Down to Ireland’s Southern Coast in Sails

The beam of the lighthouse flashed white through the falling darkness. The passage down from Wexford had been a rough one, with heavy southwesterly gales blowing ever to windward, the huge swell threatening to swamp our boat as it tacked along.

Early that morning we had hoisted a storm jib and, when wave after massive wave appeared on the horizon, we had decided to cinch ourselves to the lifelines.

The sky, gray with storm clouds, had been ominous all day. By the time we reached Youghal, two hours behind schedule, the sky had opened and was pelting us with piercing, frozen needles of rain.

Behind us, Ram Head was disappearing quickly with the failing daylight, and the ebb tide leaving Youghal Bay threatened to make the passage too shallow, leaving us without a safe harbor in which to moor.

We lowered the jib and decided to chance it. Warily, my fingers red and stinging from the cold rain, I switched on the engine and steered into the narrow passage. By the water marks on the stone quays of the town, I could see that the tide was out. But how far?

With my eyes on the charts and the gray choppy water, I eased the boat into the harbor. At one point we scraped bottom, but there was just enough room to continue.

End to Day of Misery

A quarter of an hour later we dropped anchor with a resounding thud. The tide ran so swiftly through the harbor that we had to put out a kedge anchor and winch the boat tightly to it.

Was the entire trip going to be like this? We asked ourselves that question while rowing for shore. Hardly an enjoyable day’s sailing. But that day of misery reversed itself as soon as we tied the dinghy to the stone quays of Youghal.

Minutes later, snug in a small pub and with a pint of Guinness upon each lap, the publican assured us that the day had been unseasonably rough and that, according to the weather forecast, it would blow over by morning.

The four of us snorted in skepticism. But the publican must have been sympathetic to the four shivering yachtsmen in front of him, for he brought us each a free pint. That warmed us considerably.

An hour later, as we were consuming a beautiful lobster at Aherne’s seafood pub, the wretched weather was forgotten.

And later, as we sipped yet more Guinness in the Moby Dick lounge, we became enchanted with Youghal. Segments from the film “Moby Dick” were shot here, hence the name of the pub.

The owner, Paddy Linehan, even has a scrap book of the actors from that film. Now, though, only a handful of fishing trawlers and yachts use the harbor. It seemed the same story with most ports along the southern coast.

We had journeyed to Ireland on the advice of friends who chartered a boat here from Andy Stott on the Schull Peninsula in West Cork. Stott now runs a yacht charter and maintenance service from his home.

The yacht we hired from him was a Dart 35-foot Warrior with a four-cylinder, Mercedes 36-horsepower diesel engine. In immaculate condition, it came equipped with all the essentials, including safety gear such as VHF radio and depth sounder. The cost of chartering the boat during a June week was about 550 ($775). For those who want a pilot, Stott will serve as skipper at no extra charge.

Ireland’s southern coastline is one of the most remarkable in Europe, holding an attractive array of features: secluded anchorages, unpolluted water, gourmet restaurants and, most importantly, an ever-present wind. One thing’s for sure: You can’t make similar boasts about the Mediterranean. At least not at the same inexpensive price.

The publican had been right in his predictions of the weather, for the next morning broke bright and warm, with a beautiful easterly blowing. The oilskins of the previous day were stowed away and swimsuits brought out as the sunshine beamed down on our sails.

It was one of the most exquisite sailing days I have ever experienced: the strong gentle breeze, the sparkling blue water, the gulls reeling near the mast, the green coastline to starboard.

We sailed from Youghal Harbor past Knockadoon Head, through Ballycotton Bay, around Power Head and Roches Point and into Crosshaven. As we tied up at the Crosshaven marina, I felt both relaxed and invigorated with the warm, lazy sail.

At the mouth of Cork Harbour, Crosshaven is a tiny village that revolves around its yachting scene. The yachting club may be the oldest in the world, having been founded in the 1720s.

As we tacked further into the harbor the next morning, we passed the bustling village of Cobh, a huge cathedral sitting in its midst. Cobh was once the main port of exit for millions of emigrating Irish.

Directly across the harbor sits Spike Island, once an infamous prison. Farther into the harbor, chemical plants--spewing out industrial waste--sit on sites not a hundred yards away from animal and tree sanctuaries. Despite these mind-bending contradictions, the harbor is a pleasant place in which to sail, if only for the fact that Cork City lies at the end.

Cork a Friendly Town

A city set on two hills and spilling into a valley, Cork is the second largest in the republic, but in both design and attitudes, Cork is more of a large town. We found the people a friendly lot; they were eager to point out major attractions and advise us on the best restaurants. We had excellent seafood meals at Glassialleys and Lovett’s.

Catching the tide the next morning, we sailed from Cork and decided to try a bit of deep-sea angling off the coast. I am no fisherman but my friend Tom, who had brought his gear with him, soon hauled in a mackerel. For the entire afternoon we sailed under an easy southwesterly, rods and reels in hand.

“This is some of the best fishing I’ve ever seen,” said Tom, hauling up another mackerel. “I’ve never seen so many fish biting, with so few fishermen around.” By the end of the day he had caught three mackerels and a John Dory.

We lived off seafood that week. The small galley oven allowed us to bake, fry or even grill the freshly caught fish. Add to that the fresh vegetables and dairy products that we bought from markets, plus a good measure of Guinness, and we were quite satisfied. Shellfish, oysters, lobsters and mussels could always be bought directly from the fishing trawlers.

