16 July: The Wild West
Riding out the gale behind the old castle in Inishbofin
The old castle did not give much shelter. We had undertaken all precautions we could think of. We had set our two biggest anchors in “tandem”, we had let out ample scope of chain and allowed for a good swinging room for the forecasted cyclonic winds, meaning they could come from almost any directions. Our anchor sail had been set to keep Regina’s bow into the wind. A snubber with a rubber spring, had been hooked onto the chain to take the shock loads. We had chosen our anchorage on Inishbofin with care. Now we could only hope. And wait.

The Atlantic gale arrived as predicted, blowing a steady 30-38 knots, even in our anchorage. The Irish coast is, for sure, rough and wild; frightening, but delightful at the same time, both friendly and harsh. And I am not only talking about the high swell building over a rough sea bottom or the gale winds. I am also talking about the people this weather forms. Celtic people who still talk Gaelic, or Irish as they prefer to call it. People, who for generations have been accustomed to the Atlantic waves rolling onto their lee shore on Europe’s westernmost outpost. Not even the Vikings came here very often. They tried a few times, but preferred the safer east coast, establishing Dublin as their main trading post and boat building centre.

Why had we then chosen the outer route, rounding Irelands on its west side? Weathering out the gale in Inishbofin, this was not the easiest question to answer.

The Low pressure system of 990 hPa must have passed extremely close to us with our barometer dropping rapidly from 1010 hPa to 992 hPa in just a few hours. We were thus no more than 2 hPa away from the actual centre.

Four yachts were anchored in Inishbofin together with us, riding out the gale, which was considered a crowd on this coast. Two of them had problems and started to drag. Their crew was working hard to re-set their anchors on the weedy bottom during the gale. Manoeuvring a boat with a trailing anchor is very difficult, which we could observe where we were sitting under the cockpit extension, watching them coming closer and closer towards Regina. Nervous yelling could be heard. People on deck were rushing around. Soon, I was rushing as well, out of the cozy cockpit extension and into the freezing rain to fender off the intruder with our biggest fender. Luckily the boat in question passed by on a boat length distance, but continued towards the rocks on the opposite side of the bay. “Stop!”, I was bursting out and it was not until at the very last moment, they got their anchor onboard and could manoeuvre back to re-set it.

- “Puuh, that was close!” I said to Karolina.
What a contrast to our pleasant pint of Guinness in the local pub last night, I thought. The day before, we sat enjoying our drink when we got the usual questions about where we were from and how we enjoyed Ireland. One of the pub guests wanted to know how long it had taken us to sail all the way from Sweden to the west coast of Ireland. We answered truthfully that – for us – it had taken one year and one month to be exact. The rising eyebrows were met by our explanation that we had taken a small detour first: we made landfall in Ireland coming from the Azores.

Of course, this provoked further questions and soon we were entertaining the entire pub with our family sailing adventures coming via the Canaries, the Caribbean and over the Atlantic to the west coast of Ireland.
Having mainly encountered like-minded cruisers for the last year, the following questions we were now asked put us back into the times before we started our cruise more than a year ago. At that time, people often thought of us as different, daring and maybe irresponsible, especially taking our children on a trip like this. Here they were again: Did we really sleep onboard every night? What did the children think? How could we jeopardize their education? How could we quit our jobs? Were we not afraid? Had we encountered any storms? And so on.

“Well,” I answered, “Among the worst weather is actually here and now, in Ireland. Winds are forecasted with a Force 8 to severe gale Force 9 starting from a South Easterly direction and then veering over South-West and West to North-West, which makes finding an anchorage a challenge”. I took a deep sip on my Guinness until my audience had digested what I just had said. “I know”, I continued, “this is just a so called ‘summer gale’ and will soon be over. I have heard about your weather in autumn and winter and I adore you that you live on the outpost of Europe. Sailing the trade-wind route we seldom had to worry about gales and heavy seas.”.

I don’t know if the message got through. Possibly their home-waters had been put into some perspective, I didn’t know. Sometimes, people are just not sensitive to information that does not follow their prejudices or a know pattern. Many people take it for granted that it is always worse somewhere else.

Had we known about these weathers, we certainly would have decided against the west coast, missing this fantastic cruising ground, which definitely had been unfortunate!
The Beauty of Ireland, here in Crookhaven
The beauty, the friendliness, the untouched Irish atmosphere was outstanding. The pubs were cosy, the scenery fantastic, the places remote. Guest moorings were found at many anchorages at no charge for visiting boats. Yachts were very welcome, possibly thanks to the fact that not very many do find their way to this extraordinary coast.

