Dandelion 13

 

Stargazer's speed (left hand screen, bottom number) climbs steadily, as the strength of the west-going tide builds.

Her cockpit lit by the glow of the auto-pilot screen, from below. . . . .

. . . . .and a gibbous moon, above. The lights of Dieppe dwindling off Stargazer's port quarter.

The velvet black, of the night sky, steadily brightens. Its festoons of stars no longer visible. An orange glow appears on the eastern horizon. 

Day breaks. In a molten glory. Over a sea ruffled by ten to twelve knots of south westerly breeze.

Bathing Stargazer's cockpit in a warming glow. As we close reach, along the Cote d'Albatre. 

Daring, now that we have light by which to dodge the pot buoys, to stand further in. The better to enjoy the play, of the golden light of dawn, over richly textured rock.

Steadily the sun climbs. Intensifying the blues of sea and sky.

   

Stargazer skims the tip of the chalk bluff, which guards Fecamp's harbour entrance. Coming up, hard on the wind, as the line of the coast begins to drop away, south and west, toward Cap d'Antifer.

A cathedral in rock, with its chalk stacks, caves. . . .

. . . .and flying butresses. Set aglow, in the pristine light of a new day.

Through a sun soaked morning, and into a summer's afternoon, Stargazer tacks south. Her skipper peeling off thermal layers. Until changing into sandals, shorts and a polo shirt.

Steadily, Stargazer draws nearer to the deep water channel. Marked by its procession of ocean roaming container ships. With more, anchored off, to seaward, awaiting their turn, in the port.

Stargazer hugs the shore, as she beats into Le Havre. Over the shallows. Cheating the (now northeast-going) tide. To slip in through the breakwater.

Dandelion 12

 

A welter, of salt spray, sweeps all bar the hardiest of anglers, from the Dieppe harbour mole. As thirty knots, of southwesterly wind, whips the sea into a seething confusion.

Beneath the chapel on the chalk bluff.

The sun beams from an incongruously dark sky. As last night's showers flee before the wind.

I take the opportunity to wash my warm sailing layers. In the hope that the breeze will back southerly, and drop by ten to fifteen knots, tomorrow, as forecast.

Stargazer's only companion, on the visitors' pontoons, a sturdy displacement motor yacht, out of Basel, on the Swiss Rhine. Also bound southwest.

Dandelion 11

 In the still of a, single sweater (no coat), morning, the sun gently steams beads of dew, from Stargazer's deck.

 

I take a pot of coffee, stood in her hatchway. Drinking in the Gallic magnificence, of the Dieppe waterfront. Before fetching fresh breakfast croissant, from Masson's, in the market square.

Suitably fortified, I stroll around the harbour, to the gare maritime. Where my passport is stamped. Legalising Stargazer's arrival in France.

Yesterday, Stargazer took the 05.30 lock, favoured by the fishing fleet, out of Eastbourne. Setting sail, into a wan dawn, on the promise of seventeen knots of easterly breeze, in the Channel.

Stargazer shaves the Sovereign shoal. Steering one five zero degrees. Reaching, under full sail, at six and a half knots. Conditions milder, but more moist, than those of the past several days.

I put up Stargazer's spray hood. Leaving the wet work, of steering, to the auto pilot. Whilst I keep watch, from the companionway. Venturing out to trim sails. As the extra speed, leant us by the strength of the east going tide, pulls our apparent wind forward. Tucking in a reef, at twenty knots.

Shipping is well spaced, in the lanes. Delfin generously makes a clear ten degree alteration, four miles out, to show that she will pass Stargazer astern. Even though she was 'stand on' vessel. Perhaps anticipating that she is in the wind's eye. Making it difficult for Stargazer to dip her stern. As strictly speaking we should.

Stargazer sweeps on, down the rhumb line. One five zero. Her compass course steady, but her ground track elliptical. As the spring tide sets her east. Before, at twenty nautical miles out, bringing her back westerly.

At fifteen miles off, Stargazer threads the Dieppe trawler fleet. As they circle and flit. In Pursuit of unseen shoals.

At five miles, from the harbour entrance, our fair breeze deserts us. Completely. Blanketed by the tall cliffs of the 'Cote d'Albatre.' I rig lines and fenders, as Stargazer motors landward.

The colours of the cliffs steadily reveal themselves, beyond a gently heaving, pewter sea. Verdant green valleys incise sheer white chalk, veined with browns and ochres.

