Author Archives: Gavin Millar

Stacey tied up at Wainfleet

Wainfleet Haven to Saltfleet Haven

I was woken from my slumber on the floor of the Skegness Yacht Club by the murmur of voices followed by the nasal roar of an outboard being briefly tested out of the water. John, Mike and Alex had returned at 5.00 am, as promised, to tow Alloa back into the haven. However, by the time I’d dressed and walked down to the creek in the grey morning they’d discovered Alloa had managed to return under her own power so they set off in the club dory to move a channel marker buoy instead. Later we drank coffee and talked of my sailing plans. The next section of coast had few places suitable for an overnight stop but with a good wind I might get as far as Bridlington over 60 nautical miles away but the fall-back option was Saltfleet Haven just South of the Humber Estuary and just over 20 NM from Wainfleet Haven.

We then set about reversing the whole process of getting me off the water. Bags were transported down to the creek, Stacey was pulled up the mud, I pulled on my dry suit, loaded bags on board, and then refitted the outriggers which had been removed to allow Stacey to be tied up alongside John’s yacht for the night. Locating my camera and replacing a broken leeboard retaining handle lead to delays so it was gone 8 before I waved goodbye to John, Mike and Alex standing on a wooden platform above me and set off down the creek. Paddling down the fast flowing creek against the wind proved far from easy. I hit the soft mud banks several times on the way down and on a couple of occasions had to jump out into the soft sticky mud to push off. I hoped no-one was watching my erratic progress. By the time I eventually sailed out to sea with a pool of muddy water sloshing around in the bottom of the boat it was gone 9. The day was dreek (a Scottish word which means like it sounds – grey miserable and wet) as I headed for Gibralter Point, and later broad-reached in a lightish breeze northward past the funfairs of Skegness and various towns, resorts and beaches of the Lincolnshire coast.

The idea of making Bridlington was ambitious and it was clear that my delayed departure and the lighter than forecast light wind would mean Bridlington was out of the question. Greg had been on the phone to Nick Vowles of the Dinghy Cruising Association, who’d said I’d be welcome to spend the night at Saltfleet and camp on the river bank. The entrance to the haven was another fairly long meandering channel which was only navigable near high tide. I arrived soon after low tide so I beached Stacey on the sand and waited for the water level to rise. Eventually, the incoming tide swept us upstream over the beach and into a straight section of the channel passing through marshland.

Billy Hill of Saltfleet Haven Boat Club was there to greet me as I arrived at a small slipway on the grassy bank of the small river. After I’d pitched the tent nearby, Nick Vowles came to visit with his daughter and told me a bit about his Tideway clinker sailing dinghy which he’s recently restored and plans to sail from Saltfleet Haven. After a meal of fish and chips kindly supplied by Nick (and deliberations about the next day over charts and, tide tables and pilot books) I turned for an early night, before an early start the next morning.

Ashore for 3 Days in Hunstanton and then Across the Wash

An interlude between one spell of strong winds and another had allowed me to enjoy a pleasant sail from Wells to Hunstanton (see previous post), but the forecast for the next few days was poor – with strong winds and periods of heavy rain. However, Hunstanton Sailing Club had said I could store Stacey next to their clubhouse and I’d found a very comfortable B&B nearby, The Shellbrooke, where the owners had offered me a concessionary rate. Friday was a day to catch up on blogging and planning and the silver lining was that the period of bad weather had again coincided with an opportunity to spend time with Katherine, who’d been able to drive from Southampton to spend the weekend with me.

The North Norfolk Coast had been a great surprise. Huge largely deserted wide sandy beaches and sand dunes hidden behind salt marshes with a profusion of wild flowers and birds. On Saturday we drove to Burnham Overy Staithe and parked next to a small creek running through the a marsh. An attractive array of traditional looking small boats populated the inlet and we visited the well stocked chandlers in a white painted barn where I bought some jubilee clips, another dry bag and some other boating bits and pieces. We then walked in the sunshine along the top of a sea-defence dyke running for one and half miles towards the sand dunes bordering the beach. Each side we could see pasture land, marsh and distant woodland. Along the dyke were an incredible array of thousands of poppies nodding in the wind, with colours ranging from pink, red, violet and on to a deep deep purple. We spent some time trying to capture this scene in photos before walking on to the dunes and over to a breathtakingly beautiful beach and the blue North Sea beyond.

One of the purposes of sailing around Britain (or at least attempting to do so) has been to get to know my native country better and to somehow join together some of the places along the coast I’ve known during my childhood and adult life.  As a child, lying in bed at night when staying with my grandparents in a cottage near Bamburgh (Northumberland), I’d watch the flash of the Longstone Lighthouse illuminating the room as I fell asleep. Also in my younger years were holidays on Arran with bike rides along lanes, fishing from beaches and walking up Goat Fell, over 2,000 feet high. Later, I’d walk along the Purbeck coastline, sail in the Hebrides, along the South Coast and in the Solent, and visit other coastal towns and ports by bicycle, car and by sea. Marking these locations as dots on a blank page would provide a sketchy outline of some of Britain’s varied and frequently beautiful coastline. So maybe what I’m doing is adding more dots to this outline and by sailing between them, joining up the dots to create are more complete picture of the British coast. I’m also creating a list of places to revisit, including Rye, Whitstable and the North Norfolk coast.

We walked on, along the beach in the sunshine, some five miles to Wells… where I couldn’t resist going aboard the Albatross again for a lunch of excellent Dutch pea soup with bread and beer. Sunday was spent writing and reading with a short beach walk and a pub meal before Katherine had to depart for Southampton.

The sailing prospects for the next day were looking poor. My plan was to cross the Wash at the first available opportunity and head for Wainfleet haven, South of Skegness. John, the Commodore of Skegness Yacht Club, had been texting me with his thoughts on the weather the crossing and how to navigate to the tricky entrance to Wainfleet Haven. Les, who helped me with boat storage at Hunstanton Sailing Club, had also provided much useful information about crossing the Wash with it’s complex tides, shifting sandbanks and rough seas. Both John and Les knew the area very well and the consensus was that I needed winds of no greater than force 4 and should time my departure to coincide with favourable tidal streams. I was feeling not a little daunted by the Wash, where buoys with names like ‘Sunk Sand’ and ‘Roaring Middle’ convey an impression of treacherous waters. However, by Monday morning the latest forecast showed and improvement making the Wash crossing just doable. I checked out of the B&B and a Peddars Way Travel taxi soon arrived. After hearing about my round Britain sailing attempt, the driver and owner of the company refused to take any payment for transporting me, numerous bags and bits of boat to the sailing club.

Les was at the club where he gave me more advice about crossing the Wash and told me about his previous experience as a lifeboatman. We looked through the club telescope at Roaring Middle buoy (which looks like a lightship) in the far distance. Leaving as late as possible to give the wind a chance to die down a bit more, I departed at 5.15 pm and waved goodbye as I set sail into a grey and stormy looking sea. At least it wasn’t raining. Sailing westward, I hoped to be swept by the ebbing tide to West North West to Roaring Middle, which would confirm my position, before turning North West to cross the Long Sand Bank near high water. Once in the Boston Deep Channel I could sail North East up the channel to find the entrance to Wainfleet Haven. Largish waves coming from the South hit Stacey side-on and sheets of spray flew across the foredeck from left to right. A couple of breaking waves tried to climb aboard but, with Stacey travelling at about 6 knots, the self bailer soon got rid of any water in the boat. I was glad I’d not set sail in any windier conditions. I was relieved when I could finally see Roaring Middle. At least I knew where I was in the middle of the Wash.  After passing the buoy I altered course to cross Long Sand.

