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Here it is.. the map of our journey.
1875 logged miles (probably an underestimate)
Over 10 degrees of latitude:
Furthest north: Stromness on the Orkneys at 58º 29'N
Furthest south: Treguier at 48º 47' N
8 degrees of longitude, crossing the Greenwich meridian:
Furthest west: Stornaway 006° 24' W
Furthest East: Off Lowestoft 001 46' E
Most wind: F7 (28-33 knots) gusting to over 40 knots, en-route between Whitby and Southwold
We thought it would be a quiet day just drifting
downriver to Town Quay at Dartmouth to clean the boat and say our farewells. Of course we
did not bargain with being escorted down the Dart by two Royal Navy training
craft so we decided to do things the proper Navy way. Whilst Martin was putting
away the tender oars (why were the oars tender?), Jane got out the cat o' nine
tails and gave him a good flogging much to the amusement (or was it despair!)
of the captain of the RN craft.
Having taken down the mainsail, we at last tied up at Town Quay just before 11am. The end of our trip!
A rather bumpy night at anchor and the wind
still blowing strongly from the west meant that we abandoned plans for a quick
trip back to Salcombe in favour of running with the wind down to Dartmouth and
up the river to Dittisham. Having made the plans we then sat round blearily
until lunchtime, seeing how low we could sink in terms of topics of discussions
(quite a long way given the professions of some of our crew) by which time it
was raining..... RAINING? ..... 
What is this?? In the six weeks we've been sailing we
have not seen much of the wet stuff - the odd bit of drizzle but no serious
rain. As Dartmouth approached and then disappeared into the rain, we
discussed whether we would have to try blind pilotage, but instead left it to
Kerenza who reassured us that she knew her way in.
Entering Dartmouth, Paul, Jane and I celebrated by posing on the foredeck for the survivors photo, having completed the full circumnavigation of Britain on one trip. Bob was allowed to join us having done legs two and three in this trip, and leg one on a previous trip.
A quick stop at the fuel pontoon and then off up the river to Dittisham, and a
trip to the Ferry Boat Inn for a prolonged stay and participation in the pub
quiz. Anyone who has been to the Ferry Boat will know that this is an event not
to be missed, with the idiosyncratic quizmaster scoring points at random.
Answering questions correctly is no guarantee of winning - for example
answering "Champignon" for the French word for mushroom, means you
will be awarded minus 5 points as "as you all should know by now, I don't
like the French!". Hopes of a Frangi success were swiftly dashed - aided
in particular by Jane's prowess at answering questions on soaps and pop which
were all awarded by negative scores. Martin amazed us all by attempting some
algebra to answer the maths question... err ... incorrectly!
Being all completely knackered by the previous evenings crossing of the channel and several hours in the Ferry Boat, we all collapsed into sleep early, ready for our LAST DAY!
Wednesday started with a lovely morning. Bob as usual got up early and went for an explore round the town; the rest of us lazed about trying to work out why the marina smelt so bad - no, it wasn't our heads, it was rotting vegetation washed down on the current.
We then all donned our kayaking gear (what kayaking gear?) and set off to hire two single and two double kayaks and started off upriver
against the tide. Talk of course to steer and waypoints were soon proved
irrelevant by our inability to steer any course against the current and our
incompetence in kayaking.
Having made it up to the first bend in the river, we parked on the mud and intrepid Bob went off to blag some beer from a nearby house. The conversation obviously amused the moustached Frenchman, who, when faced with Bob's "Je suis Anglais - un Ros biff" anwered with "Je suis Frog eater", volunteered his remaining three beers and refused payment. Cheers from the waiting party! The intrepid team, clutching the beers, rafted up and floated serenely back down to the marina. Lunch and beer at the café and we were soon ready to set off for our final long night sail cross channel, the plan being to go to Salcombe.
I volunteered to skipper for this passage, wanting to see how to calculate a course to steer across the channel and careful calculations to leave Treguier on an ebb tide and arrive at Salcombe with enough water under the keel on a rising tide, I fathomed out we needed to leave at 3.15pm, and not go "too fast". The wind in the harbour was non existent, so it looked like a good plan, though a F4 was forecast for the crossing, with occasional higher winds.
Pilotage out of Treguir was "interesting", given all the rocks- wouldn't like to do this at night! And then we were off... not in the forecast F4 but in much more wind- F6 (and F7 at times). Frangi was obviously anxious to get home because she hoisted up her skirts and went off like a rocket in 25 knot winds.
