The Impending Gale

The Castle dominates Caernarfon, and is the reason for most of the tourists visiting the area
[Kyle]Yuck! British weather is starting to get pretty tedious.

Once in Cærnarfon, the wind rose and rose all night. By morning, it was howling. It had also started raining in cold sheets. It made me think of the time in Newport, Rhode Island where, having only one free day, we forced ourselves ashore in miserable conditions and ended up wishing we had just stayed aboard. I wanted to see Caernarfon but I didn’t want to go out in Caernarfon.

Eventually, we both got stir-crazy enough to decide we were going out anyway. We bundled up and went out just as the worst of the rain and wind passed. Within an hour, it was hot and sunny and we were badly overdressed.

We went for an aimless meander throughout the town, mostly inside of the old walled portion. We navigated by arriving at a street corner and then choosing the most appealing direction until the next corner, repeat.

The old town in Cærnarfon is very nice. It’s dominated by the castle, of course. Around the perimeter but within the outer walls, the streets radiate away and are fronted by prettily painted buildings, mostly pubs and cafés with outdoor seating areas that were quickly filling in the sunshine. At the town square, right in front of the castle, a temporary fairground had been set up. Somehow, I managed not to buy an ice cream.

After several hours wandering, we were headed back to the boat when Maryanne spotted a grocery store just as I spotted a big hill. She did her thing, while I did my thing.


Kyle checks out the view from the top of yet another hill!
She was pretty worn out by the time we got home, so I treated her to my home cooking and then even washed up as usual afterwards.

[Maryanne]About a week ago now, I managed to bash my leg badly on a bad roll of the boat, and the bruising and swelling still seems to not be getting any better. I've been resisting too much hiking (not difficult in the rain) but I decided to play the sympathy card and insist Kyle cooked today.... He resisted, and resisted, and resisted, {Kyle: one resisted would have been sufficient!} but eventually (once he realised it was cook or starve) he turned out the most delicious potato soup, and kept a very smug grin on his face all through dinner. Now I know what he's capable of, I'll expect much more from him. I doubt my leg will recover for a long time ;-)

After dinner, Kyle and I went for a second stroll (I was sufficiently rested) and found the town deserted of the crowds of tourists, it's medieval streets seeming picture postcard perfect in the dusk of the day. We eventually settled for a drink at the towns Royal Welsh Yacht Club which was set in impressive and very old buildings; Porth-yr-Aur (The Golden Gate), constructed in or about 1284 (making it the oldest yacht club premises in the world - although certainly not the oldest yacht club). Our visit to the bar, proved yet again that EVERYONE has a story to tell; the sprightly old barman had quite a few stories, including having spent time in the bush of South Africa, and speaking Zulu (sounded perfect to us!). He attempted to teach us a few words of Welsh, but I think we're poor learners; we forgot it almost as soon as we'd left the bar (or could that have been the drink?)

And...Summer’s Over Again

[Kyle] Well, surprise, the first thing I heard as I woke up was the sound of rain pelting the cabin top. Oh, this was going to be fun.

I had a look at the forecast and it looked to be a bit windier than previously predicted. This meant we’d be able to make a little bit better boat speed and so wouldn’t have to leave so early to get to the Menai Straight on a rising tide, stalling the inevitable.

At least we were alone in a big bay with lots of maneuvering room. This meant at least we would get to sail off of the anchor, one of my favorite things.

We bundled up in all of our foul weather gear and headed outside to prepare for departure. Within a couple of minutes, the sun came out and we were baking in all of our layers. I wasn’t falling for it. We pulled up the anchor. Footprint drifted backward a bit and her bows fell away from the wind. We sheeted in the sails and she picked up speed, heading south out of the bay.

We sailed a few more miles out into the open sea until I was sure we could clear the Llŷn peninsula on the next tack. When we did, our line looked good. We had a slight head current as the tide fell on the south-going ebb, costing us about a quarter of our speed. The wind was good and strong, though and we were going fast, even though we had put a couple of extra reefs more than we needed for good measure before we left. The Gemini always seems to do best in these conditions - 20kts wind with a couple a reef in each sail. These were ideal monohull passing conditions, except that there weren’t any around.

