Nutmeg Gets Stroppy
by Viv Head
Having been teased from her winter lay-up, Nutmeg went onto a mooring at Dale at the entrance to Milford Haven. A few days later it was time for a sail. On a beautiful July morning Dave Botterill and I launched the dinghy to fetch Nutmeg onto the pontoon to load some bits and bobs. I rowed out to get her.
It was mid tide and I brought the boat in, skirting outside the line of moorings. Not a good choice as it turned out because hidden below the deceitful water was a small line of rocks and the lifting keel lifted and fell several times as it bumped its way across. The hull stayed clear so no harm done maybe. Alas no. The keel’s lifting strop had broken; the keel was fully down with no way of lifting it. It wasn’t supposed to start like this.
Never mind, it was a lovely day for a sail and we set off. It was arranged we would sail up river to moor at Hobbs Point to leave the boat overnight ready for a lift-out at a nearby yard in the morning. It was a spring tide and running fast as we came in; David Grainger was on the pontoon to take our lines. All went well except that as Dave was in the act of stepping from the side deck to the pontoon his life-jacket self-inflated with a great whoosh, sounding like a flare going off. The lifejacket’s toggle had caught in the shroud and to say it took him by surprise is putting it mildly. We secured the boat, Anne arrived to pick us up and we retired to the Jolly Sailor, feeling as though we had earned a jar or two.
I returned at 7.30 the following morning to take Nutmeg around the point to the yard at East Lanion ready for the lift-out before the top of tide at 0950. I motored around in a lively breeze and water that was full of swirls and rips under the mighty Cleaddau bridge. The yard is in Cosheston Pill, a small creek that dries at low water; I followed David Grainger’s advice to stay in mid-channel until the length of the yard’s jetty opened up before making a turn in. It went without a hitch. Until that is, I got to within six feet of the jetty when the motor stopped suddenly and wouldn’t re-start. Not to worry, the stern was drifting just a couple of feet short of the jetty. I clutched at a mooring line and took a leap of faith. Made it! An examination found a rope firmly wrapped around the prop. The lifting strop of the rudder plate had broken! The loose end could have drifted quietly away but no, it headed straight for spinning prop. Two broken strops on two consecutive days was too much. Still I was lucky; had that happened in the tidal set of the river, who knows where I might have washed up?
The good news is that the repairs to both strops went well and we were back in the water half an hour into the ebb and safely on our way back to Hobbs Point to collect the dinghy. I was just nosing out into mid river when the engine note changed dramatically. Somehow it continued to run while a great clod of seaweed was grappling to get control of the prop. I attacked it with a boat hook and was soon on my way but left wondering whether I should be out on the water at all?
I spent a couple of hours tidying up at Hobbs Point and set off for Dale an hour after noon. The skies were grey and a stiff southerly breeze was blowing on the nose for the trip down river so there was no question of hoisting sail. Within half a mile the cloud thickened, the wind grew stronger and it began to rain. Soon, conditions became distinctly unpleasant. Passing Neyland, there was driving rain and white water everywhere; the boat was pitching alternatively skyward and downwards to the ugly river. Anyone wearing spectacles in these conditions will know the problem - can’t see with them on, rain stinging your eyes with them off. Spray was coming over the cabin and I had some concerns that the dinghy being towed behind would be swamped.
Soaked through, I thought seriously about putting in to Milford Haven Marina or at least getting onto the pontoon outside the gates but decided to press on. A couple of tugs went by me and the inbound Irish Ferry appeared out of the murk. When I reached the last of the oil refinery installations where the river narrows considerably, the gloom was such that I could barely make out the coastline of Angle not much more than 500 yards away. I wondered what it would be like nearer open water where the sea rolls in. I was about to find out.
And yet, and yet… the rain and the wind began to ease; the gloom lifted as in a kind of minor miracle. Suddenly there was a hint of blue in the corners of the sky. I hoisted the main and threequarters of the jib and sailed the last two miles across the bay. There were some significant swells rolling in from the sea but Nutmeg rode them beautifully. It was a joyous last hurrah to a fretful couple of days. This is what sailing is all about- what else would you be rather doing?
Part 2
There followed some halcyon days of summer sailing with Betty as crew and by David and Ann Botterill who sailed Nutmeg with their family and lay at anchor fishing for mackerel in Angle Bay. And I had slipped away with some shipmates on a rather larger yacht on a week’s cruise to the Cherbourg Peninsula. Meanwhile, it emerged that the seals around Nutmeg’s swing keel pivot bolt were seeping water which had begun to collect under the floor boards in the cabin. Maybe the brush with the rocks caused more of a problem than first thought. Nutmeg had recently celebrated her quarter century and I wondered how long it had been since the bolt itself had been replaced. Late in the afternoon a few days later I was rowing out to Nutmeg with a toolbox in the bottom of the dinghy.
