Handfast Point 2011 and on Westwards

Seeing Old Harry and his wife at close quarters is one of the great treats of sailing and arguably the most attractive bit of coastline in England. We of course, frequented this fabulous Dorset area of Studlands, a world heritage site no less. Anchoring for the night was always fun. Seeing fluessence in the sea, an abundance of wild life, night time parachutists, firework displays, high power speed boats, super speed ‘cross channel ferries’ and a nudist beach;  this area has it all. Sadly, the last time we were there it was very busy with people, jet skis, fast motor boats towing noisy kids on toys and plastic rubbish in abundance. I wonder how the sea grass is coping now?

For all of that it was a magic place. Only in the height of the summer season could I really complain. As a dog owner I had to go ashore on the Yards near Old Harry himself when we anchored. This was not easy and probably frowned upon for disturbing sea birds but Juno was too keen to keep her feet dry to be much of a threat to the odd wader and the rocky shore was not very conducive to dog walking so our trips were short.

If you have read my first post on the subject of tenders you would know that I had a new girl in my life after three years on my own. Now Juno and I had crew! We became four plus two medium sized dogs.

In the summer of 2012 we explored the Purbeck coast line, visiting Chapmans Pool, Mupe Bay, Tynham and from a distance Man of War Bay and Lulworth. We watched the Coast Guard Agency ship hiding behind the rocks on security duty, a backup to the Olympics in Weymouth and Portland. It was a great summer full of flat seas, light winds and beautiful sunshine. Dorset was at its best.

The new girl persuaded me to move Juliet Jay back to Brixham in 2013 and so together we sailed her there one March day. Yes, this time it really was chilly. The weather was good and we got past Portland without incident. I noticed that at one point we were doing 9.7 knots across the ground just south of the Portland race. We then cut in to take the foul tide closer to shore and so made very good time. However not everything was anxious free! We watched squalls approaching us from all sides. They seemed to follow us, then change direction and spin round to attack us from a different direction. They were dark areas of heavy blustery wind and heavy rain, cold looking showers which we could see from a long way away. Only once did one actually catch us and that fortunately was short lived. It was the smacking of the sea with our hull which was alarming together with the noise of the rain on the sea which was amazing.

As night fell the cold started to really get in. Juliet Jay did not have any heating so we had to rely on the number of layers of clothing we had. It was still bitter and got worse as we ploughed on. The lights at sea and ashore were as extraordinary as ever. Strange lines of big bright blue lights were the most spectacular off Torquay, And it got even colder. We arrived in Brixham at 1.30am and as we crawled in looking for our mooring we heard a very strange rhythmic sound. Heave two three four, heave two three four etc. A lady’s rowing crew were practicing in the Harbour- yes you’ve got it, at that unearthly hour and it got even colder. We did, amazingly, find our mooring quite easily and managed to settle into sleeping bags. It was annoying to discover the loos at the yacht club were closed as it was a Sunday and we had to use the fisherman’s facilities on the quay. 

Avoiding Ferries and The Royal Navy

 I don’t often think of sailing East. I was at school in Seaford, my Grand parents lived in Brighton and I started married life on Selsea Bill. I did some dinghy sailing as a child with my father and Uncle who was Commodore of The Sussex Yacht Club  in Shoreham. I knew the Hampshire and Sussex coast line pretty well and but for a few exceptions saw no very good reason to go East. 

However, one day I was invited to a house party on the Isle of Wight. Northcote House is as you can see rather nice and the party was going to be, well, worth the effort in getting there even if I had to go East!

There was no contest, I was going to sail the short trip to Yarmouth, only just past the Needles from my base at Hamworthy. 

I had been used to sailing out of the ‘swash’ channel and sailing on towards Old Harry rocks but my guru had suggested that if I chose a time when the tide was right I could  take a short cut in front of Bournemouth beachs. Thus I did but my crew felt the rollers big time. Sea sickness is extraordinarily dramatic, they were definitely at deaths door for most of the trip, so much so that I wondered if I should request an airlift for them. We arrived along Hurst Castle and hugged the coast before nipping into Yarmouth in front of a ferry. Yarmouth provided an excellent lunch of moules mariniere for all the crew miraculously recovered from seasickness. 

Needless to say the party was a great success, including several games of tennis, fabulous food, dancing and silly games. 

But I had to sail home solo. No one was going to risk the the trip home with me. They missed quite a run for it too. Yarmouth marina is very pleasant and easy to get in and out of providing you avoid the ferrys. I encountered however the other hazard; The Royal Navy. 

