Early Bird 5

 

Stargazer lies snugly tucked beneath Woolverstone's wooded bluff.

Upriver, storm clouds are gathering over the Orwell bridge. Massing from the north. 

Soon they bring snow. The herald of a two day gale, spawned in Siberia.

Yesterday we rode the front of the low. Taking advantage of the easterly slant, which it had brought to the morning breeze. Close reaching fast, past North Foreland, in twenty knots apparent.

Forging our way across the shipping lanes of the London River. Two reefs in the main. 

Swooping through the Fisherman's Gat, across the Long Sand. The outer of the three shoals, which splay like fingers, spanning the Thames Estuary. 

Stargazer's sheets are eased. Her reefs shaken out. Making seven, tidally assisted, knots over the ground.

By midday we are emerging into the Black Deep. The channel running between the Long Sand and Sunk Sand. A heavily laden container ship steams north. Stargazer hugs the shoals, as she passes. The breeze is easing. We lay the Sunk Head in one tack. Beating in twelve knots apparent, beneath sunny skies. I sup hot soup, straight from the pan, propped in the companionway.

Stargazer skims the northern tip of the Sunk Sand, followed by that of the Gunfleet Sand (the landward two of the three shoal 'fingers'). Broad reaching shoreward on a zephyr. I moult my thermal layers, one by one. 

We gybe into the Medusa Channel. Reaching in from The Naze to the shingle of the Harwich foreshore.

The first of the flood is at the river mouth to greet us. Carrying Stargazer through the wind shadow of the Felixstowe dockside. A squall, beneath an opaque wall of rain, hastens us upstream.

Early Bird sailors must take the spring weather as it comes. We soon savour our reward. As Stargazer secures alongside, safely in ahead of the gale, a splash of late evening sunshine bathes us in golden light.

Early Bird 4

A tune floats along the street. Spreading smiles, among we onlookers, as its chords reach us. A pavement piano improvisation is underway. With both sound and camera crew to capture it. There is a Sinclair C5 prominently parked at the kerb. Its significance an engaging enigma.

Ramsgate is going about its day, in its own colourful way.

At the head of the harbour, the ship yard slipway reaches out into still waters.

On it, last winter, the Medway Queen was refurbished (story here). Today, a centenarian barge-yacht, the Marinus, is hauled up on the ways, under repair. Her lines evocative of the Medusa, the "baddies' boat" from Riddle of the Sands.

Echoing hammer blows ring out, as orange jacketed shipwrights set to work on her plates.

Pilot boats rumble to and from the harbour mouth. Shepherding cargo ships, bound for Felixstowe, Rotterdam or the open Atlantic, through the North Sea shoals. 

Helter skelter streets scramble skyward. Borne on ornate red brick arches. Home to a menagerie of restaurants, sail makers and antiques emporia. Even a garret radio station.

Beyond the sheltering harbour walls, waves make their landfall, on the beach, with a satisfied purr. Tomorrow the tides turn fair for a passage north.

Early Bird 3

 

Stargazer warms herself in the evening sun. Resting replete on her favoured berth, beneath the stonework of Ramsgate's harbour wall. 

This morning we exchanged yesterday's light airs and clear skies for a sailor's breeze. Thundering down the north Kent shore. Following the twists and turns of the 'overland passage,' tack on tack. Two reefs in her main.

Skeins of misty drizzle dull the visibility and chill the bone. The Reculver Towers, ghostly grey, mark the pinch point, of the Copperas Channel. Three tacks and we are through. Into deeper waters. Heading for North Foreland and the English Channel.

Stargazer's bow lifts, as she feels the long swell beneath her. Relieved of the need to monitor the depth gauge, I gratefully drop below, to heat a tin of rice pudding. An inner hot water bottle, my night watch staple. Gratefully woolfed down, with a large dollop of strawberry jam. It’s warmth radiating within in me.

We lay the Foreland in one last tack, lifted by the wind shear created by the cliff. And break out into a spring day. I ease Stargazer's sheets and bear off for Ramsgate harbour. Stargazer lopes along easily as I rig fenders and radio the marina and port control, ready for our arrival.