The whoops of glee from the helm as boat speeds crept up over 9 knots were
only paralleled by groans from the cockpit and heads by two members of our
party (who will remain nameless) who did not appreciate the increasingly rough
seas.
As night fell we went on to watches and hit the shipping lanes. Jane and Kerenza on the first watch had Paul gritting his teeth down below as they discussed various aspects of oncoming ships: "What's that one?"... "I don't know". "What do those lights mean?" "Oh Fuck!!!". They contemplated calling offending ships on the VHF, and revealing they were two Edinburgh "ladies"(too much little Britain viewing!), but decided the coll regs were not yet ready for the new rule of "give way to yachts with tandems". The rest of us tried to sleep against the banging of the yacht into the waves, some more successfully than others. We think Martin's reported sighting of glowing water in the heads (on his frequent visits there) was phosphorescence, but can't be sure, so are keeping a close watch on him for further signs of incipient madness.
With 10 mile to go we hit the inshore shipping channel and had further fun playing dodgems with large vessels. Yachtmaster theory came into play in identifying lights- not always successfully as Paul's advice was needed on a couple of occasions: lights of vessels carrying dangerous cargo had us flummoxed.
Frangi's turn of speed - we averaged well over 8 knots over the 90 miles under sail- meant we arrived far too early to go into Salcombe across the bar, particularly in a SW'ly F6-7, and had to revise plans to find a safe haven. Torquay was rejected in favour of anchoring in Start bay and after much grunting , groaning and swearing from Paul at the bow, involving hacksaws and winch handles, we managed to drop the hook off Hallsands at about 5am.
We all got our heads down for some sleep.
A slow start, but we managed to get our act together (sort of) for the start of our trip further south. As the wind was forecast to be northerly F4, we decided we could take advantage of this by running down to Brittany for yet another dose of French culture. Unfortunately the wind, whilst northerly, didn't oblige with a F4, so much of the trip was managed by "George" the autopilot, apart from a brief interlude where we attempted to put up the pretty sail. Martin and I wrestled on the foredeck for quite some time (trying to put up the sail, honest!) before discovering the pulley was jammed. We finally managed to hoist the sail and had a nice run for all of 10 minutes before the wind died.
The excitement of the afternoon was coming into Treguier - Martin, as skipper
for the day, got paler and paler as more and more rocks emerged into view.
Spectacular scenery and a lovely trip up the river, with all of us deciding
which houses to buy.
By coming to Treguier, we have journeyed over 10 degrees of latitude - from Stromness in the Orkneys at 58º 29'N to Treguier at 48º 47' N.
We decided to walk up into the pretty medieval town although it was getting dark by the time we got there. As usual our decision-making process was impacted by the bar that stared us in the face at the top of the hill and so ensconced ourselves there for the evening. The turkey that we had planned for the evening on the boat was abandoned in favour of steak frites and plans were hatched to go out on the kayaks that were tempting us at the marina.
As we couldn't leave Alderney until lunchtime, time for a quick tourist trip. Bob,Martin and I braved the water taxi and walked up to St Anne's for coffee and a visit to the museum. Another trip into wartime history, reading about the evacuation of Alderney and wartime occupation by German forces. A walk back with glorious views over the Swinge, and a reminder of why careful planning is needed to go down this route. The white water of the overfalls was clearly visible, as was the backwards progress of a French yacht which had clearly ignored the tidal flow charts and warnings of doing this passage in NW winds against a tidal stream. We must confess to some feelings of pleasure as this was the yacht which had messed up our mooring in Alderney the previous evening.
In contrast to the backwards progress of the French yacht, we made excellent
progress on our trip down the Swinge thanks to careful planning
by Jane, our skipper for the day. The wind and tide worked with us, and at last
a return to excellent sailing conditions. The "pretty sail" (a.k.a
the cruising chute) came out and we had a glorious broad reach down to Guernsey.
Martin had a big grin on his face and had to be wrestled off the helm by Paul,
who then refused all offers to take over helming until we reached the outskirts
of St Peter Port. His suggestion that Jane sailed the boat into the marina
still under sail were soundly rejected.
On arrival, Jane 's severe withdrawal symptoms had immediately to be addressed by a quick trip to the chandlery to see if there was any new Musto clothing to be purchased. She managed to resist temptation, although Kerenza finally succumbed to a Musto t-shirt. Now we are complete as a Musto boat! The team then retired to a local hostelry (where else) to celebrate the lovely sail, and then to an Indian restaurant for an excellent meal (thanks Paul!).
