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Being so close by we had a day out visiting Port Isaac, famous for being the setting for Doc Martin and the Poldark series amongst others. It is a tiny but charming place with tight streets, quaint shops and tea rooms along with the craggy tiny harbour. I love these unspoilt harbours that have not changed over the centuries and there is the scent of an age gone by still lingering.  The scent of a  time when wine was sipped at carved oak tables from golden goblets and the scent of a time of honour and valour, a scent of a time of smugglers and lance and sword, which I suppose is why series like Poldark were set here.

 We were fortunate to find that they were filming Doc Martin while we were there and it was fascinating to watch the proceedings as Caroline Catz (Louisa) and baby, the famous dog and of course Martin Clunes, acted out their parts. Martin Clunes kindly posed for a photograph and a brief chat between shoots with nothing being too much trouble and it really topped a lovely day.

Of course Padstow wouldn’t be Padstein without the presence of Rick Stein and he was in town for a book signing. Now, I may have got the wrong impression but he didn’t look too happy and 11am may have been a little early for him, as he struggled to speak and pose for those getting his book signed that they had just purchased and an hour of book signing is an awfully long time for  celebrity chef. Maybe he should have a chat with Martin Clunes!

It is normal for Erimar to slip port with the milk train, it comes with the territory as she chases the horizon, as the curtains are pulled open on the dawn of a new day. Squally showers chased us as we headed for Padstow, sprinkling us with the wine of life only for the sun to steal it back, until the next squall allowed us to taste the nectar once more.

As with all of our passages this time out and being quite early in the season, Erimar has been a lone yacht – scolded from the fleet – ostrocised but content. Again the sea grumbled away, agitated and threatening like a playground bully, never actually becoming violent but we were never quite sure. The Cornish coast eventually loomed proud and tall and the river Camel, toothless, sucked Erimar towards Padstow and through the gate and into the heart of the town.

The  winds and seas continued their incessant onslaught and so Dave was to say goodbye in Padstow, defeated by the sands of time but so many memories remained scrawled in the grains. Several boats were sentenced and locked away in Padstow, severed from the ocean awaiting pardon or acquittal, knowing it would come but not knowing when.  

We met Paul and Finlay, his African grey parrot, sailing single handed around Britain raising funds for Crohns  & Colitis UK and of course Dave and Kim who had been rafted against us for so long now that our boats had become gelled!

Passage:  69.89nm                                               Distance run so far: 1689.14nm 

                       If you would like to donate to the Crohns & Colitis cause please go to:   paulhardakersailing.co.uk

Erimar made her escape from Camaret like a fugitive from  justice with the tide coaxing her toward her motherland and her bow seeking the scent of home. We had the Chanel du Four, France`s last barricade to break through and we had timed it for its point of weakness and its achilles heel and hopefully off guard. The wind and sea in unison were still fighting with the enemy attempting to hold us back from the front line and keep us imprisoned within this last French bastion. The Four was not only fighting Erimar but also our coalition partner nature and gradually its resisitance weakened and not to be thwarted  we burst through its defences to continue our night passage through the western edge of the English Channel and onward to the Isles of Scilly.

Erimar sailed beautifully, steadily eating into the 120 miles and sniffing out her destination. Tiredness was cloaking over us but Dave and I kept each other awake as commercial traffic lit up the night sky whilst the radar alerted us to their presence well before they appeared. Dawn beat away the night and trawlers made for port laden with their catch heading for another pay day and the Scillies was still nowhere to be seen. As lunch time approached the Scillies protruded timidly from  its Atlantic swell, so low lying  that  Erimar was almost upon them before they could be seen. We moored  in St Mary`s next to Frasers boat having followed in the Scillonians wake, both boats being featured on the “Island Parish” programme. We spent the afternoon wandering around St Mary`s in a sleep deprived daze before succumbing to a well earned rest.

The Scillies, guarded by Bishops Rock, are a place where time has stood still, but not its prices! A place of beauty with clean fresh air and clear waters. A sanctuary for birds, flowers and plants and an inspiration for writers and artists.The islands are scattered with beautiful coves and beaches and quaint cottages, interspersed with tea rooms, cafes and restaurants eager for business and very eager to charge. A captive clientele!.

Passage: 126.08nm                                             Distance run so far: 1619.26nm

Audierne was short and sweet and Jean Louis cast us off reminding us of our forthcoming Barmouth liason.

