The Exotic Landfalls of Missee Lee

Missee Lee Free as a Bird in Braye

Missee Lee gave me my first taste of cruising under sail; of what is to be as free as a bird. We first met in 1999. We day sailed returning to our berth every night to begin with. Gradually though we began to spread our wings. We crossed a mental and physical ocean together in 2002, the year we first crossed the Channel, and proudly flew our pristine French courtesy flag from the starboard spreader. Stargazer flies that same, now gently faded and slightly frayed flag, when in French waters to this day. By 2004 we “discovered” an exotic archipelago to the west of Cherbourg after riding the Alderney Race down to Guernsey. The thrill of that first landfall under sail at a new unvisited port cannot be repeated. It’s what drives me to cruise on, to sail round the next headland.

Missee Lee Reflecting on the Three Day Rythm in St Peter Port

 There seems to be a three day rhythm built into my cruising psyche. The first day is discovery day: the port is wondrous, unique and enticing. It’s a day of tidying the boat after the rigours of her passage and then, when all is trim, a day of exploration ashore that spills over into day two. By day three local advice is being sought, charts and forecasts gathered, plans laid for a new landfall. As day four dawns we’ll be slipping out to sea, revelling in the sense of freedom that casting off the shore lines brings.

The Minarets of St Peter Port, Guernsey

It was that way when Missee Lee and I “discovered” the Channel Islands: Discovery Day in Guernsey saw me spellbound at the exotic minarets on the skyline. I scaled the steep narrow streets to be nearer them, arrived back aboard hot and footsore. Day two I re-provisioned and relaxed in the cockpit; allowed the water bourn bustle of Victoria Marina and the busy shore side traffic on the Esplanade compensate for my inactivity. By day three my tide tables and charts were out planning a passage plan for Alderney.

Yacht & Gull head West through Tropical Swinge

It may be rose tinted hindsight but I remember a  calm, roll free night tucked in under the forbidding masonry of Braye Harbour’s breakwater. I’ve frequently be grateful for its protection on later visits. It’s never again been roll free even though its always been more pleasant than what’s lain beyond! Day one had added spice: the dinghy had to be disinterred from the cockpit locker and we rowed ashore: arrived with a sense of occasion. Ashore I walked the island. A relentlessly insistent, restless wind, tugged at my shirt and hair as I walked. Despite the small size of the island, or maybe because of it, I sensed the wildness and freedom of the sea here on land. I found an island of contrasts. I paid my respects to the straight backed Quenard lighthouse standing tirelessly to attention above the bay. I marvelled at the violence and energy as the maelstrom of the Alderney Race raked the brown rock of the island with white claws: raked it until the very veins and sinews of the island stood out in ridges and furrows as they met the sea. I walked east and watched over a foreground of tropical silver sand and azure sea as a yacht and a gull tasted freedom together heading west. It’s time for Missee Lee and I to move on.

The Passage Home to Rediscovery

We crossed the Channel back to Studland in a gentle force three under cruising chute. We savoured the trip determined not to spoil it by motoring even as night fell and the wind eased further. By then we’d cleared the shipping lanes. The night was clear. The moon rose astern of us casting long shadows. I looked up, sought out the familiar shape of the Plough in the glinting canopy above us, traced it down and located Polaris to guide us north. The tide was making as the familiar wink of Anvil Point Lighthouse relieved Polaris of his duty and guides us in the last ten miles towards Poole. We slip into Studland and anchor in the Yards behind Old Harry’s shadowy bulk just after midnight – 18 hours out from Alderney. I slept late and rose at midday to rediscover the beauty of Studland’s clear blue water, gleaming white cliffs, verdant green hills and tranquil soundscape of muted birdsong and lapping water. I rowed ashore to sit on the beach. Maybe new landfalls aren’t the only source of cruising pleasure after all. There is a thrill to be had in rediscovery.