By around 7 pm I was running down the Boston Deep and could see a sailing yacht with tan sails crossing my bow in the distance. I was also aware, from VHF traffic on channel 16, of a lifeboat launch to a vessel called Alloa with engine failure somewhere in my vicinity. Shortly after the lifeboat appeared in the distance and I realised the yacht and Alloa were one and the same. As the lifeboat passed it altered course to check I was okay and we briefly spoke over the VHF before the crew carried on to Alloa. As the lifeboat towed Alloa back up the main channel behind me, I found the entrance to Wainfleet was not easy to find – but the waves breaking over the banks nearby were small, so I simply sailed over the banks in less than 2 feet of water before reaching the channel. It was apparent I’d arrived a bit late and even in the channel there was sometimes barely enough water to keep us afloat and the tide was falling fast. Luckliy, the high level of rain meant there was a large volume of water flowing down to the sea. The channel meandered about one and a half miles towards the security of the creek next to Skegness Yacht Club. I ran downwind, unfurling more and more sail to maintain speed as the mud banks of the creek became higher and higher on each side. The incentive of company and a night under cover, as opposed to a cold night in the boat on a mud bank somewhere, lead to an increasingly desperate gybes as I followed the downwind chicane of the creek in the failing light. As I neared moored yachts, a fisherman on a small fishing boat observed I’d cut it a bit fine. I agreed. John, Mike and Alex of the yacht club were there to greet me as I arrived and helped me tie up alongside John’s traditional yacht. We loaded my bags into a van and drove the short distance to the clubhouse. Unfortunately, Alloa was unable to get into Wainfleet and spent what I expect was an uncomfortable night at anchor just outside the entrance.

I had imagined the Skegness Yacht Club to be perhaps a grand affair with posh boats and a certain sort of formality. Not so, the clubhouse was more like a well-appointed, brick built scout hut, and I’d sailed into one of the warmest and most cheerful welcomes so far. Not only had John provided copious amounts of help and advice, but John, Mike and Alex had waited for well over two hours to help guide me in and help me ashore. We sat round a large wooden table drinking dark ale and chatting before they departed, promising to be back at 5 am to help Alloa back into the Haven. Tired but warm and dry, I fell asleep in my sleeping bag on the carpeted floor. I would be proud to be a member of a yacht club like this.

Approaching Hunstanton

A day in Wells Next the Sea and then on to Hunstanton…

North Norfolk Coast

North Norfolk Coast

The campsite and caravan park at Wells, with hundreds of mobile homes, wouldn’t have been my first choice for a stop, but as such places go, it wasn’t bad. There were plenty of trees to break up the rows of caravans and the showers and laundry facilities were good. Yet again, there was a strong wind forecast but Jon (a friend from Southampton) was coming to visit – accompanied by his mum, who lives in Norfolk near Kings Lynn. We drove into the port of Wells and ate lunch on the Albatross which was the last sail-driven cargo ship on the North Sea, unloading a cargo of soya beans at Wells as late as 1996. Whilst eating Dutch crêpes we looked out to sea at a line of breakers, white in the sunshine, over two miles away at the Wells channel entrance.

Jon’s father had supervised the loading of the Albatross with Norfolk malting barley bound for the production of Guinness and Jon’s mother had many stories of Norfolk during the war and of the great flood of 1953, when a huge area of Norfolk was inundated by the sea when a storm surge on top of an exceptionally high spring tide breached the flood defences.

Jon explained how this area, before the draining of the fens, had much more in common with Holland (which was more accessible than most of England). Several large brick buildings with Dutch gable ends can be seen in Wells. It also seemed to me that there was a distinct, island-like and individual approach to doing things (sometimes referred to NFN or Normal for Norfolk). Shops still close for lunch and the general approach to life is much more relaxed. I later heard visitors to the area referred to a ‘inlanders’.

By the next day, Thursday, the wind had eased making it possible to sail on to Hunstanton, which would be a good location to later set off across the Wash. After packing up the tent and loading everything into the boat, a camping neighbour kindly helped me pull Stacey the half mile to the sea and I made ready to sail. The harbour master asked if I’d rather leave in the afternoon, when the tide would be more in my favour and the wind strength a bit less, but I was keen to get going, so assured him I’d be well reefed and would stay close to the shore (finding some protection from the fresh southerly wind).

I set off just after noon, and although the wind was strong and gusty, staying close to the shore helped avoid the worst of the east-going tide and meant there was plenty to look at as I sailed past wide and larely deserted sandy beaches, sand dunes and the occasional small inlet. Several black or dark violet butterflies flew across my bows from right to left, heading upwind towards the shore. I was surprised to see how they were able to fly upwind against a gusty 15 to 20 knot breeze and wondered if they’d flown from the other side of the Wash. Ocassional walkers on the shore looked seaward as I passed. Three hours passed this way before I rounded the corner at Gore Point and started to beat southward to Hunstanton. The wind freshened as I passed Hunstanton’s striped cliffs (made up of a layer of green-sand followed by red chalk and topped off with white chalk).

After another hour or so I was ashore, helped by Jon who’d come to see me before heading back home to Southampton. Hunstanton Sailing Club had kindly offered me a place to store my boat but there were no camping options nearby, so with Greg’s help we found a nearby B&B and transferred my bags from the boat. The weather forecast for the next few days was for yet more strong winds but Katherine would be coming to see me for the weekend.

Before we went our separate ways Jon, his Mum, Greg, Eleri (Greg’s daughter) and I sat in a local café drinking tea and gazing out over the grey wave-stewn expanse of the Wash. The weather was poor but I was very glad of all the continuing help received from friends and strangers.

Wells Beach

Winterton Ness to Wells – 38 NM and a very long day

At 5.30 am, after the trials of the evening and night before it was difficult to emerge from the warm cocoon of 2 layers of Merino wool, a fleece, sleeping bag and bivi bag. But as the sun rising over the sea gradually warmed the day I rose from my sandy bed on the beach, made coffee and contemplated the day ahead. There were still another 32 nautical miles to go before the first harbour at Blakeney, and the intervening coast, with the continuing swell from the northeast still softly exploding on the beach, was beginning to give me the willies. The day before my plan had been to land, sleep on the beach for a few hours and move on as quickly as possible on the next tide, but I would be late departing and the forecast had been for continuing light winds.

