As I write this, Windleblo strains at her dock lines. Her rigging, and that of a dozen other boats with which she shares this remote island refuge, whistles, sings, and claps as wave after wave of wind driven rain sweeps over her. An Irish accented voice advises over the VHF radio of Force 8 winds. A gale is in full swing tonight. We are hunkered down at Lawrence Cove marina on Bere Island, Bantry Bay, West Cork. (That's pronounced "bear," not "beer," despite the ongoing theme of our Irish posts!)
Sailing west from Glandore, we enjoyed 12 knot winds on our port quarter, making a pleasant six knots past Baltimore and rounding Clear Island. Only a mile or so broad on the port bow was Fastnet Rock looming in the haze. Perhaps the most famous racing mark in the world, every other summer Bermudan class yachts race around Fastnet Rock from Cornwall, England. The Fastnet race of 1979 is notorious as perhaps the greatest sail racing tragedy of all time, when some 23 yachts and 15 lives were lost in a Force 11 storm with "mountainous" seas. The catastrophe was attributed to poor forecasting and overconfident racers, with many lessons learned the hard way as a result.
And Fastnet continues to gather its reputation as a merciless place. The Southern Star, west Cork’s largest circulating weekly newspaper, reports in its August 27th edition of the capsizing of the Rambler 100, one of the yachts running this year’s Fastnet Race. According to the Star, “at 5:40 p.m. on Monday, August 15th, ten minutes after the Rambler 100 rounded the Fastnet Lighthouse, crew members below deck heard a loud crack, the sickening sound of the keel fin fracturing.” In seconds, the boat capsized. Five people were thrown overboard. Search and rescue resources were instantly called, and fortunately everyone survived. Just six weeks earlier, this same boat had set a transatlantic race record of six days, 22 hours.
We jibed the boat to turn into Crookhaven, a well sheltered anchorage just shy of Mizen Head. A visitor’s mooring lay waiting for us, easing our arrival. Shortly thereafter, a 45-footer named Traversay III arrived flying a Canadian flag. We hailed them and arranged an impromptu happy hour in the village pub.
Just outside the pub, we introduced ourselves to Larry and MaryAnn from Vancouver who had arrived in Bantry two days earlier after a 1,200 nautical mile crossing from Newfoundland. We ordered pints and soon were talking animatedly about the cruising life. I’d guess they were in their mid-60s. They showed the trim, healthy glow that comes from the live aboard life. Eleven years ago, they had sold their house and car and started cruising. Since then, they had crossed several oceans, circumnavigating the globe.
Overhearing our conversation, a local joined in. MaryAnn, it seems, is a music aficionado. She asked the local where some music might be found. In a flash, he stepped out to his car to fetch his accordion. He started in with a number of jigs, Larry singing along. One after another, Larry made requests of our new Irish friend, who knew each one. And one after another, Larry sang along. Uncanny. After a while, we said goodnight to Larry and MaryAnn and retired to the Windleblo.
Next morning, we rounded Mizen Head, at the end of a long peninsula on Ireland’s southwest tip. Here, the currents tugged and pulled at each other, creating a confused, lumpy sea. We slogged ahead, eventually reaching Bantry Bay. Ten miles later, we entered Piper’s Sound, which separates Bere Island from the mainland. Around 5 p.m., we tied up to a dock at Lawrence Cover marina near the northeast end of the island.
The next morning, we broke out the bikes for reconnaissance. Three miles across and seven miles long, Bere Island isn’t too large, but the steep hills made it seem larger. We rode from the marina on the east end to the island’s Heritage Center near the west end. Most of the 200 permanent residents live in tidy houses on the island’s north slopes. Green pastures bordered by stone walls gave the slopes a cultured appearance. In contrast, the island’s center and south slope is rugged heather covered terrain dissected by streams leading down to the rocky shore. A seldom used army base occupies the east end of the island, just beyond a small village, and a larger village sits at the west end, opposite the town of Castletownbere across the sound. Ferries run back and forth from the mainland several times a day.
The island has long been associated with some sort of military or naval activity. As we pedaled across the island, remnants of these uses could be seen in the form of crumbling gun batteries, defensive bunkers, and signal towers. During the First World War, the British Channel Fleet regularly used the sound. Allied doughboys were trained here before being sent to fight in French trenches. Admiral Beatty brought the British Battle Cruiser squadron here before the Battle of Jutland. The Allied Fleet assembled here during World War II. Ireland’s neutrality during World War II was tested when Churchill sought access to Bearhaven as German U-boats cruised off the Irish coast. Ireland’s Da Valera declined and only intervention by Chamberlain defused the situation. Fortunately, the U-boat threat in Irish waters soon diminished and along with it, Bearhaven’s strategic importance. None-the-less, damage to Anglo-Irish relations was done as Churchill bitterly reflected in a post-war speech.
On the Lawrence Cove docks, we were delighted to meet John and Valerie, owners of a Najad 52, and John and Moya, cruising Bere Island in their Bavaria 36, both of Cork. We got to know them a bit during happy hour in Windleblo’s cockpit on Saturday evening. Both know Crosshaven quite well and graciously offered to help us get settled in when we return to Cork, an offer we certainly won’t refuse. After happy hour, John drove us up a four-wheel drive road to the island’s high point where a tall cross is erected. We watched as dusk grew over a phenomenal view from Mizen Head to Valentia.
We’re not likely to leave this place for another day or two. More gale force winds are forecast for tomorrow. Tied to a dock sounds like a good place to be right now.
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