Quite frankly one needs to respect anything that is bigger than you at sea but perhaps more so to a significant warship. HMS Bulwark 8 nautical miles away was but a speck in the distance to me. A dark menacing speck may be, but a long way away. I took the decision to cross the Solent ahead of her, she was eight miles away after all. This was not a mistake but it was surprising how quick these ships move and I suspect the officer of the watch had fun turning up the speed to make the point as he visibly slowed down after passing me. Bulwark is a big ship smaller than an aircraft carrier but nevertheless impressive from the cockpit of a Moody 27. In future I will let them go first and dip my ensign!

“Mayday Mayday Mayday”, 

I had past Hurst Castle and was proceeding at a pace back to Poole. The sky was growing a dark bluie gray to the West and I was going towards it. It was not a time to linger. By the time I reached the entrance to Christchurch I heard this painful cry on channel 16. A rib had got caught on a lobster pot and was in difficulty. The life boat was quick to respond and the ensuing rescue story played out on Channel 16 was a good reminder to us all that things can go wrong through no fault of your own. By the time I had reached my mooring the weather had turned nasty and I was very glad that the outboard motor worked like a dream and I safely made it home, wet, cold and bedraggled. 

Storm Bound in Salcombe

The Ireland trip was a difficult one to follow in little Juliet Jay in Poole harbour. However I was building up some experience and my confidence was growing with it.

My grown up nephew invited himself to come for a days sailing with a couple of friends one of which was a very experienced sailor. The day did not get off to a good start. My outboard motor failed and we only just made it to the mooring. It can be tricky trying to row against three knots of tide with two very large men in a small inflatable dinghy! I had by now learnt to aim off to compensate for tidal flow! But I missed Juliet Jay and so needed super effort to reach her.

There was not a lot of wind so sailing was sluggish much of the morning and so became boring for my nephew, who told me he had decided sailing was overrated and that he probably wouldn’t take it up as a past time. That said we had a good lunch off Old Harry rocks, the wind piped up and the outboard behaved better on the return trip. They went home tired and happy. Sadly he has not been since.

It was now a year after my loss and the dolphins had made a profound impression on me and my general moral. Life was beginning to be worth living. I reached 60 so I took my children to Paris for a long weekend by car. Then soon soon after my elder daughter’s wedding needed some of my attention!

After my children, Juno was taking up a lot of my time. Sailing however was a constant pull too. On the whole Juno came with me. She was bored when I went to work. Sculpture was not much fun for a puppy. My studio had some draconian rules for dogs. But getting on and off Juliet Jay was traumatic for her and she would need to be lifted on and off. Old Harry rocks and Poole harbour became our play ground summer and winter. 

However by my second season I was becoming more ambitious. Over the winter of 2010-2011, I decided that South Devon was my target area and Salcombe in particular. I arrived at this after I had done some reconnaissance, visiting Dartmouth, Newton Ferris, Saltash, Kingsbridge, Salcombe, Looe and Fowey. Salcombe in winter is really quite a nice place and Juno and I got to know it well. 

So it was that I set off to sail to Salcombe in June 2011. I asked a good friend Alexander, a neighbour, to come with me taking the good advice of my Guru. Sailing solo with so little experience was tricky. It was a long trip across Lyme Bay as I well knew. I decided to attempt it in two legs stopping in Dartmouth. Alexander was a professional sailor who would deliver yachts around the world for an appropriate fee. He was delighted to come with me just for the trip though. I was itching to set off but the weather remained depressingly unsuitable for ten days or more delaying our departure. When at last we did get off it was a pretty dull until we reached just past Portland when, in the early hours, the wind piped up and we started to sail. The Atlantic rollers were back again but it was a beautiful sail across Lyme Bay and a long mid summer sunrise was just fantastic. Alexander caught the bus back to Dorset from Dartmouth. It was 80 nautical miles and most of a days sail but only a two hour bus trip back! Thank you Alexander it was fun and I learnt a lot.

I wanted to press on to Salcombe as soon as possible. It was my solo trip in unknown waters. It’s sometime ago now but I did do my homework, looking at tides and weather before setting off. I was unprepared for the Skerries. The Guru had mentioned the Skerries and I had looked carefully at the charts and checked all the pilotage advice I could find, but could find little help. Since then I have got to know the area well but that first trip taught me to expect the unexpected. The journey from Dartmouth Castle to Start Point was the first leg. I was unprepared for a following sea. The inflatable tender kept trying to join me in the cockpit. I suppose I got used to it but it was quite alarming at first time. 

