Crossing the continental shelf, into the western approaches to the English Channel, dolphins came leaping across the waves. Soon dozens were jousting for pole position on the bow wave. More queued up alongside, twisting and turning, darting under the boat, only to re-appear and leap clear of the water as they too enjoyed our arrival. Inside the boat, it echoed to their calls and clicks, and, from far away, others answered. Soon dozens surrounded the boat. The party lasted into the night - it was a full three hours before the last of the revellers left.
Our last night watches were the busiest since leaving Morocco. Deep-sea trawlers criss-crossed our path, and merchant ships headed out to destinations around the globe. The loom of the Scilly's lighthouse, a sign post in the ocean, confirmed our position, then, as dawn broke the heavy grey clouds slowly lifted and revealed the craggy cliffs of the Lizard.
Falmouth is a great landfall. It's retained its charm and character, its picture-postcard good looks, and its friendly natives. The streets are narrow, the pace of life slow. The buildings hang over the harbours side. Old gaffers, and fishing boats, hang off the quays. The Helford - unspoilt and quiet with woods rolling down the hillside till their branches dangle inches from the water, and cast near perfect reflections. Fowey has changed little over the years, but its quiet winding streets are now the showroom for trendy sailing gear - a bit like Cowes really.
Devon too has its jewels - the River Yealm, carved through the hills, great houses and old fisherman's cottages cling to the hillside, linked by narrow paths - the walk rewarded by a great pint in the sailing club. Were in Dartmouth now, Portland next.
The winds have been great, but, warm beer and soggy summers?
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