Stacey was at the top of the beach beside me. So, I’d have to pack up, drag the boat to the sea, transport drybags, anchor bag, trolley and all the other paraphernalia down the beach, load up and then pull boat and kit the last few yards down the steeply shelving part of the beach and into the water. This took a while and I then found the mast had jammed solid in the mast socket due to sand, no doubt from last night’s capsize in the breakers. Without being able to rotate the mast I would not be able to reef so I set about flushing out the mast socket with buckets of water and trying to also remove some of the sand by sticking it to the mast with suntan oil and then repeatedly withdrawing the mast and wiping it off with a bit of paper towel. After having more or less solved the mast problem I had a similar issue with the rudder with sand preventing me raising and lowering it. However, launching was a lot easier than landing and by the time I set off at 7.30 am the day was feeling appreciably warmer as a breeze was starting to pick up from the south-east.

My late launch would only give me 2 hours of fair tide in light winds. So I hoped for a softer landing than the night before so I could sit out the foul tide, catch up on a bit of sleep and writing the account of the voyage. Alternatively, I could drop the anchor and bob about for a few hours. Small towns and villages on the coast, each with an impressive stone church and square bell tower, passed by in the sunshine. I’d never seen so many churches along a stretch of shoreline and thought this must have been a coast previously populated by seafaring and god fearing folk and that maybe the particular hazards of the Norfolk coastline could have had something to do with this. As the northward tide slackened, the beach at Mundesley presented an opportunity to get ashore, but the small town dominated by a North Sea gas terminal didn’t appeal and I was also dissuaded by breakers along the strand.

Cromer Surf

Cromer Surf

However, the following wind had picked up so we ploughed on making 3 to 4 knots against the tide and there seemed a good prospect of reaching one of the North Norfolk harbours before the end of the day. At Cromer with its large church and  rows of brightly coloured houses descending to a small beach I paused (hove to) for a phone call to Greg, some lunch, to reef and also to take photos of waves crashing against a sea wall with white spray flying into the air in front of some multi-coloured beach huts. I pressed on passing a long stretch of grey pebbly beach before sighting the wide sandy beaches and dunes of Blakeney Point.

The following wind died and was replaced by a new wind and rain from the south west. So as I sailed on towards Wells I had the unusual experience of sailing upwind with following waves. Eventually at around 6pm I reached the entrance to the Wells channel and sailed over the bar in less than a foot of water. At about an hour before low water the channel leading to Wells with its important north Norfolk harbour was very shallow and at times only a few inches deep. Sailing or paddling against the strong ebb stream proved impossible so I slowly trudged alongside the 3 mile channel to Wells towing Stacey behind me.

I vaguely remembered something about ‘lining’ canoes along rivers, so experimented with twin lines attached to bow and stern and found it possible by controlling the pull on each, to steer the boat up the centre of the channel with me walking the bank. By the time I’d  passed the Lifeboat station I was exhausted and it was apparent there was another mile to go. I’d been unable to find anyone who could say whether there was a slipway at the harbour. Camping options seemed non-existent and after 15 hours on the go after limited sleep I began to have a serious sense of humour failure. At that precise moment the phone rang. Greg told me he’d been watching my progress on Spot Messenger, or the lack of it, and had made enquiries by phoning a few numbers in Wells. The principal of a local sailing school, Robert White of Oceanus Sailing, was on his way with two friends to help me pull Stacey out the water, up a very steep beach and on about half a mile to a local campsite.

So if you’re reading any of this guys, thanks for being the cavalry and helping hugely at the end of a very long day. Thanks also Greg for pulling that one out the bag when it was much needed. By 10.30 pm, after pitching the tent and some bread and cheese, I was spark out.

c/o AW: Departing Lowestoft

Northward from Lowestoft, and a Mishap

I’d arrived in Lowestoft late into Saturday evening feeling very tired after the toughest passage yet, from Shotley. It hadn’t been so much the duration of the sail, less than eight hours, but more the physical and mental demands of steering and balancing the boat in the midst of large following waves and a fresh (force 4 to 5) breeze. So I was glad to be able to rest up for a day and recover. Any thoughts of setting off again on Sunday had evaporated after hearing a wind forecast of force 4 to 5 gusting 6. I spent a very pleasant day in Arthur and Jenny’s company with Arthur kindly running me to a yacht chandler’s for another dry bag and to replace my hat (which had been swept overboard during a particularly strong squall the day before) and then to the beach at Winterton to look at the size of the breakers coming ashore.

After Yarmouth, around 10 nautical miles North of Lowestoft, there would be 40 miles of coast without any harbour before Blakeney on the North Norfolk coast. So my main options would be to sail 50 miles in one go or to get ashore somewhere for an overnight stop. Anchoring and sleeping in the boat was another possibility, but this would be likely to be very uncomfortable along this exposed coast. As my experiences at Hastings had shown, landing a small boat on a beach amidst breakers can be fraught at the best of times and attempting it alone more than doubly so. However, the breakers on the wide beach at Winterton were only a foot high and I concluded a solo beach landing the next day would be doable. Later we visited Arthur and Jenny’s very productive allotment where they grow most of their fruit and vegetables. Jenny had picked huge quantities of strawberries, broad beans and also some artichokes for an evening meal. Arthur and Jenny have sea kayaked in diverse parts of the world including Alaska, Belize and Mexico. They also own a Drascombe Coaster which they sail on the Broads. We talked of sailing and kayaking, and Arthur told me a bit about his second career in boat building. I was sorry to have to leave the next day.

The following morning, Arthur added a backup linkage to the flexible rubber joint steering connection between my tiller and tiller extension. I’ve never heard of one of these joints failing but I’d been concerned about how I’d cope if the joint did fail at sea in rough weather. Arthur later ran me and my kit back to the Royal Norfolk and Suffolk Yacht Club, which had kindly found a space to store Stacey free of charge, and I launched at around just before 3 as tide started to run northward. For a change winds were light and I mostly paddle sailed, tacking against the northerly wind. A strong swell from the northeast worried me and I could see lines of breakers to my left. Presumably, a storm far out to sea, off Scandinavia maybe, had caused the swell which was running in a different direction to the wind. I found a corner on the beach at Yarmouth behind the harbour to land clear of waves and change into my drysuit. A lifeguard helped me drag Stacey back into the water.

As the grey day wore on, the wind and tide died and progress slowed. I ‘d hoped to make the village of Sea Palling where artificial reefs running parallel to the shore would make a landing sheltered from breakers possible but the light was beginning to die so I prepared to put ashore at the slight headland of Winterton Ness. As a precaution I removed the rudder, which can be vulnerable to damage during rough beach landings. A seal kept popping its head out of the water and watched me curiously with large brown eyes as I paddled against the slight breeze and toward the steeply sloping shoreline. I hoped this was a good omen. Waves began to tip the boat forward as they passed and then just before I was about to land a large breaking wave roared up behind me, slewed Stacey across the face of the wave and tipped me headlong out the boat and into the surf. However, I managed to get onto my feet, right the boat and drag her ashore before further breakers caused any damage or swamped the boat. The seal emerged from a wave for a last look before going off to tell his mates about the spectacle. Getting Stacey above the high tide mark was challenging but unloading most of the sailing / camping kit and a 2 to 1 pulley system helped and then a passing  bird watcher gave me a hand, in the half-light, with the last 20 yards. Unfortunately, my mobile phone on a lanyard round my neck had disappeared without trace as I dived into the sea. I climbed to the top of the sand dunes to get a signal and made a few phone calls on a backup mobile to ensure others knew I was OK and that Arthur and Jenny, who’d been waiting for me at Sea Palling, were not worried by my non arrival.