There are no other boats about (to impede), so we sail into the heart of the harbour. Slowing as its sheltering walls still the breeze. Taking in the sights. The ecclectic mix of craft: sharp nosed flybridge pleasure palaces, bluff bowed liveaboard wide beam barges and an historic tug.

Above us, the grand facades of the seaside terraces and the tall square-set church tower clamber up the hillside. A sounding board for the echoing calls of the gulls which circle above the fishing fleet.

Early Bird 2

 

The morning tide turns before dawn, in the stillness of the night. 

Today we are  "sittin' on the dock of bay, watchin' the tide roll away" (in the words of Otis Redding). Re rigging the topping lift, which wasn't quite to my liking on yesterday's sail downriver; and persuading the new wind instrument to show me apparent, as well as true, windspeed.

Skylarks, high above the salt marsh, pour cascades of silvery notes onto a shoreline alive with, intently feeding, wading birds: Boldly marked Avocet pace the shallows.

Godwit too, still in their winter plumage. Their jaunty red summer feathers still to brighten their breasts.

Steadily the warmth of sun disperses a fine morning mist. The wind turbines begin to rotate in a breeze which is broadly out of the north east. Sometimes a little more northerly. Sometimes a little more easterly. Affected, no doubt by the serpentine banks of the Medway.

Tomorrow, the first day of British Summer Time, the sun should be up and the wind filling in, by the time that the tide turns. We will decide whether to head north, for the Orwell, or east, to Ramsgate once Stargazer is off Garrison Point. According to which course the wind direction, out in the London River, favours.

Early Bird 1

 

The spicy fragrance, of toasted hot cross buns, fills my nostrils. The song, of myriad marsh birds, fills my ears. A peace settles over me.

The whispering north easterly breeze flutters the flag at Stargazer's cross trees.

It spills over the top of the mud walls, which surround us, leaving the water barely ruffled. The cockpit warm and still.

We are at an anchor in the tranquility of, what we call, Godwit Creek. Poised, at the mouth of the Medway, to catch the ebb tide out of the London River.

This morning, once the sea fog lifted, we beat down river. Tweaking our new mainsail. Checking rig tensions. Learning to use the new instrument displays. Enjoying the magic of being under sail once more. A shakedown cruise ahead of us. 

Making Ready, No More

Stargazer's Vectran mainsail arrived this morning, borne by Alan and Sarah of Wilkinson Sails. (Full story behind Stargazer's sail choice here)

It is a perfect day to ascend the mast, to pin the rig; and to bend on the new sail. Sunny and tranquil.

We waste no time in trying it for size.

Even in today's light zephyr, it sets with a purposeful curve. Promising powerful performance.

Wilkinson have done us proud.

 

The day passes quickly. The sail yo-yoing up and down the mast, as I find the best settings for reef lines and halyards. Marking their positions, with coloured whippings, for ease of operation.

Now, after five months of Making Ready, we are ready. All that is needed is a fair breeze, which we have; and a fair tide, which we will have very shortly. Our season is begun!

Making Ready 10

 

The creak of a mooring line. The tap of a halyard. The lap of water. Stargazer has come back to life, after her winter ashore. Her mast is re-stepped, her new instruments are commissioned, the gearbox oil topped off and the genoa bent on.

Below decks a 'teenager's bedroom' turmoil reigns. Necessitated by the requirement to simultaneously access engine, transducers and mast-wiring junction box during the first moments of relaunch.

Soon order is restored. I feel an inner contentment descend.

We have been fortunate. A weekend of calm sunny weather, perfect for antifouling, preceded our March the first lift slot . Which Wayne-the-crane held for us, notwithstanding the backlog of storm postponements.

Now we await the arrival of our new mainsail and the return of of our re-rigged boom.

 The days lengthen. The sun strengthens. Provisions come aboard. We prepare to sail south.

To the east, "The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned." (The Second Coming, W B Yeats, 1921).

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