Coming in from the Atlantic passing Fastnet Rock, we made landfall in a tiny village called Crookhaven, one of our favourite places along our way. 35 people lived in Crookhaven, or possibly 36. The lady we asked was not too sure, since a baby was due to be born these days. Despite its limited number of inhabitants, Crookhaven had no less than two pubs and one restaurant! What a welcome!
Seeing the pubs from our anchorage and having been at sea for 8 days, the temptation for a cold pint of Guinness became too strong. Who cared it was already very late at night? It was light anyway on these high latitudes! We pumped up our dinghy, got ashore and tried both pubs, just to be on the safe side. Sandwiches were served in one pub and live music in the other. Both had wonderful Guinness! What an unforgettable atmosphere! I believe there is nothing like an Irish pub! Music and poetry becomes part of oneself (especially after a couple of pints of Guinness and an ocean crossing)!
Crookhaven Inn, owned by a Swede and his Irish wife.
How should we make the most out of the remaining few weeks we had on Regina? Should we sail back the same way we had come, or should we dare to enlarge our scope of adventure taking the notorious way around Ireland?

A lot spoke in favour for the relatively safer route we had come down south a year before. We were now on a time schedule, having to be home for the school to start. We had spent a most wonderful cruising year, which we wanted to end just as positively not jeopardising our feelings about sailing. Our 16.000 miles of experiences were not allowed to put us into false belief about invulnerability. After all, we were just an ordinary family on a somewhat longer cruise than usual, and definitely no adventurous heroes.

How come did we then decide against all these very good arguments? Why? Was it our curiosity, tasting the unknown, the attraction towards the forbidden ground, the interest in doing something very few had done? I would like to think it was not. Rather, it was the wish for continuation; seeing new places, meeting exciting people and to proceed with our cruise, hereby denying the fact that we actually were heading home, after all.

Some other good reasons were the overwhelming testimonies by the ones who had sailed around Ireland before: My uncle Lasse, our friends Adrian and Mary Power from Cork, John and Amanda Neal on Mahina Tiare III to name a few. Not many knew the area, but the few who did could not get enough in emphasizing its beauty, its remoteness, its history, its charm and its people.

The last piece of weight was thrown in by the weather forecast, talking about fair weather and calm winds for the foreseeing future. How quickly low pressure systems approach nevertheless and how difficult it is to predict the weather on this coast is shown by the quick change of the weather pattern while we already were on our way north along the west coast.
Southwest Ireland, here: Crookhaven
Once we had taken the decision to give the west coast a try, we set off from Schull and headed west again. We passed Crookhaven and turned round the southwest corner of Ireland and sailed to the port Bellycastle Bearhaven, which is marketing itself as a “sleepy drinking village with a fishing problem”. An impressive fleet of fishing vessels were moored along the quay while fishermen, especially from the eastern European countries, were strolling along the sleepy streets on this Sunday afternoon.
The remainings of the village on the Blasket Islands, from where many stories are told, captured in several most enjoyable books (I read "An old woman's reflections" by Peig Sayers)
The impressive coast that followed is hard to describe in words. We passing rock formations at sea called “The Bull”, “The Cow” and “The Calf” and continued towards The Great Skellig, or it’s correct name Skellig Michael. This deserted rock lying 8 miles offshore an already very sparsely populated mainland was for thousands of years the home of hermits. The 1400-year-old monastic beehive huts are placed 150m or 600 steps up on the rocky island. Even higher up, on the summit, there was one extraordinary hermit’s cell, should the pace of life on “metropolitan Skellig” grow too hectic. The monastery is said to have survived most trials of capturing and annihilating Christianity through various periods of unsettled times. Or, possibly, nobody bothered to come to this island to conquer it, this remote outpost, which did not even offer an anchorage.