I’d been shaken by the rough landing but set about preparing for the night before the last of the light completely faded. Although cold and moonless the night was cloudless and no rain was forecast. So, after a miniature bottle of red wine, reserved for such an occasion, and a brief meal of bread and soup, I put on extra layers of clothing and climbed into a bivvi bag on the sand. I looked at the stars and the inky black sky overhead before falling asleep. I awoke about four hours  later feeling bone achingly cold. Walking up and down the beach for twenty minutes helped to restore my body temperature. A seal like shape loomed out of the darkness and gave me a fright. Momentarily it had seemed the seal had returned to haunt me, but it then morphed back into a small tree trunk. After getting out of my drysuit and into a sleeping bag I fell asleep again just as the sky was starting to lighten before dawn.

Launching at Shotley

Shotley to Lowestoft with large following seas

 

Apologies for the this late post but, very frustratingly, I had to rewrite these words after two careless screen touches on my small Android tablet.

The two days at Shotley, staying in Steve’s home had been a welcome rest after five days sailing. The strong winds had moderated slowly and Saturday’s forecast was still a bit on the strong side but the wind was predicted to be from the South West so it seemed I’d be reasonably sheltered from waves as I sailed past the East facing coast. I considered a short dash out of the estuary of the rivers Stour and Orwell, 8 nautical miles up the coast to the entrance to the River Ore and from there, up the river to the small town of Aldeburgh which, 8 meandering miles upstream, is only 200 yards from the sea. It would then be possible, after an overnight at Aldeburgh, to drag Stacey across a shingle bank and back to the sea. The alternative to this interesting and amphibious route was to take full advantage of the strong spring tide, running northward, and a fresh south westerly to take me some distance straight up the coast to Southwold or maybe even to Lowestoft, some 42 nautical miles away. I chose the latter and resolved to make up for lost time and get some miles under my belt.

So, after a lunch of soup and Steve’s excellent homemade bread, Steve helped me pull Stacey back down the hill to the sailing club slipway where I launched around 2.30pm.  Steve said he admired my idea of what was an acceptable wind strength for a long sail in a small boat. I had my doubts but didn’t say so. The wind was still whistling through the trees and clanging halyards against masts as I set sail, with not a little trepidation.

A short fetch brought me to Landguard Point and the port’s deep water channel running east. Soon after I turned northeast and toward the headland of Orford Ness. The wind was fresher and a little more from the south than predicted. A stronger than expected following sea meant I was sometimes planing down waves with spray flying, during gusts. Small black rain squalls chased and overtook me as I sailed on alone past Orford Ness with its red and white striped lighthouse. I edged further out to sea as I passed to stay clear of rougher water around the headland. Glancing behind revealed occasional breaking waves above head height rearing up towards me. This didn’t help so I gave up looking and concentrated on steering a straight course downwind and down the waves. Progressively reefing the sail down to less than half its full size helped to avoid the danger of slewing to one side and capsizing when flying down the face of a wave. The sailing was physically and mentally demanding but two Mars Bars and occasional phone conversations with Greg helped maintain my morale

After around 5 hours of waves, wind and passing squalls I neared the port of Southwold, where I considered taking refuge, but I saw an opportunity to press on another 10 miles to Lowestoft  before the tide turned against me. However, as the rush of the north going tide slackened the wind also started to die away and I wished I’d fixed the navigation light to the top of the mast as I neared the lights of Lowestoft in the increasing gloom. A large catamaran sailing on a parallel course came over so its crew could ask if I was okay. I attempted a cheery, but likely unconvincing, ‘yes I’m fine but thanks for asking’ response and gave them a wave as we parted company and they sailed on to Blakeney on the north Norfolk coast.

I’d also been in touch with Arthur from the Open Canoe Sailing Group, who’d provided much useful advice about the East Anglian coast, and I was glad Arthur and Greg would be at Lowestoft to meet me and help get Stacey out the water. Earlier in the day, there’d been a temporary exclusion zone around the port for an air show but this had ceased around four and a half hours before my arrival. However, just as I turned into the harbour in the darkness and heavy rain an enormous maroon went up followed by a huge explosion and then a further barrage of fireworks. I should have put back to sea and waited for the display, centred around the harbour entrance, to finish but, feeling exhausted, I sailed on directly underneath a series of further explosions shaking me and Stacey. I hoped not to be hit by any descending incendiaries or to be reprimanded for sailing through a firework display. Arthur, Greg, Gina and Eleri waved as I approached the inner harbour and I was soon up a steep green slippery slipway and on dry land. As we transferred kit to Arthur’s van, and with some justification, I was ticked off by the harbour master for entering the port against the two red lights I’d failed to spot under the fireworks, but I was cheered by the prospect of fish and chips followed by a comfortable bed at Arthur and Jenny’s home.

Brightlingsea to Shotley…

After the Thames Estuary crossing on Tuesday, and with little prospect of the long period of unsettled weather ending, I’d been feeling a bit gloomy about prospects for Wednesday… but after a good night’s sleep at my sister’s home, followed by coffee and marmite on toast, things looked brighter. The wind was forecast to be fairly strong, again, but the breeze and the tide would be going my way and I thought I could sail the twenty or so miles round the next corner to Harwich before the next batch of stronger winds arrived.

On Wednesday morning, Mary drove me back to Brightlingsea along with my dried out kit. Geoff and Penny (from the Dinghy Cruising Association) were there to meet me as I arrived at the boatyard, and a couple of open canoeists and sailors, Mark and Nick, had arrived to have a look at Stacey and ask about the trip. We chatted as I pulled on a merino wool base layer and pulled on my drysuit.

I misjudged the strength of the strong ebb tide in the creek as I departed in the early afternoon and was almost swept into a boat alongside the pontoon. However, a few swift paddle strokes averted a collision. I turned to wave goodbye to the five figures on the end of the pontoon and was soon swept out of the creek into the river Colne. The winds were lighter than expected and a few tacks were needed before I passed Colne Point and turned left into the Thames Estuary.

Rain showers swept by as we sailed past Clacton on Sea. The increasing gloom made me regret not putting my removable (magnetically secured) LED navigation light on top of the mast, so I furled the sail, dropped the mast and attached the nav light. I’d done this before at sea without difficulty but waves rocking the boat made the operation tricky and I was aware of a danger of dropping the mast, and sail, over the side. I resolved not to try this at sea again!

As I sailed past Walton on the Naze, I mused on my sense of time passing. Three hours at sea had passed quickly and pleasantly. Even with the rain I was warm and dry inside my drysuit. There was plenty to look at, think about and to do. Yet, a three hour car journey can seem lengthy and tiring. Also, if conditions allow, I’m able to send and receive texts and chat on the mobile. Surprisingly, or maybe not, I’ve been in much closer contact with family and friends since starting this journey.

As the distant grey silhouettes of the cranes at Felixstowe came into view the wind started to freshen, as forecast. Surfing along waves at up to 8 knots was exciting but not prudent in a small boat on my own, so I reefed. A yacht approaching the port from the East converged with my course and a man standing in the cockpit took pictures of Stacey and as we made toward shelter, I wondered what he made of us.

