"The weather here is all Fronts and no Backs". That curt note in the damp log of a southbound cruise along the west coast of Ireland was inscribed back in the days when we'd boats that weren't mile-eaters to windward. It captures part of the mood of gloomily, endlessly, determinedly slugging against wind and weather, when it took forever to change the bearing on a distant, misty headland.
Each scratchily heard shipping forecast would be analysed with infinitely more care than we'd give to deconstructing some Yeats poetry in school, in the hope of finding - in the midst of all the coded weather information - that there was a favourable Front on the way to give us a helpful slant along the next line of ever-so-scenic but often invisible cliffs.
NATIONAL 18s HELMSMAN'S AT CROSSHAVEN
This weekend, with a situation of info-excess about decaying tropical storms sweeping across the Atlantic, the sailing community's helpful elite corps of Armchair Race Officers reckons that with Storm Amy doing her worst yesterday (Friday) evening, the National 18s lined up up for the dinghy section of the Helmsman's Championship could definitely be racing on Sunday, and a contest or two might even be possible later today (Saturday).
The National 18s at Crosshaven are the selected boat for this weekend's Dinghy Section in the Helmsman's Championship 2025. The Keelboat Section is at the Royal Irish YC in Dun Laoghaire in a week's time
In some ways, with fewer sources of information available, strategy was more straightforward in the olden times when cruising the West Coast. Advised with little detail that yet another Low was heading for us, we'd know there'd be a very useful period of sou'easter in advance of it to provide relatively steady southward progress, even if optimising it meant holding out against every instinct telling us to get into a snug port pronto.
STAY OUT OF THE TIDE
And when you did finally zap into port with the next lot of "dynamic weather" visibly imminent, it makes sense to anchor out of the place's strongest tidal streams. It may look lovely on a summer's evening to be as conveniently close as possible to the hospitality hot-spots of Crookhaven - to name one example - but when it's wind-over-tide as the weather goes downhill and the tide comes up in the small hours, you'll find being only a few cables further north puts you in a different world of calm water.
Crookhaven is one of the magic summer places, but in unsettled weather a careful choice of anchoring places makes for a significant difference in overnight comfort.
RINGBOLTS IN THE CLIFF FACE
The situation is even more clear-cut in the prosaically-named Tinker's Hole anchorage close east of Iona in southwest Mull in the Hebrides. The tide can make the middle part of this distinctly compact place decidedly restless, but there have been ringbolts in the cliff-face on the eastern side for centuries, and a stern line soon hauls you free of restless water for a miraculous transformation.
Compact place. The Tinker's Hole anchorage may require a line ashore to stay out of the tidal stream.
RAIN TO SUN
Judith Malcolm's marvellous header photo, taken a week ago, reflects the optimism of a clear-cut change in the weather, when the day is getting better, and for once it really is possible to reckon that this is a rare opportunity to look in detail at a meteorological Back.
The morning with heavy rain had been so clearly gloomy mood-defining that the idea of the après sailing being in sunshine for the celebration of the successfully-reached halfway stage of the Howth Autumn League seemed unlikely in the extreme, yet that's the way it was.
That said, Heaven alone knows what today (Saturday, 4th October), with its decaying tropical storm now called Amy, will bring. We've already lost track of all the names it seems to have had in building towards the Caribbean before coming across the Atlantic, but did note that somewhere between Bermuda and Bloody Foreland there was apparent gender re-assignment - the name Humberto seemed to be the gathering storm's earliest working title, but now she's Amy and hopefully well north of us and going away.
SMOKED OUT AT CRINAN
Nevertheless we're currently in a very active weather setup where Ireland's main function on the global meteorological stage is to act as the target for the Transatlantic Jet Stream, and Amy's siblings are already on their way. It's no more than we should expect in early October, but when such weather arrives prematurely in the cruising season, it makes sense to allow the ship and her crew a night in total shelter.
The total shelter provided by the Canal Basin at Crinan proved to be an unventilated place when the fishing boats made their early morning start.
Thus after a week of bouncing around the Hebrides, we allowed ourselves a night of peace in the canal basin at Crinan before making the hop back to Ireland to the west of Kintyre. All went according to peaceful plan in that super-sheltered place until about five o'clock in the morning, when we found we were being asphyxiated.
For it was a Monday morning, and the flotilla of Scottish East Coast fishing boats that use Crinan as their summer base had their crews arrive on board and promptly start the diesels to have everything running smoothly by the time they'd finished breakfast. In the shelter of the basin, there wasn't enough breeze to shift the fumes, so our day started earlier than planned. That said, like the Gloucester Massachusetts whaling skipper who went clean round the world without sighting a single whale, let alone catching one, we'd a helluva fine sail.
