07 Jun 2026 5 min read Trips

Late Start, Big Seas and an Unexpected Bath: Helford to Newlyn

What should have been a fairly straightforward passage from Helford River to Newlyn turned into a day of big seas, radio drama, and the discovery of a rather alarming amount of water where water definitely shouldn’t have been. By the time we arrived, all we wanted was a hot shower and a pub meal, but… the day had other ideas.

Sunday’s plan was simple: leave Helford River at 8am and make our way around the most southern part of England, Lizard Point, to Newlyn Harbour.

As is often the case with our sailing, the plan and reality weren’t quite the same thing.

When 8am arrived, Rich was still asleep, so our departure slipped a little. In the end, we left at around 9.30am and pointed Cheeky Monkey south towards Lizards Point.

A few people have asked us if it was a good sail, and like many other passages of the trip so far this one was “pretty much what we’d expected“. We had strong winds and some sizeable waves, particularly around Lizard Point. Nothing too scary, but certainly enough to keep us paying attention.

For much of the day, the conditions were remarkably consistent. Wave after wave, mile after mile, with very little change. It was one of those passages where you just kind of have to settle into the rhythm of it all and just keep going.

Visibility wasn’t brilliant either (fog horn at the ready). As we approached the Penzance area, we could only just about make out the silhouette of St Michael’s Mount through the haze. It was a shame not to see it properly, but sometimes that’s just how it is.

One memorable moment came as we rounded Lizard Point.

A large wave appeared seemingly out of nowhere and broke right over the sprayhood. Normally you hear the impact coming, but neither of us saw this one. Suddenly there was water everywhere.

Unfortunately for me I’d chosen that exact moment to undo a couple of layers and clean my glasses.

The result?

Freshly cleaned glasses immediately covered in seawater and an inner layer that was no longer quite so dry.

Radio Drama in Newlyn

We arrived off Newlyn in the early evening and found ourselves listening to some unexpected entertainment on Channel 12, the Harbour‘s channel.

A boat we’d previously encountered was having a lively exchange with the harbour master regarding berth allocations and the lack of radio calls. We listened in, feeling pretty chuffed that we did our research and already knew exactly who to call, on which channel, and when. No angry harbour master for us.

Our main reason for stopping in Newlyn was simple: electric top up.

The recent weather hadn’t been kind to our solar generation and with an uncertain forecast ahead (and our energy top up opportunity thwarted in Fowey) we wanted a chance to properly charge up the batteries before we headed out to the north side of Cornwall and Devon where we knew that we’d be staying at anchor for the the foreseeable future of the trip.

When we called in, the harbour master offered us a hammerhead berth that would suit our draft perfectly.

Dreamy.

At least, it was until we arrived and discovered another boat sitting in our assigned berth.

After a few minutes of confusion, some more radio conversations, and a very patient harbour master promising to “sort this mess out”, the situation was resolved. The boat occupying our designated berth kindly moved down a space into a berth too shallow for our Monkey and we were finally able to tie up properly at around 6pm.

The berth wasn’t cheap (£46.50 per night with electric) but shore power made it completely worthwhile.

We immediately plugged in everything we could think of.

House batteries, outboard battery, tablets, battery packs, twinkle lights (very important!), dehumidifier - the lot.

By the end of the evening we’d pushed roughly 6 kilowatt-hours back into the batteries, which felt like a huge luxury after several gloomy days at sea.

The Mystery of the Wet Cabin

Unfortunately, the day’s biggest surprise was still waiting for us.

During the passage I’d noticed a small puddle beneath the chart table. Rich’s smelly socks were left down there and were absolutely soaked.

After a bit of detective work and a (brave) lick test I’d concluded that it wasn’t a seawater leak (good news), and chalked it up to a combination of condensation and a week of damp weather.

Once settled into Newlyn, I looked under the bed in the forward cabin (home of the fresh water tank). And what I found underneath was less puddle and more bath.

A significant amount of water had accumulated against the bulkhead next to the fresh water tank, up to 20-30cm deep in some compartments. Everything stored on the forward cabin floor was soaking wet.

Out came the pumps, buckets and sponges.

Between the two of us we removed at least five 12l buckets of water before things finally started looking less drowned.

Not exactly how we’d imagined spending our first hour ashore.

With shore power connected, we set the heating and dehumidifier running and began the long process of drying out both the cabin and everything we’d managed to soak. And fixing a leaky water sender added to the big list jobs for when we get to Portishead.

New Neighbours and Changed Plans

Once the emergency bailing operation was complete, we finally managed to sit outside with a drink and chat to our neighbours on the pontoon.

They were heading for the Isles of Scilly the following day and introduced us to a handy cruising guide, West Country Cruising Companion, which immediately went onto our growing list of useful sailing books to look through.

Our original evening plan had been wonderfully ambitious. A long hot shower and a pub dinner.

Maybe even an evening away from the boat after spending the previous day riding out a storm on a mooring in Helford River.

Instead, after bailing water and drying the cabin, we discovered that the local pubs had already stopped serving food. Sad, sad, sad.

So dinner became quick pesto pasta with chorizo onboard.

Not quite the evening we’d planned, but by that point neither of us had much energy left to argue with it.

As the night drew in, the heating hummed away, the dehumidifier worked overtime, the batteries charged, and we settled down with a few well-earned drinks.

Not every sailing day goes according to plan. But then again, those are usually the ones that make the best stories.