Ireland

Date: July 21-28 2007
Boat: Fizzgig, Westerley 33

Trip: Cork; Kinsale; Baltimore; Cork

Days: 2
Skipper: John Alden
Crew: Nigel, John, Steve

Right: RYC Crosshaven:

Ryanair have delivered me to Cork in Southern Ireland for a week on Fizzgig and as it stands the weather doesn't look too promising as I exit the airport to a sky as grey as John Major's image and a light but steady drizzle. Of course this is stereotypical Irish weather but one can't help but hope for warm sunshine and a good breeze to fettle us along the coast. The taxi driver fills me in on all the local news as we wind our way down to the Royal Cork Yacht Club no less, the oldest yacht club in the world having been established in 1720, where John has berthed Fizzgig for the crew change. Looking around I initially fail to spot Fizzgig due to her smart new topsides. The scruffy (sorry John) partly stripped deck paint has been replaced with immaculate and perfectly edged light grey panels courtesy apparently of Grovsey who cast aside cravat and cigars to do a mighty fine job, a sort of 10 years younger treatment for boats. I think Dave could have found a new niche for his talents. I imagine I should perhaps remove my shoes and wait for some beautiful young porcelain skinned Japanese girl to appear sporting my tea, but alas a glance down the companionway reveals only the familiar rough beard sporting a cap and a pipe as John A emerges. The rest of the crew are already here, Nigel, John and Steve. I stow my gear in the fore-peak and we gather round to thrash out a plan for the week ahead. We decide to head west the following day for Kinsale a short hop that will get the new crew members back in the swing of things.
Cork to Kinsale
Cork it transpires is not so much a harbour as a collection of harbours, marinas and islands rather like Poole but on a bigger scale. RCYC is situated at Crosshaven a short distance from the main entrance and the first thing that strikes one is that the small charts in the Almanac and the usual details are really not enough (Of course they should never be used in isolation) unless you know the area pretty well. The proper charts expose numerous places for potential embarrassment that appear perfectly straightforward at Almanac scale. The channel into Crosshaven is typical, the outer markers being single rather than pairs and instead have a leading line. Venture too far off the line other than around high water and you may need a tow. We have no problems however and venture out into the Celtic Sea, aka North Atlantic, my first time sailing outside the confines of the English Channel and first chance to see why Ireland is called the Emerald Isle. Conditions are pretty average, it's a nice solid straightforward sail in F3-4, overcast but not raining and not too cold, perfect to get back into the boat routine. However perhaps it's just my perception but the sea here seems to somehow feel bigger and more intimidating for no good reason. There is a steady procession of swell from the Southwest, not big but purposeful and persistent like the rise and fall of a sleeping giant's chest it gently lifts and lowers Fizzgig along it's route towards Kinsale. Navigation reveals little to worry us. The cliffs here seem to plunge immediately to five or ten metres or more such that the brave could almost be temped to sail alongside and reach over to touch the rock-face. There are a few rocks but all are well marked and we can't fail to miss the Old Head of Kinsale jutting out west of Kinsale entrance and sheltering the harbour approaches. The only guide up the outer river is a light, there being no port or starboard hand buoys until you reach the narrows just before the river bends. This point is guarded over by the ruins of two impressive forts, Jame's and Charles's which would once have had us in their sights for a considerable distance. We have a choice of the yacht club or castlepark marina but decide on the closer yacht club as the weather is closing in fast and it's starting to rain. John sticks Fizzgig's nose into the marina entrance but it's quickly evident that the pontoons are all full and we pull a quick about face to avoid having to manoeuvre in the confined space. Outside the main marina there is a long visitor pontoon that is already cluttered with boats. We will have to raft up alongside a Swedish boat of a type that I don't recognise in the only really suitable gap. There is no sign of life aboard and as we come alongside realise that while the chosen boat looks only around 38 feet it's topsides are remarkably high, a big step up from our decks so we go round again to allow us all to shift our positions to suit. As we come alongside the second time the owner appears as if by magic to assist and we raft up without incident. It turns out that the boat was built in England but the Swedish owner has had it only a short time - having gone to Israel to buy from the previous owner and sail it back from there to Sweden single handed.
He has endured several big storms en route and is pleased with how his new baby handles in bad weather. We partake of beers and a fine meal at the yacht club while the locals get all of a fluster over Padraig Harrington closing in on a win in the Open. A good wind blows all night.

Kinsale to Baltiomre
The following morning dawns bright but grey and windy. We have decided to go further west and have five options depending on the weather. If conditions outside the shelter of the Old Head of Kinsale are bad - 1. turn around and return to Kinsale, maybe go to the marina rather than the yacht club, 2. Tuck into Courtmacsherry, 3. Glandore, 4. Castle Haven or all being well 5. Baltimore. Baltimore is favoured particularly by Nigel who expresses a very keen interest in rounding the Fastnet rock. If we can get to Baltimore early in the week this will be possible in a day sail from there. I have to admit I also would love to see such a fabled place if we can and I suspect Steve and the two Johns are also secretly keen. The wind has been blowing pretty much from the south west for a few days as a number of anticyclones of varying degrees follow each other along almost identical tracks which presumably has caused the persistent swell. As we exit the river entrance and head south the sea state becomes quite confused under the influence of wind, tide and the Old Head jutting out a good distance off to starboard. In fact Fizzgig is being tossed all over the place in a most uncomfortable motion under a darkening sky with the long and languorous swells of yesterday chopped up into a random combination of lazy stomach churning dips and thumping slams into short steep waves accompanied by a shower of spray. I am not feeling sick yet but having checked out the chart before we left am performing a mental estimate of the long haul to Baltimore and have come up with at least nine hours. If conditions stay like this it's going to be a very long day indeed. We continue due south not wanting to be too close in to the Old Head when we turn west. We observe a cargo ship at anchor that appears to be so close to the rocky Old Head shore that we wonder if she has dragged onto the shore overnight. However when we finally turn west and the angle of view changes she is clear of the rocks by a reasonable distance, but much closer than I would have dared go in a yacht let alone a ship, local knowledge I assume improves confidence. It had been my intention to do the navigation today but the conditions are suggesting that staying below for more than a few minutes would be inadvisable so I decide to leave the nav to Nigel and the bacon sarnies to John. Mercifully on our new course we seem to lose the short sharp waves that slam into Fizzgig with a shudder. Unfortunately this respite has come a little late for Steve who suddenly crosses to the rail and kindly donates his breakfast to the passing fish and gull population before retiring to a bunk. With Steve in the land of nod the four of us take turns to helm on the long haul down the coast. A good consistent force 4 to 5 on the port beam means we can make a steady course and a good 5-6 knots through the water as the sun begins to shine and I have to reach for the factor 50 if I am not to morph into my Lobster man alter ego by evening. When lunchtime arrives I go below to make up some cup a soups for us which also serves to get me out of the midday sun. I leave the mad dogs or Englishmen, not sure which, and descend into the cabin. The boat is still rolling significantly so making anything more demanding is pretty much out of the question and I wedge myself in the galley area, arrange four cups in the little sink and put the kettle on. Four cups because Steve is sleeping soundly and I doubt he would fancy one if I woke him. When the kettle boils I brace my feet against the bulkhead and back against the bunk post while attempting to pour boiling water into the cups arranged neatly in the sink and not all over the boat or myself. You have to try and anticipate the random motion and the kettle suspended from my hand ranges wildly over the cups sloshing water all over them like some bizarre game from the old 'It's a Knockout' where you hope to have filled all the cups before the kettle is empty. I can practically hear Stuart Hall laughing maniacally at my attempts as it appears I have little control over my pouring arm. I plonk the kettle back on the stove, crash back against the bunk post as a roll catches me out, and mix up the soups. At this point I am hit by the simultaneous smell of mushroom, chicken and vegetable. Within seconds I go from feeling fine to feeling distinctly iffy and quickly pass three cups up to the cockpit. I have to make a quick decision - get up on deck or hit the other bunk and lie down double quick. As the sun is still blazing I choose the latter, occupy the port side bunk and hold on. Fortunately the feeling of sickness quickly passes but I decide I may as well stay put for an hour or two until the sun loses some strength and catch some sleep. The familiar rushing and gurgling of water along hull and occasional fluttering of sail soon sends me off. When I awake I make bleary eyed cups of tea and venture up on deck and onto helm duty in time to take us between the
mainland and the infamous Stag rocks, scene of many a wreck along this stretch of coast including the famous Kowloon Bridge a 169,000 ton bulk ore carrier that went aground and broke up in 1986 after suffering steering failure in the worst possible place. The wreck is submerged in 36 metres. Happily it seems we won't be joining her today as conditions and visibility are now perfect. The rocks are an impressive sight jutting like giant saw blades out of the sea, there would be no gentle landing here in an emergency. We enter Baltimore in a blaze of sunshine and see that what appeared to be a space rocket on the starboard cliff top turns out to be a white painted stone marker the shape of a gherkin, a lighthouse with no light or house but visible for miles on a clear day. We tie up at the 'marina' which is basically a concrete filled barge with a small shed. Six or seven yachts are tied along the sides and across the bow which has been 'squared off' with wood decking. A rickety looking but covered ramp leads to to the top of the old harbour wall and it's a two minute walk into the little village.

