Job Done

Slipping out of the Ria Arousa the forecast 4-5m swell lifted us, and the NW wind pushed us. Heading south we passed the River Minho, and crossed the border from Spain into Portugal. Stars littered the night sky, the sun lit the day, onwards we rolled south. Passing Lisbon the wind died. The engine sprung to our assistance, pushing us onwards, soon the Light of Cape St. Vincent led us round the corner, and onto the Algarve, and so we tied up in Lagos, our journey done, and Wandering Dream nudged onto her new berth.

With VAT at 23% there's more than a little unrest in the country, and everyone's on strike. No planes home then! Better have another beer.........

Fresh Fish & Tapas

Rounding the rocky island that guards the entrance to the Ria Arousa, the warm air falling from the mountains, we dipped and dived through the fishing boats, and wound our way up to the town of Vilagarcia and its friendly welcome.

Smiling faces greeted us, and with the beer came the tapas - and only a euro a time! The problem was with every beer,or wine, more tapas. Even in the cafe at ten in the morning when you order a tea, or coffee, it comes with orange juice and a cake or croissant!

A visit to the market is a must. The food is so fresh, and compared to England, cheap. The big difference was the enourmous variety, and just how fresh it all was. So fresh that the shrimps, prawns and langoustine were all still alive.

Black

It was black, very black. The sky above was inky too – lit by a myriad of twinkling lights. Plosh, flip, slap -the blackness alongside was being carved-up. We were crossing the continental shelf. First a few then more. And more, then more. From all directions they came. Ten? Twenty? Fifty or more? I don't know, but dolphins, then porpoises, came out of the blackness to play. Their ghost-like silhouettes streaking through the water, a trail of bioluminescence erupting in their wake. They arrived just before my watch started, and left after it had finished, four hours later

The winters dawn broke slowly. The back sea turning a steely blue, reflecting the sky above. Slowly the eastern horizon turned a burnished brass, through gold, to welcome the burning orb as it rose to proclaim the day, and a school of porpoise joyfully flipped by, and pilot whales ambled past on a reciprocal course.

We had waited a week for this weather window. Gale after gale had targeted the English Channel bringing SW 7-8 and big seas crashing against the Brest Peninsula. Sheltered in the sleepy Breton port of Camaret we missed the worst. Windy, yes, but often blue skies, allowing us to enjoy the Ile de Crozon, as the area is known.

Moule & frites, followed fabulous fish dishes, not to mention the occasional glass, all enjoyed in the company of new sailing friends. A couple from the US regaled us with tales and photos of their trip in a 30ft boat, via Greenland, icebergs and Iceland; and the Chileans, with their stories of Cape Horn and Puerto William, their home port, encouraging us to visit Chile. In return we shared our experiences on the passages south from here to the Cabo Verde, and the Caribbean – their destinations, on their way home.

Leviathans from the deep guided us around the “Coast of Death”, as this corner of Galicia is known,. As I climbed into my bunk the sounds of the deep penetrated the hull. The frantic clicks , echo location, of the dolphins, and the song of a whale somewhere below, sent me to sleep.

A "Valiant" Arrival

Having sailed from the Solent to Dartmouth in what was frequently gale force wind. Then endured a bitterly cold and wet day on the Dart, we listened with anticipation to the Met forecast for Sunday.

There were warnings of gales in Dover Wight Portland and Biscay (and the rest of the UK), but not Plymouth! We scoured the internet for more information – they all suggested the same – NE 5/7, backing N or NW 6/7, becoming 3/4 later. So we sailed!

The sky was blue and sunny, but still very cold. With two reefs in the main and a poled out jib we aimed at Ushant and romped across the channel at 7 – 8 knots, often surfing at up to 10. Night came early but the moon was full and bright. As the clouds scudded across the sky we surfed the waves below. The first light of dawn found us heading down the Channel du Four. By lunchtime the fleeces were off; we were sat in the sun having a beer.

Footnote: Good to find “Valiant” looking good and proudly flying her PSC burgee.

