The Paddler Autumn/Fall issue 2017

ThePADDLER
Headwinds
Fast forward several months and I’m sleeping in a
car park at Bovisand, the most westerly bay in
South Devon. Plymouth and the start of Cornwall
proper, the River Tamar, is just a short hop across
the sound. Besides a brief midnight interlude of
teenagers thrashing mopeds, it was a remarkably
pleasant night’s sleep. I do love the romanticism of
an adventure in the making. We spent the morning
squeezing the mass of kit into our fleet of Cetus’
and then launched into a rather brisk NW
headwind. This was a weather pattern that we
struggled to break for many days.
The in-ya-face breeze kept us company through
days one and two. The first camp spot, on a cobble
berm at Seaton, blessed us with a driftwood fire
and the most stunning moon rise ever. The following
day we continued past Looe, cutting nicely through
the middle of a sailing race. A brief stop amongst
the tourists at Polperro reminded us that this was
prime summer season, a fact that’s easy to forget
when you are weaving amongst the rocks along the
coastline. But they were soon left behind as we
continued westwards, dipping into the bays to try
The first camp spot, on a cobble berm at Seaton,
blessed us with a driftwood fire
and the most stunning
moon rise ever
and avoid the worst of the wind, only to find
ourselves dodging day trippers, cruisers and fishing
boats at the entrance to Fowey.
We dropped into tourist mode once again at the
fantastically named Readymoney Cove. Sheltered
from the wind, this cove was in British
Summertime. Ice creams may have been purchased.
We soaked up the rays and waited… hoping that
the evening would bring a drop in the wind and
allow us an easy 8km paddle across St Austell Bay.
An uneventful crossing was highlighted by gannets
diving for their supper. The spectacular green
pyramidal cliffs of Penare Point welcomed us to the
west side of the bay. The temperature dropped
significantly as clouds covered the sun and we
paddled on into the evening.
We eventually landed sometime after 8pm on the
stunningly sandy Vault Beach. Our bodies had
found ‘kayaking mode’ but that doesn’t mean that
we weren’t properly knackered after 38km! A very
late dinner was not exactly enhanced by squillions
of sandhoppers trying to commit suicide in our
meal. A grim forecast for the next day meant an
early start, to try and avoid the worst of that
damn headwind…