When we approached, the Swell was too big, as on most days, to even think of going ashore exploring the remains of the huts but we could admire the rocky island while passing by sailing through Great and Little Skellig.
Passing "The Bull" together with a race boat participating on the "Round Ireland Race".
If Great Skellig always has been a quite place, Little Skellig was its counterpart, heavily inhabited with loads of traffic coming and going. From far, we could see the white colour of the cliffs, which differed significantly from its greater companion close by. The white colour did not originate from the rock, but from the 20.000 pairs of gannet birds, which inhabiting this island! The sky was just full of flying creatures on their way to or from their busy home island. Jessica asked why all birds chose to live on just this island, instead of spreading out on neighbouring places. I couldn’t find a better answer than comparing with us humans, who equally gather in big cities living on top of each other in huge skyscrapers instead of spreading out into the countryside.
Passing "Little Skellig". Note the thousands of birds on the island as well as flying.
Photo by Jessica
Dingle welcomed us after a long day at sea with one of the few marina’s along the coast. We hadn’t been in a marina since the Azores and, for a change, it was very practical to just walk ashore, instead of the often quite wet dinghy ride. Despite being a “tourist town”, Dingle had a lot of charm, a fantastic surrounding nature and an interesting history. If you would like to explore the west coast of Ireland from an amiable little town offering most facilities, Dingle would be a good choice. Hikes are numerous and the people friendly, but its main attraction is Funji, the Dolphin. Funji has lived in Dingle Bay for 23 years. He lives in total freedom, but likes to stay in vicinity of the harbour entrance. Whenever a boat is approaching, he likes swimming close by greeting the visitor.

We left Funji and the High Pressure situation in Dingle, continuing our adventures up the coast. The following days would give food for its reputation. On the Aran Islands, the first Low pressure system hit us with chilly west winds and rain. Many more were to follow.
A traditional farm house on the Aran Islands. Not many are left, unfortunately, and are replaced by modern villas owned by successful fishermen.
The Aran Islands had one major attraction and that was “Dun Aonghasa”, an enormous D-shaped fortification built on a 100 m (300 ft) high cliff during the bronze age some 3000 years ago. I have never seen a more dramatic housing, a circular wall to one side while totally open to the cliff and the sea side. No enemy would ever be able to climb up the cliff, but I would certainly be afraid to fall down living in this fort!
We chose the traditional way of transportation by horse and carriage to the old Dun Aonghasa fort.
Wandering around on the old fortification. I wonder why they chose to build it with this extreme sea-view.
Arial photo of Dun Aonghasa as seen on a postcard
The second Low Pressure with gale winds hit us at Inishbofin, where we were anchored behind the ruin. The small castle on the edge of the island gave only little protection where we were sitting under deck playing Monopoly wondering if our anchors would hold. But strangely enough, even the worst gale blows over and suddenly the sun was trying its best to explain that Ireland always would rise again, no matter what was happening to it. The walk ashore offered some increasing summer feelings and we took courage again that possibly we would be able to continue the following day, since there was “just” a small craft warning left with no gale warning. Had we known better…
Regina moored behind the castle on Inishbofin after the gale. Swell was still running into the anchorage as one can see by the white spray.
Inishbofin in sunshine, where we got back our "summer feelings"
Going for a hike on Inishbofin giving wonderful views of the sea (and Regina). Oh, and the sheep, of course.
The following day offered a new personal record, one that is not to be beaten, hopefully, and nothing to boast about. We could see the next cold front approaching visually and the heavy squalls on the radar. However, it was already blowing a Force 7 with winds gusting well above 30 knots as it approached. What the squalls would present, we could only speculate in. But not for too long.

Of course, it was Karolina who was the first to suggest reefing before the even stronger wind would hit us. After a short thought (Karolina called it hesitation), we rolled in half the genua. The mainsail had been taken down since before, running downwind with just the head sail. The squall came with full force. The rain was whipping against the sea, visibility went down to nil and the wind picked up to the new record of 45 knots while at sea.

How would you think we felt under such a circumstance? What would you have thought and prayed for? Where would you rather have been, instead of out here under storm conditions with the rain so heavy that the seas temporarily had become flat, literally beaten down by falling water?

I fully understand your thoughts here. And that is why I thought I must have gone crazy, which Karolina instantaneously confirmed! I must have been at sea for too long now!

- “Leon, this is going too far”, I said loudly to myself.

How was this possible? I enjoyed it! It was so beautiful! Regina was just flying along in the enormous swell, sailing just under 9 knots. Everything was in order. The boat was in balance. Regina loved it. The autopilot handled it with ease. My foul weather gear held me warm and dry. Jessica and Jonathan didn’t even notice it (not until long after the front had passed and the sun was shining again, they stuck their heads out of the companionway asking surprisingly why everything was wet. “Has it rained?”).

The strong winds held on. With nothing to flatten the seas, the waves increased in size while visibility improved. The waves were enormous, - enormously beautiful. Karolina thought they were scary, which they were. Hadn’t Karolina expressed it so well while crewing on the HR46 Mahina Tiare III in northern Norway? “Frightening Delight”, she had written in an SMS to me at that time when she encountered sailing in heavy weather. It couldn’t be said better.