We also had excellent seafood meals in Kinsale, gourmet capital of Ireland. Kinsale is a major center for yachtsmen and tourists. We sampled two fine restaurants--the Vintage and the Blue Haven.

Anchored in tranquil Summer Cove, we rowed ashore to the base of Charles Fort, a huge limestone structure that once guarded the mouth of the harbor. Twice that fort held off invading armies--first the Spanish in 1601, then the French in 1798. The fort has been converted into a public monument and stares regally across the harbor.

Wild Terrain

West of Kinsale, everything changes. Low hills suddenly give way to rocky cliffs and distant, looming mountains. Bays stretch farther inland, becoming wide, long peninsulas pointing west. It’s a wild landscape in which trees and villages seem to disappear. Rocks and heather dominate, stretching endlessly.

Rarely did we sight a house ashore, leaving the impression that we were passing some barren, romantic land. An eerie, bewitched feeling seems to embrace the area.

Behind a mild wind, sun peeking from outside the clouds, we made our way past west Cork, through Courtmacsherry Bay, past the Seven Heads and into Clonakilty Bay. The evening was passed in a tiny Clonakilty pub--turf fire in the hearth, a few old men with their pints of Guinness.

One old fellow treated us very hospitably, speaking to us as neighbors. When he found out that Tom and his wife Jane were Londoners, he told them about his nephew “out there.” Then he spoke about the Cork of his youth, donkeys and carts, dirt roads and poverty. He missed those days, he said; Ireland was changing too quickly.

Then he told us of the coastline and its hazards, sights, quirks and history. He told of the sinking of the Lusitania off the coast, and how the men from the village rushed to their boats to search for survivors. He had been a fisherman, so he knew the coast.

As the pub was closing, he advised us: “Watch the tides, lads. And the wind from the southwest. That pair are the scoundrels of this coast. Oh, and keep an eye out for the fishing nets, as well. The fishermen will be up in arms if you run afoul of one.”

Though it was a challenge, I never once felt threatened. The weather was ideal for sailing, warm and windy. Only one day was too stormy to head to sea, and by coincidence we happened to be sitting in Roaringwater Bay, home of Carbery’s Hundred Isles.

Harbor of Islands

Sheltered from gales, islands are strewn across the bay like stepping stones. Most of the islands are empty and barren, covered by empty stone cabins or bird nests. We glided in and out of the maze of islands past Calf Island and beside Sherkin, circling Long Island. We then beat a path for Cape Clear, the largest of the group.

Abeam of one lonely rock, I swore I saw a head pop out of the water. But when I turned the binoculars upon it, nothing. But then there was another head. And another.

Suddenly, dozens of them: a colony of gray seals resting upon the rocks. We were delighted, but the seals only returned an indifferent gaze.

Cape Clear was one of the most awe-inspiring islands I have visited. Fringed by massive cliffs, only two tiny harbors offer anchorage. To avoid the incoming mail boat we chose to anchor in the north harbor on the far side of the island. Great was the reward.

In water so clear, so Mediterranean blue that we could see the white-sanded bottom, we dropped anchor. Around us, two steep cliffs shot skyward, and in the distance we could see a castle on the crest of a hill. It was the most tranquil harbor I have ever seen.

The island is on a migratory bird route, and an observatory engages in breeding black guillemots, choughs and other small sea birds.

That afternoon, running under a brisk easterly, Fastnet Rock came abeam. A slender, solitary finger of rock in the green Atlantic Ocean, tiny crests of waves broke against its base.

About 5 o’clock that afternoon, the boat rounded Mizen Head, skirted Dunmanus Bay and entered Bantry Bay, our stopping point.

The amount of sea traffic entering Bantry was a bit disconcerting. Oil tankers were anchored everywhere, fishing trawlers moved in between them, and other tiny boats scurried about the harbor.

It drove home to us that we had encountered only half a dozen other yachts. The coastline reflected solitude in its true guise: quiet, tranquil, untouched. Perhaps that is the true beauty of the southern Irish coast, a feeling of freedom without fear of being crowded and bothered by a flotilla of other boats, a feeling of possession without any barriers.

Though we stopped at Bantry, I have been told that the journey west can be equally memorable.

The Kerry coast has many long peninsulas and small fishing ports. To the north this coast gives way to the cliff-lined shores of Clare and onto the rugged islands and mountains of County Galway. “The stuff of dreams,” my friend tells me, a distant glaze in his eyes. From what I have seen, I believe him.

Between mid-March and mid-September, a yacht charter (six berths) costs about 550. The rest of the season runs at 440 a week.

A handy, practical overview of the coast is in John Watney’s “Cruising in Irish and British Waters.” But the best book, which includes charts of harbors, customs information, anchorages and marine businesses, is the “Irish Cruising Club Guidelines--the South and West.” It can be bought from Guinness, Ceanchor House, Baily, County Dublin for 15.

Practice your anchoring techniques. Dozens of tiny coves offer ideal anchorages, but there are no piers at which to moor. Bring both oilskins and swimsuits. With more than 20 marine businesses along the Cork coast, repairs or supplies should be easily obtainable. At the first port of entry, the flag “Q” should be shown and the yacht registered with customs, who will issue you a sticker for the visit. The Irish Yachting Assn., 87 Upper George’s St., Dun Laoghaire, Ireland, should be able to help with any questions.

For additional information, contact Andy Stott Yacht Charters, Rossbrin Cove, Schull, County Cork, Ireland. Many types of boats are available. Or contact the Irish Tourist Board, 757 3rd Ave., 19th Floor, New York 10017; phone (212) 418-0800.