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.