Escape Velocity

I have to say that in retrospect better judgement could have been exercised in choosing transportation to Kong Si falls. The 600,000KIP number ($7.50 US each) was attractive for four people to travel over an hour on Lao’s horrible roads, but a Songthaew, which is always painted red, with a spare tire where your feet would rather be, open to dust and dirt, with a low menacing steel bar as you try to climb in, featuring rock hard bench seats running down both sides of the truck bed, combined with a buggy suspension whose unfortunate use of leaf springs borders on the criminal, may not have been the best option. At least we won’t be roaming around picking up and dropping off backpackers on the way.

In deference to you, dear Escapees I will not attempt to describe the terrible beating we four took, but suffice to say, we’re told the bruising will heal.

On arrival our man motioned that he would pick us up over there in a dusty lot where fellow chauffeurs were hanging their hammocks or already sleeping in their Tuk-Tuks and Songthaews.

The usual carney atmosphere of countless souvenir, Tee shirt, and Satay vendors fills the arrival area, which leads directly to the uniformed authorities at the ticket turnstile. Once through we were faced with a giant tree and a decision.

Turn left and trust that the trail is a loop, turn right for what has become the Escape Velocity paradigm of counter rotation. It seems to work for us. We entered a lush rainforest.

I’m impatient to get to the waterfall but first we will visit a large area devoted to an Asiatic Black Bear Rescue Center. At any given time the center houses 10-20 bears rescued from illegal wildlife trade, and specifically the abusive harvesting of bile, used in Chinese medicine. It’s fair to say they don’t look very happy but presumably life will improve for them.

A bit more hiking and we find ourselves at the first of many pools of milky turquoise water.

It’s a spooky color that seems to glow from within, but kind of magical just the same.

Of course I’ve got that “Is that all there is?” song on the great tape recorder in my head, but we don’t judge, and I can see more and more beautiful curvey pools with a healthy spillover effect.

Not what I’d call a waterfall exactly, but definitely unusual.

Working our way upstream the milky water spread out over more and more small curved pools and the beauty of the falls began to overwhelm us. The view changed with every step along the path.

We plunged into the rain forest for a while.

Regaining the muddy water’s edge we found ourselves in the powerful presence of a beautiful 50 meter tall waterfall.

Simon instinctively scampered up a very steep slippery path that leads up to the top of the falls but it’s been my experience that the view from the top of waterfalls is almost always disappointing. That would make it a rule #3 (is the juice worth the squeeze?) infraction. We found a seat at the bottom of the falls and absorbed the beauty while we attempted to scrape the mud off our shoes.

Heading back we found more spectacular views from the other side.

Simon even found time for a dip in the milky turquoise water.

We grabbed a snack and found our driver sound asleep.

I wish I could say that the way back was not as punishing but in fairness, it was every bit as bad. We repaired to our rooms and if there was ever a day for a long massage this was it.

Having reconnoitered old town Luang Prabang we at least had a clue where to accomplish our least favorite chore when entering a new country, namely buying new SIM cards and untangling all the package deals. To that end we were queuing up at a tiny kiosk, our third, when the couple ahead of us turned and said, “Well, that was easy.” I said, “Don’t I know you?”

Turns out we did. We’d had a nice conversation with Simon and Karen at the morning meet and greet in the hotel at the Thai border but we were relegated to different boats for the journey to Luang Prabang. We instantly recognized each other as fellow travelers and we picked up right where we left off. It’s like that sometimes. Serendipity, that is.

Soon we made plans to climb the 100 meter Mount Phousi, 355 steps guaranteed, with a 24m gilded stupa called That Chroms at the top. Nirvana for a sunset junkie and I like to think we qualify.

We met right across from the Royal Palace in the middle of town.

The stairs started straight up and disappeared from sight under the trees.

At first newbies were stopping precariously, to pose for “before” snaps on the concrete stairs.

It became a slow and steady with occasional gasping rests kind of thing.

It just might be that we’re in better shape than we thought because sooner than we imagined possible we caught sight of the golden stupa.