Baltimore to Fastnet and return
The following day starts bright with ideal conditions and we set off down the coast that is breaking up into that tail of tattered rocks, islands, inlets and bays familiar from the TV weather maps. It would be easy to get lost in this maze. We decide to duck in between two islands and run down the backside where there is more shelter from the sea but still plenty of wind. The bright green hillsides of some of the Islands are dotted with the skeletal remains of the stone houses of long dead communities that once fished these waters. It seems a remote place and when the sun is shining you can see the appeal, but it must have been a very harsh place to live in the winter. As we exit the islands we catch our first sight of the legendary Fastnet rock in the distance gleaming in the sunshine, it doesn't look so bad. However it seems like the God of the sea can not allow such a place to be visited in benign conditions and it is as if the fabled rock has spotted us creeping out towards it. The weather starts to close in, the sky darkens gradually and we are all pulling on our jackets and reaching for hats. With nothing on the horizon except the rock your sense of scale is diminished and it seems to take an age to close on the famous lighthouse which seemed so close, and by the time we get there the boat is rocking, the wind is whipping around us and it's raining but we manage to circle this final outcrop of land and take some souvenir pictures of a slightly bedraggled crew. We have a great sail back to Baltimore by which time its really starting to blow and the shelter of the harbour is welcome. We start to prepare the boat but quickly encounter a problem. As we take in the foresail the furling line jams solid, it's cold and its pouring with rain. I take the helm and take us around in a slow circle so that the two Johns can venture onto the foredeck and see what can be done as the rain gets ever heavier. Unfortunately it's not good news, the line is tangled in the drum so tightly that it can't be shifted. The only option is to take the sail down manually and a struggle ensues with the wind trying to fill and whip the sail away as it's lowered, while the two Johns grab, hug and wrestle the soaking material, until the sail is finally down and lashed along the port side rail. At last we tie up back alongside the concrete barge, all drenched. The whole structure is lifting and falling on the swell as we adjust the lines in the pouring rain under leaden sky. Yes this is what sailing is all about! We settle down to dinner with that curious feeling that one gets when you have somehow enjoyed an experience that should on paper have been utterly miserable. Shortly after dinner I am at the sink washing up when muffled shouts are heard above the howling wind and I venture up on deck to find a yacht trying to raft alongside. It's bedraggled crew pass us some lines and they have clearly had a tough trip. One of their number has had a bad fall and dislocated his shoulder and is packed off to hospital where it transpires that it was also broken.Being Irish however he is more than fit enough to appear in the pub the following day and gets us a drink to thank us for our help tying them up the previous evening.

Although Baltimore is well sheltered it appears that a swell can enter the harbour if conditions are correct which of course according to the law, they are. It's now dark, the rain is still drumming down and the wind howling in the rigging. The swell is rolling in and the combination of elements is causing the two boats rafted together to pull and snatch on the shore lines with a regular creak and bang, it's going to be an uncomfortable night. We settle in to drinks and a game of cards, five of us huddled around the cabin table in the dim light of the saloon. It's starting to look worryingly like that scene from Jaws and I begin to wonder if we will succumb to alpha male syndrome, start comparing scars and swapping elaborate horror stories while singing obscure sea shanties in a drunken drawl. It occurs to me that my only scar is a tiny mark on my left knee obtained when I fell off my bike aged seven while dismounting hurriedly in a friends front garden. Disappointingly it required no stitches, merely a sturdy sticking plaster. Looking around the table John has the look of a man who must surely expose the hideous marks and amazing tale of an encounter with a giant squid and a boat hook or at very least the landing of an oversize carp with the ancient fishing rod that has been lashed to Fizzgig's back-stay for at least a thousand years. Nigel also must surely have had an encounter with a mad cow or two in his work with DEFRA. Creak, Bang! and Fizzgig again shudders on another big swell and I secretly wonder if our lines will be sufficient to hold us to the concrete dock if this continues all night. John does not show any signs of concern however as he pours over the complexities of his current hand so I figure we will be OK and think instead about the game at which I seem to be appallingly bad. The idea is to gain as few points as possible with each hand and thus far everyone else seems to have between ten and fifty while I have something over five hundred! If I continue like this I can see Nigel reaching for the mobile to call it in to Norris McWhirter and claim a potential record while the ghost of Roy Castle dances through the gloomy cabin playing a jaunty tune on his trumpet and proclaiming to all "The worst ever score at Hearts was achieved in 2007 by.........". The rocking and banging of the snatching lines does indeed continue all night, the noise seemingly amplified by the small space, which makes sleeping in the fore-peak very difficult for me at least. I am shuddered back to consciousness on a regular basis. Dawn finally breaks with a brighter sky. The rain has stopped, the wind has lessened but is still strong and the swell continues to grab hungrily at Fizzgig's sturdy hull. Peering out of the hatch I can see that the Irish boat is still alongside and there is a smattering of blue sky appearing over the great white rocket on the hillside that marks the entrance to Baltimore. The weather may be improving but it's unlikely we will be able to sort out the head-sail if the wind does not abate significantly.
The sun is out and while it's not hot it's not cold either so myself and Steve set off to explore Baltimore, which doesn't take long as it is still a tiny village, albeit one with big plans. A new complex of holiday homes has just been completed and there are plans for a proper marina to try and attract more visitors. They already have quite an established reputation for good diving, partly due to the number of wrecks available to explore and there are several dive schools dotted around. There is also a little pub with an odd name - The Algiers which turns out to be a reference to the Sack of Baltimore in 1631 when Algerian pirates raided the village and took away over one hundred young men and boys to slavery. We check out the recently restored manor house which belonged to the O'Driscoll clan which dominated the town from the twelfth century and then take the walk up to the great stone rocket that stands on the high cliff harbour entrance that is surrounded by vicious looking rocks. The beacon was built by the British following the 1798 Irish Rebellion and is known locally as Lot's wife. By the time we return to Fizzgig the wind has abated sufficiently to get the Genoa back up and sort out the furling line which although we manage to fix still feels unusually stiff and heavy to pull. It will have to do however.