Greg, true to form, had been working on a plan for a stop at Shotley, just over estuary from Harwich. He put me in touch with a friend of his, Steve Hawksley, who was at the slip to meet me and help me pull Stacey a water a ½ mile up a hill to his home. We unloaded and chained Stacey to a tree in the garden before eating pasta and walking, in the wind and rain, to the to the marina bar for a pint.

Sorting Stacey...

Sorting Stacey...

I stayed with Steve for two nights and a day whilst waiting for better weather and was very grateful for his kind hospitality and welcome into his home with a beautiful small garden out back. Steve modestly talked of sailing tall ships, restoring wooden boats and a great many other interesting things and we also discussed my journey, in between his work and my journal writing and poring over charts.

WYC, c/o JW

Thames Crossing: 35 miles from Whitstable to Brightlingsea…

Crossing the Thames

Crossing the Thames

I was sorry to leave Whistable. This North Kent seaside town is a delight and my idea of a proper seaside town with beached, brightly painted beach huts, a great choice of restaurants and pubs, and a fishing boat harbour. Everyone I met at Whitstable Yacht Club was friendly and helpful. Jason from the sailing school found a space in the boat shed for Stacey and Sally and Jane gave a warm welcome and found me a bunkroom for the night. Still, there was little choice about leaving and the conditions were ideal for a passage across the Thames Estuary to Brightlingsea. If I left it another day then there might be too little wind and yet another deep depression was forecast to arrive on Friday.

The evening before, feeling a little daunted by the combination of changing tides, sandbanks and shipping lanes I’d run my passage plan by Mark Saddler who has been providing wise counsel on the basis of his many UK circumnavigations and extensive sailing experience. I was reassured when Mark said I appeared to have thought through the issues of changing tidal set, wind strength and direction, route and various ‘what if’ scenarios.

I loaded up the boat near the wooden club slipway, in the sunshine. After saying goodbyes I pushed off, clambered aboard and sailed northeastward in a light breeze. Raising the rudder and ‘paddle sailing’ using my body weight and paddle strokes to steer added almost a knot to our boatspeed and was a satisfying way to progress upwind in a light breeze. A Thames barge with tan sails and on a parallel course to leeeward dropped behind as I ‘paddle sailed’ for the next hour and a half. With the tide pushing me westward, while I steered 030 (a bit East of North), my slightly crabwise northward course brought me close to Red Sand Towers. These strange looking Second World War rusty gun emplacements looked like leftovers from the ‘War of the Worlds’, marooned in the middle of the estuary. I hate to think what it would have been like, being stationed on these structures waiting for enemy bombers to arrive.

Red Sand Towers

Red Sand Towers

The shipping lanes presented no challenges with only three ferries passing in front, some distance away. As the tide paused before flowing back in the other direction, the wind began to increase. Two reefs were needed to avoid pushing myself and the boat too hard. As I passed Maplin and Foulness Sands, beating into the wind and waves became a bit of a slog and more layers of clothing under, my sailing jacket, were needed to keep warm. I regretted not wearing my dry suit which had seemed to hot for sunshine and paddling earlier in the day. As the sky darkened and I put in a tack to the East to keep clear of the wide stretch of shallow water to the West and eventually passed the entrance to the River Crouch channel, 6 miles out to sea. As I sailed through the shallower water of the Wallet Spitway the waves became distinctly shorter and steeper, breaking over the foredeck and occasionally into the boat. However, soon after I was able to bear away to the North West and an hour and a half later was ashore at Brightlingsea.

I was tired after the 33 NM and 7 hour passage from Whitstable so was glad to see two DCA members, Geoff and Penny Darby, who’d turned out to greet me. Having someone to meet in a strange port after a long day is great for morale and local knowledge of things like where to store my boat safely and where accommodation may be found is invaluable. Geoff and Penny found me a corner in a boatyard where I could leave Stacey overnight, securely. My sister Mary and brother in law Jim, had also come to meet me and there were able to take me back to their home, not too far away, as all the B&B’s were fully booked up with wind farm construction workers and folk festival goers. So another comfortable and warm and dry bed, before setting off again the next day. After a meal at a South Indian restaurant in Brightlingsea I fell asleep after about 10 minutes in the car as Mary drove us home.

A few photos from a memorable day.

Gavin at Whitstable Yacht Club

Botany Bay to Whitstable

I woke up early yesterday, after a very comfortable night, as the first rays of the sun hit the tent. Waves washed softly onto the beach and pigeons, nesting on the chalk cliffs, called to each other. A cup of coffee was the first priority, followed by a swim and wash in the sea. It was a bit more refreshing than expected but then I remembered I was no longer on the South Coast but in the North Sea, or at least the start of it.

After writing a blog post to bring the account up to date, tried for a broadband connection at the top of the cliff but had no success, so started packing up and making ready to sail. This usually takes me about 2 hours but I had plenty of time this morning as it would take a while for the rising sea to cover the long rocky foreshore which I would not be able to transport the boat over, even on inflatable rollers (though they were excellent for rolling Stacey back over the soft sand to the bottom of the beach).

I launched at about 10.30. A promising breeze soon died completely. With the sail furled I paddled eastward for one and a half hours until the first ripples on the water promised some wind to come. I had 12 miles to go to Whitstable and only 2 hours until the tide set against me so I set about paddling with the single bladed paddle and sailing simultaneously (paddle sailing). With tide this gave me a speed of about 5 knots. Greg had found it would be possible to store my boat at Whitstable Yacht Club… and better still there were bunk rooms at only £20 per night. The prospect of a shower and comfortable bed gave me the incentive to keep powering on in the bright sunshine.

Gavin at Whitstable Yacht Club

North Kent Coast

Luckily, and contrary to the forecast, the wind strength increased to force 3 to 4 and I arrived at WYC just after 2 to a warm welcome.  Greg used the WYC webcam to capture my arrival, and Keith Morris edited the sequence into the short video at the head of this page.

Adam Pope, an OCSG memeber, came some distance to see me in the evening and we chatted about this and that over fish and chips and beer, whilst half watching football (England v Ukraine).

Gavin at Whitstable Yacht Club

Gavin at Whitstable Yacht Club

This morning, the weather looks good for crossing the Thames Estuary: the sun is shining and there’s a light breeze from the east.

St Margaret’s Bay to Botany Bay

The rain was still pattering on the tent as I awoke Monday morning.  A cup of coffee improved my mood and I set about decamping, breakfasting and making ready to sail.  A party of school children and their teachers watched as I launched at about 9.30.  They were engaged on a history project and took photos as I departed (see below).

The wind was light but the tide was with me and South Foreland was soon rounded.  At last I had turned the bottom right hand corner of England and was sailing North!  Deal passed by with a seafront row of brightly coloured terraced houses, brightly lit by the sun in the South East.  I aimed for the low outline of North Foreland in the distance and was soon past the ferry port of Ramsgate but mercifully, with no ferries to dodge this time.