A Wandering Dream.....

The summer was wet and windy. Autumn looks set to continue the same. Now as the cold polar air gets sucked down by the passing depressions it's just getting colder!

Nothing much changes.... or does it? Sitting on the Folkboat “Mistress” during Folkboat week a month or so ago, I was delighted to see my old friends Alan and Jo on Wandering Dream, a Rival 38, quietly nosing up to the quay. I had first met Alan at Palmeira, on the Island of Sal in the Cape Verdes. He and Jo became good friends as we later cruised in company up through the Caribbean.

Friendships renewed, all it took was a phone call. It didn't take much to persuade me!

So it was that with the forecast of wind East force 6 to gale force 8, showers rain later, we slipped from the club pontoon aboard Wandering Dream, destination Lagos, Portugal.....and sunshine!

The tide swept us west, past the Needles, then Weymouth (the sailing venue for the Olympics), and into Lyme Bay. As darkness fell so did the rain, squally gusts of 33+ knots chased us down channel. We surfed the waves under double reefed main and a pocket hanky sized jib. Enough was enough – we hung a left and tied-up in Dartmouth for the rest of the night.

Strong Winds and a Leaky Boat

The plan: Because of other commitments, sail down to Yarmouth on the Sunday. This meant missing race one. Not a good start to a regatta, but hey-ho.

An early morning call form Colin, friend, and the Folkboats' owner, alerted me that plans are only valid til first contact with the enemy.

"The boats full of water. We need to put her on the slip."

We emptied the boat, washed out the insides, dried the bunk cushions, and mended the electric pump - we thought! We finally arrived in Yarmouth at 2230hrs, secured alonside, and nipped into the Kings Head for a quick pint.

Now folkboats, are wet boats to sail, especially in a gusty F6.

"Why's that lifejacket inflated?" cried Colin.

Sticking my head into the saloon the answer was obvious - we were full of water. The bunks were soaking, so were our sleeping bags, and my bag with all my clothes for the week was sat in three inches of sea water! I pumped, Colin pumped, but we were in the lead. Confusion over marks, and we ended up with a forth. Next race was better - we won.

Following a night sleeping on the boards, with cushions drying on the pontoon, and our formal wear drying out in the RSYC, we headed out to the start, the new bilge pump squirting continously over the side. As we rounded the final mark and hardened-up to cross the line there were two loud retorts; the first was the kicker exploding, the next was the finish gun - we were first.

Heave-to, a quick repair, and we'll be ready for the next start - except a lobster-pot had other intentions and slipped along the keel to wedged itself firmly between the keel and rudder. The lads on the mark laying boat cheerfully came alongside, offered advice, and hacked at the taught ropes as we hung in the strong spring tide.

Eventually we were free of the bottom, but still with ropes wrapped around the rudder and prop. Towed to another pot-marker, we used it as a mooring, while Colin swum around (owners privilege) clearing the mess. Back on board, a gust of wind veered, and silently we slipped over the "mooring" pot-line wedging it firmly in the same place! Deja vu. Another swim, and we were free. Just in-time to make the delayed start. Good tack-ticks and another first. A good day on the water: a lot of jokes at our expense, back on the dock! But we weren't finished yet....

Following the lay-day, we headed out for the start line, bit between the teeth.

Cutting across the 4knot spring tide, spinnaker billowing, we headed for the turning mark, layed amidst others, just out of the main tide on the Island shore. For the second time the kicker exploded, a chinese gybe and we just sailed to windward of a buoy - but the spinnaker sailed over it, and the sheet snagged the top-mark,the boat heeled, the loads increased. Something had to break. With a bang the foot of the spinnaker parted, the sail ripped in half, and we heeled over again before the head of the sail parted, and we shot-off, down wind and tide, to round the mark and take the gun for 2nd place.

Two more firsts on the penultimate day put us firmly in first place over-all, and we sealed it with another gun on the final race.