Baltimore to Cork
We bid farewell to Baltimore and the white stone rocket and set off for a return to Cork, admiring the high green topped cliffs off to port. Before we left we listened to the forecast. John has been designated skipper for the day and John A asks how much sail he wants. John decides to go for two reefs in the main. The sun is shining but quite a big swell has built coming from the open sea and running west to east along the coast. Fizzgig rides them quite easily however and we make good progress with a steady force 3 coming over the starboard quarter. Around lunchtime we spot a large trawler that is not quite what it appears. Our course takes us closer and we observe through the binoculars that he is not fishing and in fact the vessel is too pristine to be a trawler. We suspect she is doing some sort of survey. Trying to fix her in the binoculars illustrates the size of the swell as she disappears completely when we sink into a trough despite her high profile and relatively close proximity. The wind too is freshening but with the bright warm sunshine everything seems just fine. Nigel is happy below doing the nav and john decides to go down for an afternoon nap and I take my turn on the helm. The strengthening wind and following sea conspire periodically to try and throw the boat round to port, three or four big swells will push us along nicely and the helm is quite easy, but then every so often the bow will suddenly start to swing round and a mighty heave is required to bring her back on course. I try to anticipate the big ones with limited success but manage to keep us on course. The wind has become unpredictable, gusting suddenly by 15 knots in the blink of an eye and when Fizzgig is propelled by both crest and gust simultaneously the log speed flickers up to 10 knots. I am happy to hand over to John when my two hours on the helm are up.
Nigel pops his head up to suggest we need to head a little further offshore and we do so, but the wind is becoming even more gusty and John suggests we reduce the head-sail. This proves to be hard work as the boat is rolling quite a bit and its difficult to keep ones balance and haul on the furling line which is still quite stiff despite our repairs. Twice I fall forward onto the cockpit lockers and have to regain my footing while trying not to let the line go too slack, aware that even though I have it round the winch a strong gust at the wrong moment could see us with an enlarged rather than reduced head-sail. At the third attempt the sail is reduced by half. I am glad that John decided to go with two mainsail reefs from the start so that we don't now have to venture out of the cockpit. The reduced head-sail improves the handling but the swells keep coming one after the other, powering us along and the log flickers to 13 briefly with a mighty gust in assistance. I guess these sort of conditions are pretty ordinary for experienced sailors as with all said and done the wind strength is not that great and the sea not that big, but for the likes of me it's new territory. It's really the unpredictability that's making it difficult, one moment the wind is 15 knots and the next it's nearing 40. I feel a bit apprehensive because if conditions get any worse I really don't have much idea what to do. We are powering along and I take the main sheet in hand ready to spill some wind in the worst gusts. Half an hour later John A appears bleary eyed in the hatchway. A look about and John feels we are getting to far out and need to head effectively dead downwind for a while. John takes over at the helm and we head in towards land. Coming up from below during something of a lull John takes us dead downwind and for a few minutes things quieten down. I rather stupidly decide I can put the main sheet down and relax back, when suddenly Johan is surprised by a mighty gust and swell combination that has Fizzgig careening round in a sweeping arc, the sails fill and press us over, John calls to let go the main sheet, bugger!, I make a grab for the sheet but the momentum has us all rolling backwards away from it as the boat tips over. Pushing myself forward I make a second grab and get my hands around the rope, I try and snatch it from the jaws, fail, try again and again, fail, then third time lucky and the line comes free from the jaws of the XXXXX and the line whips through in a rush, fortunately more by luck than judgement I don't try to control it, the sail spills some wind and we avoid the impending broach. Fizzgig pops back up and John resumes course with his usual nonchalant confidence. It seems to take a long time to get back to that familiar distance from land that we normally frequent, but as we do so the conditions start to decline and we head into Cork without further incident.

Littlehampton 2007

Date: ??
Boat: Blue Scherzo, Sadler 32

Trip: Portsmouth; Littlehampton;

Days: 2
Skipper: Gerry Raby
Crew: Jennifer, Doug,Val Dibble

Right: Val hands Gerry the provisions:






A weekend trip from Portsmouth to Littlehampton and back turns into a one way trip to littlehampton and a train back as the weather intervenes.

An eventful trip started with a fine spring evening down at Hardway making Blue Scherzo ready as we waited for sufficient tide to get away from the pontoon. Gerry called a crew meeting following the usual safety brief and suggested we could set out tonight if we wished on a night sail to Chichester and anchor in Bracklesham Bay or pick up a sheltered buoy in Ichenor depending on the weather and sea state. This option would not only give us some more night hours and experience but also allow us to meet the Chichester club boats for the sail up to Littlehampton the following morning. We decide after much discussion to go and we exit the main entrance to Portsmouth Harbour at dusk and head up through the submarine gap towards Chichester for a brisk dash up the coast. I decide to spend most time below to brush up on my Navigation which of course is much more important when the familiar visual views of the coastline are denied by the darkness.

When we arrive at Bracklesham Bay conditions appear ideal for a night at anchor, flat sea, light offshore breeze and consulting the chart we find a good spot with plenty of sea room but well out of the main channel. My only concern is that the chart does not show any anchorage points in the bay. It's pretty obvious why - rapidly shallowing waters that dry in places and several old wrecks marked, clearly not a place to be when there are onshore winds blowing. However the wind is light and offshore, the sea is flat and the weather forecast shows nothing to worry about. We find our spot with the GPS, check against the bearings of the navigation lights for the entrance to Chichester, test that the anchor appears to be set ok and settle down for the night. A few hours later we find another reason for there being no Anchor areas marked as a steady light swell has the boat rocking uncomfortably from side to side all night long. I didn't get much sleep rolling about in my bunk. Dawn was a welcome sight and I went on deck to observe the exposed wreck of a part of the D-Day Mulberry harbour complex as it was just past low water, happily it was exactly where it was expected to be and a quick check of the GPS and chart showed that we had not moved. It was a good exercise in both navigation and anchoring, but if the motion is that pronounced in such benign conditions I wouldn't recommend anchoring here even in excellent conditions unless you can sleep in a washing machine.

Saturday morning we set off for Littlehampton via Selsey Bill and the Looe channel.
The weather has deteriorated slightly and we sail in sun, rain, gloom but fairly steady winds. On checking the Almanac for the harbour I find a warning of strong tidal flow across the entrance at our approximate arrival time. When we reach a couple of miles outside Gerry decides that since I have checked up on the Pilotage I should take the boat in. I check the Almanac again and take a deep breath as I have little experience of helming a boat into a busy harbour and this one is quite narrow with a strong tide across the entrance. I am nervous inside. I get out of the way of an incoming fishing boat and take up position to account for the tidal flow and turn up towards the entrance. All is going well and as the end of the longer harbour wall to port slips by I begin to wonder what all the fuss in the Almanac is about as I haven't had to correct and we are not being pushed across the entrance in any significant manner, easy!. The next thing mentioned is a sandbank that piles up against the port side wall just about opposite the end of the much shorter starboard hand wall. Now perhaps to a more experienced sailor this would have been a clue, but not to me. A boat is coming out and moving over towards me to avoid the sandbank. The channel is now getting quite narrow for two boats to pass, but I can't do anything now other than keep well to starboard but we should clear him quite comfortably. It's at this point we see what almost appears to be a veritable whirlpool dead ahead, the vicious cross tide has appeared! and it is also obviously responsible for the sandbank. - As they used to say in Cathphrase (should I admit to knowing this) "The clues are there". The water is suddenly very choppy and the boat is pushed sideways towards the path of the oncoming boat. I pull the tiller over but we are still moving towards the middle of the channel. I pull the tiller hard over and the boat is now heading directly at the starboard harbour wall but still slipping sideways. Gerry, the skipper is on the foredeck and pointing frantically to starboard with that "oh shit" sort of look on his face but I don't have either the time or the inclination to tell him that the tiller is already hard over. I reach down and apply a few more revs and finally she comes over and the outgoing boat passes with plenty of clearance. Fortunately I remember to straighten her up again quickly before we go on to ram the harbour wall. Once inside the protection of the Starboard wall it all calms down. A bit hairy for a while but all is fine and I take the boat up to the new town pontoons and raft alongside Taransay Moor. I am glad to kill the engine. Later I am glad to hear all the other crews remarking on the difficult entrance.

