With Club trips seeming to take place all over the country these days, this was something of a rarity - a new venue. A few years ago I had planned a trip to this part of Devon, but it was cancelled because of bad weather and we just never got round to rescheduling it.

According to the Royal Dart Yacht Club, launching at Kingswear (the village opposite Dartmouth on the Dart estuary) was straightforward. The friendly voice on the other end of the phone did mention the double bend on the way to the slip, but other than that, "you shouldn't have any problem". A quick look on Friday night pretty much confirmed this, and I reckon that, although the double bend is tight (to put it mildly) it should be OK.

After everyone had snuggly ensconced in the B&B we adjourn to the local hostelry for something to eat. Actually, snuggly is a pretty apt term as four of the five of us are sharing one room, all four beds lined up against one wall with not too much space between them. At least they had a balcony with a stunning view over the river and town. And me - well organising the B&B does have some advantages - I get a double room to myself!!

A rare sighting of Skippy shopping! "They called him Skippy ..." Well, they did before Bob got hold of him

The local hostelry turns out to do a really good line in meals with some unusual meats on the menu. Someone goes for ostrich while Mr Bob decides to take some revenge on Aussie land by having Skippy. He said it was OK but it looked more like something Skip would leave on the road to me.

Saturday. Well the slip was just about OK, very tight but just about enough room, until some local yokel decides to park a car right at the top of it. What was very tight was now impossible. Have you ever tried launching the RIB by unhooking it from the vehicle, manhandling it round, and, using a rope through an eye in a wall, inching it down the slipway by hand? Don't. First there were four on the rope, then as it started to burn as the weight increased and the RIB decided it wanted to run away down to the river, there were three, then two, the Fletch. By the time it got to just Fletch the RIB definitely had the upper hand, John just avoiding 'splatting' into the side of a house, cartoon like. At least getting it out was easier, even with the car still there.

The first dive was quite, quite stunning. The Bull is a sea mount that peaks 23m below the surface, but then drops almost vertically, on all four sides to 40m plus. It takes about 20 minutes to swim round but is absolutely covered with soft corals all the way around. It was very dark down there, with viz only a couple of metres at best, but this actually made it better in some ways. Although you had to use your torch and could only see what was in its beam, somehow this made it even better.

Lunch was excellent. We tied up in Castle Cove, and when we reached the cafe at the top of the cliff we found out why it was deserted. There was a fence with a big sign saying it was dangerous! Fortunately we could climb round it and devour some local pasties, for DJ, the obligatory cream tea. The second dip was less impressive (to put it mildly). In 7 metres looking for an 'unknown' wreck. Well, to us it remains unknown!

That evening, with everyone hit by the news from St Abbs, Jerry, Bob and I went off for an Indian, while DJ and Fletch hit the locals. Fletch decided to examine the combined hallucinatory properties of the local brews, chief of which appeared to be the illusion that you have been chosen by God to sing in public.

For various reasons none of us much felt like diving the next day. Only three of us were probably in any state anyway, and with the viz so poor, we really couldn't see much point - so it was home in time for a late lunch.

This is definitely a venue worth trying again though, but we do need to work out a smart way of launching. Anyone for a 2002 weekend?

Dave Mead