Dartmouth, England
The silence of a night anchorage is not always the same. Sometimes waves gently lap at the hull or surf can be heard on a beach. But nestled inside the River Dart, moored mid-channel amidst sleeping sailboats and yachts, the silence last night was that of our own breathing.
Blue skies blessed us early and the world glowed, washed clean by the rains of night. Green hillsides formed the horizons on either side. Like flowers in a meadow, the colorful houses and business of Dartmouth and Kingswear marched up the hills on either side, standing shoulder to shoulder. Their inviting countenance beckoned us to shore.
What warmer greeting could be bestowed than to be invited into the city council chambers and be welcomed by the Mayor and Town Sergeant? Local guides carried us back to the days when the Mayflower and Speedwell departed from these shores. Images of times long ago were woven into our wanderings up stairways designed for burros and down roads that ran where once there was no land but only tidal mill pools. Every courtyard and every divide were adorned in the colors of spring. Blossoms spilled from window boxes, flowerpots and even former skiffs. Ivy-leaved toadflax sent seeking tendrils around stoops and up and down walls of local rock, searching for another toehold or a place for seeds to germinate. Navelwort, with its strange succulent “belly-button” leaves punctuated these mineral aggregations in multiple spots. Nature’s wonders complemented the hand of man adding intensity to the Elizabethan and Victorian houses.
Clouds drifted like cotton puffs tossing us into shadows off and on throughout the afternoon as we went off in our chosen directions. The Royal Naval College opened its doors for some. St. Petrox Church, perched on the bank where sea and river met, became a portal to the past. Others ventured further upstream to be greeted by geese and herons. Nature lovers wandered the trails, climbing ever higher through woodlands of holly and sycamore to meadows carpeted with bluebells and red campion. Stitchwort, buttercups and even orchids danced in the breeze. High above the channel we spun 360 degrees drinking in the setting of where we had been and where we were as a buzzard soared seemly an arm’s length away. The rhythmic zip-zap, zip-zap song of the Chiffchaff was our cadence call.
At the end of a perfect day and a dinner celebration, our new found friends and local dignitaries were shuttled to shore. As sunset approached, our lines were thrown and we once again worked our way past the castles guarding the river mouth. Now, at sea once again, the sound of night is the gentle engine’s hum.
The silence of a night anchorage is not always the same. Sometimes waves gently lap at the hull or surf can be heard on a beach. But nestled inside the River Dart, moored mid-channel amidst sleeping sailboats and yachts, the silence last night was that of our own breathing.
Blue skies blessed us early and the world glowed, washed clean by the rains of night. Green hillsides formed the horizons on either side. Like flowers in a meadow, the colorful houses and business of Dartmouth and Kingswear marched up the hills on either side, standing shoulder to shoulder. Their inviting countenance beckoned us to shore.
What warmer greeting could be bestowed than to be invited into the city council chambers and be welcomed by the Mayor and Town Sergeant? Local guides carried us back to the days when the Mayflower and Speedwell departed from these shores. Images of times long ago were woven into our wanderings up stairways designed for burros and down roads that ran where once there was no land but only tidal mill pools. Every courtyard and every divide were adorned in the colors of spring. Blossoms spilled from window boxes, flowerpots and even former skiffs. Ivy-leaved toadflax sent seeking tendrils around stoops and up and down walls of local rock, searching for another toehold or a place for seeds to germinate. Navelwort, with its strange succulent “belly-button” leaves punctuated these mineral aggregations in multiple spots. Nature’s wonders complemented the hand of man adding intensity to the Elizabethan and Victorian houses.
Clouds drifted like cotton puffs tossing us into shadows off and on throughout the afternoon as we went off in our chosen directions. The Royal Naval College opened its doors for some. St. Petrox Church, perched on the bank where sea and river met, became a portal to the past. Others ventured further upstream to be greeted by geese and herons. Nature lovers wandered the trails, climbing ever higher through woodlands of holly and sycamore to meadows carpeted with bluebells and red campion. Stitchwort, buttercups and even orchids danced in the breeze. High above the channel we spun 360 degrees drinking in the setting of where we had been and where we were as a buzzard soared seemly an arm’s length away. The rhythmic zip-zap, zip-zap song of the Chiffchaff was our cadence call.
At the end of a perfect day and a dinner celebration, our new found friends and local dignitaries were shuttled to shore. As sunset approached, our lines were thrown and we once again worked our way past the castles guarding the river mouth. Now, at sea once again, the sound of night is the gentle engine’s hum.