As we neared Bardsley Sound at the tip of the peninsula, the current sped up in the gap, eventually reaching 6 knots. We would be making slow but reliable headway against it and then we’d sail into a lull, the boat would slow down and we would start getting pushed backwards, or we would just equal the current and would end up crabbing sideways.

Our track had become a series of scribbled circles. In the lee of Bardsley Island, we kept sailing into the dead spot where the wind meets again on its way around the island and then drifting back into the wind to speed back up so we could get back in the lull. I was beginning to think that we were just going to have to wait until the current slacked a little. While we were waiting, I decided to try easing to one side or the other to try to find some good air. By doing this, I managed to escape the lull. We crept ahead of the island, found some good, clean air and we were able to power our way away from the worst of the current. We had spent so much time fighting the current that I was beginning to worry that we wouldn’t make it to the entrance to the Menai Straits in time.

We turned downwind and had a fast, half sunny, half pouring rain sail up the Welsh coast. The wind was increasing and the seas were starting to get bigger. the current slacked and then reversed, giving us some much needed help. The Coast Guard started issuing gale warnings for later, which seemed to jibe with the worsening conditions. The waves got large enough for us to surf. We kept reefing and then reefing some more to try to slow down.

As we approached the entrance to the Menai Strait, the sea shallowed and the waves began to get increasingly steep and alarming the closer we became. The Strait is entered by approaching the shore of Anglesey and then making a hard right turn to parallel the beach in a shallow channel just inside a sand bar. The height of the bar is maybe only a meter above the bottom of the channel. Entering near high tide, both were well submerged. The bar offered almost no protection against the steepening waves. It felt a little like we were just paralleling the beach for the experience of landing a Gemini in heavy surf. If it hadn’t been for all of the gale warnings flying through the airwaves, we probably would have skipped it.

Eventually, it came time for us to make the left turn into the gap. As soon as we did, the water completely flattened and we shot through the gap pushed by the flood at over ten knots. We zinged past pretty houses and mooring fields backed by mountains. In no time at all, we approached Victoria Docks at Caernarfon.


Arriving at Caernarfon at Sunset - the 14 century castle dominates the town view
The docks lie inside a basin protected from draining at low tide by a sill in the same manner as Peel on the Isle of Man. We called the harbor master, who warned us that the current was racing across the narrow entrance and gave us some advice for transiting the entrance, the best of which was to keep the helm hard over longer than felt right because, while most of the boat would be in calm water, the rudders would still be in the stream and would kick us around into the wall if we didn’t keep the correction in.

The harbor master directed us to a spot that was exactly the right size for us and helped tie us up. We were now safely in the middle of town and well secured against the impending gale.

Summer Again

OK - so this is close enough to summer right now, or the best we'll get we think
[Kyle] The next morning in Aberystwyth, it was Summer again. I was glad I waited. Now our pre-sailing checklist could be done in shorts. We left mid-morning at half-tide as it fell. Much later and we wouldn’t have been able to make it over the bar at the entrance.

I should have been more worried about getting off our dock. No sooner had we made the 180° turn away from the dock than we grounded on the drying grid next to the adjacent wall. A drying grid is a series of concrete slats with space between them to allow for drainage that boats rest on at low tide, like a big soap dish. We pulled up the rudders, but that didn’t free us. It urned out we had actually grounded the starboard hull. That was bad. On a catamaran, you just can’t hang out on the boom to get the keel up. With only one hull on the grid, and only part of one at that, we would have at the very least ended up at an alarming angle. At the worst, the small part of the hull supporting the weight might not be able to take the load and, well, our stay might have ended up being a lot longer than planned.

Luckily, we have a really shallow draft. Maryanne, no doubt drawing on our previous grounding experiences aboard Prydwen in Chesapeake Bay, lost no time in extending a boat hook and punting us off. If we could only teach her something to sing in Italian.

Well, that wasted more time than I would have liked, but we still managed to get over the bar and out into Cardigan Bay. It was cloudy everywhere inland, but the bay was a big, blue hole. It stayed that way for the entire day it took us to cross it. With the cockpit enclosure up to block the wind, I even managed to stubbornly stay in shorts the whole day.