The seas were white. White of spray. Waves were breaking around us and from behind they came rolling as huge walls of water. It was a new experience to look up to see waves over our heads. Each time you think they would break into your boat, Regina’s stern lifted gently and we were gliding over the wave, feeling the force of it underneath, accelerating down the surge. Wave after wave the same game of beautiful balance between wind, waves and boat.

When we entered Broadhaven, two sailing boats had already anchored. We recognised them from our previous harbours. There are really not many yachts in this area! Possibly, we had seen half a dozen sailing boats in total since we came to western Ireland.

Having seen them before, we almost felt we knew them by now, and we asked them over for a drink. “Lola” was an old lady from 1925 with her home port Eigg in Scotland. Her owner, Simon, knew invaluable secrets of these water, having sailed for decades in Ireland and, of course, in Scotland. With great eagerness, we learnt about the best anchorages to choose and the “heads” to avoid. “Joyant” was the other boat, a 51 foot fast cruising boat from Seattle. Tom and Dorothy had been living onboard for 6 years before they purchased a house in Connecticut and now only sailed “part-time”, as they said. Their 45 000+ miles of experience in varying waters were most interesting giving a lot of food for thought and discussion. Oh, and it was re-assuring to hear that Tom and Dorothy on “Joyant” had experience as strong winds while sailing as on that day only once before during their 11 years of cruising.

Our following leg to Aranmore was nothing as exciting, and we almost started to think that “happy days” were back again. Nothing could be more misleading.
Going for a long walk on Aranmore.
We had merely arrived back from a hike ashore on Aranmore, when an impressive swell set into the bay, breaking over the islets nearby. A heavy storm, which had been roaring far away from us, up in the Northwest around Island, must have thrown up a tremendous sea, and was now running onto the Irish coast as heavy swell, although we had very little wind at that moment. Met-buoy M3 just outside was reporting over 5 m (15 ft) swell, which now found its way also into our bay.
View from the anchorage of Aranmore, sitting in the cockpit of Regina. Suddenly a heavy swell from a storm far away built up.
Suddenly, the DCS alarm went off on our VHF. Piiiiop-Piiiop-Piiiiiop. What now?! Shortly thereafter one could hear “PanPan, PanPan, PanPan – man in water in heavy swell. This is Clifton Coastguard.”

We sat like candles in the cockpit observing the breaking seas, wondering who would come and rescue the man in the water. Little did we know that less than 24 hours later, we would ourselves become involved in a rescue operation.

This time, the answer to our question was given immediately. It didn’t take many minutes, until Karolina saw a couple of fully dressed men in a fast dinghy, driving out to the rescue vessel moored at two buoys in Aranmore. Karolina hardly had time to get the camera out, until the lifeboat had full throttle, rushing out of its anchorage passing Regina in 30 knots. It was flying over the breaking waves out to sea. One more life to be added on the long list of over 135.000 saved lives by the Royal National Lifeboat Institution with its 227 lifeboat stations around the British Isles and over 1.000 trained volunteer rescuers in Ireland alone.
It didn't take many minutes after the PanPan until the Aranmore rescue boat was underway driving through the swell seen on the previous picture. Photo by Karolina.
The following morning, after a rolly night, the swell had declined. Somewhat, at least. Enough to give us the necessary courage to stick out our bow to see how Regina would carry its crew around Bloody Foreland. Who wouldn’t become frightened to round a head with such a fateful name, especially with the rescue operation of the day before still in mind? It was a poor consolation that historic experts assure that its name originates from the colour of the rocks and has nothing to do with all the sailors who have lost their lives outside this harsh coast.

The swell was still remarkable with fishing boats disappearing completely in every trough of the seas, but did not give any other problems than an uncomfortably ride. Regina was rolling heavily.

Suddenly, the radio went off again! A dream? A Dejà-Vu?

- “PanPan – PanPan – PanPan, this is Malin Head Coastguard. Two windsurfers in difficulties off Melmore Head. Any vessel in vicinity, please report to Malin Head Coastguard. Over.”

Silence.

More silence. Time seemed to stand still. Finally, I grabbed the Microphone:

- “Malin Head Coastguard, this is the Swedish sailing yacht Regina, position 2 miles north-east of Melmore Head on easterly course.”

I mentioned our easterly course, to announce that we actually had already passed Melmore Head. I also wanted to stress that we were a yacht and possibly not the best suited to save windsurfers in difficulties close to land.

- “Yacht Regina, this is Malin Head Coastguard, thank you. Please stand by.”

Another yacht called in, who was 5 miles off and who immediately set course towards the victims. No more vessels reported in.

