Baltimore at last

How different things are in peace and sunshine.  The approach to Kinsale, no longer dark and mist shrouded is now all soft curves, low, green with purple patches and comfortable houses.  It beguiles you, draws you in.  It’s a laid back places like so many people I have met.

Gas had become critical to the operation for without hot tea, this soldier will mutiny, no question.  Myle Murphy’s was the place though no sign of life disturbed his shop.

“Could open 0930, or maybe not” said the nice shop assistant sharing my bench in the sunshine, not very helpfully, before she commondeered half of my Telegraph. Suddenly the door opened and I pounced, though it wasn’t the elusive Murphy, but the next door shopkeeper  who just happened to have a key.  So I had gas, hot tea, and a peaceful sea as Black Head Point loomed to starboard, precursor to the Old Head of Kinsale, bobbers, Guillemots and me.  A go!f course ran out along the point, a challenge in winter for sure.

Orderly ranks of cows ignored us, bovine boredom and methane, as we shaved Seven Heads at half a mile, across a placid sea at a stately jog.  2.5 miles from Galley Head, an Irish Patrol Boat bustled importantly past.  Wrecks beneath the shallow sea, so many, what were they, who were they?

Habitation thins to nothing as you approach Baltimore from the sea and a ruin sits stop the skyline just before Kedge Island. This tells you something, perhaps, but it is fine by me.  Fastnet Rock ahead, as Lot’s wife eyed us from Baltimore Harbour’s front door.

I sent Mr Rocna down to explore in 4 metres and vaguely wondered if we would meet again.  First impressions were that the journey was worth it.  It’s a  pretty place, with upmarket dwellings lining the the edge of Baltimore Town, busy with yachts and barely a motor cruiser to be seen.  Time for a curry to thump jelly fish.

I confined myself to barracks next morning as the blousy front swept overhead, and my intensive inexpert investigation of the innards of the anchor winch proved predictablly fruitless.  But, help in the form of Peter the Electric is promised for the morrow.  In the meantime I blundered around performing maintenance Willis style a  screwdriver mislaid here, a spanner there for its the feeling that you are on top of things, rather than being so that’s the thing …..  Meanwhile the wind wrought havoc with a fleet of butterflies across the harbour and played its doleful tune in Pippin’s rigging.

Time for a run ashore.

Brought to you courtesy of Bushe’s pub WiFi, from a soggy skipper ashore without his glasses and barely able to see the screen.  Cheeri

By ajay290

2 comments on “Baltimore at last

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