Once round Start Point it was plain sailing and I flew past Prawle Point towards the entrance to the Salcombe and Kingsbridge estuary. I had been well briefed about the ‘Bar’ but was surprised at quite how close to the rocks and cliffs one has to sail to miss it! Having been warned that it is better to stay further out to sea as sailors are safer; accidents happen when bumping into land. I got a taste of sailing under the over hanging cliffs of Sharp Tor which are rather aptly named.

The wind tuned up significantly and the resulting sea state kept me trapped for a month. Not a bad place to be trapped for the month (in June), but nevertheless I was stuck there. Salcombe at the height of Summer is a busy place full of affluent young people enjoying themselves at high speed. Indeed the speed that boats move around the area of Whitesand is breathtaking. Driving on land near by on the other hand, is, in contrast, very slow indeed; just so many people in narrow streets. 

I managed to procure a visitors pontoon berth in the “bag” where I stayed for four weeks. The Bag is a little bit away and round the corner from all the bustle but it was for some of the time crowded and I was rafted up. However I did meet some really friendly and hospitable people and we spent many evenings enjoying some amazingly competent cooking and excellent wines. One couple had sailed from Eastbourne where they owned a farm on the South Downs. He was a wise sailor and convinced me to go and buy a spare impeller in case mine ever went wrong. Another couple came from Dartmouth adding to my ever accumulating knowledge of the area and sailing.

I had brought my tennis racket and had a couple of games with a local farmer near Kingsbridge. It was such fun taking the tender to their little landing stage a good mile up the estuary. 

The sailing club was busy too but provided excellent showers and convivial company at the (other type of) bar. 

My brother was entertaining a cousin from California, an American lady in her 80s. She had insisted that she should meet me and so he had driven her all the way from Somerset to have lunch with me aboard Juliet Jay. I met them at Whitesand and we caught the floating taxi to the boat. My California cousin turned out to be extremely partial to Gin and tonic so our lunch went extremely well and it was a long time before my brother was able to extract her.  

In my spare time I went for a number of walks. The area is blessed with some beautiful countryside and it was easy to take the tender to a variety of landing places and take to the hills on foot.

On one occasion I was taken by a friend to dinner. The pub is up Southpool creek and has a great reputation. I was collected by a small inflatable motor boat and taken a great speed (well above the speed limit) to The Millbrook Inn. I rather think it was a bit expensive but the meal was overall good. I was intrigued on entering the pub garden to find I had to share it with a girl on a horse. This is of course Devon and that is what happens in Devon. Our return journey to Juliet Jay was equally exciting if illegal in the dark. The inflatable motor boat seemed to skim the water with little or no draft. Such is Salcombe in June and July ‘a fast place’!

Amazingly I found someone to crew with me back to Poole. A volunteer who wanted some extra sail time in their RYA log book. To be honest they had absolutely no idea how to sail so I was awake for the whole trip yet again. We had a fair wind all the way, clear blue sea and sky. We flew across Lyme Bay and rocketed past Portland. Passing my old stamping ground of Lulworth in beautiful moonlight our sails were filled with a blueish tinge and the crystal sea reflected the mood. Warm but refreshing the air was so clear, our view of the World heritage site was at its most magical. Old Harry’s wife lit up by the rising sun made our homecoming quite magical. 

Fatigue and Lobsters

 As the pod of dolphins move on so did I. My bunk was bliss. In my unconscious state we crossed the separation zone between the Scillies and Lands End. This zone is designed to keep large ships apart and has to be crossed at right angles. After five hours sleep I was hungry again. We had made good progress and we had sight of land. 

It is a surprisingly long way from Lands End to the Lizard and it took us all day. We made it to a mooring on the Helford River in time for dinner. A crispy lobster I’m afraid. A disappointment after the delights of Crosshaven. 

One new thing I learnt was AIS. Fredrick showed us an app on his iPhone which pinned shipping to google maps using the internet. This was new to me and of course became ‘a must have’!

We set sail again very early on yet another beautiful day. We past the Eddystone Lighthouse off Plymouth en route to Dartmouth making good progress all day. Despite the good weather there were very few other sailing boats. 

Dartmouth provided another dinner, an improvement on the dry Lobster of the night before. Local bass in an Italian style, but the wine flowed extremely well fuelling an argument on the state of Dragonfly’s navigation tricolour. Was it working? No. Yes it is! No it isn’t and so on.

