Three years ago, in the United States, I bought a sailboat and named it Laughing Gull. Built in 1996, Laughing Gull had graceful lines, a cutter rig, and a beautiful and purposeful aura that stamped it as a boat that could cross oceans.
I dreamed of sailing her to the Bahamas. I dreamed of sailing her to the Caribbean.
Most of all, I dreamed of sailing her across the Atlantic and into Glandore, a place my family has been visiting for more than 30 years.
Eileen Lynch, Tim Zimmerman, Frances Lynch, James Stephenson and Louise Lynch celebrate their arrival (Photo: Louise Lynch)
I have messed about in boats in Irish waters long enough to know that if you want to sail a boat across the Atlantic you can’t do better than sail with a Glandore crew.
The late Don Street, a sailing icon and long a Glandore fixture, proved that wisdom over many transatlantics in his beloved Iolaire.
And if you are looking for a Glandore crew, there is no more efficient approach than to submit a query to the Lynch family, which has been in Glandore longer than I can remember.
There are four Lynch sisters, all good sailors, good company, and accomplished bakers - in short, perfect crew.
To my delight, I netted three of four - Frances, Eileen and Louise - for the final leg of my planned transatlantic, which would take Laughing Gull from the Azores to Glandore.
Sadly, eldest sister Therese had work commitments, but I also bagged a brother-in-law, Cormac O’Carroll, married to Frances, to help sail Laughing Gull on the first leg, from Tortola to Bermuda. All in all, an excellent haul.
Cormac, and another West Cork sailor, Choryna Kiely, got the transatlantic started in good style, with a fast and drama-free passage to Bermuda.
Over almost 900 miles Cormac proved that Laughing Gull’s galley, when paired with a good Irish cook, can turn out exquisite meals. Cormac and Choryna flew home from Bermuda, and another longtime Glandore enthusiast and friend, James Stephenson, arrived from London to see out the transatlantic to Ireland, via the Azores (two American friends also joined for the leg to the Azores).
Apart from bumping into a whale, which surprised both us and the whale and made a very loud bang (happily both Laughing Gull and the whale survived), the passage to Horta on Faial was a pleasure, with generally excellent weather and winds.
It was on the large island of Sao Miguel that James, Laughing Gull and I made our rendezvous with Frances, Eileen and Louise.
We were ready for the final, crowning leg of the transatlantic passage.
Our initial days were as pleasant as one could hope. We pointed the bow north to get clear of the light breezes around the Azores high, and had gentle sailing until we finally ran out of wind as we crossed the center of the Azores High.
One benefit of a flat calm in the Atlantic is that it is an excellent opportunity for a deep ocean swim.
Frances Lynch reads about the Glandore Harbour yacht club junior sailors in the sports supplement of The Southern Star before departure from Punta Del Gado, Azores.
‘There’s a strange magic in floating in water 3,000 metres deep and hundreds of kilometres from land,’ Eileen observed later. ‘It was both wonderful and slightly terrifying.’ The drama of the plunge was nicely heightened as the swimmers were drying on deck and noticed a dark fin slicing through the water.
With fine weather and a dream destination, the voyage started to take on a magical quality.
We were accompanied frequently by shearwaters, dolphins and whales, everything from humpback to sei.
One evening we were all transfixed by a group of whales traveling north on a parallel path. Each towering exhalation was backlit by the deep orange of the setting sun.
Frances, who had established herself Laughing Gull’s premier naturalist, pulled out a graphic illustration of different whale blows, and we concluded we were likely in the company of a pod of giant fin whales.
‘It made me think of how full the ocean must have been before commercial whaling nearly wiped out many species,’ Fran told me. ‘How visible and gentle these giant creatures are and how terribly vulnerable they were to human predation.’
The magical aura deepened as we approached the southwest corner of Ireland and saw the distant loom of Sheep’s Head light.
That was followed by flash of the Mizen, and finally Fastnet. We were truly in ‘home’ waters and they greeted us with a sublime sunrise over a calm sea.
We glided past Baltimore, then the Stags, followed by High Island. Groups of dolphins paused their inshore hunting to play under Laughing Gull’s bow. We rounded Rabbit Island and then motored past Adam Island at the mouth of Glandore Harbour.
We dropped anchor off the village at 5:30 am. Our passage had covered 1200 miles in 7.5 days. ‘I really felt a profound sense of being in the right place at the right time,’ Louise said about the arrival. ‘A deep sense of home, and how safe harbours must have felt to seafarers since the first time anyone went to sea.’
Despite the very early hour we cracked open cold Heinekens to toast our good fortune, as Don Street, who sadly passed away last year, no doubt would have done.
Small boats arrived to greet us with champagne. Not long after, we were comfortably seated on the terrace of Frances and Cormac’s pink home above the harbour.
More champagne flowed, and Cormac helped us adapt to life ashore with fresh-baked scones and scrambled eggs.
While we enjoyed the bluebird morning, Laughing Gull bobbed peacefully at anchor below us. She had done her job.
