Sailing Around the UK for Parkinson’s: Richard’s Story

Every sailor knows that the best-laid passage plans are written in the sand at low tide. My initial itinerary to leave Plymouth on the 9th of May was meant to have me well up the coast in Whitehaven by now. Instead, I am sitting in Padstow, riding out the latest storm. I am effectively six sailing days into my journey, but the logbook tells a story of a completely different kind of distance covered, one measured in grease, grit, and the incredible generosity of the coastal community.

The voyage began beautifully. A fantastic initial leg, with the cruising chute flying, carried me from Plymouth to Looe. But the idyllic start was short-lived. A faint, persistent scent of diesel led to an investigation of the bilges. Finding a pool of red fuel, I soaked it up, chalking it up to an accidental spill while filling her to the brim a couple of days prior. But by the time I tucked into Fowey the next day, the smell was overpowering. Looking down, the telltale red was slopping around the bilges once more. After another day spent mopping and scrubbing, I made the frustrating but necessary decision to head back to Plymouth to find the root cause. The diagnosis? The top seal on the fiberglass fuel tank had perished, and the stainless-steel filler was no longer tight. I hadn’t ever filled the tank full before, so this issue on my ‘new to me’ boat hasn’t been manifest before.

Resolving that issue only opened a technical Pandora’s box. The disturbance of the sailing had stirred up sludge and water in the tank, which had sucked straight into the filters. What should have been two days of happy sailing dissolved into two weeks of gruelling maintenance: draining tanks, eradicating the dreaded diesel bug, cleaning bilges, and completely refreshing the fuel line system.

When I finally set off again on the 26th of May, making it as far as Falmouth felt like a triumph. Then, precisely as I was docking, an alarm blared from the instrument panel. The alternator had failed; the batteries were no longer charging.

It is at moments like these that the true spirit of the sailing community reveals itself. Rather than being stuck stranded, I was rescued by Marian, a friend of a friend who solo sails her own Moody 31. She dropped everything to drive me to the train station so I could catch a train back to Plymouth, source a replacement alternator, and get back to the boat to install it.

The weather turned glorious and completely windless which allowed me to motor down the coast to Lamorna Cove. It felt less like the English Channel and more like the Mediterranean. Hiding under the bimini cover, slathering on sun cream, I had the entire bay completely to myself, a deeply peaceful night at anchor that washed away the stress of the previous weeks.

From Lamorna, it was round to St Ives’ visitor moorings. My evening arrival was timed for the tide, and while Ketty 11 can take the ground, she made it very clear she dislikes a rolling swell. At 3:30 AM, in the pitch black before dawn, I was jolted awake by a violent shudder. In my disoriented, half-asleep state, seeing only the dim, ambient street light from the harbour road filtering through my thin blue curtains, panic hit me. A second jolt seconds later had me convinced another vessel had rammed me or that I had broken loose.

Scrambling up on deck, blurry-eyed, I realized the reality: the incoming swell was lifting and dropping her against the harbour floor. I stood watch for thirty tense minutes watching the rudder stock bouncing, unable to do anything. As the tide flooded deep enough, the jolts subsided, and Ketty floated freely and calmly once more. With the dawn, I pushed on for Padstow, slipping through into the none-drying harbour gates just before the latest storm front slammed into the coast.

Being trapped by the weather here, however, has highlighted the real purpose of this journey. I am circumnavigating the UK to raise over £10,000 for Parkinson’s UK. The response in Padstow has been nothing short of humbling. Tourists along the harbour walls have been scanning the QR code printed directly on my sail, asking questions, and offering encouragement, helping me raise over £300 in just a few days. I even sat down for a coffee with Graham, an ex-sailor who is now living with Parkinson’s, reminding me exactly why I am fighting the diesel bugs, the broken alternators, and the sleepless nights.

Navigating these kinds of coastal curveballs is a stark reminder of why we prepare for the unexpected. While a solid toolkit, clean fuel lines, and a community of fellow sailors keep the boat moving, having the backing of a specialist insurer like Haven Knox-Johnston provides the ultimate peace of mind. Knowing you are fully protected allows you to focus entirely on the challenges at hand and the mission ahead.

I might be behind schedule, but as I look out at the storm from the safety of Padstow, the boat is sound, the fuel is clean, and the momentum behind this cause is growing with every single mile.