It was now the middle of August but it felt more like October. The long hot summer that had continued until last week suddenly seemed far away. A stiff westerly was sweeping down off the low hills and out across Dale Bay. Once again I had arranged to have Nutmeg hauled out at East Lanion yard on the morning tide. It would mean an early start since the yard was 9nm and more than two hours sailing away. I rolled out the sleeping bag on the narrow bunk and settled down. I had had a weather text from Dave Botterill letting me know it was not going to be a settled night. I could have gone onto the pontoon as he suggested but I was looking forward to the solitude of the mooring. In the bar of the Griffin Inn just a few hundred yards away there would be lights, people and laughter. Out here it was different, the dark waters were ruffled by the sea and there were no comforting stars overhead. And it was by no means peaceful; the boat was rocking considerably and the sound of the wind whipping through the halyards was ever present. Waves slapped under the hull, under the hull of the boat on the next mooring and under the dinghy tied to Nutmeg’s stern. The tide was filling as the evening wore on and in theory at least, the boat should have turned to face seaward but the westerly wind held sway. And a good thing too, otherwise the cabin would have been a drafty place. I set the alarm for a few minutes after 7am but I knew I would be awake well before that.
Dark clouds and a rather stronger wind came with the dawn. I played safe and put my oilskin jacket on. No sooner done than the rain let loose in a mini squall. Crossing the wide expanse of Dale Bay some significant waves rolled in from the sea and I was glad too that I had put my lifejacket on. It is not something I always do. The rain had stopped by the time we entered the river and the water subsided; I rolled out the jib and turned the engine off.
Lifting the boat out and replacing the pivot bolt and seals at East Lanion went well and I set off for the return passage an hour into the ebb. Under the Cleddau Bridge I may have had the tide but with a vigorous F5 on the nose, one could sense it would be an invigorating passage; and so it proved. At least there was no rain this time but approaching the half-way point off Milford Haven the wind increased and the sea state began to look distinctly malevolent. Nutmeg was pitching violently; steering a course was becoming increasingly difficult and things were looking no better ahead of us. I turned towards the shore. There was little hope of getting into Milford Marina at this state of the tide but I sought the pontoon outside the harbour wall. Then I spotted a yacht heading for the lock gates. I called the marina - Can I get in for a berth? I asked? Yes if you are quick. I pushed the throttle forward and got in by the skin of my teeth - the harbourmaster was standing on the quay wall waving his arms and urging me in. The lock gates swung to behind me.
The reward for the enforced stay was supper in the Nelson Hotel, a night of calm and a full Welsh breakfast in a quayside café in the morning. The lock gates opened up on free-flow at 10.30 and I quickly slipped out. Conditions were much improved though crossing Dale Bay was still a bit boisterous. I could see a large ship approaching the haven entrance from the sea when the radio crackled. All ships, all ships, a large tanker with tug escorts is approaching the western channel. Small vessels should beware of significant wash. Thankfully, that was not a problem for me, I was back on the mooring by the time it went by.
It only remained to secure the boat and row back to shore in the dinghy. Hmm, the tide was still ebbing and the unabated F5 still blowing offshore. It was going to be a hard row in a laden dinghy. I had made about a hundred yards and already hot and sweating with the effort, wishing I had not put my thick oilskin jacket on. The oars, meant for an inflatable, were not the best fit in the rowlocks. Suddenly the starboard oar was not fitting at all, it had come out of the rowlock when the securing shock cord broke. I kept putting it back in and it kept popping out- I had to fix it. I made for the nearest moored boat and made three attempts before getting hold of it. Repair done, I continued the long slog to shore. The pontoon was full of beautiful people busy catching crabs with their children. And my car had a penalty notice on the windscreen; I was of course a day later returning than I had meant to be.
Viv Head, skipper of the 19ft Cornish Shrimper Nutmeg
August 2014
A Note for New Zealand readers:
Milford Haven is a river estuary in the beautiful West Wales county of Pembrokeshire and it is from where Milford Sound got its name. Indeed Milford Sound was originally named Milford Haven by Captain Cook. Haven was changed to Sound some time later by the Welshman John Lort Stokes during his NZ circumnavigation in the paddle steamer HMS Acheron. His descendent, John Lort Phillips, still lives on the banks of Milford Haven.