Gery takes advantage of the sunny afternoon to fix his wind instruments and we winch him up the mast so that he can change the windex. A small crowd gather to watch him dangle precariously form the masthead, but all work is completed without bloodshed and we all enjoy a warm sunny evening.

On Sunday the crews of Blue Scherzo, Taransay Moor, Summer Song and Lady J take a local river boat up the river Arun to Arundel where we spend the day sightseeing, or in the case of myself, Betty, Colin and Sandi, at he pub. We take a walk up to the Black Rabbit for some lunch.

The plan is to leave on the early tide at around 3am Monday morning to return to Portsmouth but unfortunately the weather forecast is not good, Force 6 to 7 possibly gale force 8 imminent is the evening report and sure enough a walk to the end of the harbour wall shows that the wind is already building significantly. We have a conference and decide to defer the decision and see if it has blown through. We get up at 3am and the wind is howling in the rigging. A call to the local coastguard reveals that the sea state is rough to very rough, a gale force 8 warning is about to be issued and that the entrance to the harbour is considered dangerous in such conditions. We inform them that we will be staying put and return to bed.

We now have another decision to make - virtually everyone has to return to work tomorrow so we must sail on the next tide to get back in time. We wait to see if conditions abate but by noon its obvious that we must bite the bullet and return to Portsmouth by train and attempt to recover the boats the following weekend.
Thus a motley bunch of grubby yobs appear at the local railway station toting bags and as much other kit as they can carry for the ignominious trip back, cursing the unpredictable English weather.

Below: A delightful sunset gives no indication of the weather to come:

Biggin Hill

Below: Formation of Spitfires and Hurricane:


Another non sailing blog but this is an easy way to give friends access to photos.




A trip to the Biggin Hill Air Show made a change as I don't normally do air shows, the last one I attended being a godzillion years ago at Farnborough which was an absolute nightmare to get out of I seem to recall. No repeat of that however as Biggin Hill was a fabulous example of how to run such an event (unless of course I was just plain lucky) I drove to Biggin Hill, got straight in with less than 5 minutes of waiting and similarly less than 10 minutes to get out and minimal traffic on the way home despite it being well attended.

The show was also excellent with some superb flying displays. I would recommend this show even to people like me who only have a mild interest in historic aircraft.

Spitfire and Eurofighter in formation:








Below: ME109 and inappropriate VW:











A Spitfire comes into land:








Below A P51 Mustang awaits its display:











Hurricane flanked by three Spitfires:













Spitfire:











Mustang banks away:














Below: B17 does a low level pass with simulated engine fire:









B17:
Lancaster:


















Below: B17 escorted by Mustang:




































Below: B17 lands and parks up:

Boat Handling

Date: February 03-04 2007
Boat: Fizzgig

Trip: Chichester; Gunwarf Keys; Chichester;

Days: 2
Skipper: John Alden
Crew: David Bennett, Jane, John Anstice

Right: A Hallberg Rassy races into Chichester:

The plan for the boat handling weekend was to spend most of Saturday picking up buoys and pontoon bashing before heading off to meet Blue Scherzo at Gunwarf Keys in Portsmouth in the shadow of the infamous Spinnaker tower.

We found a suitable long and clear pontoon around Itchenor to practise coming alongside and took turns in helming and crewing. In particular it is not the actual handling of the boat that is the most significant factor - it's the decisions taken about the approach that can make the difference between a nice easy gentle stop and a last minute abort to avoid a thump. Not that anyone had to perform such an abort. In the perfect conditions everyone brought the boat alongside in a slow and controlled manner.

We had a gentle wind blowing us onto the pontoon and small tide against our direction of approach to start with, however by the time it was my turn the tide had turned and our little circuit would mean I would be coming alongside with the tide rather than against, making it more difficult to stop the boat. John pointed this out, but as the tide was only gently running with us I decided to to continue because I wanted to be forced to use a touch of reverse to see what happens. Sure enough despite coming in slowly the boat was not going to stop unless either I used some reverse motor or the crew stopped us with the lines. As we came alongside I applied a small burst of reverse and the boat stopped and the crew stepped ashore and secured with no fuss. However as DB pointed out, the burst of reverse had the effect of slightly nudging the bow away from the pontoon - fine in these calm conditions but with a stronger tide and more power required to stop the boat, the bow may have swung away and prevented the crew from stepping ashore. I guess I should have had the rudder in position ready to try to counter the swing.

Next it was picking up a buoy. The tip here was to observe how boats of similar size and type were lying in relation to their buoys - the direction and to which side of the bow the buoy was lying, and then if possible approach from this direction. As always it seems that getting the speed right is critical, too slowly and the boat may drift past on tide or wind, but too fast will require some reverse and the inevitable prop wash effect, probably fine if you know the boat well but not easy for the novice or in an unfamiliar boat.

These weekends are of great benefit, to me at least, as I retain far more information from 'doing things' than I do from reading about them. I think we could probably all think of the factors to consider from the comfort of our armchairs, but in the heat of the moment with other boats milling about and numerous distractions, crew to organise etc its not so easy to remember everything. But by doing, and watching that buoy drift tantalisingly out of reach of the boat hook because you approached from the wrong angle its more likely you will remember next time.

After lessons are over we sail on to Gunwarf Keys via the Dolphin barrier gap. The entry to Gunwarf is slightly tricky. Yachts are advised to call the Harbour Master and ask for permission to cross the main channel at Ballast. This is because of the car ferries that can suddenly emerge from the terminal which is right next door and the Fast Cat service which docks just the other side of Gunwarf. We gain permission and have just started to cross when John advises the helm to turn around and return to Ballast. Here is another lesson - my ear and mind are not yet tuned to the radio. Although the HM had given us permission to cross, a few moments later one of the ferries advised that they were about to leave and asked if Fizzgig had heard their message - well I hadn't, but fortunately John had. The thing is that its actually quite difficult in the failing evening light to see the entrance to Gunwarf from Ballast on the other side of the channel. However after the ferry departed we crossed without incident and found our way into the little marina.

Gunwarf is crowded around with restaurants and bars and of course overshadowed by the Spinnaker tower which looks quite impressive bathed in its purple night lights. Its a shame that this landmark has to be mocked and ridiculed having joined The Dome and Wembley stadium among others on the growing list of bungled projects. We settle in for a few drinks while we wait for Blue Scherzo to arrive, then troop off ashore for some food. Unfortunately it proves difficult to find anywhere that can cater for 10 at this hour, but eventually the Tapas joint agrees that we can have a table in an hour, so we all troop back to BS for some more pre-dinner drinks.

I like Tapas but for a table of 10 its actually a little impractical. First everyone has to choose 3 dishes - and hopefully we don't all go for the same ones. Then when they arrive everyone has to remember what they asked for as the table piles high with dishes it gets tricky to actually get hold of what you want which frustrated a few, mind you it wasn't anything that a few bottles of wine couldn't sort out. Following the meal we all piled aboard Fizzgig for a nightcap of more wine, and by now most of Fizzgig's crew had shall we say, had a few. By 2am myself and DB were giggling like a couple of schoolboys over the most dreadful jokes culminating in 5 minutes of uncontrolled laughter over an appallingly bad story about a Zebra. Fortunately the alcohol overdose and late hour meant a rapid decent to sleep on what was to be a very cold night. I awoke at about 5am with my feet freezing against the bulkhead in the rear cabin and thanked God that I had packed some headache pills.

