Beer, beer, everywhere, nor any drop to drink. If Coleridge thought the Ancient Mariner had it tough, he should have tried going afloat with 396 gallons of ale, but none to slake a thirst.
I’ve come to Brixham, south Devon, to help sail a cargo of Exeter Brewery beer to Douarnenez, Brittany, by historic ship. The Grayhound is a 108ft replica of a Cornish lugger — the three-masted Transit van of previous centuries. Marcus and Freya Pomeroy-Rowden, the liveaboard owners, began to sail freight earlier this year. Now they’re taking cargo crew on the first working holiday of its kind in the UK.
Craft beer delivered by sail sounds like the epitome of hipster nostalgia. The idea, however, is to draw attention to international shipping as the third largest polluter, after China and America. Grayhound is part of Fairtransport, a sail-cargo alliance. Three ships are affiliated, three more are being built — one the size of a container vessel.
So this is a real working passage. I board with my fellow crew — two friends of Marcus and Freya — and I’m tarring ropes within the hour. That’s fine by me: the saltier my seafaring, the better.
Below decks, Grayhound is almost cottagey, with rustic galley shelves and a chart table made of oak offcuts. The crew bunks are in a central saloon that doubles as the cargo hold for our 3,600 bottles of beer. We manhandle it aboard in the harbour. Brilliant, says a fisherman, hurling a 12-pack at me. Backbreaking, actually, but you can see the point. The smell of goodwill and nostalgia hang in the air.
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I realise at one point that I have stopped thinking about everything on land. They could sell this as therapy Then we’re away. Except we’re not. A light easterly breeze (an “untrustworthy” wind, Marcus grumbles) means we’re unable to lay course for France. Two days pass in Cornwall. Still, isn’t living by the whim of the wind also part of sail cargo?
It’s a relief when we hoist the heavy sails into a pale dawn sky. The operation passes in a blur of salty terminology, we rookies dithering by the ropes at each command. We’re here for brawn, not brains, to be honest.
Soon Grayhound is bounding south, past the Eddystone lighthouse. Cornwall slips below the horizon and we’re alone on a wide, wide sea. Marcus sits at the helm. “You feel this letting go at sea,” he says. “Nothing on earth so successfully detaches you from society.”
No kidding. I have tried and loved many escapist activities, but none has provided such boyish joy as helming a sailing ship on an empty sea, the wake fizzing astern like a braid of rope. Aside from one frantic sail change when the wind rises, it’s not even hard work.
The adventure of it all, though, lies as much in what happens when you’re not doing Hornblower impressions. Whereas working holidaymakers generally slope off in the evenings, passage crew live by watches for 24 hours of the day. The boat becomes a self-contained world with its own rhythm.
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For four hours, you’re on deck. For the next four, you’re braced in your bunk, listening to the sea bludgeoning the planks. There’s no hope of sleep, you think, until you’re shaken awake to return on watch. Changeovers are the only time the crew is together outside meals. Life simplifies: sail, sleep, eat. Sail, sleep, eat.
It sounds monotonous, I know, but it’s liberating. I realise at one point that I’ve stopped thinking about everything on land. They could sell this as therapy.
Too soon, Brittany approaches. Engulfed in darkness, Marcus and I sail down a trail of silvery moonlight, weaving a safe passage through rocks. It feels fantastically intrepid, although I’m not the one navigating. Twenty-eight hours since Cornwall, the anchor chain rattles down before a sun-drenched Douarnenez.
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Can a Cutty Sark-style revival really offset an industry responsible for 20% of global CO 2 emissions? “No one is saying Grayhound will make a radical difference,” I am later told by Guillaume Le Grand, whose company, TransOceanic Wind Transport, commissioned our delivery, “but it raises awareness of the hidden cost of shipping.” Our passage alone has saved five tons of CO 2.
By late afternoon, the beer is on the wharf. That’s when real life ambushes. Behind schedule, my palms still tingling from ropes, I bolt for the ferry. At some point during my crossing, Grayhound embarks with a cargo of claret bound for Plymouth. A crossing in seven hours or 28? It’s your choice. I know which I’d prefer.
James Stewart was a guest of Grayhound (grayhoundluggersailing. co.uk) and Brittany Ferries (brittany-ferries.co.uk). The next cargo voyage leaves Falmouth on September 17; a 14-night return crossing to Douarnenez costs £1,050pp, including accommodation and food; it’s £525pp for seven nights, one-way. Book through Another World Adventures (anotherworldadventures.com)