The French waters have been like a spoilt child this time, grumpy, insolent, moody, inconsolable and selfish-no compromise. Aided and abetted by a cold,biting disdainful wind, Erimar rose to the thrill giving a lovely sail to Camaret, our last French port before our channel crossing to the Isles of Scilly

Camaret is place we know well, having wintered here when Mum was taken ill. Nothing had changed, although like everywhere else at this time of year, it was pretty much a ghost town after late afternoon but it has a special place in our hearts. With uncertain weather it would be three days before we could say Au revoir to France , until the next time.

Passage:28.23nm                                        Distance run so far:1521.41

Port Tudy slipped slowly into the past as we left with the dawn fishermen intent on netting their salary. Dave was down below, not well, catching up on sleep after a restless night. We needed to sort a batten for our mainsail so we headed to the town of Concarneau and its charming walled Ville Close and just an overnight stay. We wanted to drop in at Audierne on this trip as we had missed it out on our trip south and we managed to tie up just before dark and grab a late drink in a bar.

Audierne resorted to type in late evening, nearly closed, nearly deserted but we managed to stumble on a lovely little bar nearly open! An Irish man and his wife sat on bar stools talking to the barman and our arrival gave the barman his chance to escape. The couple delighted in engaging us in conversation and somehow I got involved deeply in discussing the whys and wherefores of the Alternative Vote, wishing for an alternative bar but the place was snug and warm. The barman was very friendly and the place had free wifi, the lifeblood for anyone on a boat so we promised to return in the morning.

It was whilst using the bar wifi that we noticed a guy at the bar speaking fluent French adorned in a Welsh cap and rugby shirt. Summoning deeply, I muttered a few Welsh words, Bora Da, Sut dach chi? and of course bendigedig and a new friend was in the bag, Jean Louis Lebegue-Jones , Captain de corvette. Jean Louis was borne in Barmouth but worked in the Navy for many years settling in Audierne. We had plenty to talk about but we were leaving to time the Raz De Sein and Jean Louis kindly cast us off, but not before agreeing to meet up in Barmouth before he competes in the 3 Peaks this year.

Port Tudy – Concarneau Passage:25nm

Concarneau – Audierne Passage :28.23nm      Distance run so far:1493.18

All that remained was to fill our water tanks and we could begin our journey home. Although we had drained our tanks for the winter, some water must have frozen in the pump and cracked it. It was good to have Dave on Board!

Erimar escaped the Arzal Barrage after nestling in the bosom of the Vilaine for so long- set free. We hoisted the sails and the genoa filled proudly as Erimar sucked air in to her lungs and resuscitated back to life as the swell held sway gaining in confidence with an endless sequence of lifting us to the heights, only to slide us down to the depths, like a manic depressive.

Wearily, we arrived in Port Tudy, a sleepy town on the Island of  Ile de Groix. In fact everywhere is sleepy in early May, if not quite comotose. Cooking was not an option after our draining 50 mile journey so we made off in the dinghy to a restaurant for steak,chips and beer!

Passage:49.63nm                                      Distance run so far:1439.95

Like a tortoise we woke Erimar from her long winter slumber as we clambered aboard her naked form, stripped bare of her seasons plummage.We had arrived on cue thanks to our regular French chauffeur Taxi Nicolas. He was at Nantes airport when we arrived holding a card with “Wood” emblazoned in black and we gathered around him like adolescence would with their teacher on a scool trip, or an avangelist preaching the word to his believers.Follow me I`m the pied piper.

Our friend Dave had joined us for this trip as he had a longing to sail the English Channel and revisit the Scillies and we were pleased to have him onboard.

With only 36 hours until our launch time was precious so we got on with the anti fouling while Mandy made the boat habitable.The winter must have been harsh like home as the cold seemed to have got into Erimar`s bones.We started the engine and the battery alarm fired into life screaming in pain as though we were forcibly bending her arthritic joints.We also thought the alternator had suffered heart failure over winter but it turned out to be merely a bad connection,like a blocked artery that cleared  and her heart  pumped her blood charging her system once more.It was good to have Dave on board, our own Mr Fixit!

Erimar had suffered a few winter niggles but once she was back on medication and in care her health steadily improved.The launch went smoothly as she was led to the waters edge, back to where she belonged,almost rid of her ailments, to be bathed in her holy water, as if on pilgrimage to Lourdes,finally free of pain.

Up river, deep in the Vilaine with Erimar stripped naked in readiness for her hibernation, it was time for our farewell barbecue .Time for reflection, time for celebration, time to give thanks for our lot. With the evenings drawing in, closing the curtains on Erimar`s stage, autumns ghostly dampness and chill was plainly evident in the Rieux air, as the charcoal aroma left it`s taste and mark on the scene. Five of us and a midnight feast like badgers frolicking away from the lair.

