Circumnavigation of Anglesey in a 14ft Wanderer Dinghy

Circumnavigating Anglesey in a Wanderer Dinghy 

Day One – Llanfairfechan to Porth Wen Brickworks 

The forecast sunshine hasn’t quite materialised yet and the omnipresent cloud adds a slight edge to the day, emphasised by the choppy sea and unexpected swell. Nonetheless I am off, setting sail from home in Llanfairfechan with four days of food and water onboard and the aim of circumnavigating the Isle of Anglesey in my 14ft Wanderer Dinghy. 

A nice Westerly wind fills my sails and I sail with a reef in the main, conscious that I am fully loaded and have some long days ahead of me. The village begins to shrink astern whilst on the bow, Penmon Lighthouse edges closer. I have a picnic lunch tucked in a bucket under the thwart and my mug and thermos flask are clinking merrily as we greet each wave. 

Sailing had never really been on my radar. Racing held limited appeal and yachting was something done by people who had a lot more money than I did. A chance conversation with our next door neighbour Sam revealed that the sailing club in the village were keen for new members and he could teach us to sail. The whole family were keen so we were soon onboard. A couple of sessions on the water and one on dry land and suddenly I had bought a boat – albeit a very small one that was nearly as old as me. 

I want to make a film of the trip. It’s a nice thing to have and I enjoy the film making process. I have a 360 camera mounted on a clamp bracket that I can move as I tack, a GoPro to hand and a drone that will allow me to place the boat in its surroundings. I launch the drone and film the boat as we leave the village behind us, catching it instead of landing it and breathing a sigh of relief as I get it back safely onboard. 

Our dinghy is 14ft long, a Wanderer Dinghy that is the baby sister of the well known Wayfarer. Originally designed by Ian Proctor for Margaret Dye – married to Frank of Wayfarer fame – it was created for single handed cruising and racing but can still hold unto 4 adults. Having done much research I was torn between a Wanderer and a Wayfarer, a decision that was sealed when I saw this boat for sale in the village. It’s previous owner, Gary, had set it up for single handed racing but it also came with a two stroke engine and a baggy old cruising sail that could be reefed. 

The sea state changes as we draw closer to Penmon and the Puffin Sound. This channel of water between Anglesey and Puffin Island highlights the speed of the tides that Anglesey is famous for and the boat is pushed gently around as the water swirls beneath her hull. I back the jib and heave to so that I can launch my drone for a second time. It’s a beautiful shot as I sail through the sound, the lighthouse in the foreground and my boat cutting an elegant line as we join the coastline of Anglesey for the first time on our trip. 

“Battery level is low, the drone will return to home in 10 seconds” A message that I am very familiar with having been filming with drones regularly since 2013. Perhaps though I have got a bit carried away with the beauty of the shot and I need to land quickly before it puts itself down where it took off 10 minutes ago. With the tiller lashed in place and the jib backed again I attempt several catches before clipping the mainsail and watching the drone and all of my footage disappear into the drink. Not ideal!

I pass through the sound and am now heading along the coastline of Anglesey. I had hoped that perhaps the sea state would calm down here but sadly it wasn’t to be and I start to feel a little nauseous with the constant movement. 

I have been inspired by the writing of Frank Dye who sailed his Wayfarer from Scotland to Iceland and Norway and YouTube videos of Roger Barnes exploring the coastline of the Bristol Channel and Northern France. Despite having lived in the village for almost 20 years, the sea is all new to me and it feels like an unexplored wilderness with the potential for all sorts of new adventures. 

This section of coastline is somewhere that I have sailed before as I get to know my local waters and teach myself the many facets of dinghy cruising. I have enjoyed it on a flat calm sea and endured it on a day similar to this with a swell that left me feeling green for a few hours afterwards. I had read that the hay fever tablets Clarityn are a good treatment – I had tried Quells previously to no avail – so slug one down with some water from my Nalgene bottle. 

