The Snowman's Tale

Frosty smiles broadly. This is his favourite time of the year. As he strides out, stick arms spread, to do the Christmas shopping, his coal black eyes glow with excitement.

For several weeks, the decorations have been up, on Chatham High Street ;

 

and holly berries have brightened the hedgerows ;

But the weather has been unseasonably mild. Rendering it risky, for a snowman to venture out.

Lest he might melt, in the midday sun.

Now, a blanket of snow shrouds Kent. By day, temperatures barely rise above freezing. By night, they plunge far below. The perfect conditions for Frosty's festive preparations.

The waters, of Dockyard Basin number One, are skinned with ice. Dulling the surface. Save for a glistening leat, incised by the launch, during its daily patrol of the marina.

Aboard Stargazer, I discover a half bucket of (fresh) water in the bilge. Fearing ice damaged plumbing, despite the placement of precautionary heaters, I raise the sole boards, to seek out its source. Then set about emptying the cockpit locker's contents into the saloon.

The number one suspect is the calorifier (hot water tank). Which is located beneath the cockpit locker and therefore only indirectly warmed by the cabin heaters. Usually I would run its built in immersion heater, during a cold snap. But failed to do so on the first night of this freeze.

After two days of trials, to reproduce the leak, I trace it to the domestic water pump, which is located in the engine bay. Right next to one of the heaters. Age, rather than cold, appears to be the villain, in this Christmas Whodunnit.

Slowly the snow thaws, in the grounds of the former Royal Naval College (reborn as the University of Greenwich).

Frosty, back from the shops, waits pensively beside his front gate. Hoping for a Happy Christmas.

Hibernation

 

Molten sunlight spills across the rain streaked sky, like a lava flow. Silhouetting the stiletto spire, of Rochester's mediaeval cathedral, and the square-set Norman keep of its castle. Setting the ripples, of the receding tide, and the mudflats which it reveals, aglow. 

Mother Nature has chosen November, in which to redress the balance, for a summer of unprecedented sunshine. Abundant autumn rainfall spurs a bounteous profusion of Shaggy Parasol mushrooms. They glow like pale moons, in the half light of shortening days, beneath the bramble thickets, which line Faversham Creek.

Beyond them, momentary shafts of sun, refugees from summer-past, flit across waterlogged pastures. Illuminating golden leaves and indigo skies.

Aboard Stargazer, the electronics upgrade, begun last winter, is completed. The B&G Zeus plotter (obtained, on my behalf, at the Southampton Boat Show) is installed. Routes and waypoints, from Stargazer's twelve years of wandering, stored in the Navionics App on my iPad, transfer into it, via a built in Wi-Fi. Along with daily over-the-air chart corrections. 

An aerospace derived, nine axis, motion sensor replaces the autopilot's simple gyro-compass.  It is able to read pitch, roll and yaw, as well as heading. The better to cope with Atlantic swells. It is larger, as well as more capable, than the original unit. But is eventually persuaded into the confines of Stargazer's bilge.

It is located directly over the (lead, therefore non-magnetic) keel, at Stargazer's centre of rotation. The optimum location.

The control head neatly fits the hole, left by the removal of its predecessor, at the helm station.

December is soon upon us. Bringing crisp clear days, to the Medway.

The arrival of an arctic air mass, banishes the banks of billowing, rain bearing clouds, from  Dockyard Basin number One. 

Under blue skies, on a still winter's day, I stow Stargazer's sails, for their annual valet. Shedding wooly hat and down jacket as the work, and strength of the sun warm me. Cruising memories course pleasurably through my mind.

For Stargazer and I this sailing season is over. Stargazer is snugged down, to hibernate over Christmas. We both eagerly wait, to discover what fresh adventures the New Year will bring.

Up Channel 6

 

Stargazer treads a cinnabar dawn. Tiptoeing across seas lightly ruffled by a somnolent breeze.

Headed for the North Foreland. Its chalk cliffs are blanketing the wind. But its Longnose reef compensates, by diverting the last of the southbound tide to seaward. 

Allowing Stargazer to inch her way along, tight inshore. Close beneath the lighthouse.

Into the mouth of the London river. Where the breeze clears.

In Margate road, anchored merchantmen slowly swing, to face the new stream. For the tide is on the turn.

Those outermost are now facing east. The flood has begun. Granting Stargazer a fair tide, for the Medway. 

