Glassfibre Armada

"Wierd Fish," "Elianne," "Shamara" and many more,white plastic hulled, crisp, pristine sails, curled and furled, Westerlies, moody's, Beneteau's, bilge keelers, fin keelers, long keelers galore, round the Quay head bound for ladders and steps and a berth for the night. How could the summer be complete without our hearty compliment of fresh faced and rugged Bristol channel wanderers? Following in their ancestors wake, navigating the tidal reaches of the Atlantic coast. Modern day adventurers, heading white sailed, down wind and down tide from channel ports; Ilfracombe and Instow, "The bar men," "Taree," "Pearl of Colne," "Gemini," others from far flung distant and exotic Wales, David Williams arrives on the "Catalyst," while the "Owen Glendower" the "Nellie of Neath" and the "Welsh Dragonet" are amongst the many "Red Dragon" flying shipmates that come spilling into the Quay pool,where cobweb coiled lines are thrown ashore, securely moored and fendered to bollards and posts, "welcomed home" and comfortably settled.
Some race; the Ilfracombe to Clovelly "Rum race" is an annual highlight of canvas indulgence where men sail for pride more than prizes with a bottle of Rum the bonus. Others come from far and distant ports, marina's and harbours, looking for escape or the familiar landfall of a safe haven, because Clovelly is a safe and sound, neat and tidy haven, sheltered from prevailing blows, tucked beneath those wooded cliffs, Clovelly hides and sleeps. Its Quay wall familiar with fishing craft, accustomed now to visiting craft and passers by that "never knew you were here." Yachts fill the harbour while yachtsmen fill the bar, singing songs that fill the tide. Each day brings more yachts, more boats, more people, some may venture off into the woodland above and explore the paths and lanes that entangle the Estate, finding secrets that have lain hidden for many years and discovering just why it is that they come here. There are those whose destination is the shower room, damp and mouldy but cleanly welcoming following their epic voyage, so they may freshen up, intent on a lusty meal, a carousing night and a morning hangover.
Those who haven't been before approach nervously, taking a wide berth before entering, looking for help and encouragement, glad of someone to take their lines while directing them to a safe berth, pleased to be here they soon notice the Red Lion guarding the Quay. Most will return again, many will become as familiar to us as the pebble filled sea, as regular as the tides. Others have been visiting for decades, remembering previous Harbour Masters, remembering when they came with their fathers or when their children were small and yachts smaller. They all fill the harbour with their boats and their humour, they bring a sense of fun and each and everyone enjoys their stay, leaving with sad farewells and "be back soon's". Now as September skies turn grey leaving summer behind we wait for the "Winkle race," Ilfracombe's final race of the season when once again they'll battle down the channel and batten down for Clovelly, their final destination, until next year when freshly waxed and polished, anti-fouled and varnished, they once again will plot their course, cast off their lines and set sail.