Aberdaron bay
At the other end, right at sunset, we pulled into Aberdaron Bay at the end of the Llŷn peninsula. It was a bit exposed, but the current rushing by the mouth killed the waves, so it made for a nice, flat anchorage. Our first attempt at setting the anchor put us in too much weed, but the second one held. We had the whole bay to ourselves and just enough time for a glass of wine before bed.

Devil’s Bridge

Picturesque steam train journey to Devil's Bridge
[Kyle] The day after, the morning was bright and sunny, so we packed a bag and headed to the railway station to board the Vale of Rheidol Railway for the one hour trip up the Rheidol valley to Devils Bridge.

We’ll get to Devil’s bridge in a minute, but first, the train ride. The Vale of Rheidol Railway runs a narrow gauge steam train the 11 1/2 miles to the Devil’s Bridge. Steam trains really are wonderful. They make great chug-chug noises and there’s loads of steam and smoke, not to mention the clackity-clack as the cars go over the track seams. Growing up in Colorado in The U.S., I have been on a few steam trains in my day, but I have never done so in Britain. It is soo much more entertaining here. I am thinking of starting a new hobby category: Train spotter spotting.

In addition to all of the cool steam engine stuff associated with such a ride, there is all of the fabulous entertainment of train spotter observation. Train spotters in Britain are people who are oh, shall we say, obsessive about trains. They LOVE trains. They keep meticulous records of any and all minutiae related to trains.

Any time the engine does anything...anything, these guys (they’re all guys) run out and snap away to record the action. We saw one guy take a few dozen still photos, then switch to video to record the rest of the nonstop action of the stopped train.

Once we got moving, we saw one guy video pretty much the entire journey through the front window of the coach into the back window of the engine and then back out the front. All three windows were covered in rain. We chuckled. Both of the people that guy hasn’t bored to death are going to have to be subjected to that video. Actually, the ones left may be the ones who find that sort of thing riveting.

The whole experience provided even another level of entertainment for Maryanne. Every time I took a photo of any part of the train because, let’s face it, a well maintained steam train is a lot more interesting than some run-of-the-mill British Rail diesel, she would send herself chuckling for half an hour making various jokes at my expense: “Did you write down the engine number, Darling?” “Do you want me to buy you a DVD from the gift shop?”, “I bet they have an app on the iPhone for people like you.”, etc. Oh, Hardy-har-har! Very funny! After subjecting me to this for a while and making her sides hurt, she turned her attention to the stills-cum-video guy for a while, who was taking enough footage to reverse-engineer the engine in his basement when he got home. When the whistle was blown for all-aboard, he came and sat down right behind us next to his wife, who had been there all along. Maryanne got a guilty sheepish look on her face and now it was my turn for a good chuckle.

After an hour of watching the production of several different hour-long documentaries about steam discharge or axle use that all seemed oblivious to the stunning mountain scenery along the way, we arrived in very good humor.

It was raining pretty heavily when we arrived, so we popped into a local hotel for some tea and Welsh cakes to kill some time until it eased a bit, then we walked down to the entrance to the trails at Devil’s Bridge. Devil’s Bridge itself is actually three bridges, each built on the site of the previous one starting in 1087 and spanning a pretty, narrow gorge. The bridge(s) as well as the gorge and the waterfalls below are accessed through a pair of coin-operated turn-styles at the top. I didn’t realize until after I’d wedged myself in with my daypack on that the sign should have said: Adults - £1, packs - another £1, Americans - Please feel free to enjoy some of our other attractions.


Oh Boy, now he has me on steep hikes we have to pay for!
Anyway, the trails took us down the gorge for some nice views of the bridge as well as several waterfalls interspersed with A LOT of steps.

By the time we made it back to the road, it was starting to rain harder. We still had 3 1/2 hours to kill before the train ride back, so we wandered around a bit on the local roads until the increasing rain drove us back into the hotel for a lunch of soup followed by a game of darts and a sampling of Welsh whiskey - Penderyn - interesting in it’s own way, but not my favorite.