It had been a great regatta. The Royal Solent Yacht Club had been perfect hosts, Lymington Yacht Haven generous sponsors. Great racing was followed daily by lively socials. Even the Tot Club was in on the act, inviting all to join in on the Friday evening.

Would I do it again? Definitely, best regatta I have done in years.

Jinja, Jinja this is Avocette, Avocette. Over

We nearly met in Mindelo, Cape Verdes, and finally met up in Grenada, Caribbean, and then several times up the Island chain before crossing the Atlantic in 2011, to meet again briefly in the Azores, so it was a great pleasure to welcome Liat and Assaf, from S/Y Jinja, to England.

Warned to bring foul weather gear, and fleeces for the English summer, the weather confounded us all. Blue skies, warm days, and fair winds.

We pottered around to Chichester, dropped the hook, opened the bottle, and were welcomed by a seal snorting, inspecting, and, I think, approving of the new visitors to his watery world. This week the cuisine on board was to reach new heights. Fresh baked bread, freshly made hummus, and falafel topped with tahini sauce.... you guessed, I was not doing the cooking.

There are about 2000 boats total in Israel, so Cowes Week was an eye-opener.

Fleets of yachts were transformed from chaotic melees, into regimented lines, as cannons roared, flags fluttered, and races started from the Royal Yacht Squadron line. 1000 boats out racing every day, thousands more still on their moorings.

Weaving our way through the clouds of spinnakers we sought tranquility in the rivers and creeks of The Solent. The iconic Needles to the west. Historic ships to the east. Sleepy villages nestling in the South Downs. We enjoyed it all.

World history is seen very differently by different nations, and I was caught unprepared when asked, "So why was Nelson, the Victory, and the Battle of Trafalgar important?" So from the Victory to the Warrior, the first of the iron-clad ships. A hybrid of sail and steam Warrior marked the turning point in naval design that led to the Type 45 Destroyer tied-up alongside just a few meters away.

Holiday over, they flew home. I really must get down to the Med. So many friends to visit, new countries to explore. Now where is Israel........? Oh, and I need a crew, Any takers?

Superyachts & The Commodores Cup

Last week the majestic J Class, this week the Commodores Cup and the Superyacht Cup. The "Who's Who" read like a Caribbean Regatta - with weather to match. Some of the worlds most beautiful, Athos, Adela, Drumfire, and some of the fastest Leopard, and Mari Cha III, were racing. Also tucked away was Coral, rescued from the mangroves, and last seen in Antigua.

Under empty blue skies, and pushed along by gentle breezes, the Commodores cup was also under way. Seven teams from Hong Kong, France, Benelux, and the UK were battling it out.

Everyone was here, the great and the good, and several others too, even the Queen made a visit.

I had been drafted in as a Race Officers for the week. Sometime we started the races on the Royal Yacht Squadron Line, others started from a committee boat, and often we were the finish boat. You can always restart a race - but you may only finish it once - we had to get it right.

With the light winds and strong tides, the racing was a tactical affair. We watched, we waited, we fished. Plenty of mackeral, lots of dogfish.... and the sun shone too.

Classic J Class Solent Race

Summer skies, and temperatures in the twenties might have been missing, but the heat was on in the Solent.

Cutting inside the spectator boats whilst trying to gain the advantage, Ranger ran aground in Thorness Bay. Lionheart, led Valsheda, and the brand new Rainbow, round the windward mark. Four kites popped out, and the fleet charged back down the Solent. It was an awesome site. Spectator boats scattered as Lionheart rounded the leeward mark,hardened up, and accelerated; the others close astern.

In a flash it was over. The J's returned to their moorings, and the Solent emptied. We unfurled the headsail, put the kettle on, and enjoyed the sail home.

Last Glimpse of Guernsey and the Channel Islands

It was hard to leave the Channel Islands. Beautiful, rugged, a glimpse of the past. Part of the UK, but not of England.

St Peter Port



Havelet Bay



Sark

The tangle of rocks around the islands of Herm and Jethou need careful navigation; swift tides press the unwary onto their sharp pinnacles. Once clear, the Big Russel channel is quickly crossed, before the rocks lurk menacingly again.