Suitably refreshed, we returned to the boat where Paul demonstrated his prowess
with a tea towel (no, not washing up). We all wonder in which den of iniquity
he has learned his whipping techniques... ...the cupboard was emptied of tea
towels as we all practised with increasing success, as evidenced by the yelps
and screams echoing across the marina. With more practice, we will soon be able to advertise a
new kind of sailing holiday!
Friday morning dawned warm and sunny, and Jane,
Kerenza, Bob and I were enjoying a lovely French breakfast on the harbour front
overlooking Frangi … until Frangi started to move! The look of startled
surprise on the breakfasting French people as three running Brits (I was
left holding the bill at the café!) – one dressed as Nelson crossed with a pirate
- lept onto the pontoon as if the lifeboat was to be launched reduced Paul and
Martin to hysterical laughter.! Our motorboat owner had decided to leave early
(maybe the stress of being next to the mad skipper, his pregnant wife, and a wannabe
pirate was just too much). Having rearranged the lines we finished breakfast
and prepared to leave.
Paul refused on come on deck as skipper for the day Kerenza, a.k.a Long Johanna Silver, prepared to slip from the pontoon, murmuring darkly about his reputation and something like “I’ll never be employed again”. Dressed in Pirate hat and scarf, stripy socks and a large earring, Kerenza crouched rather manically over the wheel as we eased out way out into the centre of the inner harbour. We were accosted by calls of “Eeez zat Nelson??” from two skippers of French boats, and then more and more boats circled us. We were beginning to wonder if this was the start of Trafalgar 2 (the version where the French might win?)… but no, it was just the start of the whacky races to exit the inner harbour when the bridge opened.
It seemed like most of the inhabitants of the harbour had decided to leave at
the same time, and the space around Frangi got smaller and smaller, and
Kerenza’s blood pressure got higher and higher as more and more boats joined
the melee. Finally the bridge opened and we managed to push our way into the
queue and under the bridge- only to be met by a small pleasure launch sideways
on taking photos. Panic from Kerenza and words from Paul which cannot
be repeated…
We managed by dint of breathing in very hard, to get through a gap and made our way to the lock… which contrary to plan was still closed. A complicated session of rigging lines followed, before we were lowered through the lock…along with several other boats in rather a sardine like configuration.. all of 2 feet. Having got through the lock we turned round to find that it was now fully open… ah well – good practice at rigging!
An uneventful sail – or rather motor – to Arromanches to see Gold beach and the site of the wartime Mulberry concrete harbours. This is certainly a trip which has brought home to us the significance of the sea during the two world wars - from our visit to Scapa flow, seeing all the East coast defences and now the Normandy beaches – a sobering thought.
During our passage to Arromanches, Martin made the fatal mistake of asking Paul is we could do some MOB practice at some point. We spent a pleasant hour discussing various strategies, including MOB recovery and thought nothing more of it.
We were just putting on the kettle, having anchored off Gold Beach when …“SPLASH!!!”.. The crew
ran around like headless chickens looking for Paul, to find him in the water.
Aghast, we stood, mouths agape, as Paul bobbed about, shouting “the casualty is
getting cold… throw me a line, you morons”. We scrambled into action, with Paul
giving us instructions and rather unceremoniously hauled him back on board. As
we were all breathing out with relief, imagine our horror when… “SPLASH!!” Oh
NO… he’s done it again. This time we had to try out Bob’s method using the
boom. Thus turned out to be far more difficult, having to lift Paul over the
guard rails with little clearance between it and the boom. After this we lashed
him to the deck to make sure he didn’t do it again!
Paul then had us contemplating how to deal with a casualty once on Board. Warming up the casualty was of course a priority, with Paul’s preferred method, of course, involving Jane and a sleeping bag. We sent him off to the shower and suggested he turned it to cold.
After debriefing on the valuable lessons we had all learned, we set off again to St Vaast. Kerenza looked more and more worried as we approached the harbour.. would her calculations of tidal heights work? Was Paul right in saying it would be fine at 9.40pm? We arrived on the dot of 9.38pm and watched as the echo sounder showed 0.5m….. 0.2m….. 0.0m… and then we came to a halt. Ooooopps. Paul grabbed the helm and put Frangi back into the channel and into the harbour safely. (tracks in the mud - presumably some of ours, but lots of others -were interesting the following morning!)
A swift retreat to a nearby hostelry was called for to repair Kerenza’s frayed nerves, and for Paul to introduce us to the delights of “Girafes” of Cider. No, not a spelling mistake… this turned out to be a very tall glass column of Normandy cider complete with tap and six glasses. We were evicted from the inn at closing time..