A perfectly placed pub to while away the rainy hours before the return journey
We slogged back to the train, boarded and then watched it rain harder and harder during our journey. By the time we got to Aberystwyth, it was hard enough that we were darting from awning to awning and zigzagging along the sidewalks on a route that offered the best cover from trees. We arrived back at Footprint dripping and cold, our glasses opaque. It felt so good to stand in the cockpit and not be being rained on for once.

Bloody British weather. It feels like we’re stuck in a perpetual early March. Every now and then, there’s a nice day, but it’s really not going to start getting warm for a few more weeks, except for one thing: it’s August! This is it. This is already the height of “Summer”. Everywhere else in the northern hemisphere is baking and people are looking forward to some relief from the unrelenting heat. Here, it feels like the first day of Spring must be just around the corner. I’ve got to go outside and prepare for the next leg, but I don’t want to go out in that.

Aberystwyth

Aberystwth Scenes
[Kyle]The beginning of our stay ended up being so miserable, weather-wise, that we ended up spending most of our time aboard Footprint. Every time it looked like it was clearing up, we grabbed our things and, by the time we made it outside, it was pouring so back into the boat we would go.

Eventually, it got to where it was only raining a little, so we went out to have a proper look at the town. We started with the castle ruins, which were beautiful, well maintained and free to the public. Next to the castle lies a crazy golf course and, realizing I had never played crazy golf next to a castle before, I decided we just had to have a game.


Fun in Aberystwyth
We followed that with a walk down the promenade carrying a suitably drippy ice cream from a place that must’ve packed a pint of ice cream on the side-by-side cone. I was glad we only got one. At the other end, we boarded what we later learned was the longest electric funicular in Britain (as opposed to the other one, I guess). At the top, we had a view of the entire city as well as the coast for a dozen miles on either side. We were hoping to get a view of Ireland, but it was a bit too hazy for that.

We headed back on an aimless, meandering route through the city that surprisingly spat us out right back at the harbor instead of miles away as we were expecting. The timing was perfect as it was just starting to rain hard again.

Pwllheli to Aberystwyth

Aberystwth from the sea
[Kyle] On the morning we left Pwllheli, Summer had been over for a couple of days. A steady rain was falling and, unlike our arrival, we had the whole place to ourselves as we left. Out of the harbor, our first leg was an uncomfortable beat to weather in winds that were double the forecast in order to get around a nasty shoal that effectively divides Cardigan bay in half. I keep swearing I’m not bashing to windward ever again and it keeps becoming necessary.

The weather gradually cleared as the day went on and we arrived in Aberystwyth under partly cloudy skies. Aberystwyth (pronounced, well this is weird: A-ber-yst-wyth {Maryanne - pronounced Abba-wrist-with}) is very pretty from the sea. It’s sturdy stone buildings fill in the valley at the bottom of the hills. A stone promenade encompasses the horseshoe shaped beach which is dominated at it’s center by a mound atop which sits the ruins of the castle.

We rode a following sea into the narrow harbor entrance and mad a quick turn to port into calm water. The harbor is small, but very full. Floating docks fill the center while the walls are lined with boats tied two and three abreast. We were looking for an empty spot to tie up when the harbor master called us on the radio and offered us a spot just ahead. By the time we tied up, he had come down to give us a warm welcome and a pack containing all of the relevant door codes, etc.

It was getting fairly late in the day and we were tired, but we had a brief walk around while it was still sunny, including the requisite climb to the top of the nearest hill. Along the way, I noticed that I had not been met with the stare by anyone. Perhaps the Welsh Stare should really be called the Pwllheli Stare or the Llŷn Stare, but I can’t pronounce either of those so, sorry nice Welsh people, the jerks and your voiceless lateral frictive ruined it for you.. {If anyone reading this is offended, then you don't know Kyle; he loves you all really}

Pwllheli

Pwllheli Scenes
[Kyle]Pwllheli, pronounced: “Part of this complete breakfast”. Actually, the closest English approximation is somewhere between “Poothelly” and “Pooshelly”. We were advised that, unless we were Welsh, Sioux or !Kung, would never get it because of its use of what is referred to a ‘voiceless lateral frictive’ {honestly!!!!}.

Our main reason for stopping in Pwllheli was that it was the nearest Westerbeke Service center and our engine was due for a major service.