I am now beating into the Westerly wind and tack my way towards the mouth of Red Wharf Bay, dwarfed by the commercial shipping that sits at anchor on its way to or from Liverpool Docks. The Clarityn hasn’t yet taken effect and if anything the swell seems worse. I am getting wet with the spray breaking over my bow and this isn’t the idyllic sailing I had pictured when I saw the high pressure system in the forecast that was set to stay all week. Perhaps I have made a mistake? If I turn round now I can still make it back to the village with water on the slipway and I would have the wind behind me all the way. I’m cold and wet and the sunshine stays stubbornly hidden behind the clouds. 

I decide to tack in closer to the coastline in search of calmer seas, push the tiller over to the right, uncleat and re-cleat the jib sheets and duck under the main as it swings across. One of the jobs I have done on the boat is to replace the old baggy mainsail with a new one – adding an extra row of reefing points so that I have more options in stronger winds. I take reassurance from the fact that I can always reduce my sail plan if the wind gets worse and push on.

I haven’t had a lot of luck with outboard motors. The one that came with the boat let me down on the second time out, which taught me the limits of my rowing ability and for that I was grateful. For this trip I have a new Suzuki 2.5hp which I am still running in. I decide to put a bit more mileage on it as we cross Red Wharf Bay. I’m heading straight into wind and keen to reach the coastline again in the hope of smoother waters.

I hoist both sails as we draw near to Benllech, shaking out the reef in the main and replacing the drone of the engine with the gentle gurgling of the water as we finally enjoy some calmer sea conditions. The wind is now on the beam of my boat and I relax and eat some food as we make good speed with the spring ebb. 

Anglesey has some of the fastest tidal races in the world. Guidebooks suggest that a clockwise circumnavigation is the direction of choice because the south-west going ebb stream in the Menai Strait is more powerful than the north-east flood. I am going in the opposite direction – the timings of the tides working better for me with the limited daylight hours we get in October. The spring tides can be used to my advantage with careful planning – or be a hindrance if I get it wrong! 

Point Lynas forms the most North Eastern tip of the island and was to be the first of the main tidal races that I would experience. It was always going to be the highlight of this first day. The overfalls that form can extend 1-2 km offshore but the kayaking guidebooks suggest that it is sometimes possible to avoid the biggest water by keeping close to the headland. 

Seals are barking as I enjoy a lovely beam reach off Ynys Dulas, a small island that has a hidden reef on its seaward side that has been the downfall of several boats over the years. This is enjoyable sailing and either the Clarityn has kicked in or the reduced swell means that I am able to enjoy myself in the moment, the switch flicking from type two fun to type one. My boat is cruising merrily, the sails are full and I am relaxed and making good time. I am still in familiar waters as I had recced this section of water in the summer, transiting Point Lynas in either direction at slack water from Traeth Bychan. 

As I approach Fresh Water Bay I am in calm water, I sit back and enjoy a cup of tea from my flask and the last of my packed lunch. I can see white horses off Point Lynas and decide its wise to make the most of this tranquility whilst I have it. 

As I round the headland I will be nose into the Westerly wind again so I drop the sails and fire up the outboard in anticipation of needing steerage and as much control as possible. 

I creep slowly forward towards the moving water. It is hard to judge the scale and size of what is awaiting me and I crane my neck for a better view, arching my back and feeling the tension as I over grip the tiller. I’m feeling nervous as I edge closer, will I be able to creep through the gap close to shore? Are the waves big enough to worry about? 

Perhaps I am being over concerned and I will be able to cut straight through. 

At this point what I should have done was pull ashore and walk the headland for an overview. I saw somewhere that I could tie my boat up but before I knew it the waves were upon me. With hindsight this shouldn’t have been a surprise. I was riding a spring tide after all and I knew that this would be my crux. 

I pushed hard on the stiller, drawing parallel with the shore and putting the waves on my stern as I made the decision to abort. Those waves were not for me, they were a seething, rolling turmoil of sea and no place to be in a 14ft open boat. I watched with dismay as the waves grew bigger, reached behind me and opened the throttle up wide. Still not yet run in this was probably more than Suzuki would recommend in the fist ten hours of use but I was now reliant on my noisy friend to get me out of mischief. 

