Across the Irish Sea

A nightsail across the Irish Sea, four lighthouses on the Calf of Man, a tanker that moved aside for us at Holyhead, and a sunrise that smelled of flowers and hay. The reward at the other end? A heatwave and the best shandy in Wales.

First crossing of the season. The forecast gave us almost glassy sea and following winds, so we left Port Erin in the late afternoon and sailed straight into the sunset.

The sea was so flat we could get a proper look at Chicken Rock Lighthouse on the way past - normally the overfalls around the rock make that impossible. There are four lighthouses in this stretch of water, all within sight of each other. Two old leading lights on the Calf of Man, the Stevenson lighthouse on Chicken Rock, and a modern automated beacon on the cliffs above. Four generations of navigation watching over one notoriously awkward patch of sea.

Andrea loves puffins. Rumour had it there were a few on the Calf, so she kept a sharp lookout. None spotted. The puffins, it seems, had better things to do than sit on a rock for us. Fair enough - hopefully we'd see loads on the way south.

We sailed on past the Calf, and close inshore there's a rock formation that looks like a drinking dragon. Clearly the Welsh dragon, coming over for a drink and a kip.

The Christmas Tree and the Tanker

The Isle of Man got smaller and smaller on the horizon. We ate dinner in the cockpit with the last of the golden light, knowing what was coming. First night crossing of the season. Big ships in the dark. That particular feeling of settling into something you can't undo.

We settled into our night-watch rota - 3 hours on, 3 hours off. Andrea was first to have a nap while Rob kept the watch. By the time Andrea's shift came round it was properly dark. The kind of dark where the horizon disappears and the sea and sky are the same black.

We'd reached the Holyhead Traffic Separation Scheme - a motorway for ships. You cross it quickly and keep a close eye on everything around you. Usually there's not much about.

This time there was plenty. A cruise ship blazing with lights like a floating Christmas tree. A big tanker coming down the lane. And a ferry heading toward Holyhead. Three vessels in a confined space - we've started calling it the Devil's Triangle. It's earned the name.

The ferry and the tanker had already adjusted course for each other. Our gap was narrowing. So Rob called the tanker on VHF - you want to know these things are sorted when you're crossing shipping lanes in the dark. Super friendly skipper, adjusted his course a touch so we could slip through. He picked up our foreign accent and asked if we spoke Polish - clearly up for a chat on a quiet night. Unfortunately we don't speak Polish and he didn't speak German, so that was that.

The tanker passed behind us in the dark. Enormous and almost silent on the oily sea. You don't realise how big they are until one is right there.

Stars and sunrise

After the excitement we crossed Caernarfon Bay, between Anglesey and the Llyn Peninsula, towards Bardsey. The tide started to pick up against us - slow going, but we'd expected that. Stars reflected in the sea, the night short, and already a glimpse of the new day on the horizon. Rob had the sunrise watch. First grey. Then a line of colour. Then the whole sky opening up.

And then the smell. Flowers and fresh-cut hay, drifting off the Welsh coast on the softest breeze you could imagine. Water like a mirror, Anglesey behind us, the mountains of Snowdonia ahead. After a night of tankers and shipping lanes and keeping watch in the dark, Wales just... smelled good.

We'd planned the passage to make the tidal gate at Bardsey Sound - slack water, the brief window when the tide turns and the sea goes quiet, at around ten o'clock. Got the timing right and it gave us a good push through. Last year we passed through in fog once and rain the next time. This was the first opportunity to properly admire Bardsey. The sea looked almost motionless, yet huge eddies twisted beneath the surface - a reminder of just how much water moves through the Sound.

Through the Sound and past the St Tudwall's Islands, catching the tide through the dredged channel into Pwllheli marina. The channel markers and breakwater came into view - the familiar landmarks from last year's rigging refit. We'd been there before and we'd come back for a boat lift and rig check.

The best shandy in Wales

Mooring up after a nightsail is always a particular kind of exhausted concentration. In a heatwave, it's worse. By the time Lagertha was secured we were drenched in sweat - but we weren't staying put. The bikes were out within minutes.

Llanbedrog is an 8km ride - about half an hour, if you don't count the hill. Half the route follows the coast, the same headlands we'd rounded by sea just hours before, now from above. Then shady lanes, the smell of new-mown grass, and a steep last bit uphill. Well worth the climb for the views across the bay with the mountains as backdrop.

"The Ship" has a lovely beer garden full of flowers. It was heaving - couldn't get a table for food. But after a night at sea, a dawn watch, a tidal gate, and a steep hill on a bike in a heatwave... that shandy was exactly what a shandy should be. The best in Wales. We're not arguing.

Back in Pwllheli we fell asleep early. Wales had greeted us with sunshine, flowers and the best shandy in the country. If this was how the season was starting, we were looking forward to what came next.