Stargazer stands, stately as a Spanish treasure galleon, into the Thames estuary. In ten knots of breeze with a making tide beneath her.

Shaping a course for the ancient stone towers, at Reculver. Which stand proud above the rolling, green, tree studded countryside. Daymarks for the entrance to the 'overland route,' across the shoals of the north Kent shore.

I break out the last of the 'Channel' fruit cake, Bart at the helm. Eating whilst watching the depth guage. As the tide adds, not only speed, but much needed depth, beneath Stargazer's keel.

To seaward, the wind turbines, off Whitstable, spin ever faster. Beyond, a stream of shipping steams purposefully along the Knock John Channel.

Down to leeward, the Darjeeling tinged, waters of the Swale. Rich but ‘thin.’ With the low cliffs, of the Isle of Sheppey, rising from them. Crumbly as my lunchtime fruitcake.

Stargazer has the spiky skyline clutter, of Sheerness docks, in her sights now. Gusts roll across Sheppey. We hang on to full sail, making better than seven knots. Waiting to see how the wind settles, once around Garrison Point.

I tuck a reef in, as Stargazer thunders up the Medway. The wind funneling, at twenty one knots, between its banks. She tacks her way upriver, in long, tide assisted boards. Sweeping past two, motoring, Westerly's in the Darnet narrows. Their crews turn, to wave Stargazer a hearty welcome home.

Stargazer is in from the sea. Seven months after she left, for her shake down cruise. Six, since departing for Spanish shores. On her grandest adventure yet.

Up Channel 5

 

Stargazer is surveyed by the vigilant eyes of the port control tower.

Perched upon the seawall. With its panoramic view.

Looking out over the beach. Where expectant metal-detectorists prospect and dogs are briskly exercised.

With chalk cliffs, stretching away north. To the Foreland. Lapped by the clear blue seas of the Channel.

Within the harbour walls, craft of all kinds cluster, in a companionable melee. Making preparation for winter, under a warm sun.

Pilot boats wait, ready for the call to put to sea. To guide a deep laden merchant-man, into the wharves of the London River, or on toward Felixstowe's container port.

Tomorrow's forecast speaks of a building southerly breeze. Suitable to carry Stargazer to the Medway. A passage for which the tides also serve.

Up Channel 4

 

Stargazer scuds east. Over a heaped indigo sea. The moon just set. The hiss of her bow wave, and the spatter of spray sweeping the deck, the only sounds. Save for the swish of the waves and the song of the wind.

The orange glow, on the horizon, pinkens and then yellows ; the night-blue, of water and sky lighten. Definition and detail sharpen around us. As the sun peers, above the world's rim.

Stargazer gleefully throws rose tinted showers of spray skyward. Away to leeward, the sandstone bluff, beneath which Hastings nestles. A static silhouette, sandwiched between chimeral sea and sky.

Long shadows flick across its weather-riven face, to congregate in the woodland of its hanging valley. 

With one final defiant headland, the land falls away. To the low gravel shores of Rye Bay.

The distant Dungeness power station and its lines of pylons, marching inland, the only features visible, above the undulating wave caps.

Two tides meet. Seas boil and break. The wind picks up to twenty two knots. Dungeness is a desolate uneasy spot. Even on a sunny autumn day.

Stargazer shoulders her way through the confusion. Riding the rapidly flowing spring tide. Bearing off for Dover, and the lee of Dungeness spit, as soon as she is able.

The waters soon calm, as Stargazer streaks by Folkestone. Making seven knots over the ground.

Bart helms. Whilst I brew coffee and eat 'doorstep' peanut butter sandwiches, in the companionway. Watching a Royal Navy frigate, holding station. Always in the eye of the sun, always exactly bow on to Stargazer. Until it steams off west. Seemingly satisfied.

I radio Dover Port Control, for permission to cross their twin entrances. As the ferries bustle to and fro beneath the castle, atop Vera Lynn's white cliffs.

On, to South Foreland, Stargazer sweeps. Tight in beneath the sheer chalk face. Making for the Gull stream (channel through the Goodwin Sands). On a dead run. The wind, both true and apparent, dropping. Three knots of tide sustaining our speed.

Stargazer arrives in Ramsgate, in time to take afternoon tea. Eaten in shorts and polo shirt, under Indian Summer conditions. With my old friend, Roger. Stargazer in her favourite spot, beneath the round granite lighthouse.