I didn’t count the steps, after all they were guaranteed.

It was beginning to get crowded up here on Mount Phousi but the sun still had a good way to travel before anything colorful might happen.

We found a good seat and started our sunset vigil, something quite familiar to all sunset junkies.

This is the time the smart chronicler jumps in and says, “sometimes the magic works and sometimes it doesn’t.” I think mystical, quite mystical covers it.

Simon, like all good pathfinders, found an entertaining alternate route down the backside of the mountain.

Feet soundly planted on terra firma our thoughts turned to nourishment.

How about dinner at a place that features a tasting menu of typical Laotian food?

This is the kind of impromptu social interaction that we’ve been missing since losing our cruising community.

With one last look at That Chroms lit up on top of Mount Phousi at night, we laid plans to explore Kuang Si waterfall and called it a night.

Caves and waterfalls are popular excursions in Luang Prabang but we’re more interested in getting a sense of the town itself. The old section is a UNESCO World Heritage site because of the fusion of traditional Laotian urban architecture and colonial styles from the 19th and 20th centuries. UNESCO particularly likes well preserved areas, and this one certainly is.

The city lies on a peninsula formed by the Mekong and Nam Khan Rivers. It’s only about three blocks wide so most days we walked one way or another down to the water.

We didn’t remember before we got here that Laos is nominally one of the few remaining communist countries along with China, Vietnam, North Korea and Cuba, so the occasional old hammer and sickle flag surprised us.

Two days after we arrived I got up before dawn and went down to the street to watch the morning alms giving. This is a ritual in most Buddhist or Hindu countries, where the monks walk through the streets gathering offerings of food and other needs from the faithful. We observed the procession from our rooftop hotel in Bhaktapur, Nepal, last year. Now I have the opportunity to watch from across the street. There are strict rules for tourists: no flash photography, no impeding the monks’ progress, stay out of the way and quiet.

As the sun rose, the monks came in waves. All in all there may have been about a hundred, many of them young boys.

Here in Luang Prabang the alms-givers sit on low stools with pots of cooked sticky rice and drop balls of rice into the monks’ bowls or baskets. In other places we’ve seen small packages you can buy to give the monks that include toiletries or other non food items.

We learned that many young boys enter the monastery for the purpose of education, since schooling is not free in this part of the world, and many poor families can’t afford the school fees.

The alms-giving ritual here in Luang Prabang was silent, with only the padding of bare feet on the street and the swish of the robes as soundtrack. In Bhaktapur the monks were accompanied by drums and chanting. I’m glad I witnessed both.

The small girl holding up a bucket is begging from the monks. This area, the historic district, is a relatively wealthy area, so I’m not sure where the children who are begging come from. I did see many of the monks share their rice with the children.

We spent each day exploring the town, trying different cafés for meals and coffee breaks. Often we ran into fellow slowboat passengers and shared more time with familiar faces. We felt like we’d gained a whole community by taking the two-day boat journey.

Luang Prabang is known as much for its crafts as for its architecture. Jewelry, textiles, carvings, unique clothing. We enjoyed every little shop, but of course with limited luggage space and no home to put anything in anyway, we had to walk away from all the beautiful hand crafted things we saw. These soft sculptures particularly delighted us. We’ve never seen anything like them, and we watched the women in the back of the shop working on other similar creations.

The days were warm and the sun was harsh. We usually retreated to our air conditioned room for a few hours each afternoon before heading out again in a different direction.

We saw this Silkworm Poo Tea in a small shop on a back street. We passed. And spoiler alert: we bought a couple of those soft sculptures. We love them.

Back when I was looking for an affordable flight to Asia I tried for the first time the travel services offered by our credit card company. After searching via Google Flights, Skyscanner, Kayak, and all the other sites, Capital One Travel came up with the most economical and easiest journey via Hainan Airlines, a company I hadn’t heard of and that none of the other portals included in their search results. Not only was it considerably cheaper than the others, but it came with a guarantee to refund the difference if the cost went down after booking. Sure enough, a week later the price went down and I was credited $100.

