| | | Church & Anchorage
The day began with Dan rowing Zeta and me ashore. We were on a mission to walk six miles from the moorings at Crookhaven to Barley Cove were Dan, fifty-three years ago, aged three, had been on holiday with his sister, parents and Grandma. He'd not been back since. His mother, 83, was in constant, excited, communication with him by text and photo messages as a land where Treasure Island met Swallows and Amazons unfolded before us. By lunchtime we were back in Crookhaven, eating crab sandwiches washed down with Guinness, as we admired Tramontana on her mooring from O'Sullivans, the most southerly pub in Ireland.
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