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Solo sailor John Willis battles back injury, seasickness and engine problems as he sails the 330 miles from southern Ireland to St Peter Port

- John Willis

Anchored alone in Baltimore after taking part in a bruising Jester Challenge with a ripped mainsail, and an old back injury reawakened whilst anchoring, I knew I must reach safety within 24 hours; so, at 0215 I pointed Pippin’s bows for the moon, which hung conveniently over Baltimore’s entrance. Lot’s somewhat misplaced wife, now a pillar of stone for she had disobeyed the Angel and looked back when fleeing Sodom, slept atop her dark headland, as I set course for Crosshaven, 54 miles east.

It was a limp sort of morning: the ensign hung limp, the Irish flags hung limp, the wind hung limp and I hung limp. Only the sea was alive, rolling lazily in from the Atlantic. Pippin motor-sailed past Galley and Kinsale Heads and around lunchtime, on the turn of the tide, I entered the narrow entrance to Cork Harbour and swung the Frances 34 Pilothouse into the River Owenabue, bound for the Royal Cork Yacht Club at Crosshaven. It’s a tight narrow turn, requiring care to avoid a very public and prolonged exposure on a mud bank.

Next day, overcome with back pain, I hobbled off to Crosshaven village returning like a squirrel with full swag bag, naturally minus essential milk. But hey! This was Ireland, where people smile and actually open their mouths to say hello, even if I can’t often understand what comes out. Fortunately, the yacht club bar lady was the sort I would happily have in my platoon as logistics officer – indeed she could have sorted the Duke of Wellington’s Army, never mind two litres of milk at no charge.