Based on that good experience, and facing hotel rates in Luang Prabang higher than our budget normally allows, I applied the $100 credit to a six-day stay at a historic hotel in a deluxe room with a balcony overlooking the street where we could watch the sunrise procession of monks for the daily alms-giving.

When we arrived in Luang Prabang our slowboat company drove us to our hotel and it was as beautiful as we hoped, nestled on a shady street in the quiet historic district. We will be living within a UNESCO World Heritage site and we were thrilled.

Not so fast, said the travel gods. The hotel did not have our booking. I showed the manager my confirmation. He shook his head. “I never heard of that site,” he said, indicating Capital One Travel. He showed me the reservation list. No Schulz in evidence.

We were tired and hungry, sweaty from climbing up to the Buddha Cave. We wanted a shower, a nap, and dinner. We wanted to unpack.

The manager suggested I call Capital One. I didn’t have a local SIM card so he logged me onto the hotel wifi and I called via Skype. The woman who answered was sympathetic, said she’d call the hotel, then put me on hold. I waited. The hotel phone didn’t ring.

When Capital One Lady came back she assured me that the hotel had our booking; she had spoken to the manager Sara herself. “Go to the hotel,” she said. “They’re waiting for you.”

“I’m at the hotel right now,” I told her. “I’m sitting next to the manager and his name’s not Sara. What hotel are you talking to?”

“Can you let me talk to the manager?” she asked. I passed the phone over. I watched as he listened to Capital One Lady. Then he said, “Da.” There was a long pause.

“Da,” he said again. Another pause, then “Mister Da. That’s my name.”

With the introductions settled the two got down to business. I only heard our side of the conversation but it went something like this: Yes, that is the correct address. No, that’s not the phone number and hasn’t been for ten years.

The phone was passed back to me.

“Please hold.”

We spent the next hour and a half alternately waiting on hold and passing the phone back and forth. I kept asking Capital One Lady what hotel had our booking because at this point we’re happy to just go there and call it a day. She wouldn’t say. But Mr. Da told me “Sara” is not a Lao name so he can’t imagine that any hotel in Laos would have a manager by that name.

I practiced deep yoga breathing while I was on hold. Jack was slumped in a chair outside with our luggage. It was hot. Da got bottles of cold water for Jack and me and managed the noisy fan, turning it on when we were on hold, then off when Capital One Lady came back online. Otherwise you couldn’t hear anything.

While we waited on hold Da told me that anyway he didn’t have six nights of a deluxe room available because they were fully booked for the coming long weekend with a group of VIP envoys from many different countries attending a regional conference on economic development.

Eventually, Capital One Lady admitted defeat. “It’s our mistake,” she said, stating the obvious, and we all wished she’d come to that conclusion an hour ago. She never said what hotel we had been mistakenly booked into or what country it might have been in, but she offered either a complete refund or a handover to a supervisor who could “solve our problem.” Oh good grief. Just give me the money, I thought. I reminded her that I had used my $100 credit as partial payment and I wanted that back too. She agreed and she even added an additional credit which will come in handy in the future but doesn’t help us right now.

All parties handled the situation with grace and humor but we were left at square one with no room. It was now past 8:30. Da could give us three nights in the hoped for deluxe room with a balcony but then we’d have to move to a small room in a different building in the back for two more nights. Our planned sixth? Well, he’d help us find a room somewhere else. The town was booked to the gills.

Fine, we said. At this point we’d have accepted a futon in the alley. In sympathy he gave us a break on the deluxe room price.

By the time we got checked in it was late and we were weak with hunger. Da pointed us in a few directions for food but as we walked the neighboring streets we learned that the UNESCO part of town shuts down early and we had trouble finding anyone still serving at 9 pm. Eventually we came across a little bistro where we ordered small bites because our need for sleep was overpowering our hunger.

Back at the hotel all was forgiven as we settled in to our lovely spacious room and I set an alarm for 5:45am so I could watch the monks from the balcony in my pyjamas. This was the whole point of booking this particular room.