I seem to be standing still, waves no bigger but no smaller either. The engine is howling and the boat throwing spray from its bow. My heart is racing and my eyes are wide whilst a family of five sit on the shore, just yards away from me, calmly eating a picnic. I catch eyes with one of them as they take a bite from a Melton Mowbray pork pie, look cool I think to myself, look like this is all part of the plan and everything is under control. What a pillock! Why hadn’t I done the sensible thing and waited for the tide to slacken off? I was too focused on making progress in readiness for the tidal races of the next day. 

I inch my way along the shore, eventually pulling out of the fast flowing stream and letting the engine return to a more civilised tone. I take some deep breaths and consider my options. I knew when I was planning my trip that this would be my crux. This whole day was about putting me in the right place for the Swellies and the Stacks the next day. For all of this effort to be worthwhile I need to get as close to Cemaes Bay tonight as I can. 

I steer offshore once more, this time aiming to the East of the overfalls and out to sea, ignoring the passage close to land and entering a swell that sees my boat rocking like a see saw. I stay under motor as I am not brave enough to stand to hoist the sails whilst the boat is being thrown around. I try to pick the smoothest line but I am still holding on tight as the boat pitches and rolls through the turbulent water. The Pilot Guide suggests a distance of 2km offshore but thankfully this isn’t necessary today and gradually I leave the messy overfalls behind me as I creep past the headland. 

Once past the point I aim back towards the shoreline, grateful to enter calmer waters, switch off the engine and hoist the sails once more. I feel a sense of relief but I am also annoyed at myself for my mistake. I know that these are the most memorable lessons in life but nonetheless I recognise that I was lucky my engine didn’t let me down – I had committed unwillingly and that is never something to be proud of. 

With my heart rate slowly returning to normal I sail close hauled past the tempting entrance to Amlwch Port, the island of East Mouse to starboard. My thoughts turn to places that I might be able to camp. 

Bull Bay offers the prospect of a pub, which is incredibly tempting, but finding a quiet spot to hide away in my little tent could be a challenge. I continue balancing the boat as I sail tight to the wind, making a good 10-12 km\h (5.5-6.5 knots) speed over ground and a good hour of spring tide still remaining on the ebb. 

The swell hasn’t really dropped since Point Lynas and I am feeling cold, tired and a little green as I round Trwynbychan, the Eastern most point of Porth Wen. This beautiful little north facing bay offers a haven of calm water with a pebbly beach that I pull my boat ashore on. 

I secure her with a stern anchor and a bow line to shore. The falling tide leaves her sat on her belly within a couple of hours and I get up in the early hours to check my handiwork as the tide refloats her. 

The effort of carrying all of my camping kit from the boat to my camp spot is well worthwhile. I am glad to be on dry land, on a surface that isn’t moving and able to stretch my legs a bit as I prepare dinner and make camp. The abandoned brickworks provide a perfect grassy wild camp spot and the beehive kilns, where the bricks were fired, are worthy of exploration although the daylight fades rapidly and I am soon tucked up in my sleeping bag for an early night.

I reflect on the day. I have covered 41.5km (22 miles) and spent 6 hours and 10 minutes on the water. I have passed Point Lynas and learnt some lessons in the process. Tomorrow will bring The Swellies, Carmel Head, Holyhead ferry lanes, North Stack, South Stack and Abrahams Bosom. I have a restless nights sleep. 

Day Two – Porth Wen to Llanddwyn Island

The Kelly Kettle that I had bought to use on this trip isn’t everything that I hoped it would be. I do a lot of wild camping in the mountains and use a jet boil to heat water, limiting my food to pre-cooked boil in the bag affairs. Enjoying the greater payload a dinghy offers I decided some proper cooking over an open flame would be a pleasant treat. Steak and fried potatoes last night used the wood I had brought with me and the beach was surprisingly bare of driftwood. Everything now stank of woodsmoke and my porridge had to be cooked by holding the pan somewhere near the jet boil flame, without setting the pan down for fear of melting the plastic beneath the burner – something I still achieved in my bleary eyed state. I’ll bring my regular gas stove next time. 

I am soon packed away and as I wait for the tide to lift my dinghy off the sand and pebbles I watch a pod of dolphins catching the fast moving flood tide across the mouth of the bay. 

I have planned my day meticulously and I know that I want to be away for 11:00am. 

