Juggler's Logbook

"Happy people are those who forget the bad things; Sad people are those who remember the bad things!"

"Juggler" is a Halcyon 23 sailing boat. The following is a logbook of her summer cruise from Bristol to somewhere West.

The log is currently (August, 2000) updated daily using a Psion series 5 handheld computer and an Ericsson SH888 mobile phone which has an infra-red modem.

The bus has just passed a little quayside village, with a jetty. The wind is fresh today, it picks up a busy chop on the water. The road wends close to the shore past pretty cottages with flowers spilling out of tiny gardens. I'm glad I didn't walk, it's a fair way.

Now I'm back in Milford, Neyland is a one horse town with no redeeming features, I took the bus straight back to Milford after walking the length of Neyland centre. I did look in at Stephen Ratsey sailmakers for a discussion about spray-hoods. They will make one for £500, which seems rather expensive really, although I knew it would be that much. I was over-impressed by the name Ratsey (and Lapthorn) whereas the spray-hoods on offer appear to be much the same product as many other manufacturers such as Bristol Sails in Bristol Marina. It would certainly be pleasant to sail home with a new spray-hood, like a symbol of a successful voyage, as well as providing new comfort and dryness in the cockpit.
I have since talked to the proprietor of the Bosuns Locker Chandlery who recommended someone who makes spray-hoods. I like the sound of that, a personal service and the knowledge that any money spent will be going to a person and not a company. I am not against companies at all but I enjoy the interaction of working with individuals.

Milford people have been remarkably open hearted towards this visitor in their midst. I sensed this "sparkle in the eye" as soon as I tied up Juggler out on the Haven. I've felt free of, rather than just immune to, bigotry and staring ever since I arrived. I think that the travel writer and Welsh woman, Jan Morris, has had a hugely positive affect for transsexual people. At least this is my initial interpretation of the warmth I feel from Milford people. I've felt remarkably relaxed since arriving here on Sunday.

"The Codfather" fish and chip shop gave me the best fish and chips I have ever tasted. It was delicious and served with that same friendly sparkle in the eye. I was very hungry after my disappointing visit to Neyland, I sat outside the Codfather on the dock and was delighted and satisfied with both the chips and the fish. I believe it would be impossible to savour such a tasty meal anywhere else in the world!

This narrative is obviously no longer a sailing log, at least until I make my way back towards Bristol. No matter, it's all a part of life's great voyage.

Last night I walked around the marina looking at the variety of spray-hoods. 40 or 50 boats later I got back to Juggler, looking at her in close comparison with all the others, Juggler appeared to be just the right type of boat for me. There are plenty of ugly designs which a first time buyer would be vulnerable to choosing on the basis of the price being slightly less. I bought Juggler with a careful consideration of her aesthetic appeal, to me she looked low slung and had a satisfying sheer (the curve down from the bows and up towards the stern). I may have severely limited head room but the last thing I want in a gale is a high cabin to catch the wind.

I spent an evening with Kirsty and James aboard his Foxterrier 23 centre board cruiser-racer. we had a few whiskies, marvelled at James's boat's very comfy seating, ate a meal, played guitars and talked sailing and music therapy. James had sailed from Morecombe Bay via Ireland, where he'd met Kirsty, from Denmark, and whisked her off on his yacht!
James' boat had a diesel engine and he extolled the virtues of range, low fuel cost and "UMPH!" until I felt decisive about getting Juggler one.

For now, though, I have an imperfect outboard which made a nasty shrieking noise, temporarily, while half a mile from Tenby. It has occurred before in Bristol Harbour. I removed the engine and took it this morning to Windjammer Marine at the back of Milford Marina. I met Meurig and asked to have the problem solved. A carburettor service seemed a good idea too, with 100 miles to travel back to Bristol.

Having engaged with the working side of Milford, more practical features are revealed to me. I walked up into the town to find a road atlas for my drive to Ilkley and discovered a European Union funded internet facility. Like the place in Ilfracombe, computers with web access are offered at reasonable charges (lower than most commercial cyber-cafe's which are usually £5 per hour compared to Ilfracombe's Open Access centre which cost £3 per hour). Having said that it is quite low in cost I ended up spending £9 in Ilfracombe. Seeing it as a good way to relax and enjoy myself while waiting for the weather to sail. The Milford web access centre was closed as I came across it but opens at 12 noon, so now it will be open. It is free of charge for 16 to 25 year olds, I asked if I would pass for 25 and was told I'd be fine!

I have been completely unable to get a road atlas. They are one of those things one sees constantly, in newsagents, garages and supermarkets at cheap prices of £3 or so. I tried the big Tesco's, the petrol station nearby, Woolworths, Supersave ("They've got em up Haverfordwest") the Post Office and newsagents to no avail. The newsagents had one with a ripped cover for £12.95 which I found exasperating! The helpful cashier fended off busy looking customers while the "other shop" was contacted on the phone," They do have one, it's £7.95...". I said thanks, but I was still disappointed. I want to start planning my route to Ilkley, some 240 miles across Wales and the West Midlands to somewhere North of Leeds.
I suppose I could get the one on offer, but it seems a lot to spend when I've seen dozens of road atlases in those "cheap shops" for £1.99 or £2.99. I always see them in charity shops too, which are numerous in Milford but full of old dresses and glassware, not a road atlas in sight.

A slightly frazzled consumer, I headed into a cafe' for an "All Day Breakfast". To my pleasant surprise as I made my way through to the back of the cafe' in search of a peaceful seat, a large room opened up with few people in. The view through a large window looked diagonally out across Milford Haven, which glistened blue in the lunchtime, August, sunshine. Sailing boats, moored fishing boats and low green hills beyond had me ordering a "breakfast" with no hesitation and that's Milford for you!