The next day came slightly later; but we were off in good time with the tide. Lyme bay I had done before in the dark the previous February, so it was nice to see it in daylight. Err...except that you don’t see much of Lyme Bay and it takes for ever. 12 miles off shore you are in international waters and out of sight of land. Again not much other traffic on another beautiful day with perfect sailing conditions. There are few places these days when one is so far away from other people.

After Ten hours we reached Portland. We out ran one other sailing boat which was quite satisfying. We were making use of the tidal vectors more efficiently. Adrian had decided to do the inside route round Portland Bill. This was a fascinating experience and we were able to view a rare and significant amount of the Portland coastline. To get round it safely the passage takes you very close to the shore. 

It was then plane sailing to Adrian’s berth in Portland marina. 

A brilliant trip. I learnt a hell of a lot. Thank you again Adrian.

Atlantic Rollers

Adrian, a serious professional, had spent a lot of time planning the trip including a meticulous navigation plan on hard copy charts. I was well briefed and shown the basics of the reefing system back to the cockpit which was not familiar to me. Neither was the helm and autopilot which I quickly learnt. Also Adrian taught me how to steer a course by sun and stars! 

The sea state remained fairly calm for much of the morning but it was gradually becoming more interesting as we headed South East on a broad reach. The waves became longer and longer. I was hungry, it was lunch time so I volunteered to make some sandwiches; the others did not seem to show any interest and declined my offer. I thought nothing of it and proceeded to consume a healthy and sizeable lunch followed by coffee and a Mars bar. 

My mother described how much fun she had when young sailing to India free from her mother who’s seasickness would confine her to her cabin for much of the trip. My wife Juliet would feel ill just looking at a cross channel ferry, so I am very aware and sympathetic to those who have this problem. It had not occurred to me that keen sailors might feel this way though. Neither did it escape my notice that when you are feeling seasick someone boasting that they don’t get seasick might be a little bit irritating!

The waves were getting longer and longer and at an angle to the boat that caused her to move unevenly. A corkscrew motion with 200 yards between crests and a drop of 50 feet. Some People pay to go on fairground merry go rounds and with no ill effects but by teatime Fredrick had disappeared below with apologies not to be seen again until seven o’clock the next morning. Adrian and I ploughed on and I gradually became aware that he didn’t really appreciate my prattling on. I was loving every minute on the ocean waves. This was sailing.

The wind continued gently from the South West, occasionally we needed to motor sail to keep up to speed but we were keen to avoid using it. The rollers continued to cause this uneven motion which I found quite exhilarating, coasting down the waves only to mount the next in a gentle tipping until the next one. We were making good time according to Adrian’s plan: so all was well.

Unlike the previous night, dinner was eaten solo and thrown together in very quick time. The bearing I was to continue to follow remained constant and I was relieved when Adrian checked our position on occasions. He remained in the cockpit on hand throughout the night keeping me company but obviously in considerable discomfort when he was awake. The sails looked ghostly yet comforting in the mid summer starlight.

This was the second time I was to sail through the night. Some lights were extremely strange. Fishing boats, ferrys, lonely and rather spooky sights of yachts with tricolour navigation lights at the top of their masts and some others which were completely unidentifiable. The stars, a lack of light pollution and a clear sight of the Milky Way made the experience awe inspiring. I was aware of some very strange sounds wafting around Dragonfly too. 

The rollers had subsided by two in the morning so keeping on course was easier especially with stars to follow. Nevertheless no one is impervious to the dreaded ‘fatigue’ in the early hours. I was very glad when Fredrick and Adrian, like butterflies from their chrysalis, now in high sprits, took over from me at seven. 

I had not been down for more than an hour though when the dreaded 

“Robert, Robert”

came wafting down the companionway.

“Dolphins”

For the next hour and forty minutes I “sang” with the dolphins, hand stretched out to them as they eyed me inches from the bow and riding on our wake. Darting around us and with us, in effortless grace and speed. This was one of life’s magical and rare moments when the recent horrors in my life seem to be doused. It got me wondering about those strange sounds in the night too.

Thank you Adrian for that special moment.

To Ireland for dinner

“Would you crew for me? 

Dragonfly is in Cork and I want to sail her back to Portland”.

Adrian and I were old friends. We had shared two years at a training establishment after school and had kept up over the years as our lives bounced around the world. Adrian came from a horsie family but had opted for sailing and cars instead. We played tennis together, we went to Africa together, we were drenched on the Welsh hills together and sun burnt in the Mediterranean. I even managed to get to his wedding!