As I passed Broadstairs, the tide, which had been pushing me North, began to slacken and progress began to slow.  However, I managed to round North Foreland and started to tack Eastward against the beginnings of the ebb tide.  The wind then started to die. It became clear I wasn’t going to reach Margate, frustratingly close, just round the next minor headland – so I tacked toward a beach and paddle sailed furiously in order to avoid being swept back round North Foreland on the ebb tide.

I tried pulling Stacey up the beach on the trolley but the wheels sank into the soft sand.  Even the assistance of a passer by pulling on a rope didn’t help.  After chatting to Greg about the options for an overnight stop, I decided to stay where I was and pulled Stacey off her trolley.  I had more success dragging her up the sand without wheels.

For a beach so close to Margate, Botany Bay is remarkably unspoiled and has a wide expanse of sand fringed by a low grassy sand dune backed by low chalk cliffs. Luckliy, I’d landed at a great place to camp.  It was also a great opportunity to try out my two inflatable boat rollers as a means of pulling the boat above the high tide line.

Each took about 5 minutes to inflate by mouth and they were so successful that I needed to devise ways of stopping the boat rolling back down the shallow incline of the beach as I moved each roller from the back to the front of the boat.

As I fiddled about with bits of boat maintenance in the sunshine,  I looked northward at wind farms and ships at anchor in Margate roads.  What a contrast to the day before – looking North instead of South to France, sunshine instead of rain and a beautiful sandy beach perfect for an overnight camp.

Launching at Rye

Rye to St Margaret’s Bay

My stay at Rye Harbour due to strong winds could not have been better.  A great B&B, with great hosts, a chance to spend time with Katherine, walks on the beach and a meal out to celebrate my birthday.  I didn’t want to leave.  Especially as I wouldn’t see Katherine for two weeks.

On Sunday, Ian arrived to sail with me for the day.  As usual he was ready to go exactly on time and champing at the bit and I was still hurriedly shoving camping and sailing gear into every possible compartment in the boat.  After a hurried launch I chased Ian down the half mile narrow channel to the sea where I could see the distant triangle of his sail sometimes half disappearing behind large waves.  We set off on a reach toward Dungeness and were soon passing the large grey powerstation and a crowd of anglers on the beach.

We had planned to stop at Dymchurch after about 17 miles for a break and review of our progress but in the sheltered waters after Dungeness we were running at high speed and it seemed a pity to stop.  So it was lunch on the go as we raced past Hythe and Folkestone and on towards the headland of South Foreland.  As we surfed down waves one would surge ahead and then the other.  We maintained this sailing shuffle for some time and took photos of each other, and photos of each other taking photos.

As we approached Dover I radioed Dover Port Control to let them know we’d be crossing the busy harbour entrance.  As we past the harbour there were no ships in sight until suddenly four ferries appeared from different directions, either heading toward or out of the harbour entrance.  A couple of large course changes were needed to keep out of their way and we were glad when we left Dover behind and passed the white cliffs of South Foreland.

Shortly after the wind died and the tide was beginning to set against us so we put ashore at St Margaret’s Bay and with great difficulty dragged Ian’s boat up the steep shingly beach.  Ian set off to collect his car while I pitched my tent at the top of the beach and heated up tinned soup whilst looking at the lights of France and wishing I was somewhere other than a deserted, cold beach watching my boat bouncing around in the surf whilst at anchor.

I reminded myself I’d chosen to do this circumnavigation thing and it was never going to be all sunshine, beautiful scenery and plain sailing.  Later, when Ian returned in the dark, we retrived Stacey with an arrangement of ropes and pulleys (the ‘pig rig’) and dragged my boat above the high tide mark.  After a cup of tea, and just as the rain started, Ian departed with Astrid and I turned in (about 1 pm).

Great support: Hastings and Rye…

The photo shows the Rye Harbour entrance at low tide but winding back to Wednesday evening at Hastings …… Several St Leonards and Hastings Sailing Club members and I manhandled Stacey onto her trolley and we dragged her up the steep beach over the loose shingle. I was feeling tired and bedraggled but relieved to be ashore. After much discussion about the boat, its design, where I’d come from and where I might stay for the night, one of the club members, Hugh, generously offered to put me up.

By the time we’d pulled Stacey into their underground boathouse (facing the beach and under the promenade pavement), showered, changed and chatted over a beer in the bar, the sun had set and it was nearly ten pm. So we picked up a shish kebab each and ate them in Hugh’s very spacious and beautiful kitchen, which he’d recently finished building himself – as a sympathetic extension to a large Georgian looking house with his joinery workshop at the bottom of the garden. Yet again, I’d been helped out by the generosity of strangers and I’m very grateful to all I met briefly at the sailing club and particularly to Hugh who took me into his home and made me welcome.

Launching dinghies at St Leonards and Hastings Sailing Club can also present a few challenges. Hugh was concerned that if I didn’t launch near high tide I might miss the narrow channel dynamited through a reef, so suggested I launch as soon as possible after high water in the morning. Going eastward, this would mean sailing upwind against the tide for 5 hours, until it turned in my favour, but there was little choice and I hoped that a change in wind direction might enable me to cover some miles after the tide turned (very over optimistic as it turned out). However, I felt it likely I might only get as far as Rye, about 10 miles further on, as the next 20 or so mile stretch of coast between Rye and Folkestone, without harbours, would offer little shelter from the forecasted East to South East wind.

With Hugh’s help I was on the water just after 9 on Thursday and settled down to short tacking eastward and close inshore. The seafront of Hasting inched by as I passed the burnt out pier, the abandoned harbour and a large flotilla of fishing boats pulled up on the shingle beach. After an hour and a half, honey coloured crumbling cliffs to the west of Hastings processed slowly by. I soldiered on. Still, the sun was shining and for a minute or two I watched, next to the cliff, a flock of brightly lit seagulls soaring in the wind – accompanied by a flock of seagull shadows dancing along the cliff beside them. Passing Cliff End seemed like a small victory in my slow march East so I celebrated with my last three jelly babies.

As time passed the wind increased to force 5, the sky darkened and it all looked a bit forbidding and bleak with the shingle banks of Winchelsea beach to the left and the squat outline of Dungeness power station in the far distance. At around 2 pm, in between dousings of seawater as Stacey crashed into waves, I let Greg know I’d decided to find shelter at Rye Harbour. About two hours later I aimed for the narrow harbour entrance. Near low tide, I was nervous about the possibility of breaking waves and surf in the shallow water of the river entrance – but the waves were small and all that happened was that I scraped the leeboard as I passed over the bar. I later found out that the course of the channel had been disturbed due to piling work along the river channel.

There was no reply over the radio from the Harbour Master and Rye Harbour looked deserted but after beaching Stacey at the bottom of a very long muddy slipway I found a guy in a boat engine repair shop who directed me to a local B&B. I arrived dripping on the doorstep only to find all rooms were booked but on hearing some of my story, the owners, Simon and Tracey, found me a small private guest room at the top of the house at no charge. Simon kindly came to help me pull Stacey from the slipway into his lawn and after a meal at a local pub and a couple of beers at a small but very friendly sailing club, http://www.rhsc.org.uk/ , I fell into a very comfortable bed and listened to the sound of the wind and the rain beating against the window.