By 9:30 my boat is afloat and I am impatient to get started, perhaps I can put some time in the bank by setting out earlier than planned and making my way further along the North coast towards the first of the days tidal races. 

I gently nose out of the bay under engine, the cliffs on my left are high and steep and the water is moving quickly off the headland of Torllwyn, creating small and aggressive waves close to the shore. The clouds of yesterday remain and I am quickly into the fast flowing water, struggling to make any forward progress and increasing the revs on my little engine as I creep towards the appropriately named Hells Mouth. This is a mistake, another one, but I am not in any danger. I have plenty of sea room to my starboard side and can abort and turn back to Porth Wen at any time. I decide to push round into Cemaes Bay where I can go ashore and enjoy a bacon sandwich and a cup of tea whilst I wait for the tide to slacken off. 

I leave under sail at about the time I should have left Porth Wen had my impatience not got the better of me. I am sailing with a pleasant Northerly breeze filling my sails on a beam reach against the last of the flood tide, by now it is gentle enough to allow progress and I pass Harry Furloughs rocks with just some gentle buffeting from the swirling waters. 

The White Ladies beacons appear to Port and I edge round Carmel Head, the Skerries prominent offshore with their light flashing in the cloud. The lighthouse keepers quarters are used by volunteers in the spring and the summer who monitor the Arctic terns but I imagine they are quiet today as I creep past. A local fishing boat passes me, giving some company in what is otherwise a fairly bleak and lonely spot. 

My timings are now on track with my plan and I pass the overfalls of Ynys Fydlyn off Carmel Head with barely a ripple under my hull. The lighthouse of South Stack is visible for the first time and my heart quickens at the thought of passing beneath it in my tiny boat. 

The wind dies off a little and I am tempted to start the outboard to maintain progress. My time is spent calculating the distance to the next tidal gate, weighing that up against the speed over the ground and deciding if progress is sufficient under sail alone. No sooner have I dropped the sails and started the motor than the wind fills in again. 

I repeat this process a couple of times before deciding to leave it to the hand of fate and switch off the motor, keeping a careful eye on the ferries that are leaving Holyhead bound for Dublin. The combination of wind and tide means that I stay on track and having managed to avoid getting in the way of the big boats I approach North Stack close to the shore line. 

I have made some cheese rolls for todays lunch and my bacon sandwich and lukewarm porridge both seem like distant memories. With the wind now on my stern I can afford to relax in the bottom of the boat and enjoy a bite to eat as I gurgle towards the cliffs I know so well as a climber. 

Wen Zawn and the line of Dream of White Horses soon come into view. I would love to come in closer but there is a band of wind that I am sticking to slightly offshore and I am loathe to lose it. There is some gentle movement of the water but nothing compared to yesterday or indeed to what it was doing in my dreams last night. 

I snap merrily away on my camera as I pass the lighthouse off South Stack. There is a team of climbers on Lighthouse Arete and I give them a cheerful wave as I pass beneath. The cafe appears bustling with people and I feel a slight pang of jealousy as I think of them tucking into hot soup or fried breakfasts. Another cheese roll helps. 

A sense of relief enhances the pleasure of the moment. This is plain sailing and only Penryn Mawr off Abrahams Bosom remains of the tidal cruxes for the day. The sun threatens to come out and I soak up my surroundings. This has been an ambition for some time now and it feels surreal to be here and in such calm conditions and a perfect breeze. Penryn Mawr passes without incident – there is no sign of the local amorous seal who likes to whack passing boats that the guidebook warns me of. 

I stretch out on the bottom boards, feet up on the thwart and pour the last cup of tea from the flask. Trearddur Bay soon slides past, as do Rhoscolyn, Rhosneiger and Porth Nobla. This is incredible, champagne sailing at its very best. A flat calm sea and a perfect breeze that now comes from the North East, perfectly onto the rear quarter of my boat.  As the sun drops the golden hour light creeps below the clouds momentarily, reflecting off the water and giving a glow to my little craft. The hills on the Llyn peninsula have a red edge to them and I decide I can make Llanddwyn Island tonight. The sun sets and the last half an hour is spent beating against the wind in the failing light, eventually switching to the motor to weave between the moored yachts and pull ashore.