After our exploits of the previous evening, it was a good job that Jane, our skipper for the day, decided that we didn’t need
to leave till 3pm. A slow morning which most of us have little
recollection of.
We set off in brilliant sunshine – one benefit of now being in the high sitting over the southern UK – but no wind – a disbenefit, as we spent lots of our diesel budget on our trip going over to France. After a couple of hours down the coast we headed off across the TSS between Dover and Calais with radar and binoculars poised and valium taken by our skipper for the day. Not too busy, though the TSS virgins on board had lots of discussions about whether and when to change course when faced with oncoming ships; Paul of course remaining cool and calm and telling us to hold our course. Playing chicken with supertankers is a skill evidently to be practised. Those sailing with Kerenza in future should note that she’s not so good on identifying direction of ships; and offers the use of her body for the evening…
As daylight fell, we arrived off the coast of France and turned right to run down to Honfleur over night. Shipping traffic lightened, and apart from convoys of fishing boats the rest of the journey went smoothly. We moored on the harbour wall and I rushed off for a “Crepe complete” at great speed. We were in France, after all!
The surprise of the day came when Paul announced
that he and Jane had got married and she was pregnant; even more so when Jane announced
that she was also engaged to Kerenza, who had the ring to prove it. All became
clear when we were allowed to enter the inner harbour. Paul, having failed to
charm the harbour-mistress into giving us a berth, turned his attentions onto
the owner of a motorboat and persuaded him to allow us to raft up, as his
“pregnant wife Jane was in far too delicate a state to climb the ladder on the
outer harbour wall”. We spent the rest of the afternoon making sure Jane’s less
than delicate state and cans of beer were not spotted by the motorboat owner.
Honfleur was beautiful in the warm afternoon sun and we played tourists, variously visiting the beautiful wooden “L’Eglise Ste Catherine” built by boat-builders with a roof like two upturned boat hulls, walking round the lovely streets, admiring the architecture of the new library, sitting on the harbour drinking beer and soaking in the views, and plotting buying houses in Normandy at around half the price of UK houses.
The short version of our visit to Ramsgate, according to Kerenza:
Donkey derby
Read books all day
Met a parrot on the boat
Got drunk
Six in a diving bell
Group massage
The long version, starting from Southwold:
A gloriously sunny day in Southwold… those of us who had never been to Suffolk were very pleasantly surprised by this part of the world. The river and its rickety landing stages and personal sheds all along
the bank, with small gardens and bits of boats, contrasted greatly with the
pristine chocolate boxy town of Southwold itself. Great beer from Adnams too – but fantasies of
moving here were short lived when we noticed that even beach huts cost
£100,000.
We had arrived in Southwold on the high tide. As the tide fell in the river, Frangi
settled on the bottom. The promised clearance of at least a metre under the
keel turned out to be wrong, as we found out when Frangi started to heel over
to port – quite
alarming when not under 
way! Fortunately she didn’t go
over enough to hit the landing stages and soon righted herself as the tide
turned. A quick manoeuvre with ropes moved her down the pontoon to where the
harbourmaster told us there would be a deeper spot.
After a pleasant evening in the pub (what a surprise) we followed Clive’s first
rule of navigation by leaving at 8.30 and turning right. In contrast to yesterday, we had no wind whatsoever so we motoried down to Ramsgate (the reference above to donkeys will become clear
now- donkey equals engine in Paul-speak)… but as it was hot and sunny and it
was the first day in nearly 5 weeks when we have not gone under sail we could
hardly complain. We visited the principality of Sealand and waved to Prince
Michael, before continuing on Martin’s planned
route.
Just off Ramsgate we were visited by a parrot. He came and landed on the boom
and turned out to be very tame, sitting on Bob’s hand and eating muesli. He obviously
decided in the end that he didn’t want to be Frangi’s mascot for the rest of
the trip and flew off to visit a faster boat before heading back towards land.
We arrived in Ramsgate around 6pm and yes, you guessed… headed for the pub for a refreshing pint (or two) before
dinner. On the way back, Kerenza insisted we explored a diving bell outside the
museum - interesting as it was designed for one person – but we proved six
could fit. Returning to the boat we all sat out on deck on a balmy evening enjoying
the benefits of reciprocal shoulder massage whilst dinner cooked. Martin went
to bed with a big grin on his face, extolling the virtues of sailing
holidays...
