OFF THE HOOK
he romance of Frenchman’s Creek loses its gloss when faced with a snagged anchor on a falling tide with strong winds forecast. I would normally anchor towards the mouth of the river but since a slight swell was already rolling up the Helford I had decided to spend the night tucked further up the river near the entrance to snag on it. With the anchor light on and supper eaten I fell asleep in no time, listening to the owls calling while being gently rocked by the lazy swell.
