From Bryher I had to make my way back to St Mary’s so I could catch a ferry to Penzance so I could catch a train to Plymouth so I could catch another train to Exeter St David’s so I could catch a train to Okehampton so I could catch a taxi to Belstone. Fortunately I insisted on strict separation of transportation methods so all the sea travel happened on one day and all the rail the next.
There was time before my departure to stroll around the one hill on Bryher so far free from my attentions and have a cream tea at a (or possibly, the) local cafe. A black dog wandered in, sat down next to me and stared until I shared my scones with her. Just when I was afraid I had adopted a dog she decided she wouldn’t get any more food out of me and wandered off.
The boat which collected me from Bryher was the Firethorn. It was significantly larger than the other boats I had seen or been on travelling between the islands. This was apparent from the wincing care with which it approached the landing. Obviously draft was an issue. On the other hand it had an enclosed luggage storage area which is pretty fancy shit for an inter island boat.
Despite its size the Firethorn carried me efficiently from Bryher to St Mary’s where it was immediately dwarfed by the bulk of the Scillonian III which was waiting to take me (and a few hundred other people) to Penzance. The Scillonian III is the imaginatively named ferry that trundles back and forth between Penzance and St Mary’s but not for much longer. An excited notice on the wharf informed the world (or at least St Mary’s wharf) that a private funding arrangement had been reached and soon the Scillonian III would be replaced with a brand new ferry to be called (you guessed it), Scillonian IV. Incidentally I don’t quite know what they mean by “private funding arrangement” I suspect they launched a GoFundMe campaign.
I said goodbye to my bag which was tossed into a shipping crate. It did say Penzance on the side which reassured me we were heading in the same direction a reassurance that became more important when I realised I had left my passport in there. I’m not saying I spent the entire sea crossing in a state of panic but I did hurl myself on my bag like a long lost relative when we were finally reunited.
The sea voyage itself was uneventful. I ate a sausage roll and borrowed an elderly (ie about five years older than me) lady’s nail scissors to open the accompanying sauce packet. From the number of sick bags provided it would appear that the crew were gearing up for wall to wall vomit but the weather was good and nausea was absent as the Scillonian III chugged through relatively calm seas.
The next day I hopped on a handsome eight carriage train that deposited me in Plymouth. From there I got on a presentable five car train that took me to Exeter St David’s. There after a bit of a pause I clambered onto a disheveled looking two car train that deposited me in Okehampton possibly just before falling to pieces. Finally an obliging taxi driver took me to a pub in the small Dartmoor village of Belstone which was to be my home for the next couple of nights.
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