There are no cars on Sark. The island rises vertically from the sea. Small coves, and bays, surrounded by cliffs, give some shelter and anchorage. Access is a steep climb up hundreds of winding steps to the cliff top. Sark's feudal laws still prohibit divorce; and the eldest son inherits all. The roads are empty and un-metaled. You are more likely to meet a waddle of ducks, or a horse-drawn trap, than even a tractor. Houses, are discretely set back, their gardens a delight. Life (appears) easy, slow, and laid back.



Squeezed in between the Isle of Brecqhou and Sark itself is the little cove, Harve Gosselin, with a peaceful mooring just out of reach of the 7knot tide that rips through the tiny gap and it's rocky entrance. It looked idyllic. The view down from the cliff tops was awesome. Waking in the morning to a thick, pea-souper of fog, unable to see any of the cliffs, or the rocks just a few metres away was not pleasant. Thank goodness for a good radar, and electronic charting!

Leaving the islands in the early morning sun we headed NW. The wind picked up through force 3 to force 4, then 5. It was great sailing. Approaching the first of the shipping lanes the fog came back. The radar showed several shipps hidden from our view, and all close. A quick All Ships call on the VHF to share our position, course and speed, saw two ships kindly alter course, and cross our stern.

The fog dissipated. The sun came out, and we romped across the last 30 miles into Salcombe.

Dolphins Guide Us In

It was airless inside the deep, red granite walls, of St Helier Marina, as we waited for the tide to turn. Then a relief to get underway. The jagged rocks of the Violet bank looked menacing as we hoisted full sail and aimed SE for Granville. The rocks released another hidden, and unwelcome, suprise as we passed. Flies. Thousands of flies. The boat was covered. We were covered.

Dolphins played alongside, as we furled sails, and made our turn across the sunken rocks, into Granville. Leaping ashore, Luke secured the boat with one hand, and grabbed the hose with the other. From stem to stern, the water cannon pursued the plague of “black spots” 'till all were washed into the scuppers.

The tides are big here, only in the Bay of Fundy, Canada, are they bigger. We were here on springs, so careful planning was a must. From the safe haven of the Marina, locked in by a granite wall, we watched as the tide fell a full 30ft, and a hidden world of rocks, gullies, sand and shingle emerged.

The Vieux (Old) fortified town of Granville, with its cobbled streets sits high on the escarpment. Its classic, old French, an architecture a delight. Tonight, perhaps in honour of our arrival, there is a concert there. Now where did I put that clean shirt......

Finally the skies cleared. No more the museums of Cherbourg. No more perfumed beers. Farewell to “Pirate Pete's” bar. It was down “the Race” with a SW force 5 churning the waters into a boiling caldron as we swept passed the island of Alderney.

Grand Amfroque, Tourtenay, Roustel and Brehon Tower, the marks of the Little Russel, slipped by as we dropped the main and motored on the last of the SW going tide into St Peter Port, Guernsey.

The number 7A bus only costs £1 a head, and circles anticlockwise around the island. Its a great way to see the rocky inlets, and find hidden beaches, all still guarded by the deserted German defences – a cold reminder of the past. We hopped off the bus and walked the SW corner back to the boat. The cliff path winds around the neatly kept lawns, and electrically operated gates surrounding the the houses of the well to do, then drops dramatically down, then rising, then falling revealing stunning bays and fabulous views.

The forecast is good tomorrow. Perhaps that secluded bay, or maybe Jersey, or Iles Chausey....

Hunt for the Sun

It was a grey afternoon as we slipped out of Portsmouth – but dry. Newtown Creek was as welcoming as ever. A headsail reach had brought us down on the tide and we were snug on a mooring. An early night. A dawn rise, and we were on our way west to find the sun.

Ideas of the Baltic had been shelved – the weather there as bad as here, but colder.