Dragonfly was a beautiful boat that he had owned for some years. He sold her to an Irishman but missed her so much that when she came up for sale again he had to buy her back. A very good decision.

The trouble was that Dragonfly was now near Cork in Ireland, in the Owenboy River at Crosshaven a hundred and forty-five nautical miles Northwest of Lands End.

Adrian had invited another friend of his to join us. Fredrick was a newly retired pilot who was now training people to fly helicopters. He too was an experienced and keen yachtsman so I was in safe company. We flew from Gatwick to Cork on a beautiful July day. It was cloudless and the British Isles were laid out before us as we flew across the South of England then on to Wales and the Irish Sea. This was going to be a grand adventure.

We were met at Cork airport by the Irishman who was to drive us headlong at breathtaking speed along the narrow road to where he kept his tender. Being my first visit to Ireland south of the boarder, I had been looking forward to seeing a bit of ‘The Emerald Isle’ but I am a very nervous passenger in cars driven unnecessarily fast, so I only saw a blurr of hedgerows and the odd glimpse of other cars narrowly avoiding us. 

Our Irishman was to take two of us out to Dragonfly on a mooring in a three person dinghy and then return for the third person. After that we would all set off down stream to the Marina in Crosshaven where he would then return upstream with one of us in the dinghy so he could collect his car. There are no prizes dear reader if you were to correctly guess who got the short straw. Actually it was quite fun. I enjoy trips in Inflatable tenders if they are sound and with adequate fuel. 

The inflatable was only three quarters inflated so the trips were doable if it stayed that way. He assured us that there was lots of petrol in the outboard so there would be no trouble completing the distances. 

So there I was, in a small tender, loosing air rapidly with little fuel in a foreign country returning the mile up stream with the Irishman. I started to become nervous again. He had forgotten the oars and I had to get back down to the marina. Soon it would be dark. At least it was down stream! 

Amazingly I navigated back to Dragonfly in a now limp inflatable. To my surprise  the petrol did last the course, though with not much to spare. I was allocated the quarter berth in Dragonfly which although close to the engine was very comfortable with plenty of room for my kit. She was wonderfully appointed and comfortable, I was in for a luxurious trip.

We had arrived; dinner was now the top priority.

Dinner

I had spent the whole of six school holidays in France in the early 1960s where my family lived for two years at a very impressionable age. I had learnt to appreciate food, really appreciate food. Crosshaven has a Victorian pub the only eating establishment as far as we could see. It was very busy that first night and the menu was short but what arrived in front of us was a surprise. The subsequent meals over the next three days in this establishment were quite the best food I had tasted outside home for decades. We had not noticed the sign outside stating that they had won a number of awards in previous years for the best pub food in Ireland.

Before paying the Irishman, Adrian did a meticulous inspection of Dragonfly. Everything was checked including the main engine. This proved to have a problem despite being spotlessly clean and shiny. A hair pin hole in the main casing was sending a minute spray of coolant into the bilges. This was surveyed by a local engineer who pronounced that it was safe to use but needed attention on returning to England.

We stocked up on essential provisions for the trip to Portland and set sail early on the fourth day. The weather was ideal, settled with a gentle SW wind. The sea was almost flat as you can see from the photo below as we gradually lost sight of Ireland.

My Guru

My Guru had watched my struggles and antics, mistakes and triumphs. To someone who has sailed all his life he was not surprised. He had seen it all before. However thank goodness he had compassion and understood the passion for sailing I had and was willing to subtly teach me ‘sailing’.

As we all know, boating on a budget means mastering a lot of complex skills. Diesel engines, moorings, sails, warps, stem head fittings, furling Gear, kicking straps, plotters, navigation lights and so on. Being an engineer of course he knew how to sort out a new propeller shaft, taught me how to charge the stern gear, why I had oil in the bilge, winterising, engine service and so on.

After my little trouble with Paul, my Guru took me sailing both in his boat and mine. He taught me to heave too, sail trimming and making good use of tide and tidal currents. He parted with a lot of good local pilotage knowledge and he showed me how to use DSC on the radio. He had excellent sight of the moorings from his home and had some good advice on keeping ones boat safe. He warned me of the possibility of ending up like this guy who got it wrong with the tide just opposite me.

I wintered Juliet Jay up stream on the way to Wareham at Ridge farm, Ridge Wharf, where Juno and I would spend hours cleaning and messing about in boats. Juno loved it to, being a pointer she had lots of practice pointing at ducks, deer and bumble bees! The trips up the River Frome from Hamworthy were good practice for river navigation. It was good to have the boat so close to home.