A strong wind forecast meant I’d be unlikely to be able to stay for 2 days. So on Friday, I booked a regular guest room for 2 days which meant Katherine could join me for the weekend. We’ve been able to spend time walking, talking and seeing a few sights which has been good for both of us. Last night the wind was still buffeting around the house and whistling through the trees, but today promises to be better for sailing – and Ian Hylton is coming with his sailing canoe, Astrid, to join me for a couple of days as I carry on round the Kent coast. The Old Vicarage B&B has been a wonderful place to stay.

Simon and Tracey, who are also sailors, have been very hospitable and helped in all sorts of small ways including; letting me park my boat on their lawn, helping me to find replacement hatch seals, allowing me to practice a beach recovery system (a pig rig) on the lawn, washing a pile of my soggy clothing and just generally being welcoming. Look no further if you are seeking accommodation for a few days in a largely unspoiled part of Sussex near to the sea.

Approaching Beachy Head

Past Beachy Head

Staying with Jo Richard and Mathew on Tuesday 12th June was a perfect way to rest, recharge my batteries, dry out and prepare for the next legs of my journey East. Their conservatory was turned into a sailing and camping kit drying room for a day and their house became a home from home for an interlude. The next day, Jo’s father in law had kindly offered to drive me to the Marina at Newhaven, which had very generously offered to let me leave Stacey with them free of charge. Many thanks to the manager, John Stirling, and all at the marina who were so helpful. By noon I had repacked gear into the boat and was ready to leave in bright sunshine. Simpson Marine let me use their slipway for free and I was soon leaving the harbour on the last of the ebb.

Light winds made upwind progress through waves slow and it took me some time to reach Beachy Head, approximately 8 miles away to the east. I’m beginning to appreciate the significance of headlands to previous generations of sailors. Each has its own character and history with different sorts of dangers out to sea or not. Passing a headland, particularly when tacking upwind is a an important milestone on the journey which carries a sense of achievement as the corner is turned and the next section of coast revealed. Selsey Bill – low but with dangerous shoal waters, and when there is strong wind against tide, tidal races and large breaking waves 5 miles out to sea. Beachy Head with less outlying dangers but with high white cliffs and at the bottom, a picture postcard lighthouse painted in red and white horizontal stripes. The next headland for me is Dungeness. From the beach, close to where I’m staying now, I can see it in the distance, with the squat shape of the power station at the end, but also with a promise of calmer waters beyond, sheltered from the prevailing South Westerly wind.

As I tacked toward Beachy Head I exchanged texts with Liz Baker, a DCA member, who’d wanted to watch me pass the headland. I’m beginning to perfect the art of texting while sitting out to keep Stacey upright. But I’ve have taken the precaution of putting my phone on a string round my neck. Once past Beachy Head I was able to mostly stay on a starboard tack and as the tide began to flow my way our speed picked up as we sailed past Eastbourne. I had hoped I might get as far as Rye but the wind progressively turned into yet another headwind and after several hours of tacking, the tide turned against me.

I’d been keeping in touch with Greg and after several conversations on the basis of OS maps and charts on Stacey and Google Earth maps viewed by Greg we decided on a landing approximately half way between Bexhill and Hastings, where I might get away with pitching a tent for the night. However, closer inspection from sailing inshore revealed it was steeply sloping shingle with fairly large breaking waves dumping on the beach – not the best sort of landing and very difficult to get the boat out the water. I’m learning the best course is often stop and ask, so I furled the sail, removed the rudder from the stern as a precaution and anchored a few yards out to be able to wade ashore and talk to a local angler. He looked a bit concerned about me striding along the beach towards but he said he liked the look of Stacey and said she’d be a great boat for angling- but he was pessimistic about the chances of an easy landing anywhere nearby. So I was beginning to reconcile myself to the prospect of an uncomfortable night at anchor in the boat – at least a fine night was forecast.

As we were talking I spied a few sailing dinghies off Hastings in the distance and thought Wednesday is usually a sailing club racing evening. My angling friend confirmed the sailing club did have some way of getting their dinghies ashore, but he wasn’t clear how. So I set off ‘paddle sailing’ against the tide in haste, hoping I’d catch up with the dinghies’ owners before all their boats were ashore and their owners were in the bar. The beginnings of Hastings’ sea front passed by slowly as I paddle sailed energetically. I managed to near the last dinghy on the water and we exchanged a few words – which meant that a number of club members were then ready to grab my boat as I landed.

St Leonards and Hastings sailing club members are Olympic class dinghy launch and recovery experts. The beach in front of their clubhouse slopes steeply down to the sea and is exposed to the South, so they have huge experience of challenging launches and landings. The method for landing is to point the boat at the beach, keep full power on, at the last second lift the centreboard and rudder and, with weight well back in the boat, simply sail up the beach on the crest of a wave to a welcoming committee of members willing to bodily haul the boat out the water. I watched the last sailing dinghy execute the manoeuvre with style and waited my turn. However, being chicken and a bit precious about Stacey’s bottom, I furled the sail before landing under paddle. Fortunately, there were enough bodies to manhandle her out the water before the next wave dumped on the beach and Stacey was none the worse for wear, apart from a few minor scratches.

To be continued soon on www.canoesailor.com…….

First steps: Hayling Island to Newhaven…

Today has been a rest day and chance to dry out piles of wet gear.  After two tough days sailing and on Sunday night setting up camp on a beach and packing up in the midst of a torrential downpour which hardly let up for 16 hours I was ready for a bit of R and R, a dry bed and some company.

Winding back… my stay at Hayling Island Sailing Club could not have been better. After a fast downwind sail from Cowes in bright sunshine and large following waves I arrived at HISC, located in a perfect spot at the entrance to Chichester Harbour.  A senior club member kindly put in a word on my behalf and some accommodation for the night for myself and Katherine (visiting me until the following morning) was found at half price… and in addition to Katherine turning up, Keith Morris turned up unexpectedly – so all in all a great morale boost.

I set off the next morning sailing against a NE wind for a rough upwind sail round Selsey Bill.  Banks and rocks extend 4 miles offshore from the bill and cause dangerous conditions with wind against tide.  I’d previously contemplated threading through the middle via a channel called the Looe but this could have been hazardous and I saw a yacht heading for the Looe make a rapid change of direction when the skipper saw an almost uninterupted line of breakers ahead.

After tacking back in towards the land I reached Middleton on Sea just after the tide turned against me.  I had hoped to reach Littlehampton but was making little progress against the tide.  Several lines of rock groynes parallel to the shore presented an opportunity to land the boat safely out of the surf and a local angler gave me a hand to pull it up the steep shingly beach, on the trolley.

The rain intensified but I managed to get the tent up, shed my wet drysuit and make a meal before falling asleep.  Looking at the Met Office radar in the morning showed I was in the middle of an intense, almost stationary rainstorm.  However, a brief lull enabled me to run out the tent and down the beach to check on the boat.  An early morning dog walker refused to respond to my ‘good morning’ and carried onward, perhaps to tell her frineds about some madman running about the beach in the rain, wearing only a tee shirt and underpants.

