Making a Splash

Our depth gauge has registered point four of a metre all morning. It clicks over to point five. The signal that the St Vaast harbour gate has opened, to admit the rising tide . Stargazer leaves her berth as soon as we have one point eight metres of water beneath the keel. Enough to safely clear the cill and the shoals in the approach channel.

We beat north, up the eastern shore of the Cotentin peninsula. Courtesy flags snapping lazily. Sails just filled, by a force three breeze from the north east.

We round the Pointe de Barfleur. The northernmost tip of the Cotentin. When a stronger wind than our's fights the tide, the Raz de Barfleur piles the waves high and churns these waters white. 

Today the breeze is light and blowing in the same direction as the powerful tide. This smooths the water for Stargazer, but reduces our apparent wind speed to five knots. I hoist the cruising chute to help us along. We amble west, taking in the view.

A familiar, tan sailed, silhouette gains on us from astern, over sun spangled water. Off the wind, Recipe's gaff rig is known for its ability to spread more canvas than Stargazer's bermudan rig. But surely our cruising chute cancels out that advantage? I check the set of our sails. Adjust lines, in search of more speed. A roar of laughter and a shout of  'I think that my my iron spinnaker works better than your pretty cloth one,' as Recipe passes us, confirms that her engine is in use.

The sea breeze fills in. It builds fast. I furl the chute, with Stargazer roaring along on autopilot . To recover it inboard, I lay out on the bowsprit and release its tack (foot). There is a splash and a snort a metre in front of my down turned face. A dolphin, and then another, and then three more, surface. Plunge to and fro, criss-crossing beneath the bow. They turn. Ride our bow wave, to either side of me, as I lie mesmerised out over Stargazer's bow. Acrobatic aquatic outriders sent to welcome us by neptune himself. In and out of the water, they swoop. Gleaming black backs reflecting in the sunlight. White bellies glowing from the green depths.

We run in past the Napoleonic fortifications, of Cherbourg's outer breakwater, revelling in the breeze and rejoicing from our encounter with the Dolphins. Uplifted.

I bring Stargazer alongside a vacant finger. Put her astern, with her mid-ship cleat opposite a suitable cleat on the pontoon, and drop neatly down - into the water, with a splash. I have misjudged the height of the finger. Instead of mooring Stargazer with a line, I have become a human mooring line. In an unthinking reflex, one hand firmly grasps Stargazer's cleat, the other grips the pontoon cleat. Helping hands appear. Stargazer is safely secured. I am plucked from the water - so rapidly that only my shorts and the hems of my shirt and jumper are wet . It is an effective way to make a large number of new friends quickly, but one which I would hesitate to recommend or repeat.