day we jump around a bit, but are generally okay. As the weather looks grim
for a few days we repaint the rear cabin and Katherine plays her cello.
23rd August: The voyage home commences. Against a fresh westerly we motor-sail
back to a flat calm mooring at Dinish Island, Castletownbere. The Met Office is
warning of a new storm – Francis – but we reckon we can get to Valentia before it hits.
It is a bumpy enough ride in unstable conditions ... one can smell trouble. Arriving
a few hours ahead of the wind, we tie inside the fairly deserted Valentia pontoon.
Regardless of where we secure, we will suffer the storm’s admittedly small fetch from
some quarter. At 0200 the storm screams in from the southeast. We are battered, one
fender bursts and both of us are on the dock in horizontal rain. Pushing the boat off is
not an option, but with difficulty we insert more fenders and a tyre. By 0500 the wind
veers southwest and the pressure is off. As the storm intensifies from the west at dawn
the shelter increases – we think we made an okay choice.
26th August: Having given the sea a few days to allow the swell to lose its rage, we depart
Valentia at 1530 and catch a fair wind and tide north through the Blasket Sound. On
exiting the sound, however, the wind disappears and the confused sea tosses us around
playing havoc with the mainsail. Despite our best efforts to stabilise and flatten the
main, it shatters slides so we drop it. At 2110 we hear “Mayday relay, Mayday relay, any
in the vicinity
of Kerry Head
please respond”. In Bantry, sheltering
We respond, and from Storm Ellen
the coastguard
requests our
position, speed
and the number
of persons on
board. A man
fishing from the
rocks at Kerry
Head had been
swept into the
sea. A helicopter
and three
rescue boats are
approaching
the reported
position, but we
are 17 miles off
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and thankfully the coastguard releases us from involvement. The victim, unfortunately,
is not recovered. Pylades is well beyond Loop Head Light before the sea becomes
somewhat regular and a semblance of civilised sailing can be restored. At 0900 we
tie up at Kilronan, followed by a day of rest – it takes a least three days at sea before
one gets into the rhythm of sleep, one night always leaves us a bit shattered. Over the
next few days we walk to the Black Fort and delight in the gossip of the island. The
fishermen, and people in general, go out of their way to make us welcome.
29th August: a fresh north wind provides fast sailing back to our mooring at Parkmore.
The wind direction gives little shelter in the mooring field and our pickup buoys have
become a tangled mess. It takes an hour of work and the loss of a boat hook before we
lasso the mooring in the choppy water. Opting not to unload Pylades until the predicted
calmer conditions of the following day, we head home.
We have a 30-year-old tradition that goes back to the days of Pylades as a Sabre 27
– we sail over to Galway Docks to celebrate our respective birthdays on 13th and 14th
September. It is not easy to explain to people who drive to Galway every day why we
find this such an enjoyable experience. The satisfaction of no traffic, then finding a
vacant berth – this time the harbour master’s – buying birthday bits, seeing a film in
the adjacent Pálás cinema, chatting at the docks and an excuse to dine out. Maybe it
is simple pleasures for simple folk!
1 5 t h S e p t e m b e r : We
motor from the docks
In Valentia after across a mirror-calm bay
Storm Francis to New Quay, and tying
at Linnane’s Bar we bolt
on the timber leg. Over
the next few days, while
Pylades rises and grounds
to the rhythm of the tide,
the sails, furnishings and
books are transported home
to the attic and the shaft
and prop anodes replaced.
Finally, on 17th September,
we disconnect our timber
leg and, with a spring
tide and perfect weather,
head around the Finavarra
spit to Ballyvaughan Bay.
Approaching the bay’s
southeast corner we are
gripped by the tide and
swept in a nerve-tingling
gauntlet through the
tight gap between the reef
running out from Scanlan’s
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Black Fort at Inishmore
Island and the south shore. Then on through the shoal water of Muckinish Creek,
to pick up our winter mooring in the slack water of Béal na Clugga. We dinghy back
to our house, thanking Pylades for our adventures on the west – another great season.
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