The shower facilities at Gunwarf were new, spacious and clean, definitely some of the best to be found around the Solent. The only negative point about them being that they are hidden away inside the complex behind the Spinnaker Tower and one almost needs to resort to charts and GPS to find them. Certainly had the office not been staffed they would have been difficult to find. Sunday saw us have a leisurely breakfast of sausage and bacon sandwiches before leaving on a gentle sail back to Chichester during which we did some heave to and Man Overboard practise which was particularly worthwhile.

Random Photos

Mike Duke handles Eliona on a bleak March weekend while Mark admires Blue Scherzo's smart newly painted hull:

















Jane adopts the unorthadox helming position required on Eliona for those under 6'4 tall and Mark explores the wreck of the Whip on the shoreline at Hardway, an ordinary barge with a extraordinary story:

RYA Diesel Engine Course

This year I have decided to try (no guarantees available) and take things a little more seriously on the sailing front. While I passed my RYA Day Skipper Navigation theory some time ago I haven't really taken full advantage of the trips to increase my skills significantly. I have tended to go along and 'enjoy the ride' rather than using them to improve my skills which is easy to do as there are always far more experienced crew on board to do the thinking for you.

As part of this change of attitude I decided to do the RYA Diesel Engine course. I tracked one down with a little company called Mustang Sailing based near Eastbourne. Mustang are only a small organisation and it took a bit of chasing to get onto the course as the chap on the phone was never actually in the office to take all my details when I called. This made me a little worried that the quality of the course may leave a bit to be desired. My fears were not improved when I eventually found my way to an obscure Farm near Arlington and found only two others on the course, although the organiser did say that they normally restrict the numbers to eight or less.

However the course proved to be a great success.
At the appointed time the trainer appeared and shepherded us through the farm buildings to his workshop in a converted barn. All around the bleating and mooing of animals in adjacent barns and fields made a surreal contrast to the workshop full of mechanical paraphernalia.

The workshop had four or five different types of Diesel engine of various ages and designs with parts cut away or exposed such that turning the flywheel by hand allowed you to see how all of the various internal and external parts moved. He took us right through the concepts and functions of the engine and all of its parts and support systems, fuel supply, oil system, electrical, cooling, showing design variations on the various cut away engines. He also had dismantled injection pumps, fuel injectors and even turbo chargers and explained how each worked and the common problems associated with each.

There was a modern Volvo Penta marine engine on a rig with all ancillaries. This one could be started and run. On this engine we all got to do the main routines - changing the fuel & air filters, oil filter, impeller, adjust the tappets and bleed air throughout the fuel system. A serious lecture on how failing to open the sea cock for the cooling system can cause overheating of the exhaust and potential fire. Additionally you could practice dropping tiny screws into inaccessible places and spilling diesel fuel over just about everything without the consequent hours of cursing and fiddling that would normally ensue when performing such tasks on a boat.

The advantage of an engine on a rig like this is obvious – everything is clear and accessible, parts can be properly identified and routine tasks will never be easier to practice than here. Change an impeller? no problem mate, 2 minute job!, Fuel filters and bleed?, 5 minutes easy! For an extra fee Mustang may be prepared to dangle you from a trapeze into a dark box partly filled with a foul smelling cocktail of water, fuel, oil and 20 years of old biscuit crumbs in order to make it more realistic, but then most owners get to do this every couple of weeks anyway.

Although I was already fairly familiar with engines in general, having had to take most of my old Mini and VW Scirocco petrol engines apart on a few occasions this was all a long time ago and I knew very little about Diesels and the differences for a marine engine. For the last 6 years or so I have been running VW Turbo Diesel cars, but being excellent modern designs I rarely ever lift the bonnet (I sold my Mk3 Golf at 217,000 miles without a major breakdown). Also the engine management systems mean I leave it all to the garage these days so this course was a refreshing chance to get back to basics and get the soft office hands dirty. It was good to get to actually do the jobs rather than just sitting in a classroom looking at slides and handouts. The tutor was both an engineer and Yacht master instructor so was full of interesting advice and stories. We broke at lunchtime for a pub lunch in a local place dating from 1733 that had a splendid old open fire.

I would recommend this course and Mustang Sailing to anyone who owns or plans to sail regularly. With their current facilities I would say that more than four students would be too many if you want to get hands on doing things so ask how many people are booked in and try and get one that’s not fully subscribed. However Mustang are in the process of moving the course to new premises in the near future so they may have more equipment available.

Ontario Road Trip

Ok, not a sailing trip and over a year late but anyway.....

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When my oldest friend Simon suggested we do a driving tour of Ontario along with his brother Nick I thought it could be either an adventure or an ordeal. After all it's all very well whiling away the odd evening at the pub with friends, but being cooped up together in a Camper Van or RV as all the trendiest folk seem to call them for 15 days could prove tricky. Which would it be? Well in the end the answer is probably "both", however we all still appear to be friends although it was a close run thing at times!

Day 1: 27/09/05: We fly to Ontario
It all goes remarkably well, no delays or any problems and several hours later we are trying to find our way from Toronto airport to the Hilton hotel for an overnight stay. We have booked a "Midi RV" over the Internet from Canadream and wonder if it will really be as good as the web site suggests. Being English we like to speculate that it's going to be some sort of home converted transit van rather than the splendid and plush modern vehicle adorning the web site. However we can't pick it up until the following morning hence it's the Hilton for the evening.


Day 2: 28/09/05: Downtown Toronto to Presquile, High Bluff Camp, site 67

After a hearty and expensive Hilton breakfast Canadream have sent a van to pick us up and take us to their HQ to sort out the vehicle. It's all going like a well oiled machine except that the pick up is 30 minutes late and Simon is annoyed and champing at the bit to get underway. At Canadream we find that they don't have the vehicle we ordered. - ahh here we go, enter the rickety old Beverley Hillbillies charabanc amid a backfire and a cloud of black smoke we think. But no, my god they have given us a virtually brand new "Maxi" and frankly it's bloody humongous, at least 3 times the size of anything I have ever driven. I break out in a cold sweat at the prospect of manoeuvring this leviathan on the 'wrong' side of the road. Jesus what have we done? I wonder how we can survive 15 days without an accident.

The van has everything - double sink unit, gas cooker with extractor, fridge, freezer, microwave, shower, toilet, table with 4 seats, movable captain's chair, 30 amp power, water, generator, double bed at the back and two singles above the cab, all in perfect condition. Things couldn't be better except that Simon has had half a dozen misunderstandings over agreement details, and his credit card (brand new and previously unused) has been rejected. He has to call the UK to get it activated and like Queen Victoria is not amused.

The formalities completed we all stare at each other - Who is going to drive the first day!! Nick is volunteered as he is the only one of us who has experience of driving large vehicles and we set off on our grand adventure heading for Presquile National Park. It's not that far, we have planned each day such that we don't have to spend the whole day driving and can spend time exploring places of interest. However first we need to find our way out of Toronto and sure enough we go wrong within 500 yards and head off on a tour of the Toronto freeway system. The drive is a roller-coaster, the traffic heavy and exits come and go before we can identify them but Nick is doing well and soon we are well on our way down highway 401 running alongside Lake Ontario heading ironically for Brighton. Ironically because we live in Crawley in the UK which is just 30 minutes from the 'real' Brighton where I have worked for several years. Amazingly our navigation is faultless and we find the Park with ease and pull into site 67 on the High Bluff camp which is on the banks of Lake Ontario. Relieved to have made it intact we hook up the mains power, crack open a beer and after a walk to explore the nearby island and a recce of the camp to find the showers we watch the sun go down over the lake.