Foleux was to be Erimar`s nesting place for winter and we awoke, shrouded in a mist being dissolved by a dominant sun. A dominant sun turning mist into a steam rising from the water. Erimar was lifted and coaxed to the boatyard for hibernation and we bode her farewell but happy to be going back to our home, family and friends.

It was lovely to meet back up with Dave and Adrienne in the tiny harbour of Le Croisic.We had prepared for bows in berthing here but recently some small pontoon berths had been installed.As with most French marinas they just don`t do long fingers but these fingers were the shortest yet, which meant that to get on and off we were somewhere between the bow and the mast! Ok, that is a slight exaggeration but you get the idea.

Dave warned us to be careful about getting off the boat and onto the finger, because these were very springy fingers.He was not joking!Any sort of pressure meant is was highly likely to propel you into the murky waters of Le Croisic.I reckoned on Tom Daley having some sort of input into their construction.

The town is blessed with plenty of shops, restuarants and tabacs but still remains quiet and sleepy, a bit like myself at 7 in the morning!It has the added benefit of a main rail link to Paris and Nantes but it still retains it`s charm.

We enjoyed a few days at Le Croisic enjoying the company of our friends from Madoc Yacht Club.Adrienne`s sister Pat was still on her holidays and many of you will remember her from organising events in the club just a few years back, using her artistic skills to great effect.But it wasn`t so much her artisitic skills that grasped our attention, it was more to do with her psychic traits that caused a stir.

Every evening Pat delved into my past, a past even I couldn`t recall.It was spooky ,eerie, bringing back relatives and people from my childhood.Names long since gone, forgotten and filed in the annals of my mind but resurrected in a yacht`s saloon.People plucked from a time and place beyond this and forgotten, save times like this.Pat`s information was posing more questions than I had answers, causing me to question my psychic indifference.How could she know this stuff when I couldn`t recall it myself?I gave nothing as I had nothing to give.Wierd, very wierd.

We left L`Herbaudiere with the milk train and with the town still and in a peaceful slumber. Out of the marina entrance and with not a huge trip, only 20 miles, we decided to sail the whole way to La Croisic, come what may. The sails were hoisted and the engine turned off and Erimar was left at the mercy of wind and tide.

Dawn cautiously peeked through the horizon`s blinds as though it was surreptitiously spying on us, before being at ease with our presence and revealing itself in all its majestic glory. The sun, initially a weak watercolour imitation of itself, grew in splendour, offering a bold statement of intent for the dawn of a new day. With brazen power it rose in the sky in a blaze of an orange yellow, domineering yet not threatening. A blazing friendly fire. We watched in awe of nature at her finest and quietly blessed fate for letting us witness nature`s latest birth.

A fresh breeze had pushed Erimar steadily onwards but it was becoming obvious that it`s lungs were fading fast and this was not going to be a quick sail. Any wind became less and less and so did our progress and this was going to be a test of our patience. Three hours in and we noticed a mist slowly descending in front of us and besides reducing the visiblity, it meant little or no wind too.

As the fog eventually shrouded Erimar in a damp cloak and with the wind fleeing it`s dreaded enemy, – a choking grey unscented smoke – all that was left to coax Erimar towards La Croisic was a timid 1.1/2 knot tide and the promise of a hose down on arrival.

I engaged the radar to check on any looming dangers steaming out of St. Nazaire and the blips lit the screen like a looming armada. I kept the comfort blanket on but most of the shipping was on anchor and the notorious trawlers were on safe courses.

Have you ever tried to sail with no wind and little tide? It`s tough!Tough on patience and tough on the soul. How they endured “sailing” in yesteryear with no wind and the tide taking you somewhere other than your goal must have been soul destroying. But I suppose the sailors wouldn`t have known any different back then. Then there was Arthur “Tristan” Jones who would have thought it sacriledge to fire the engine up in all but a life threatening situation. Bugger that!Yes, we succumbed to the impatience of modern life and for the last hour we motored at 5 knots, which felt like we were flying in a Princess V class! We were also enticed in the knowledge that the kettle would be merrily whistling away on Silent Falcon. We had planned to meet up in La Croisic as we hadn`t seen Dave and Adrienne for 12 days and there was some serious catching up to be done.

Passage:20.70nm                             Distance run so far: 1379.32