 

 

Dandelion 10

 

Daryl and Shirley (Stargazer’s former Chatham berth-neighbours) WhatsApp, from Granada. As Shirley puts the finishing touches, to Dream Catcher’s spring refit, Daryl films a guided tour, of the upgrades. Both are itching to cast off, for a summer in the Balearics. After overwintering in Gibraltar.

Stargazer has her hood up, her skipper swaddled in two sweaters, enjoying less balmy conditions. On her favoured berth, behind the Eastbourne Lifeboat. Our post relaunch ‘shakedown' successfully completed, we are itching to cross to French shores. Forecasts remain subject to short notice change, whilst the British spring struggles to find its rhthym. An early morning alarm is set, should opportunity offer.

Dandelion 9

 

Stargazer lopes effortlessly down Channel. Lifting to the swell. The dawn sun at her back, twelve knots of northerly breeze on her beam.

In the distance, off the starboard bow, a blocky mirage shimmers. Buildings seemingly rise from the sea. Like the re-emergence of a brutalist, concrete, Atlantis.

Ten miles later, the shingle spit, on which the Dungeness nuclear power stations are built, reveals itself. Glowing tawny brown.

A full moon lit Stargazer's way out of Dover. Speeding her toward the shimmering lights of Folkestone, with a sluicing spring tide.

The first rays, of daybreak, glint off the Folkestone waterfront, as Stargazer sweeps west.

Whilst the South Foreland, with Dover at its foot, dwindles astern.

Away to port, the loom of the French shore: Cap Gris Nez. Three 'red eye' passenger ferries in the offing.

Dungeness rounded, Stargazer comes up on the wind. Throwing a foaming bow wave. Scenting that the freedom, of open Atlantic waters, lies not far ahead

We thread the labyrynth, of crab pots, laid in the shoals of the Hastings shore. As the tide begins to turn against us. Cheating the full force of its flow.

Stargazer thunders into Sovereign Harbour, Eastbourne, on a flying fetch.

Dandelion 8

 

My 02.00 alarm call sounds. The forecast looks manageable: northerly twenty four knots, dropping to seventeen later. A fair tide awaits. I open the hatch. Bullets, of horizontal rain, ambush me from the darkness. As a squall sends Stargazer reeling, on her berth.

I return to the warmth of my bunk. Reawakening at a more civilised hour. To take the air, atop the white cliffs, on, what has transformed into, a brisk spring day. (Now that the tide has turned).

Out in the Channel, freighters and ferries duck and weave. As they hurry about their business.

I picnic on the wooded slopes, beneath the castle. Warmed by the sun. Wondering what passage-making possibilities tomorrow may bring.

Dandelion 7

 A whickering roar draws my eyes skyward. The triumphant twelve cylinder song, of a Rolls-Royce Merlin aero engine. The silhouette is unmistakable: elliptical wings and bubble cockpit. It is a lone, Battle of Britain, Spitfire, "One of. . . . (Churchill's). . . .few." 

It circles in a patch of blue sky. Torn through the racing grey cumulo-cumulus clouds. Which boil above Dover Castle, like the smoke from a rolling naval broadside. Swept to seaward on the north wind.

The depth, of those dark clouds, creates fierce gusts. Fickle forecasts change at each bulletin. Although a consensus is building, around a lull midweek. Meanwhile, our dependable friend, the moon, guarantees fair tides over the coming seven days. Stargazer's next passage-making window may be forming. . . . .

Dandelion 6

 

A sun, as sharp as the north wind is keen, lights lowering black skies. Beneath them, Saturday morning sailors re-colonise the Wellington Dock. Which had been cleared of its boats, and pontoons, for an over-winter dredge.

 Whilst a ceaseless stream of ferries process back and forth, from Calais. Funnelling through the Eastern Entrance, of the outer harbour. From which Cap Gris Nez is clearly visible, so cleansed is the atmosphere.

Out in the Channel, it is blowing twenty five knots. Expected to rise to thirty overnight. In Dover marina, conditions are perfect to dry Stargazer's washing. Whilst we swap sailor's tales, with crews on passage and weekending berth holders alike.

The soft scrunch, of sea-scend on shingle foreshore drifts soporifically across the breakwater. As forecast models are compared, and tidal strategies are debated, over mugs of steaming coffee.