Day 3: 29/09/05 : Presquile to Charleston Lake , Bayside Camp, site 253
During the night a big storm, the remnants of a Florida Hurricane blows in, signalled by the van rocking around alarmingly in a howling wind. I wake in the early hours and look out of the little side window.

Below: Brothers Simon & Nick at Charlestone Lake
There is just enough light to watch the rollers coming in and crashing on to the beach barely 10 yards behind the van as the rain rattles off the roof. Oh dear, I hope this is not a taste of things to come. I try to get some sleep and not imagine the van being washed into Lake Ontario which absurdly seems to be a possibility. Fortunately it had blown through by 10am and we ventured out to find that the people in the camp opposite had lost two of their tents and were hunkered down in their 4x4's which they had moved in the night to try and protect the remaining tent. Pieces of tree and tent litter the site. Today it's my turn to drive, I am nervous, never having driven a vehicle of such size and I set off slowly around the site, manoeuvring carefully around the multitude of fallen branches and general debris. We are heading for Charleston Lake a little further inland but intend to stop in Kingston for a boat trip in the Thousand Island area which is recommended in the guide. I find to my relief that the RV is remarkably easy to drive, providing you concentrate and don't hit the brake with your left foot! (Driving a left hand drive automatic vehicle when you are used to right hand drive manual tends for some reason to have you using left foot on the brake rather than the right. Unfortunately the left foot seems to have no refinement whatsoever, being used to operating the clutch. A left foot brake therefore tends to be more like a severe emergency stop than a gentle slow down) An hour into the journey we are waved down by residents and Police as a tree is down across the road ahead and Electricity wires dangle everywhere. I have to slip around it using a resident's horseshoe shaped drive and he graciously guides me though the trees still standing that threaten to ensnare our 4 metre high beast. Fortunately I get it round and we continue, my confidence growing. Simon is navigating and has made no comment on my driving but I can feel that he is as nervous as a kitten. Later we have to make a diversion due to another obstruction. The good news however is that the sun is starting to push through the leaden sky and the rain has stopped. It's been a traumatic and demanding start to my RV driving career. Subsequently it gets tougher as I have to get the damn thing on a tiny local ferry near Glenora to cross a tributary of the St Lawrence river. The guys operating the ferry come over and I admit to my novice RV driving status. I expect the sort of sighs and mutterings about f***wit tourists that would be de-rigour in miserable old England, but to my surprise they are friendly and can't help enough. They ensure I have a nice big space in the middle and I get on without incident. In Kingston I have a torrid time negotiating the busy town while simultaneously looking for somewhere to park. At one point I clip the kerb and Simon flinches involuntarily but no harm is done. Eventually I spot a car park with plenty of open space. The classic error we have already realised is to drive into a busy and confined car park and suddenly notice you have no room to reverse back out or turn around. We park up and go for some Lunch. Unfortunately the boat tours have been cancelled due to the weather so after lunch I have to negotiate another ferry, this time across to Wolfe Island for a quick tour before we return and make our way to Charleston, arriving around 5pm. Charleston Lake is beautifully tranquil and at this late time in the season very quiet. Simon is fretting about the lack of autumn colours he wants for his photography.We explore the Lake area, take some photos and return to the van to make dinner. Nick decides to try and make a camp fire while I make dinner on the RV cooker. He soon has a reasonable pile of wood that he is trying to ignite while Simon advises, much to his brother's annoyance. They seem to bicker over everything, however Nick eventually has a good fire going in the site provided grate and we eat in its warmth on the site bench. All of the National Park camp sites had a place to make a fire and a table with benches in the bay provided for each vehicle. The sites were well kept and spotlessly clean as were the toilets and showers. Each vehicle has its own little bay among the trees and you wind your way around the tight little lanes trying not to hit low branches while you look for your allotted bay. In fact finding your bay in the often dense woodland can be more tricky than finding the park itself.

We booked most of our sites over the Internet on the National Parks web site (which is a little confusing to use at first) and had no problems. Each park has an office at which to check in, but at this time of year they are not all staffed. This is not a problem as free maps of the site can still be obtained from dispensers and if you haven't already paid over the Internet there are forms and an 'honesty' box into which to place your form and payment. I can't imagine this system working in England these days.


Day 4: 30/09/05: Charleston Lake to Fitzroy, Two Rivers Camp site, 223

The drive to Fitzroy on the Ottawa river bordering Quebec is quite straightforward. I like Fitzroy. In fact at the end it is my favourite place despite the imposing Hydro Electric Power Station that dominates the area. We hire an Indian canoe here and paddle around the large lakes. Everything is on a giant scale here and at this time of year you can paddle the lakes and not see a singe person. As we paddle around the back of one the islands we observe the big warning signs regarding the Power station inlets. They are not joking, we notice that we are tracking both forwards and gradually sideways and at one point with the huge towers and cables rising above the lake we have to paddle quite hard against a slow but persistent current drawing us gradually towards the station inlets. Fortunately we manage to paddle past and the station makes an impressive sight if you like industrial installations. Past the Power Station we emerge onto an even bigger lake and into a persistent wind making it quite choppy. The lake is also worryingly shallow at points, stones scraping the bottom of the canoe and it occurs we could get stuck aground hundreds of yards from shore if we are not careful. The water depth varies from a couple of inches to several feet even out in the centre. We are heading for the landmark church at the far end of the lake but halfway there it is obvious we will not make it as its just getting too rough. We head inshore and take a rest on a floating pontoon anchored about 200m from the banks. After this we hug the shore and head back. At times we have to man handle the canoe through the shallows. We also take a hike along the river bank here which is quite beautiful. With nobody around it feels quite remote you could almost imagine being the first people to see the lakes.

Day 5: 31/09/05 - 02/10/05: Fitzroy to Davidson, Esprit Rafting Centre



Today we are taking a diversion from Ontario into Quebec to a place called Davidson on the Ottawa river in order to go white water rafting with Esprit rafting:

http://www.espritrafting.com



We are staying at the Esprit site which has no power hook up so we can use the on board generator and see how it works. Unfortunately it doesn't, try as we may we can't get it to start. However a quick call to Canadream sorts it out. The vehicle is fairly new and the generator probably hasn't been used before, we simply needed to change a setting and it started.

