The weeks slipped by and summer was gone, replaced by a stormy November and freezing cold December. At the Yacht Club a couple of weeks previously, Peter (Heather) had mentioned a Christmas cruise to Fleetwood, "what's the chances of joining you" I tentatively asked, "think we're full" he replied. Heather was a Colvic Atlanta with an enclosed wheelhouse and heating. Just the thing for a winter cruise. I slunk away disappointed at not being able to go.

The following week things had changed, Peter had gone down with a winter lurgi, a cold, so the trip was off. "Anyone fancy coming in Eclipse" I enquired. Now a trip in an open yacht in winter in northern climes may not appeal to all but the hardened sailor. My Mate Neil looked at me with a jaded eye over a glass of Southern Comfort he had been nursing for the last hour, "Where are you thinking of going?" he queried. "Caernarfon would be nice at this time of year," I said knowing he was hooked. Being one of Peter's original crew had wetted his appetite; being like me lived to sail.

Chris Formby "Sea Myth" also showed a tentative interest, as the current Cruising Captain he probably felt obliged. "How many do you need?" asked Chris, "three's about the limit for Eclipse I answered. "I'll let you know next week" he replied.

Next club night I was getting cabin fever wondering if I still had a crew for the planned cruise. After buying Neil his second Southern Comfort, I posed the question, "you still on Neil?" as I handed him the glass, "on for what young Eric?" he quipped teasingly, "the Christmas cruise" you old soak. He smiled cheekily, "Are you sure you want to venture out in this weather?" "Sure" I replied steadfastly, knowing Neil had much more experience than I did. "What about you Chris?" asked Neil; "I'll just have a half please" replied Chris, with a smile on his lips. "Seriously though I can't, I've got Osmosis". "I've got some ointment for that" was Neil's cheeky comment. "Well Neil, are we on?" I pressed, "OK, If the weathers fine I'll come with you". "Right, right, high tide's at eleven thirty Monday see you then". That was settled, a winter sail, no wives, I was full of it when I reached home to give M the news. "If it makes you happy, you go" she agreed to my request for leave of absence.

That weekend, M and I provisioned the boat filled the fuel and water tanks, then entered up the routes on the plotter. Everything was ready; it was just up to him upstairs to send some good weather. The Liverpool drizzle greeted me a I neared the marina Monday morning, any minute I expected Neil to ring to say he wasn't coming. He didn't call. At eleven fifteen his car swung into the car park, I could see him taking his bag out of the boot, we were on!

Jauntily Neil strolled down the pontoon whistling as he came, "Are you sure?" he repeated as we shook hands. "Sure am, heating's, on kettles, on what are you waiting for?" "I'll just get some food from Kada and I'll be with you". Neil has a stomach complaint and has to watch his diet. After casting off we went around to the lock, Jeremy had been snug in his warm office when he picked up our request for a lock out on the VHF. "Didn't think any bugger would be out today," he shouted down from the lock control tower.

"You're a bit late, it's high tide". "We're out for a couple of days," I shouted back. He looked at us pityingly, "rather you than me" he called as the gates opened.

Out on the swirling Mersey, with mugs of whisky laced tea to fend off the cold, we settled down to the eight-hour run to Puffin Island. "Right Eric, what's your passage plan?" "Well, I think we should make for Bangor pier as our first overnight stop, then through the Swellies next morning to Caernarfon marina for lunch" I explained. "What about the tides and the Straits" he came back at me. "Providing we make Puffin by 18.30, we should be tied up at Bangor by 19.30". " He looked at me quizzically, "what if the buoys aren't lit in the straits?" he asked. "We've got the plotter" I cheekily replied. "Plotters" Neil retorted, "Have you got the large scale chart and pilot book?" Like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, I produced them with a flourish. That seemed to satisfy him, then we turned to port to head into the Rock channel.

After successfully negotiating the channel using the Magellan, Neil who had only just gained confidence in his three-year-old GPS, started to trust my plotter. The outside temperature was only just above freezing as we negotiated the Dee Estuary, out into Liverpool Bay. Neil favoured the close in route; mine on the plotter was about two miles offshore of his. Bowing to his superior knowledge and experience I let him have his own way. That fact saved us from a very nasty situation a few hours later.

Not daring to ask him to prepare lunch, I adjourned to the galley to get ready a hot meal. By the time it was eaten, the dishes cleared away, dusk was falling, along with the temperature and the steady drizzle.

Around five the familiar light on the Great Orme flashed out its message as we crept by in it's lee, the towering dark satanic cliffs ever present alongside, giving the trip a sinister air. Puffin Island, also known as the Priestholm is only four cables from the Anglesey shore at its narrowest point, but narrowss down to one point two five cables at low water springs. The tide had only just turned as we approached so care was needed. It was neaps so I thought I knew our way through. Neil was conning the boat in the pitch darkness as I played the searchlight on waves crashing onto Puffin's rocky shore; I mentally shivered and pulled my life jacket strap tighter.

We were looking for the west spit beacon, also known as perch rock beacon, which is unlit and difficult to see. The lighthouse on the mainland looked perilously close when I saw the first buoy marking the entrance to the Straits flashing in the distance. Neil was unusually quite as he eased the tiller to and fro to compensate for the swirling current in the narrow sound. "Neil, I can see the first buoy" I said breaking a long tense silence. The lighthouse on Trwyn Du on the other side looming ever closer, it's ghostly glow lighting the black & white striped pattern on the tower, the bell clanging out a warning. "Neil don't you think we can turn in yet?" Neil cool as a cucumber ignored my question then replied, "just play the light over there Eric please", pointing towards the southern end of Puffin. I did as bid, and thought something at high level caught the reflection from the foaming rocks. "Do it again please, a little higher". Blind panic was guiding my arm now, we were almost on top of the lighthouse when the searchlights beam did its job, and there it was, the Perch Rock Beacon on our port side. If we had turned when I saw the first buoy flashing we'd have gone between the beacon and Puffin, onto the rocks.

Good old Neil, I pounded him on the back breaking his concentration. "All right all right, I haven't got as much flesh on my bones as you" he complained at my congratulatory slaps. A smile was playing on his lips, " you knew what you were looking for you little bugger, didn't you?" The devil in him grinned back at me; he loved winding me up. But my chance to get my own back soon came. The route through the north end of the Straits to Bangor, our destination, is tortuous but marked by twelve buoys, some lit some not. We safely negotiated the first two and were looking for the B3 buoy when I sensed we were slowing, "Neil, we're aground!" Eric you're right, put the kettle on". The plotter was showing us in the channel but the B3 buoy was missing. We were bilge keeled, the bottom was as flat as a board so we weren't worried, but I gave Neil a good ribbing for running us aground. "We're on a rising tide Eric so don't worry" he parried. Within minutes, we could feel Eclipse coming alive again.

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