Wednesday evening, 30th August, 2000.
Back in Milford now I am glad to be back home on Juggler having thoroughly enjoyed 5 days of holiday in Ilkley. A holiday within a holiday!
Now, though, I am ready to head towards Bristol and my third year of Sociology degree study. The return journey feels functional rather than exciting, I merely want to get back to Juggler's home port. I suspect there will be interesting days to write about though, even though I've covered the Bristol Channel in a sense. It would be possible to avoid all the visited ports, only making for unseen ones. Sailing is not so simple as planning a route and despatching an itinerary, at least not sailing Juggler.

Prevailing Westerly winds should give me a relatively relaxed sail up the Bristol Channel. But, every sailor knows that the wind is always from ahead! The times when the wind actually blows the boat in the direction intended are rare and produce the wonderful memories of rolling, "goose-winged" towards home. "Goose-winged" is a term describing the set of the sails; when both sails are let out fully and set on opposite sides of the boat. In this state everything conspires to move the boat forward, the waves roll along beside and under, the wind pushes from behind and pulls from ahead. The only tension comes from the need to maintain a constant heading, to prevent the wind getting behind the mainsail, causing a "jibe". A jibe is the sudden movement of the boom from one side to another driven by the wind. People have been injured and even killed by unintentional jibes in strong winds.

I visited Cresswell Quay to remember Tristan Jones, a writer and sailor of incredible quality. One of his boats was named "Cresswell", he was Welsh. Cresswell Quay is beautiful, a small village surrounded by wooded hills on a bend of a winding seaweed ridden creek. There is a line of stepping stones across the Cresswell River, which at the time was a bed of mud, stones and seaweed. The public toilets are as clean as a whistle. Across the road are cottages, a church hall and a pub. Through a gap in thick ivy one can read "RESS ARM", inside, the "Cresswell Arms" is a relaxed, unaffected peace and quiet. I sat on a wooden pew type seat with a coffee as two locals and the Landlady talked. A large beige enamelled cooking range has a vase of flowers on top, I note to myself to put flowers in Juggler occasionally, they are so simple and brief. A cured ham is suspended to the right of the range, partly cut away, I wondered if one could buy ham sandwiches, but my gaze settled on a Capstan Cigarettes poster. It shows a 1930's steam vessel in rough seas, two male figures huddle behind the wheel, out of the spray. My impression was of the pleasure a Capstan would give, like a brief, minute, fire, to reassure the sailor out in the rough salty sea. The rest of the decor consisted mainly of horse racing pictures. The landlady was tall and slim, wore a dress and blouse, with mousy, bushy hair and strong eyebrows. The bar and entrance door were painted brown gloss, the bottom of the door was rotting despite successive coats of paint. Rotting peacefully and quietly, with verisimilitude. Nothing disrupted this rare authenticity, until a noise, "BZSST" heralded the death of a bluebottle in an electric fly killer's blue light over the entrance!

A walker with rucksack and twin poles, traversed the stepping stones, carefully using the poles to balance. She arrived and greeted me in the public loo after muttering to herself in what I thought was Welsh. Outside, drying my wet hands in the now hot sunshine, I realised she was Canadian or American as we chatted about the feeling that Wales has something that is deeply satisfying. Characteristics which we somehow grew up expecting to see, such as big sandy beaches, beautiful coastlines with off-lying islands and easy-going, friendly people.

The Northern part of Wales was recommended by the walker as being even more enjoyable. I would like to sail up there after my university course is completed.

For now I must get this little Nissan "Celebration" back, safely, into the hands of Ty, the proprietor of Celtic Motor Spares (& Car and Van Hire), Hakin Bridge. Ty is a cyclist and dinghy sailor too, we've chatted several times during my extended stay in Milford. Ty has a warmth and humour which epitomises Milford for me, as if the violence and self interest of contemporary society has not reached here (or perhaps, in Freudian terms those aspects are successfully repressed here). I still feel this after a two week stay, Cresswell Quay has deepened my appreciation of Wales and the Welsh even further.

Ty's nationalism pervades much of his conversation, it is relieving to remember that he is born and bred a Welshman. It can be the case that avid nationalists are non-indigenous people seeking authenticity in ethnicity.

I played Celtice music (Album: Capercaillie, Get Out) in the Nissan hire car as I hugged the white lines and caressed the verges of South West Wales on my mini tour, in torrential rain followed by blue skies and hot sunshine on Thursday, feeling as authentic a tourist as I've ever been. No, I'm a sailor, a writer, a student, a visitor, not a tourist, yuk!

Saturday 2nd September.
I bought a Gypsy Moth gimballed lamp - oil version, complete with a heat shield, which I mounted so as to avoid being able to see the flame from the cockpit, just the light, to keep my night vision. Night sails will, from now on, be accompanied by the buttery glow of a paraffin flame radiating from the brass and curved glass, a light that is said to turn hags into maidens. Might come in useful!

The above purchase can be seen as a sign that harbour rot has set in, at the end of my second week in Milford Marina. Buying bits for the boat instead of actually sailing is rather like couples buying each other gifts instead of loving one another!

It looks like I can head out of the marina tomorrow (Sunday), although I feel, psychologically, unwilling to leave Milford. My physical side will take me away from the security of the marina, to the fringe again, where Gannets wheel and Fulmars paddle, where Shearwater almost touch wing-tips on wave crests. And, where my heart is in my mouth, so it can have a better view!