It has been along but incredibly rewarding day. I have been on the water for more than 9 hours and have covered over 60km (32 miles) thanks to near perfect conditions. I am cold and hungry and set up camp in the dark. I sleep much better than I did the night before and my boat sits nicely at anchor in Pilot Cove as the tide floods and ebbs. 

Day Three – Llanddwyn Island to Home 

As I mentioned earlier in this article, the reason that most people, especially small crafts, choose to go clockwise around Anglesey is because of the tides in the Menai Strait. Slack water in the Swellies occurs at 2 hours before high water and then the currents can rapidly reach 6-8 knots on springs as you progress further up towards Beaumaris. Todays passage was going to take some more careful planning and I needed to learn from my lessons of the last two days and not let impatience take over. 

I wake to my alarm before sunrise, pack away my tent, eat a lukewarm porridge with minimal damage to the jetboil and load up the boat. I had left a stern line ashore which allowed me to pull my boat in without having to get wet feet and I weigh anchor. 

I motor between the still slumbering yachts and set off across Caernarfon Bay with the first light of the day. My first crux was to cross the Caernarfon Bar and transit through Aber Menai Point and this was all new ground for me. A nice Easterly breeze sees me hiking out close hauled as I reach the bar at low water slack. The sailing is wonderful but I am tired and I can feel the efforts of the last two days. A couple of tacks see me entering the narrows, grazing my centre board on the sand banks a couple of times as proof that I had maximised each beat. There are a handful of small fishing boats sat in the narrows and we exchange a wave as I enter the Menai Straits. 

The water is like a mirror and the breeze is perfectly on my beam as I sail past the castle at Caernarfon. Cormorants sit on the bank, elegant yet stark against the sand that forms their backdrop. The tide quickens as I leave Caernarfon behind me and with time to kill I pull into Felinheli, anchoring my boat off the slipway of Port Dinorwic Sailing Club. It is a Sunday morning and people are strolling along the sea front, a group of women are playing rounders on the grass. 

The Loft cafe serves me my first proper coffee of the trip, I remembered the cafetière in my packing but left the bag of coffee on the side in the kitchen. It washes down a fantastic breakfast and I hadn’t realised how hungry I was until I started eating. I’m aware that I am a bit of a dirtbag but no-one gives me a second glance and it’s nice to run my hands under the hot tap for a bit, feeling the warmth come back and washing away the salt and dirt from the last couple of days. 

Refreshed I set sail once more, tacking my way into a headwind now as the wind becomes more North Easterly. Plas Menai have dinghies on the water practising capsize drills and two of their Yachts are also making good progress under sail. I pass under the Brittania Bridge having dropped the sails and fired up the outboard as the wind is now on my nose. I’ve been through the Swellies a couple of times previously in each direction and feel at home as I navigate past small fishing boats, larger motor cruisers and a couple of yachts. I give a wave to the motor cruiser who rushes past but he doesn’t notice and I nearly drop my GoPro as the wake rocks my dinghy fairly violently. A couple of kayakers are enjoying the otherwise calm conditions as I pass under the Menai Bridge with the slack water. 

The tide turns against me about an hour before high water and the wind is still on my nose. I know that by high water the speeds will be 4-6kn so I stay under motor all the way up to Beaumaris.  The sun hits the buildings that line the seafront as I arrive and patches of blue sky are starting to appear, the first time in my trip and it is lovely to feel the warmth as I hoist my sails. 

As I get closer to home the sea becomes rougher and the wind picks up. I am dog tired and working hard to sail close hauled into waves that are big enough to hinder my progress. I’m ready to finish now and can make out the sails of club members enjoying the wind. I turn on my radio and switch to our local channel. Almost immediately Michael comes onto the airwaves, my wife Kate is with him and she sends her congratulations. 

I know that I should really put in a reef as the boat is over powered but I’m tired and so close to home that I cant be bothered. The realisation makes me be bothered and as soon as I do so the motion of the boat through the waves is much more pleasant again. The memory card fills up abruptly on my camera and it switches itself off so I fail to catch my arrival home but it is made all the sweeter by friendly faces and willing hands on the slipway to help me haul my boat out of the water. Journeys end – almost 150km (81 miles) covered over three days.