There was not much more to do, than to take down the sails and to motor back into the swell and wind, back towards Melmore Head.

- “Yacht Regina, what is your ETA?”.
- “18 minutes”, I responded and increased the revolutions further.
- “That is copied, please stand by for exact position of the casualty.”

After a while the Coastguard continued: “Yacht Regina, there were two men in the water, of which one has made it ashore and is now safe, the other man is a 60 year old windsurfer in distress in Claddaghanillian Bay. Please proceed. Which is your new ETA?”.

With just 13 deg C ( 55 F) in the water, you really do not have much time!

- “8 minutes”, I responded.
- “Good. Regina, proceed at full speed to the casualty.”
Breaking seas over shoal ground close to Melmore Head
The coastguard was professionally co-ordinating the rescue, but I never thought I’d ever be involved in one! An ambulance was already on its way and equally directed to the place in question.

Where was Claddaghanillian Bay, anyway (don’t even try to pronounce this Gaelic name!)? There! Finally I found it on the chart. It was in a very rocky surrounding with breaking seas everywhere around. What should we do now? How much could we risk our own boat and lives to save another? We discussed the possibility to launch our dinghy and try to proceed with it through the north, where the seas were not breaking as heavily.

Suddenly, a voice, as if from angels, was heard on the radio:

- “Malin Head Coastguard, this is Melmore Rescue Boat, we are on our way with an ETA of 4 minutes”.

We had 6 minutes to go and gladly would pass on the victory to the professionals, especially considering the dangers of breaking waves.

- “Yacht Regina, this is Malin Head Coastguard. Please continue and stand by close to Melmore Head, we have a rescue boat on its way as well”.

“Thank God!”, I thought loudly, and hoped I hadn’t transmitted it on Ch16 over the VHF. We could slow down and circle around in the area as a backup, hopefully not needed.
By now, people had gathered on the beech and I believe they stood in mobile phone contact with the Coastguard since the Coastguard was guiding the rescue boat towards the shore.

- “Melmore Rescue, continue on a straight course towards the man waving at the beech. Do you have contact?”.
- “Malin Head, this is Melmore Rescue, contact with waving man ashore but not with man in distress”.
- “OK, proceed slowly, you are 100 yards from the casualty”
- “Still no contact. Swell is too high”
- “Melmore Rescue, you have now passed the casualty on your port side! You have gone too far. Confirm you can see him.”
- “Negative Contact”

Silence.

What was happening? We were circling around Melmore Head as a backup, while the rescue boat was trying to find the person in the water.

- “He was only 100 yards away, did you hear that?!” I asked Karolina
- “Yes, it must be extremely difficult to find someone in the water under these circumstances.” Karolina replied quietly.
- “What is happening?” Jessica wanted to know. “Have they found him yet? What can we do?”

We all asked ourselves the same questions.

- “Malin Head Coastguard, this is Melmore Rescue, casualty found, taking him aboard at this moment.”
- “Melmore Rescue, Roger, copied that. Please report condition of person”

The wonderful relief of finding the windsurfer was soon replaced by a new fear: his condition. Was he still alive? The rescue operation was definitely not over, yet!

- “Malin Head Coastguard, person is breathing with difficulty”.
- “Melmore Rescue, copy that. Confirm you have him in thermo blankets and proceed with first aid. An ambulance is waiting for you ashore.”.
- “Roger that. But we can’t get ashore here. Swell is too high”
- “Melmore Rescue, please give intended landing place and ETA.”

The rescue boat had to drive around into the next bay, Downing Bay, which would take a full 15 minutes even for the rescue boat. They left in high speed, the ambulance was re-directed and we all hoped that there would be many more windsurfing afternoons for the man now lying in thermo blankets inside the rescue boat.

Regina was finally released from her backup mission and could proceed into Lough Swilly. Our depressed mood was suddenly cheered up by a most wonderful welcome: three bottlenose dolphins swam close to Regina, following us while performing the most wonderful ticks.
One of the three dolphins giving a performance. Photo by Karolina
“They are cheering us up”, Jessica said, “I think they want to tell us that everything is fine with the windsurfer!”

The three fellows followed us all the way to our anchorage and even stayed around the boat for many hours after we had dropped our anchor.
Jonathan launched our dinghy and rowed around talking to the dolphins who came so close that they had their heads lifted looking into the dinghy greeting Jonathan. They seemed to have found contact with each other. This was even better than Funji in Dingle Bay and not comparably to any dolphin show in the world.
Jonathan and his friends, the dolphins.
Just as the wild west coast of Ireland was not comparable to anything we had experienced before.