Not so fast.

I awoke before the alarm to find the travel gods were not finished toying with us. First of all, the view from our lovely balcony was obscured by shrubbery so that my planned morning sitting in my pj’s on the balcony with coffee watching the procession of monks was a bust.

Ok, no worries. I’ll just need to get dressed tomorrow morning and go out to the street to watch the alms-giving.

Before returning to bed I went to the bathroom and when I sat on the toilet the seat broke off and nearly launched me across the room.

Have I done something to deserve this karma? Or are we just on the Practical Joke Tour of Laos? I remind myself of our guiding mantra, “Every day is a journey” and expect the day will improve from here. But for now I’m going back to sleep.

It was one of those rude awakenings. You know the kind, with alarms buzzing and you’re sure that someone has made a terrible mistake. Let’s see, it’s still dark and foggy outside but somewhere in the back of my groggy mind a faint memory surfaces and I realize that we are really meant to be up now and showering.

I’d had the foresight to line up the hotel shuttle to schlep us up the incredibly steep path to breakfast on top of the mountain.

Having just finished repacking we heard the beep beep of the shuttle. I threw the duffel in the back and marveled again at the steepness of the path as we chugged up the mountain almost all the way to breakfast. We walked this way last night for dinner. That’s when I decided the shuttle would be better.

A couple of our slow boat shipmates were already eating and we started to see a few more stagger in. With military like precision the slowboat van showed up on time and breakfast was over.

Today will be our longest and reportedly the most interesting run on the Mekong, necessitating an early start. Crew used the 20 foot long bamboo poles to push us back off of shore.

We relaxed into the zenlike flow that only a river can provide.

Soon we were gliding through the exotic Laos scenery.

The fog burned off revealing craggy mountains and unusual rock formations that disturbed the swiftly flowing river current.

Our guide mentioned that if you see a person squatting beside the river, they aren’t fishing, they are panning for gold!

I started noticing many straw hatted people apparently doing just that. Huge construction projects at turns in the river are common and often created pinch points due to their encroachment out into the river.

Turns out they’re Chinese projects and they’re not making reclaimed spoil land but they’re using large machinery to sluice for gold. I suspect that Laotians don’t get much of that revenue.

For our part, we were thoroughly entertained just watching this gentle landscape slide past, but then again, we’ve spent weeks at sea watching the beautiful ocean waves roll by our Escape Velocity.

As we got to know our fellow passengers we realized not everyone finds boat travel as scintillating as we do. One pair, a mother and daughter on a year-long travel odyssey before a planned move to Ghana, brought art supplies and games along to while away the hours. They were often joined by a young English couple who work remotely, he as a writer of children’s books, and she as a remote teacher of English as a Foreign Language. Another couple lived in Berlin for many years and now in New Jersey, so we had lots in common with them. Our group was rounded out by a Norwegian-Thai family with two sweet little kids. Marce and I enjoyed talking to everyone but more than anything we were focused on the river and the journey.

I began to notice strange boxy, man made concrete structures mounted on top of rocks in the river.

They look like small stairs, maybe for times with high water.

Growing up in Pittsburgh with three rivers heavy with barge traffic, I like to think an old river rat like me could figure this out. Then it dawned on me. They are water depth gauges, and when you see all the rocky obstructions it’s no wonder. Water vortexes, overfalls, and standing waves are our constant companions on either side, as we motor past. During part of the year they can’t even run the boats due to the lack of water.

We stopped at another village necessitating another scramble up a steep slope but Marce and I were quite comfortable where we were, soaking up the river scene, thank you very much.

Back underway we came across a brand new high level bridge across the Mekong that abruptly ends against the face of a mountain. There is no tunnel yet. It’s part of a controversial hydroelectric plant under construction that will dam the Mekong about 25 kilometers upstream from our final destination, Luang Prabang. The project is a joint effort between Lao PDR, Vietnam, and Thailand. Our guide suggested that most of the power will go to Thailand.

