Cruising Landfalls: Memories and Inspirations

This is a time for fond memories of landfalls made; and of anticipation of landfalls to come.

Whether you are reminicing or seeking inspiration, here are some of my favourite landfalls from past cruises .

There are two pictures for each of landfall. I've given a cryptic clue, to the location, in the title above each pair of photographs. The locations are given in the final section, headed "Answers." Enjoy your plans and memories!

 

GARDEN CITY


 

 

 

 

 

NORTHERN WELCOME

 

 

 

 

 

DEVON JEWEL

 

 

 

 

CHAISE LONGUE

 

 

 

 

 

 

HOME TOWN BUOY

 

 

 

ROSE TINTED SPECTACLE

 

 

 

 

 

UNDER THE ARCHES

 

 

 

 

 

OUT IN THE BAY

 

 

 

 

 

SOUTHERN FORT - ITUDE

 

 

 

 EN - GULF - ED

 

 

 

 

 

 

BASQUE LANDS BECKON

 

 

ANSWERS

 

GARDEN CITY:                        St Malo
                                                    The Grand Jardin lighthouse, St Servan waterfront

NORTHERN WELCOME:        Dunkerque
                                                    Mermaid buoy in the offing, Inner harbour

DEVON JEWEL:                        Dartmouth
                                                     Day Mark, Castle

CHAISE LONGUE;                    Noirmoutier
                                                     Lighthouse, La Chaise anchorage

HOME TOWN BUOY:               Poole
                                                     Anvil Point, Brownsea Castle

ROSE TINTED SPECTACLE:   Ploumanac'h
                                                     Wave sculpted Granite Rose, Man made chateau of Granite Rose

UNDER THE ARCHES:            Morlaix
                                                     The winding river channel, The Viaduct

OUT IN THE BAY:                    Ile d'Yeu
                                                      Lighthouse, Harbour

SOUTHERN FORT - ITUDE:    Boyardville, Ile d'Oleron
                                                      Low tide at Fort Boyardville and off the breakwater

EN - GULF - ED:                        Golfe du Morbihan, Vannes
                                                      Port Navalo lighthouse, Vannes cathedral

BASQUE LANDS BECKON:    La Rochelle
                                                      Vieux Port towers, city walls (with Stargazer beneath them).

 



Santa the Seafarer.

A flotilla approaches Poole Quay. It's lead by two lifeboats. They are draped with tinsel. This is no RNLI rescue "shout."



A crowd gathers on the quayside. A stout, white whiskered man, dressed in scarlet, steps ashore. A cry goes up from the crowd: "Santa has landed in Poole."



Up by The Fishermen's Dock, Santa's Helpers prepare to meet him. This is no chance landing. It has been planned in advance.



Santa steps ashore to meet the crowd. Young hands stretch out to touch his magic robes; make Christmas wishes. Santa smiles and guffaws throatily and shakes hands.



Meanwhile, the Helpers harness reindeer to a waiting sleigh. This is definitely a carefully choreographed visit. But why would Santa visit Poole at his busiest time of the year? Shouldn't he be making for his grotto at the North Pole?



Santa climbs aboard his sleigh and waves to the crowd.



An elf takes up the reins, and calls to the reindeer, in a strange tongue. The sleigh moves off with a jangling of festive bells.



The Dolphin Marching Band escort the sleigh, as it sets off north. Bound where I wonder?

 Can it be that Santa's Grotto lies, not at the North Pole; but to the North of Poole?


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Santa's Grotto, North Poole

VOYAGE to VICTORY

MEET MISSEE LEE

Missee Lee is a 25’ (British) Hunter. She was my first cruising boat. I berthed her at Woolverstone,  on the River Orwell, for four years.  When I set up home in Poole, I sailed her south during a spring cruise.

The cruise developed a “Victory” theme. We sailed up the Medway and found a berth at Victory Moorings – in the midst of the Historic Chatham Dockyard. In Portsmouth we tied up opposite HMS Victory herself.

Missee Lee’s connection with tall ships didn’t end with her arrival at her new berth in Poole. We spotted many a square rigged ship in the harbour itself, off St Alban’s head, or on passage from Poole

 

VICTORY MOORINGS, CHATHAM

HMS Gannet. Rapier bowed; Built for speed; Built for Gunboat diplomacy; Built to hold station at sea when larger craft were running for shelter.

Powered by sail and steam; Fleet footed whatever the weather. Framed in iron and planked in teak; A Victorian composite.

Her career started in the Pacific during the guano wars. She suffered the ignominy of conversion to a cadet accommodation ship in later years. Now she is restored to her former glory. Men are back in her tops. A crane sways up her yards.