In our usual fashion, Maryanne had sent an email 2 months, 1 month, 2 weeks, 1 week, 3 days and one day before our arrival. Just to be sure, since it was quite a long way to come, she followed it up with a couple of phone calls. Well, you know what’s coming next. When we arrived, we called them and got the sneaking suspicion from their tone that we had surprised them. They did concede that they got the emails, but were clearly shuffling things around to accommodate us. Instead of bright and early as we had expected (and agreed), the guy showed up at 4:00pm, took a look at the engine and said he would start tomorrow when they get the parts. Maryanne interjected and explained that we had all of the parts that he would need in our ship’s stores so he could start now and use the shipment to replenish our stores. He countered by saying it would be better to wait until the next day in order to save the extra trip to the office to pick up the parts. “Fine” we said, “See you in the morning”. We asked when that would be and were told 11:00 - unless the shipment was late, then it would be more like 1:00.

At 1:30 the guy showed up to explain that the shipment wasn’t in and said he’d be back at 4:00. Maryanne reminded him that we had all of the necessary parts and suggested he just start now and get the parts later. He agreed and went to the truck to get his tools. I imagine that somewhere in there, he called his brother (his business partner) and told to go do what he was originally supposed to be doing.

He showed back up at 4:00. To his credit, he was friendly and prepared and he worked until the job was done, even making a much after hours trip to the shop to replace a bolt he had misplaced.

He and I chatted away as I hung off the transom fixing the drive leg. That’s when I found out it was he and his brother who owned the shop. He is full-time mechanic. His brother is part-time mechanic, part-time office manager. It turns out his brother is not so good at reading emails. He gets busy, you know. To cover the goof-up, our guy had to come out on his day off. We apologized, but he said it happens all of the time - it’s part of owning a business.

Since the shortage of good berthing opportunities combined with market forces to make the rates at the marina border on price gouging, we were determined to get full value out of our stay. On the previous day, once we realized all hope was lost, we did everything in Pwllheli. This did not take too long because Pwllheli isn’t a large town.


Another hill to climb
We started in the usual manner by heading up the nearest hill to get an overview so that we could eyeball our subsequent route. It was wonderful up there. We had long views of the Llŷn peninsula to one side, Pwllheli to the other, backed by Wales’ highest mountain, Mt. Snowdon.

We descended into the town and had a walk along the beach back toward the boat. We complimented owners on their dogs, kids on their sand castles and parents on their kids. All were met with the stare.


Oh, the kid just has to climb everything!
At the end of the beach, we had a climb on the rocks there and then made our way back along the water back to our boat. All the while, we were looking out for a promising pub, but nothing jumped out at us, so we just called it a cozy night in.

Holyhead to Pwllheli

Sailing scenes
[Kyle]We got up from our little nap just as it was getting really dark. We ran the checklist and were soon motoring the long upwind leg to the other end of the breakwater. We got the sails up while still in the protection of the harbor, then turned downwind into the darkness of the open sea.

We were making pretty respectable speed even though we were way over-reefed as a precaution. It was a good thing we were. The wind got pushed around and funneled by the hills so that it would jump from the mid teens into the high 20s every now and then. Just about the time I was about to make the trip out of the cockpit to put in another reef, it would die back down until I was seriously thinking about shaking one out because we were going too slow, then wham! The wind would return. Eventually, I decided to just live with what we had up until we made it far enough from land that the wind would be more stable.

In the meantime, as we made it back to the beginning of the breakwater on the other side, the bright lights of Holyhead became blocked by the coastal mountains and it got really dark. A bit further on, the light at South Stack came into view.

South Stack had come with a reputation. It was touted as one of the great things to see near Holyhead - a lighthouse on a small island reached by 400 steps down a steep, narrow walkway and footbridge. That wasn’t the reputation I was worried about. We had also read that the currents off of South Stack can reach as high as eight knots. A local sailor told us that the highest waves ever recorded in Britain were there: 60 foot breakers on a force 8 fresh gale - 34-40 knots, with wind against tide. South Stack was clearly not a place to be taken lightly. The reason we left at Midnight was that, like all prudent mariners, we had planned to arrive at South Stack near slack water in milder winds. Still, I knew things could get a little “uncomfortable”.