For now it’s possible to navigate around the enormous structure but no one seems to know what will become of the river when the dam is complete. We’re glad we’re doing this trip now. Who knows if it’ll be possible in the future.

It was about this time that the first of several dead pigs floated past the boat. As any of you old time Escapees know, when a dead pig floats past the boat, it’s a sure sign that it’s time to leave.

Well actually the bloated pig was stuck circling in a whirl pool, but to us the meaning can not be denied. It’s odd because pigs are supposedly strong swimmers but with current this strong apparently they get caught out.

With images of whirled pig before our eyes we nosed into a pier with dozens of other slow boats to climb up to the Pak Ou “Buddha”caves.

For 20,000 KIP extra ($1) we even climbed all the way up to the cave at the top of the mountain and to be honest, after lazing around the slowboat for two days this had us seriously sucking air.

So it was back to the bamboo poles and a prodigious amount of reverse to get the slowboat to back up against the Mekong’s stiff current. Another hour and we were jostling for space at a small pier which led to the most outrageously steep and high set of concrete stairs.

We couldn’t believe they actually intended for us to schlep ourselves and our luggage up this monster. Turns out no, just our own cabooses. This is one of the many advantages of paying extra for the VIP slowboat; the boat crew hauled our luggage up the steps.

Feeling a little faint at the top, we were hustled into a van, bounced our way into town and disgorged at our beautiful hotel in old town Luang Prabang.

Wayside Guesthouse is our home away from home, although technically we really don’t have a home anywhere else. But after a month doing medical maintenance we have a choice: pay $55 each to extend our visas for another month or go on a visa run to another country. Our trip here to Southeast Asia is itself a visa run from our six-month limit in the UK, so we’ve decided on a visa run from our visa run. Destination: neighboring Laos.

It’ll be the Green Bus to the border for us. Our host Jackie, known to us as Mom, suggested she’d better call her friend to take us to the bus station rather than relying on a tuk-tuk at rush hour. Mom knows best. We made it with a comfortable margin and schlepping our faithful rolling duffel, found bus bay number 20 to Chiang Khong.

Thailand’s roads are legendary so we have girded our loins in preparation for a rough day. Loins are one thing but there’s something seriously wrong with my seatback which insists on pushing my torso into a forward facing vice.

It’s raining before we even get out of town but our bus attendant lady has already passed out a box full of tiny complimentary water bottles and I’m sure she’s accumulated a body full of bruises fetching up against the bus’s seats. I’m spending most of my time searching for a lever or anything to at least get my seat back to vertical.

Parts of the road are fairly recently patched but what I find intolerable is Thailand’s penchant for adding speed bumps to the potholes for which they are already so richly endowed. We lurch from village to village, temple to temple, this Buddha to that Buddha, each covered with gold even though they’re surrounded by people living in little more than lean-tos, but then that’s Thailand. I reach down under my seat feeling for someway, really anyway to recline my seat back, without joy.

Now we are creeping up the beautiful mountains at a screaming snail’s pace only to hurtle down the other side. The Green Bus has a beeping speed warning to let the happy passengers know that the driver is now speeding.

In the meantime, great news: it’s time for the distribution of the complimentary snack which features the only word in English — banana — on the paper wrapper and may include some form of spongecake rolled into a tube. I missed out because I was looking under my seat for the elusive lever to recline my seat. Still no joy.

Now we’re grinding our way up more mountains. I have serious reservations about the health of this poor Green Bus. It’s still beep beeping down the other side though. People periodically begin to depart the bus while the driver opens the door to dart into various businesses dropping off parcels or picking up other parcels. Bear in mind this Green Bus is marked as an express.

In time we found ourselves alone in the Green Bus with just the driver and the bus lady for company. I’m looking at the empty seats to see what could possibly operate the goddamn seatback. We jostled through a dusty country village only to swing around in a lumbering 180 degree turn, abruptly stopping in a cloud of dust, and with that the driver turned and looked at us. My best guess is that we’re not going any further on the Green Bus.

