Neil said "steer her over there towards the island" thinking that was where the channel lay, I complied. SSSSSHHHHH, we were aground again, "hang on Neil, I'll get the pilot book". The book was on the Nav' desk open at the correct place, back up on deck we were still aground. This time I really rubbed it in, "do you really know where we are?" I queried. The pilot book read "Do not attempt this passage after dark". We could vaguely make out the vast sandy area, which lay, between us, the mainland and the lights ahead on the coast road around the island. Boldly I said, "let's try over there" I waggled the rudder, we unstuck and gently drifted towards the lights. The next lit buoy winked into view and the lights on Bangor Pier began to slowly appear through the misty gloom. We were there!

Now all we had to do was pick up a mooring, selecting one downstream of the pier. Although it was winter there was still traffic through the Straits. The "Maxi Moor Grabit" patent mooring device, which came with Eclipse, clipped on first try. We were finally at rest. Engine off, anchor light on, heating on, anchor watch set on the plotter. Neil agreed to make dinner, afterwards we hit the scotch then turned in. I think the Straits had had the last laugh for my previous antics cutting the dinghy free in the summer. Conscious we were at a mooring the last thing I did was turn off the Eberspacher, a notorious amp eater.

Next morning the alarm clock and the mobile phone went off together, after killing the alarm I answered the phone, it was M with my wake up call. In the saloon a duvet clad apparition was stirring in the corner. "Morning Neil, sleep well?" I enquired. "Sleep well, sleep well, Eric you could snore for England" he testily replied. "Didn't you hear that banging in the night? he asked. "What banging?" "The bloody tiller, you hadn't made it fast, when the tide turned it was like a tom tom". "Sorry Neil, what do you want for breakfast?" While I poured the cereal Neil regaled me with his antics making the tiller fast. He hadn't been able to find a line and had cucooned the tiller in the main sheet line. Additionally, when he finally got to bed it was freezing as he'd left the washboards out while he worked, letting what heat was left, out of the cabin and the freezing night air in. "Never mind Neil you can have one of our sleeping bags tonight in Bangor and the meal's on me at The Black Dog". That seemed to pacify him so we cast off, our destination the Swellies, that notorious stretch of water with so much mystique surrounding it.

The morning was crisp, cold but dry. I chuckled as I unwrapped the mummy's bandage of rope around the tiller, imagining Neil trying to silence it under the stars.

Neil is quite informative when he hasn't got his tormenting devil's head on, we were a little early so we drifted along just maintaining headway, while he pointed out the salient points, including his brothers house on the Straits banks.

The route through the Swellies sounds quite complex from the pilot book, but today, in practice we sailed through, so to speak. (actually under engine). I video'd the whole exercise planning to show it at the Yacht Club later. Out the other end, we followed tradition, saluted Nelson's statue as we passed by. The sun had now risen causing an ethereal mist to rise from the water giving the whole scene a mystical appearance.

Neal pointed out the Marina at Port Dinorwic, unbeknown at that time it housed a boat we later bought, which became "Magic Moods". (See Corsica to the Costa's). It's a small world.

Our destination, the newish marina at Caernarfon is housed in the old Tidal Basin, just before the original Caernarfon harbour, which dries at low tide. The tidal basin marina has a sill to maintain a level of water at low tide. A set of traffic lights at the entrance controls traffic in and out, ignore them at your peril. I called the marina on the VHF, no answer, another bugger thinking no one would be about at this time of year.

We approached the traffic lights just as a breathless harbour master answered our call. He quickly lowered the sill and in we went, the visitor's pontoon being completely empty. A shower shave and a S**t were the first order of the day, so in turn we visited the facilities in a porta cabin at the top of a ramp, very good they were to.

Clean, smelling a little fresher, we hit the town, well actually the Safeway's Supermarket, Neil wanted something for the journey back the following day, I tagged along for professional interest. As it happened, I picked up a boil in the bag meal as well to ease the cooking duties as I seemed to be doing the lions share.

By this time the Black Dog was open, a pub lunch was scoffed and a couple of pints of Welsh Guinness. Neil had bulled this place up no end; I thought it a little tacky, not very sociable, undeterred Neil said all the locals would be in tonight and the place would be rocking. What did liven things up a bit, was a drunken old Irishman regaling all who would listen to him of his exploits on the high seas. After a while he was sending me to sleep so we adjourned back to the boat for an afternoon zizz.

Around four, Neil decided he wanted a new bulb for his torch, I wouldn't say he is obsessive, but his antics for the next hour defy belief. When sailing at night, he carried a small pocket torch, used to check the instruments. It's light was so poor it was just right to protect his night vision. On our way past Puffin the night before, the bulb had failed. Now, this torch was probably handed down by his father as a relic from the blitz, it looked so old. Anyway, off we trudged in search of a new bulb. If we tried one shop we must have tried ten, same answer in all, "those went out with the Ark, everyone's using these penlights now". Would Neil have it, would he hell. By this time the drizzle had returned, with a hint of snow in it and we were both wet to the skin.

The last shop we tried was like Arkwright's Emporium, tucked away in a back street. One of those bicycle type bells twanged as we entered. Neil reverently laid the duff bulb on the counter. The shopkeeper, who still had gas mantles on the shelves, gave off an odour of paraffin mixed with mothballs, picked up Neil's bulb, scrutinised it through a pair of pinz nez glasses perched on the end of his hawk like beak, then drew in a deep breath through his teeth, shook his head. "Don't get much call for these nowadays" he recited in a lilting Welsh baritone voice. Neil looked dejected, I think he was coming round to agreeing the world's supply of his bulb had been exhausted. "Arkwright" turned to a dusty set of those old metal tray cupboards, ran his finger down to T for torch. After a struggle he prised the tray open, Neil brightened in anticipation, he strained on tiptoe to look over Arkwright's shoulder, Neil's only five foot four. Arkwright ha ha'd, then turned clutching a small cardboard box, Neil began to salivate in anticipation. Arkwright reverently placed the box on the counter in front of Neil, whose thumbs were rotating around each other, dying to reach out to open it. Arkwright slid open the cardboard lid, there inside were a number of smaller boxes, he reached into the box then selected one of the smaller boxes then handed it to Neil. Neil lifted the lid smiling; there inside were two twinkling shiny new bulbs, Arkwright in a hushed voice said, "these come in pairs". Neil looked at him somewhat aggrieved, "but I only want one" he answered. I exploded with laughter and had to leave the shop before I wet myself.

Five minutes later Neil followed me, "bugger made me buy two" he moaned, "hope they still work" I replied, still smiling.

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