We are going to spend the next day rafting the Ottawa river. Esprit are very welcoming. It's a week early for Thanksgiving but they are having their big meal tonight as they will be closed by the real weekend and we are kindly invited to join them which is delightful, as is the magnificent sunset over the river viewed from their large deck area. There are a large group of young backpackers camping with them, mostly Japanese who will be joining us on the rafting trip tomorrow. Canada is proving a revelation from England as everyone is so friendly and helpful. The following day we head off to the river on a rickety old school bus. The staff are all young, confident and funny as they brief us on what to do should we fall out etc etc. We all have to introduce ourselves to the rest of the bus along with an interesting fact. It's a good icebreaker and everyone is upbeat and amused as some people are very funny. At the river head we sign the inevitable disclaimers and get our kit of helmet, life jacket and paddle before assembling at our designated rafts. We join with our guide and some young Australians and set off into the rapids. I am at the back nicely out of the way as our guide, a twenty something girl drills us with the paddling regime - "Easy left", "Easy forward", "Hard back", "Hard left", "Down!". At the first rapid I am told to sit at the front and I take up position blissfully unaware of the reason. We shoot the rapid then turn back and paddle hard back upstream. As we reach the rapid we are shot into a sort of whirlpool where a large wave of freezing water smashes rather amusingly into the face of whoever is at the front of the raft - me. I am knocked back into the raft by the force of water and everyone is most amused. I get hit twice more before we swap positions and a couple of the Aussies get the same treatment. We set off downstream and shoot several more rapids each slightly bigger than the last. It's really quite exhilarating and great fun despite my drenching. We take a break and the guides take us out of the rafts and up the river bank to a Granite pinnacle that towers twenty feet or so above the fast flowing river for a personal challenge for each of us to jump into the river. It's an intimidating drop and I look with trepidation over the edge but after a few seconds take the jump into the cold water below. To my surprise the brothers are not keen, suddenly Simon has a knee injury that he can't risk and Nick admits he hates heights and won't jump. When the three tiny Japanese teenage girls take the jump I get the chance to take the high ground and rib them without mercy. Unfortunately it doesn't last long as in the afternoon I am washed overboard in spectacular fashion and vanish under the raft. When I find myself trapped under the raft I momentarily wonder if I am about to drown, but soon find myself doing as instructed on the bus - hold onto my paddle and kick to one side. Suddenly I pop up but am being swept along downstream. I try to swim but the water is moving too fast and I am wondering what to do when one of the safety kayaks appears ahead of me and seconds later I am holding onto the special ring on the back of his kayak as he tows me to the bank. I recover my wits as I wait for the raft to come and get me. It was a great day and very well organised. In the evening we eat again with Esprit. The Esprit team are leaving the following day on a trip to Mexico using their ancient buses and I wonder how they will ever make it. The following day we take an Indian canoe out onto the lake and paddle around to the ghostly "Missionary Island" - The first white settlers in the area were missionaries and following a dispute with the local Indian tribes they were all killed and buried on the Island by the Indians. The Island is reputed to be haunted and indeed the waters around it prove to be eerily still and we could be the only people for miles as we paddle slowly through the glass like waters in the sunshine. When we return to Esprit we decide to move on to Algonquin which is not far and I drive to the Rock Lake campsite.


Day 7: 03/10/05: Davidson to Rock Lake, Algonquin (Unbooked)
We haven't booked this site but when we arrive there proves to be plenty of space. I make dinner but make a fatal error. I always steam my potatoes and veg at home but we have no steamer so I decide to improvise and use the colander set atop a pan of boiling water. I set it going and move outside for a drink with Nick as it will take 20 minutes or so. Simon has gone for a shower. After 15 minutes I check and to my horror the colander has melted spectacularly and there is molten plastic all over the pan and cooker. My god Simon will go ballistic. I scrape like a madman trying to remove all of the molten red plastic and quickly bin the colander. Fortunately the veg is all done and unaffected but the plastic is proving difficult to remove from the cooker and Simon will be back at any moment. Nick lends a hand and we clean it up with seconds to spare but will have to hope he doesn't spot the melted colander is missing. The next morning we do the Rock Lake trail a 5Km hike that gives spectacular views over the park. The trees here are much more colourful, though still not enough for Simon who asks a woman photographer we meet on the trail about it. With her cowboy hat and cheroot she looks more like Clint Eastwood than any of us, but she tells us all about the trees and how the change often occurs very rapidly in as little as two or three days. Simon stops frequently to take photos and eventually toward the end of the trail we lose him as we have walked on, jabbering about all sorts of things, to look at the remains of the old railroad and plantation house. After the hike I go shower and on return to the RV to find to my horror that Simon has discovered the remains of the colander in the bin. He was not amused and immediately thought Nick was responsible and is already berating him when I arrive. He quietens down when I admit it was me. I deposit the rubbish in the bear proof bins and we move on, a short hop up to Canisbay only a few kms up the road.


Day 8: 04/10/05: Rock Lake to Canisbay Lake, Hydro Camp, site 181

A 20km or so drive up the road for Simon through Algonquin to Canisbay and finally the tree colours here really are magnificent. The more exposed position has presumably set it into full swing here. Everywhere the trees are bright yellows and reds with the ground covered in the fallen leaves. A Japanese couple are in full wedding regalia having their photos taken amid falling leaves. The Lakes not just here but everywhere we have been are vast, on a different scale to what we are used to in the South of England and the campsites hidden in the forest are beautiful. The facilities are also excellent, the toilets and showers are clean and vandalism free. The showers are particularly good and spacious. I, am more used to the cramped English Marina showers on my sailing trips which must often be designed for contortionists and are frequently below par.



Day 9/10: 05/10/05: Algonquin to Kill Bear, Beaver Dams camp, Site 362

On to Kill Bear on Georgian Bay. Oddly the trees here are not so advanced and are still mainly green. Nick has driven with me navigating. On the way we stop in a pretty town near Huntsville for some lunch. The sun is still shining beautifully and its warm enough for t-shirts despite being October. I walk over the road to look at a clutch of magnificent Harley Davidson’s parked up outside the local store. A Harley tour appears to be popular here as we have seen several groups on our journey. When we arrive in the campsite Nick commits a cardinal sin. Confident now in his ability to manoeuvre the van he reverses immediately into the site without letting Simon out to guide him back. Everything is fine, we haven't hit anything, but Simon is incandescent with rage and rants at Nick for being irresponsible. At one point Simon pushes Nick and I think fisticuffs are about to ensue but they stop just short and Nick stomps off to find the toilets. Kill Bear has big sandy beaches and huge granite outcrops, some people go for a swim, but not for long. When I paddle the water is freezing cold. Simon has gone off on his own with his book but after an hour or so I go looking for him. I spot him reading on the beach and walk out of the trees to have a chat. The sand is really soft more like the Bahamas than Canada and I get right behind him and he still hasn't noticed me. I just can't resist it and give it my best Bear roar and he jumps up in fright before he realises its me. I take a walk down the beach periodically turning and running at the seagull that is keeping pace just behind me hoping I will drop a tasty morsel or two. Later we all take a hike to explore the coast of Georgian Bay but Simon is still not a happy bunny and on the way back Nick and I take a different route to give him some space.


Day 11: 07/10/05: Kill Bear to Sudbury & Chutes (Unbooked)

It's my turn to drive and we are heading North up to the Nickel mining town of Sudbury. This has always been a destination favoured by Nick as he loves Industrial heritage and Sudbury has the largest Nickel mine in the world. It appears that the reason for this is that the Sudbury area was hit by a huge meteorite millions of years ago leaving a gigantic crater and massive quantities of Nickel buried deep into the Earth. Nick has found that we could have a trip around part of the perimeter of the crater (Some 120 miles around) if we get there for 10am so I am driving like the devil and Simon is having kittens as I use the whole road in order to keep the speed up. Periodically I brush the rumble strip at the side of the road, there is no danger, there is at least 4 feet before the edge of the tarmac but he gets ever more nervous. The ride feels like another roller-coaster as we charge on and on along the main highway. There are lots of huge trucks, many with massive trailers full of logs and there is an audible sigh of relief from Simon when we arrive safely in Sudbury at 09:45. Unfortunately we can't do Nick's trip as it's now out of season, Dohhh!!! so we go up and do the tour of the Big Nickel mine which turns out to be quite fascinating. They have set up different areas of the mine to reflect historic periods, from the 1890's through to current day. The guide is excellent and very amusing, even the women in the group were interested by his witty repartee and I would recommend a visit.

Sudbury is very cold, last night I was on the beach at Kill Bear in shorts and T-shirt at 7pm and today I am all togged up as it's now below zero. We drive on to Chutes National Park which is one site we haven't booked as at this time of year it's not staffed so it's pot luck. However we find it virtually empty and have the pick of the sites. We deposit our cash in the honesty box and go hiking on the trail along the very picturesque river. It has some great rapids but Simon is fretting about not having booked a site at our next destination on Manitolin Island and returns to camp on his own to try and phone around and book a site. Nick and I continue on the trail. Unfortunately at some point we lose the trail and find ourselves on a road. Our sense of direction tells us that if we walk up this road we will find the river and be able to cut through to the bridge we crossed on the way up. Unfortunately our sense of direction is somewhat lacking and after about 2 miles we realise the road is winding and we are going ever further away from where we want to be. It's very remote and getting dark so we are forced to walk all the way back to where we went wrong. When we get there we still can't see the route we need and so we are forced to walk all the way back the way we came. It's dark by the time we reach the van but feel we had a little adventure and are in good spirits.