The good news is that after seven plus hours of searching and being pummeled by the Green Bus, I finally found the tiny black plastic knob that marginally reclines the seatback.

We stood up stiffly, claimed the only bag remaining under the bus, and hired a tuk-tuk to take us the rest of the way to Day Waterfront Hotel.

After being sprayed with dust and dirt for a half an hour our driver ended this madness by braking to a merciful stop at the precipice of an ungodly steep hill.

With the muddy Mekong River spread out below us, he mumbled “It’s down there.” I assumed he meant our hotel, so I yanked our loyal rolling duffel out of the tuk-tuk and with baby steps we carefully negotiated the ski jump of a hill.

Finally in our room we divided our time between filling out visa forms and marveling at the sight of the mighty Mekong River valley.

It’s not home but it’ll have to do until morning.

With cold weather approaching and the end of our allotted time in the UK looming we shifted into high gear to arrange storage for the van and a destination for the crew. Somewhere warm, of course, and somewhere we can take care of various medical and dental maintenance. We’re fortunate to be in good general health but we do need to get checked over once in a while and the American medical system is beyond our financial reach, especially added to the cost of travel to the US.

It’ll be Asia again for us. Affordable, warm, great medical and dental care at a reasonable cost, and a healthy cuisine with lots of fresh fruits and vegetables. It’s a clear violation of Rule #1 (Never go back) and there are plenty of places we haven’t been yet that might also fit the bill, but I for one crave a couple of months of free time to read, write, do family history, and perhaps explore some new places.

In a flurry of activity we booked a flight to Thailand and arranged for a room in our favorite guesthouse in Chiang Mai. Our friends in Northern Ireland graciously agreed to let us stash Escape Velocity in a secure back paddock where our sailor friend Alan can keep an eye on her. This is a much better solution than last year’s storage, which was lovely and secure but difficult to get to, complicating the logistics and adding to the overall cost.

When departure day came we said goodbye to our tiny home and Alan drove us to the bus station in Newry where an express bus takes you to the Dublin airport in just over an hour. We’re not used to such efficiency!

We weren’t confident that the bus and the flight would line up properly so we used some points to book an airport hotel for the night, then it was off to Thailand via Beijing. It was a long but mostly comfortable journey, except that my vegetarian food order didn’t make it to the plane so by the time we got to Bangkok I was starving.

We had a long layover in Bangkok and our Chiang Mai flight was further delayed — I think this has happened every time — but that gave us a chance to get local currency and Thai SIM cards for the phones.

We finally made it to our guesthouse where we are booked into the coveted Room 8 for the month. For the next couple of days we visited our favorite places to eat, checked into the ongoing work at our neighborhood temple and generally reacquainted ourselves with the lovely, quirky, funky, welcoming Old Town Chiang Mai. It feels like home and it’s good to be back.

With bad weather moving in Marce found us a quaint little harbor for a safe parkup to wait out the rain.

What it lacked as a proper harbor it made up for with a magnificent 1885 twelve arch railroad viaduct allowing rail service to Schull.

Now it’s part of a foot trail. Ballydehob is located at the confluence of the Bawnaknockane River and Roaringwater Bay, bounded by the Atlantic Ocean. Dodging rain drops I managed to grab some excellent takeout food without getting too wet and marveled at the remarkable number of sophisticated restaurants this cute little town has.

Ballydehob has managed gentrification via the usual route of artist colony, fine cuisine, and yachts.

The town certainly seems in an ebullient mood with festivals for every taste.

We heard that this weekend they’re having a BBQ, music, and traditional wooden boat festival so we’re definitely sticking around for that. Not the best weather for a BBQ but the good citizens of Ballydehob haven’t seemed to notice.

The wharf is really filling up with those well dressed citizenry. The band is kind of fun and the sausage baps are great.

We’ve even heard that sometimes Jeremy Irons sails up from Rocky Mannin Beg Island where his Kilcoe Castle overlooks Roaring Water Bay.

It’s time for the main event when one at a time the old traditional boats round the little island and arrive to deal with the Southern breeze setting the boats in towards the docks, rocks and concrete pier.