Approaching the light, The mood became more ominous. The cloud cover meant that it was completely black except for that light. Its beams swept out to sea, passed us with a flash, and then slowly swept across the mountains behind, as if to say “look at what your messing with, kid”. We got caught in a back eddy, which slowed us down, and I had too look at that scene way longer than I had wanted.

In the end, we got by uneventfully and my own worries ended up being the biggest drama. After South Stack, we gradually headed out into Caernarfon Bay until the shore was just a thin line of lights on the horizon. Maryanne had asked me to wake her after a few hours, but I know how she likes her sleep. The late hours of a night watch can be pretty tough. It’s hard to keep from nodding off and the temperature is at its coldest. I decided that my goal was to just make it until the first ray of sunshine popped over the horizon, then I would wake her. i got up at increasingly shorter intervals to pop my head into the breeze and have a look around in order to stay alert.


Kyle awakes to a sunny day.... Or is he still dreaming?
The sun came up and five minutes later I was out cold while Maryanne stood watch. I awoke a few hours later to a cloudless sky and was amazed to find that it was a beautiful day, an actual beautiful day. I mean, it was a really, really nice day. It was like, it was like....Summer! That’s what it was, it was like Summer! I had completely forgotten what Summer was even like. I hadn’t seen Summer in a long time. I had begun to think of sailing as a means of mainlining misery and suffering for the purpose of making us broke, but this was actually pleasant. I think that if I had not already been on a boat, I would have thought it would be a perfect day to go sailing. Well, lucky us, we were already there. The seas were flat, the wind was up and, even dragging our broken drive leg, we were sailing fast. Plus, it turns out, Wales is really pretty.

Everybody else in Wales that had a boat seemed to have the same idea about the day. There were boats everywhere. People were sailing, people were water skiing, Dinghies were out racing. It seemed that everybody without a boat was out at the beach. I suppose If you only really get one day of Summer, you had better make use of it.

At the entrance to Pwllheli harbor, we joined a long cue of boats heading up the narrow channel. This is when we got our first look at what I would later call the “Welsh Stare”. We would wave and smile at people in the way that we do and in return, we would get the stare. It was not one of curiosity or even indifference, like we were used to seeing, but mild hostility. Everybody seemed to be sending us the message to piss off.

The marina was huge. We had been in the boonies for a couple of years and had not been to a marina this busy since Boston. Since marinas are few and far between, it seems that every single boat in Wales is based in Pwllheli and most of them were being used this lovely day.


A very busy Marina
Our assigned berth turned out to be right next to the ramp where the powerboats haul out. Several power boats were milling around while others were temporarily filling every available dock waiting for their turn. We were clearly made to feel in the way as we maneuvered into our spot. Maryanne very politely asked a powerboat occupying our berth if they wouldn’t mind moving down a bit so we could tie up. This was met with the stare. In their haste to move along, one of the occupants ended up straddling the ever widening space between their boat and the float and fell in, earning us glares from all aboard. After we got tied up, Maryanne went over and apologized. They sheepishly accepted, but were still not happy. Luckily their trailer arrived soon after, so they weren’t there long.

The Marina had an amazing system for hauling out boats. As they entered the harbor, they would call ahead and their trailer was added to the cue behind a marina tractor. When they arrived at the ramp, they would wait for their trailer and drive on, where they would be whisked away to make room for the next boat. Our berth made for great front-row-seat entertainment, but the fumes from all of those high horsepower engines running rich at idle quickly became intolerable.

We went into the office to check in. The manager saw our whole docking incident and seemed to think there was nothing unusual about it. He said people fall in all of the time over there and he was in our spot. No, we did not do anything wrong by asking them to move.

We went for a brief walk into town and encountered more of the Welsh Stare from people walking the other way. Well, this time we knew it wasn’t the American flag. Everybody we actually talked to was very nice, but we kept getting the stare. It seemed odd in such a small town. I eventually decided to give them the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps children are taught at an early age to fear strangers so that, by the time they’re adults, they mistrust anyone openly friendly. Maybe there’s just too many damn tourists in this pretty little town and they just want us to piss of and go back home so they can resume being neighborly to each other. I want to believe they really are nice people.