The rain continued as I packed up and set sail toward Brighton.  As a contrast to the day before, the sea was flat and the wind light.  Spells of paddle sailing kept me warm as I inched towards the outline of Brighton and the white cliffs beyond.
The light following wind became lighter and just past Brighton peir, died completely.  However, soon after, a fresh north easterly wind sprang up to speed me to Newhaven.  Greg had made enquiries and Newhaven Marina were willing to look after Stacey for two nights while I stayed with my sister in law, Jo and her husband, Richard, and son, Mathew.

I’m only one week into this adventure but already so many people have been happy and very willing to help.  To name a few; The Island Sailing Club who found me a room and made me very welcome, HISC as mentioned above, Liz Baker from the DCA who treated me to lunch today, Newhaven Marina who wouldn’t take any payment for looking after Stacey, and Jo, Richard and Matt who have taken me in, made me welcome and helped me dry out.  Also, all those who have sent messages of support and good wishes.

Tomorrow I plan to leave Newhaven before noon.  Not sure how far I’ll get in the light E / NE winds.

Exhilarating downwind sail…

Exhilarating downwind sail from Cowes to Chichester Harbour today, averaging somewhere between 5 and 6 knots. It was a little too exciting at times so as I passed Bembridge I reefed down to scrap of sail and still made good speed.

I timed the entrance to the Chichester Harbour entrance channel to coincide with about an hour before high water so as to avoid large waves over the bar in the fresh WSW wind (apologies to non sailors reading this but sailors like this technical stuff).

In the event it was an anticlimax with waves no larger than the surrounding sea.

Hayling Island Sailing Club have been very kind and found accommodation for me and Katherine, who has come to visit. HISC claim, with some justification, to be the UK’s premier sailing club. See http://www.hisc.co.uk/ . However, I expect to be roughing it over the next few days – camping on beaches and so on.

Winds are forecast to be light tomorrow and from the wrong direction (East – where I’m heading) so no idea how far I’ll get.

{ Click this line to see my “check in” location }

 

Crossing to Cowes…

On the 7th June I set out from Netley Sailing Club intending to reach Bembridge. The forecast was southerly: 20 knots with 25 knot gusts. I was keeping a close watch on the conditions. The actual wind direction was more south easterly than southerly, which was not helpful for a passage to Bembridge. I started out with four reefs, but was able to sail unreefed for a while. I reefed progressively as I reached more exposed waters, where the actual winds were force 5. As I was off Calshot I picked up a weather forecast on the VHF predicting Gale Force 8 ‘later’ (later in this context means 12 or more hours away) – so nothing imminent, but in view of southerly wind and worsening outlook, I changed my plans and headed for Cowes.

The Solent crossing went well. I made good progress to windward at 3 to 3½ knots and the boat coped well with the conditions, with the long crowned foredeck shedding the waves nicely. As I neared Cowes and the lee of the Island the wind dropped down to a Force 3 to 4. Unfortunately, about a mile from the entrance to Cowes my tiller and rudder parted company. Later examination showed that this was due to a completely unprecedented and one off manufacturing fault.*

When the steering failed I was in the Eastern approach channel to the Solent (main shipping channel) just north of Cowes. An attempt to reconnect the steering was unsuccessful so I resorted to steering upwind, towards Cowes, with a single bladed paddle. This is a standard “plan B” for a sailing canoe and in the right conditions can be very effective (and sometimes preferred) steering method. However, it was difficult to maintain good upwind performance in the moderately rough sea state. The skipper of a Southampton Harbour Pilot Boat was concerned about my presence in the shipping lane without fully functional steering and towed me to one side of the shipping lane. He suggested I should be towed to Cowes by the Inshore Lifeboat. In view of the potential proximity of large ships and the possibility of worsening conditions, I agreed.

Talking to Patrick Moreton (the Coxswain) and to the lifeboat crew (afterwards), they agreed that I may well have been able to carry on to the Island unassisted, but that the best course in the circumstances, had been to be towed to Cowes. Patrick commented that I was well equipped and clearly experienced. One of the lifeboat crew turned out to be a shipwright and very kindly offered to repair the rudder / tiller by the following morning. The Island Sailing Club made me very welcome for two nights while the predicted bad weather passed, so I had an opportunity to reflect on the experience and to prepare for the next leg to Chichester Harbour.

*Looking back, the completely unexpected steering failure at the worst possible point in the crossing to Cowes was deeply unfortunate and, at the time very depressing, but I’m not sure how it could have been anticipated or prevented. In the circumstances, I’m convinced I made the right decision and that the seaman-like thing to do was to accept the tow. I know that no similar failure has ever occurred with any other rudder built by Solway Dory and in no way has it diminished my confidence in their boats. Rather, after now having sailing several hundred miles in Stacey, I am now even more impressed with the design, seakindleness and build quality of the Solway Dory Shearwater sailing canoe.

Time to go!

It’s finally arrived! Today I set sail. Only a 6 mile shakedown to Netley SC, combined with a brief visit to the local Agri Energy depo downriver to to say goodbye to colleagues.

Time To Go!

Richard Lewis has helped loads by doing lots of last minute fitting out things to suit my preference. Like bolting on two wooden cleats made by Solway Dory.

Fitting out with Solway Dory cleats...

After Netley SC I may get to Bembridge on the Isle of Wight, tomorrow.

Edenwood "Old Chestnut" Paddle

New paddle and paddle sailing

I’ve recently taken delivery of a new paddle, custom made by Eden Wood to
their Chestnut pattern. It’s in maple and the shaft is a very long 40″. I
hope by ‘paddle sailing’ in light winds I’ll be able to keep moving at about
3 knots, using the combined power of the sail and the paddle. This technique
works well for me when seated, sometimes on the side deck to balance the
boat against the pressure of wind in the sails. Hence the need for an
extra-long paddle. Paddle sailing is effective with the rudder down and with
the tiller locked off. The boat tracks well but occasional tiller
adjustments are needed. An alternative is to raise the rudder, using sail
and dagger board position, boat trim and paddle strokes to steer. Sometimes
large sweep strokes are needed to avoid the boat rounding up into the wind
during a gust. Paddle sailing without the rudder feels fluid and dynamic but
I haven’t practiced much – so I don’t know how it will work for long
periods. During periods of no wind I’ll use a double bladed paddle.

Edenwood "Old Chestnut" Paddle

Edenwood "Old Chestnut" Paddle

GPS Mount

Finding time for preparations

Still stacks to do before I go and it’s hard to find enough time for preparations whilst still working. However, I can make some progress at weekends.

Yesterday, I bought some more flares (pyrotechnic not 70s) and a sea anchor, Richard and I wrote out a list of small but important fitting out tasks to be completed next weekend, and I gave my new Omni Fuel lightweight stove a test run last night (impressive blue flame but it’s a noisy little beggar).

Fitness is improving. I’m still don’t have half the stamina I’ll need for parts of the voyage but I expect this to improve along the way. Ran 3 miles yesterday and went for a 40 minute fast paddle up the river this morning. Bright sunlight and blue sky reflected in calm water. Upriver, near Woodmill, I passed close to a young stag, with small antlers, eating leaves from a tree by the water’s edge. He stood watching me for a while before retreating into the trees. Swans also seem unperturbed by a person in a boat close by.