Some were more successful than others.

They need the pull of the sail to come into the little harbor but once in they need it doused in a hurry. Nothing happens in a hurry with these old boats.

I noticed one last traditional tanbark sail has come around the small protective island.

It dithered about, just off the harbor, shortening sail, then she headed in.

Everybody turned and watched. Every sailor’s nightmare.

I noticed Skipper change his mind and head over towards the concrete pier but with a little too much steam on, and having made this mistake a few times myself, I helped fend off just in time.

As soon as things calmed down I looked up and saw the skippers eyes. They were the deep brown eyes of Jeremy Irons.

To be honest his crew appreciated the help and it took some wrangling to get the dock lines sorted, but his locally made wooden boat, “Willing Lass” is simple and beautiful.

You never know what might happen wandering around Ireland.

Fastnet Rock is legendary to anyone with an interest in the sea or sailing. It’s the southernmost point of Ireland lying way out in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of County Cork.

My birthday was looming and after seeing Fastnet from Mizen Head we took the plunge and booked ourselves on a day trip to the Rock and Cape Clear Island. It’s a fitting way to spend my birthday.

The boat leaves from the little town of Schull and we arrived early enough to watch the local sailing school readying their boats for launch.

We were delighted to find our tour boat was half empty.

It took about 45 minutes to get to our first stop, Cape Clear Island, where we picked up additional tourists. We were now at capacity and headed for the Rock.

A lighthouse was first built on Fastnet after an American sailing packet was lost on a nearby island in thick fog in 1847. By 1854 the new lighthouse was signaling to ships at sea.

The original brick and cast iron structure proved to be too weak to withstand the ferocious gales common in these parts, despite attempts to shore up the base. By 1891 the powers that be also concluded that the signal from the lighthouse was too weak to signal ships arriving from across the Atlantic, and in 1899 construction of a new tower was begun. The stronger structure was built from dovetailed blocks of granite and entered into service in 1904. The beacon has a range of 27 nautical miles.

Here’s a little tech background for non-sailors. Every lighthouse has a unique sequence, described in abbreviated form on a nautical chart. It’s possible to be in range of more than one lighthouse at a time, so it’s important to know the pattern you’re seeing in the distance to be sure of which beacon it is. Here are some examples of lighthouse characteristics.

As a sailor I can tell you there’s nothing more reassuring when approaching a landfall as spying a signal exactly as described on the nautical chart, assuring you that you are where you think you are.

All of that aside, our first closeup view of Fastnet took our breath away.

We circled the Rock in both directions, giving everyone ample opportunity to get the money shots. It’s beautiful from every angle. And I promise you every one of these photos has had significant horizon correction; while it was an unusually calm day on the ocean, taking photos from the deck of a boat pitching in the Atlantic swell while dodging other tourists is no easy task.

Fastnet Light is the rounding mark for the legendary Fastnet Race, one of the three classic offshore yacht races, along with Sydney-Hobart and Newport-Bermuda, all about 625 nautical miles.

The 1979 race was hit with an unexpectedly severe storm that wreaked havoc on the 303 participating yachts and called in thousands of rescuers and emergency services. It was the single largest maritime rescue operation in peacetime. Nineteen people died, 75 boats capsized, five were lost and believed sunk.

There are plenty of videos about the event. Here’s a link to one of them.

When the captain decided we’d exhausted the photo possibilities he turned the boat back toward Cape Clear Island where we’ll have a couple of hours to explore an idyllic outpost of County Cork.

Not far from the harbor lies a memorial to the nineteen souls lost in the 1979 Fastnet Race. (More names in the side, for those counting.)

Beautiful Cape Clear Island swallowed up our fellow boat passengers and we spent a pleasant few hours exploring the country roads to the other side.

And then it was time for the return trip to the mainland. Escape Velocity’s absentminded navigator forgot to bring the tracker so if you’ve been following along on our track link, here’s the missing bit courtesy of Google maps.

We’ve had a delicious run of good weather but now it’s about to end.