 

HMS VICTORY, PORTSMOUTH

 

A bluff bowed “wooden wall,” from an age of floating castles. Planked with New Forest oak,two feet thick, at her waterline A pugnacious bulldog of the seas.

Victory's sides bristle with 106 cannon. The bulldog has bark and bite. One gun deck is set close above another. There is no height for a man to stand 'tween decks. 850 sailors packed this space; Living, eating, sleeping, fighting, dying in this dark, pitching, rolling, damp and airless world.

 In the battles of Ushant, Cape St Vincent and Trafalgar these gun decks were filled with smoke, men, cannon, flying shards of timber, a cacophony of sound, gore; the chaos of battle. A brutal, point blank, bludgeoning, eviscerating, ship to ship, hand to hand, crushing, warfare

Nelson, master tactician, commands from the Great Cabin. Compared to the ‘tween decks, an oasis of light and order. Brains over brawn; his slight figure leads the might of the battle fleet.

In his hour of victory, at Trafalgar, Nelson is felled by a musket ball. A sniper, perched high in the enemy rigging, fires the fatal shot. A poignant silver disk, let into the deck, marks the spot, once puddled with Nelson's life blood.

Nelson and Victory sail into British Folk and Naval history. Nelson to his rest in St Paul's Cathedral; Victory to her's in, Victory Dock, Portsmouth Naval Dockyard.

 

 

TALL SHIP SIGHTINGS, FROM POOLE

 

Under sail off St Albans Head

In Poole Harbour entrance

Alongside Poole Quay

Anchored off Dartmouth

POOLE DOLPHIN

A word of introduction

Goblin is an Elan 31. She was Stargazer’s predecessor. This is a picture of her in L’Aber Wrac’h. Here is the tale of her first meeting with a Dolphin.

A Dolphin’s Tale

 We’ve had a fast beat up from Poole, as the sun rises. An empty, pink tinged, horizon lies before us. We slice south, down the Swash channel.  Goblin’s stem parts a sea of the deepest blue; and sends a bow wave tumbling, musically, aft along her sides. We tack off Old Harry. I line Goblin’s forestay up on the hazy smudge of the Needles, the tide helping us eastward.

We’re off the Shingles Bank now. The sun is high in the sky. It has sucked the power out of the breeze.  Goblin rolls on the swell, barely making way under main and 110% jib. I go forward and hoist her 140% genoa, on the second luff track; before dropping the small jib. Goblin starts to gather way.

 

 I stand, loose kneed, as the foredeck rises and falls rhythmically beneath my spread feet; enjoying the sensation of Goblin coming alive again, under her enlarged rig. The cooling breeze, of her rising apparent wind, is welcome after the exertion of the sail change. I drink in the view forward. The white of the Needles, the red of the lighthouse, the bold striping of the Alum Bay cliffs, the emerald green heath above.

 

 

I feel watched. I am watched! A lone dolphin hovers, vertical in the water. He’s fully immersed, head tilted, right eye looking up at me. I move to the rail. He responds. The game is on. Away he darts, under the forefoot, behind the genoa. Hide and seek!

He reappears to port, to windward. This time he fully surfaces. Again he looks up, then he dives; disappears.

 

 

He resurfaces noisily astern and matches our slow pace alongside; dives again and rolls onto his back.

 

Beneath the bow his white form matches Goblin, move for move; mouth open – for all the world as if he’s laughing.  When I move from the bow, he moves too, and resurfaces alongside my new vantage point on the side deck.

 

The sea breeze starts to make; gusting and veering.  The genoa flogs, headed by the shift. I jump back into the cockpit, take Goblin off autopilot and nurse her back up to speed. When I look round, from the tiller, for my dolphin companion, the sea is empty. He’s tired of the game, gone off to find new playmates; left me energised and uplifted, feeling privileged to have been a part of his world for an enchanted hour.

 

The breeze settles into the South West and builds. It’ll be a fast reach down to Hurst, on the last of the flood. Goblin swoops and surfs exuberantly in the wind driven swell. Her soaring motion matches the soaring in my heart. Our encounter with the dolphin has cast a spell over both of us. That magic is too precious to break, by joining the weekend throngs, in Yarmouth or Beaulieu.

 

 I bring Goblin head to wind behind the spit at Keyhaven and drop anchor. The shingle glows a tawny gold in the setting sun, the lighthouse is a pristine white sentinel. My ears are filled with the slithering scrunch of waves on the bank; the buffeting of the breeze funneling above our protective rampart; and the cry of wild fowl, roosting, like us, for the night. Goblin lies snug in the lee of the bank, wings folded. My heart soars on.