Sitting on the tide the Needles flashed by. Swanage glowed in the early morning sunshine. It's a long time since I enjoyed the old town of Weymouth, infamous for being the port where the great plague entered the country, but little has changed. The sun was shining, the sky had big patches of blue. Sipping a well earned pint the barmaid told us of torrential rain in Portsmouth, and the floods in Littlehampton. We smiled, and had another pint.

Our second dawn awakening and, as the sun crept over the cliffs of the Jurassic Coast, we motored out across the Olympic race courses, and headed south. It was Luke's first cross-channel. A blustery northerly had us romping across to Cherbourg, where Pete took our lines as we tied -up along side Stormvogel.

Tomorrow we go to Paris.............

The Solent is at its best now. The sun has come out of hibernation; the kids are still in school; the place is empty – perfect.

So, making best use of the opportunity, we sailed up Chichester Harbour to Northney Marina and the Portsmouth Sailing Clubs rally and first BBQ of the year. Sausages were cremated, chops fared little better, but it was a great excuse for a beer, a glass of wine, and some great sailing, in good company. Leaving Northney Avocette headed down the Solent for some crew training in preparation for the trip to the Baltic. A great reach down to Newtown Creek, then up the Beaulieu River, out around the Needles to Freshwater Bay, before heading back into the Solent, Newtown Creek (again), and back to Portsmouth – a great couple of days.

Throw in a couple of races in the Victory Class (one design classics), and it was back to Chi Hbr. this time with Dad, to drop the hook off Itchenor, an idyllic anchorage, with a good pub and a friendly sailing club.

The planned departure date is now the 7th June. I still have space if you would like to join me, just drop me an email. It would be great to see you.

2012 The Olympic Year - and new challenges

It's been a long cold winter (for England). It seemed to start when I arrived back in the UK last July. Grey skies and tumbling temperatures made for hard work during the winter refit.

An escape to the mountains was called for, and Passo Tonale, in Italy, provided some of the best snow conditions I have enjoyed in a long while. Blue skies, sunshine and packed powder - awesome - with great night skiing (complete with free Gluhwein), and fresh powder on the last day. Perfect!

Delivering an Oceanus 42CC, Odyssey of Truro, from Falmouth to the Tower of London was a fun break. So too were a couple of weekends onboard Condor as committee boat for the Warsash Spring series. The entertainment kindly being supplied by one skipper who "parked" his yacht on the spit at the Hamble entrance. Nice balance on just a fin & bulb! How lucky too, that the wind died. Four hours either side of low water it was blowing 30kts!

The Autohelm hydraulics, and Gyro Compass, both packed-up at the end of the trip back from the Azores, so had to be replaced. The propeller too had come to the end of its life.

Now choosing the correct propeller is a Black Art. Lots of discussion, careful calculations, and sound advice from Darglow Marine Engineers suggested going for a 20" Featherstream to replace the worn-out 18" Maxprop. Launch time came, and with great expectancy, I nudged her into gear, and slipped out of Southsea Marina, bound for our mooring in Portsmouth Harbour.

The sound like a Harrier jump-jet hovering over the mast, the pull to starboard on the wheel, the stern being sucked down burying the bottom brackets of the hydrovane, were all signs that we had got it wrong! Wrong big time!

A telephone call to Chris at Darglow, and help was at hand. They couldn't have been more supportive or helpful. They ordered a new 18" Maxprop, cut the taper, and posted it down to me in a little under two weeks.

A lift-out and hold in the slings over lunch, and the props were changed over.

All is now well - except for the weather. A shake-down cruise to France looks like being a trip towards the West Country, as SE/S winds bring more rain to the South Coast of England. On the bright side, the weather men are saying that "more normal" temperatures are due in a week or two. Lets hope so, then I can head upto the Baltic for new adventures.

Winter Maintenance Jan-Mar 2012

We've had some pretty bleak weather this year, but it has, at least, been dry. The boat was lifted out at Southsea Marina and work started, slowed up to almost a stop in the freezing conditions, but has now kicked into gear. The target re-launch date is the 20 March, so if you fancy a sail in the summer, why not give a hand now........