Day 78 – Dinas Dinlle to Aberdaron – 6th Aug – 29.5 nm
I think it is a warm
front but I'm not really sure. Sat in the van, looking out over the water and into
the grey murk, the visibility is less than ½ mile, the rain is rattling off
the roof. I’ve been trying to work out what sort of weather to expect after
the front but I can’t think. My head feels full of cotton wool, I guess I'm
tired.
Fatigue gets you in so
many ways and motivation is one of them. I need to be getting on
with the day but can’t get too excited about things. It’s cold, wet and windy
out there – the van is warm and dry – not a good combination. But like numerous
previous beaches, I'm not ready to go, there’s no real reason, it just doesn't
feel right. TM finds this a little frustrating once again, time is wasting as I
faff and stall.
The forecast is for the
weather to blow through, though that’s hard to believe at the moment. Then it’ll
be breezy for a while, but settling, with the tide, late in the day.
Irrespective of what kind
of front it is, it does finally move on and it is time to paddle once again.
After the hanging around I now become impatient and rush to get on. We hurriedly
run through the check list before the boat leaves the beach.
There are blue skies
ahead, but it is still breezy, from the NW, and quite lumpy. For the early part
of the day it’s not going to be a relaxed paddle. As I move further out I find
that there’s swell coming from two directions, a 4-6ft on the bow and a 2-4ft
coming from the right hand side – one from what was and one from what will be.
It’s difficult going, the boat wallows around and it’s hard to keep the rhythm
going.
In the rush to leave the
beach there wasa hurried complacency and didn't really finalise a plan. There’s a
misunderstanding as TM mentions that she is going to head to Nefyn and meet me
there. I am uneasy about this, inside I know that Trefor should be the first
option, but I feel under a little pressure to stop farting around and get on
with the job. On days like this I’m not sure of what conditions to expect and I
like to progress along while ticking off the options.
But now as I start to
move along the cliffs the confused swell starts to meet the rebound and things
become unpleasant. I can’t get in touch with TM so I keep on towards Nefyn. It
doesn't get any easier and before long it’s too lumpy to eat or pee, or even
scratch my nose. It tales a while but eventually I get close enough to get a
little shelter from the headland at Port Dinllaen and rush to take an urgent bladder
evacuation. Not long after it’s a busy landing at Nefyn where speed boats and
jet-skis abound. The clock shows 3 ½ hrs since the start.
The sun is out now and
the August holiday makers are everywhere. The Taran is trolleyed up the hill
and we sit in another 4 quid car-park while we admire the view. It’s a very nice
view, the rain has cleansed the air, it is a bright day now and the hills are displayed in their glory, Anglesey lies in the distance.
It’s also time to discuss
the morning’s happenings.
We are both tired. TM was
a little complacent, a little too confident in my abilities. She assumed that
Nefyn was an easy target, unconsciously putting pressure on. I was too soft,
too keen to go with the flow; I should have said that I was not comfortable
with this. The buck has to stop with the boat driver.
But the biggest mistake
was that I should have landed. Without comms I felt I needed to make Nefyn, or
things would have got complicated, and time consuming. But complicated safe is
better than dodgy easy. If I wasn't happy then I should have made the landing
and sorted things out from there. I have to take the decision, and the
responsibility, no-one else can. From me it’s another case of push-onitis, not
good. We talked of complacency only during the last day or two, and then fall
straight into the trap. The Fat Lady ain't on the stage yet.
Four sunny hours slip by,
the warmth is welcome and the view relaxing, but of course, soon it is time to
leave once again. We trolley the boat down the hill to the busy beach. A couple
of posh-lads get rather impatient behind as they want to get their tractor and
boat trailer down the narrow lane quicker. They are not too impressed to be
held up by a bloke with a pink canoe on a silly little trailer, comments and
gesticulations follow.
A minute later the
tractor is stuck in the sand, Team Fatboy discusses the benefit of differential
lock and smile wryly while the Taran is packed.
It was nice to have a
break but it’s also nice to leave the hustle and bustle of the pre-teatime boat
landings, rounding the headland soon delivers Taran and me back to the peace
and quiet of open water.
Originally the hope was
to transit Bardsey Sound close to high water slack, but that’s not going to
happen today. We needed to make Porth Oer before the tide changed to manage
that. So now I'm hoping to take the ebb down the coast to P.O. and then make a
suck-it-and-see decision there. I'm rather conscious of the Bardsey Sound tide
races, eddies and today’s swell.
Initially it’s I'm-not-going-around-the-end-in-this
breezy, but as the end of Lleyn draws closer the breeze starts to fade, the
swell has dropped away too. The sun is still out and it starts to become quite
enjoyable.
A headland is silhouetted
by the sunshine, still so many miles away. Then a giant and his mammoth dog
appear on the end, I chuckle as a trick of the light and brain suddenly mean
they are only a minute away.
The water is interesting
beyond Penrhyn Mawr (of course) and around the islet of Maen Mellt. The eddy
line is impressive, and along with the races, it encourages me to alter my line
for a discretion-is-the-better-part-of-valour sort of route.
But things have settled
now and the flow is helping nicely, the GPS smiles a 6 kts + figure. The lack
of swell and wind tempts to give the Sound a go. Team Manager has made it to
the end too and stands on the hill watching things develop. She calls to give
me an idea of what to expect in the tiderace at Braich y Pwll. Unfortunately it
seems that the added height of her viewpoint takes the edge of things. What she
sees and what I soon experience are, rather different.
I stay out as long as I
can to miss the most of it, but eventually I realise that I'm going through it like
it or not, there’s not a great deal of choice in the matter. It’s lumpy and
confused - one of those sort of paddling through it rather than over it moments.
Then we’re through. Relieved...
I meet a yacht, using the
eddy to go the opposite way. As the water quickly calms I turn to watch his
progress, keen to see the outcome. But I'm rather dismayed as it all now looks
smooth and calm, but then there’s a rather abrupt ‘manoeuvre’ as he crosses the
eddyline – yep, that’s the one, bet that rattled the crockery a touch.
Aberdaron Bay always
takes forever to cross and tonight is no different, to give a mildly Russian Roulette
landing amongst the hidden boulders – a smiling reminder of Durness so long
ago. We decide to eat out but are too late to catch any food in the village and
so it is a glamorous car-park boil-in-the-bag for dinner. Another romantic
night out for the Team Manager.
The campsite is small and
peaceful, just up the hill. It’s a pleasant, relaxed spot, but it doesn't get
deserved justice, as it fades into just another late finish.