Day 12; 08/10/05: Chutes to Manitolin Island (Unbooked)

Onward to Indian country and Manitolin Island across the ancient railway swing bridge, now used for road traffic after the demise of the railway in this area. There are many Indian Tepee’s adorning what is obviously a big tourist area. We stop and do the 'Cup and Saucer' trail following the 'adventure' route which is no disappointment and quite demanding in places and has some spectacular views from the high escarpment. we have managed to book a site at a trailer park in South Baymouth 5 minutes from the ferry terminal which we will have to use to get across to Tobermory. The site is a private site rather than a National Park and is obviously being run on a shoestring as the facilities are old and basic. In fact the toilet and shower block an old wooden structure is leaning at a precarious angle and looks ready to collapse at any moment. It is however quite clean and adequate for a one night stay, and the site has power and water hook up. We book in with the owner who has obviously just risen from an afternoon nap courtesy of Jack Daniels but he is amiable enough and very helpful. Now it gets amusing for Nick and I because Simon sorted out all of the ferry details back in the UK and put them studiously into our information folder. This part of the journey has always been a problem as most of the available sites are by now closed and the only one still open and a viable distance from Niagara is Point Farms, but its quite a long way from Manitolin so we need an early start. Simon says the ferry is is at 8.50 am, hence our need to stay close to the terminal tonight. Unfortunately however when we take a walk up to the terminal it is closed and signs suggest that the earliest ferry is nearer midday which will mean a long day driving. Simon is apoplectic with rage about the ferry company changing schedules and tries to ring various information lines but all are by now closed. He stomps off in a rage. We don't quite see what the problem is as although it will mean a long day driving without stops it's not really the end of the world. Later after his rage has subsided we decide to go and find a local eating place. The only likely one looks closed but isn't and in fact is quite busy when we enter. The owner Earl is rushing about and calls out for us to sit at a table in the corner while he takes an order. It appears he runs the place with his wife. He is stressed, very, works 18 hour plus days, seven days a week, has issues with his Hydro bill and can barely make ends meet - all this and much much more he pours out to us as he takes our orders. In fact so keen is he to impart every detail of his problematic life he even takes us on a tour of the cafe extension, kitchens, freezer room, the works, most of which he has built himself. We feel sorry for him, it's a tough life of endless grind that barely provides enough money to keep the place open let alone have some sort of life. Apparently he was 20 stone when he started the place 3 years ago and is now 13. It dawns on me how easy we have it back in the UK. His mother who could pass for an extra in a movie about the living dead also helps out taking orders with an attitude of total disinterest and indifference that is not likely to endear her to the customers. The usual "does that come with" type of query is met with a withering look and a weary "whatever". She has obviously had enough long ago but feels obliged to help out. The food is good and we leave a bigger than normal tip.


Day 13: 09/10/05 : Manitolin Island to Point Farms (Unbooked)

The next morning Simon is straight on the phone to the Ferry company demanding an explanation! Unfortunately the explanation is that the times are correct and haven't changed. Simon it appears has booked the ferry from Tobermory to South Baymouth rather than the other way around. At first it looks like we will have to pay for a new ticket and wait on standby to see if we can get a place (It's Thanksgiving the next day and the ferries are running full). There is an anxious wait before they inform us that we do have a place and will transfer our ticket rather than making us pay again. We park up in the queue and wait for the ferry. I wander off to explore and watch the ferry which is much larger than expected arrive. It indeed proves to be a long drive. The landscape here changes from rocky and forested to flat prairie and farm land. We also manage to take a couple of wrong turns but eventually we reach the park. It's busy - very, due to it being Thanksgiving but we get a site. They take Thanksgiving very seriously here and virtually every van in the park is festooned with carved pumpkins, spiders, witches the full Halloween regalia. It has a real family fun feeling about it with lots of smiling and happy groups and families gathered around their fires. We take a walk along the sandy beach on the shores of the great Lake Huron before it gets dark and talk to a couple of people.


Day 14: 10/10/05: Point Farms to Niagara (Unbooked)

My last drive and unfortunately the weather has finally turned to autumn, it's very overcast and raining off and on all the way. The road network here is also vastly more complicated and we get it wrong several times before we arrive in Niagara. I have to say it's not what I expected. I suppose I had assumed this great landmark would still be surrounded by forest but far from it. The town surrounds the spectacle, tall buildings loom large all around, most currently disappearing into the low grey cloud. The tourist area is like a mini Las Vegas with wax works, burger joints and arcades everywhere. The roads are busy and tight and I am having a tough time manoeuvring the beast in the heavy traffic which seems to be coming from every direction, along with hoards of Japanese pedestrians, traffic lights and junctions. At one point there is an almighty crunching sound and Simon shouts out at me - surely I must have smashed something big time, but there is no horn blowing or any sign we have hit anything and it's so busy we can only carry on. It appears I must have hit the high kerb or something similar. When we finally park up in the special RV park I get out with trepidation.
However, sigh of relief - there is no serious damage. I had hit the kerb with the edge of the metal door step that folds under the van as we rounded a bend. The step guard is bent but is easily twisted back into shape by hand. Although the area is a tourist monstrosity the falls themselves are still very spectacular and I could not have come all the way to this part of Canada without seeing them. That evening we go to the IMAX cinema and see a movie about Niagara which is quite spectacular and most entertaining, along with the exhibition of contraptions people have built to go over the falls, some fatally. Its well worth a visit. We stay the night at “Jellystone” Trailer park with Yogi as our host. Another private site it is obviously for families, and is very well equipped with excellent and spotless facilities. On the way back from the IMAX Simon decides we must fill up with petrol, he is convinced for some reason we won't be able to get some tomorrow. However Nick and I feel we should get fuel in Toronto just before we take the van back as we need to give it back three quarters full - as it was when we picked it up. The usual argument ensues before Simon insists and we fill up.



Day 15: 11/10/05: Last Day - Toronto
The last day has arrived and we deliver the van back to Toronto. Of course as we have filled up in Niagara we are giving back something like $25 extra in fuel we need not have put in. Nick and I are in a quiet told you so mode. It also transpires that we have gone over our agreed mileage by about $20 worth. Simon decides that this will be covered by the extra fuel, but no deal. The hire company will not pay for extra fuel that may have been put in. Nick and I leave as he ensues in an argument demanding that the extra miles should be waived by the extra fuel. He emerges an hour later still with no deal, we pay. We are picked up by one of their Dad's oldest friends who emigrated to Canada a long time ago but still keeps in regular contact. He kindly takes us on a full guided tour of Toronto including a visit to the CN Tower before taking us to his delightful home where he and his wife treat us to a lovely meal before taking us to the airport.

This was a great trip to a truly beautiful country and I recommend a visit to anyone. Canadream through whom we hired the RV were first class as were Esprit the rafting company.

Things I noticed:
How friendly and helpful the local people were, along with the other campers.
How good, clean and un-vandalised the facilities at the campsites were.
How despite extremes of weather the roads were in as good condition as those in the UK.
How easy going the drivers were - we were frequently allowed out of tricky junctions by other drivers and nobody crowded us or tried to overtake in stupid places or flashed angry lights or hooted us to get out of the way. In fact the whole trip made us realise what an angry place the UK has become.