"Essential Work"

Monday's dawn heralds a welcome escape from a house bound weekend. In a topsy turvy world. The comfortable illusion, that mankind is in omnipotent control of the destiny of our planet, is shattered with sobering force. I drive to work along near deserted roads. The morning rush hour swept away, along with so many other familiar routines. I am grateful to be classed as an 'Essential Worker,' free to venture from the confines of my home daily. 

Bountiful morning sunshine back-lights luxuriant spring growth . Mother nature's rhythm unaffected by the virus which is so disrupting the complex constructs of the man made world - ruthlessly revealing their ephemeral vulnerability.

It is a time of transition in both natural and man-made realms. I turn into Pett Lane. Let the Land Rover pick its way slowly over the rutted and pitted surface .Threading our way between fresh green saplings and gnarled ancient boles. Between new and old.

Pheasants strut boldly across a meadow. The red masked cock scans the horizon, alert for danger. His demurely plumed mate forages, head down, amid the lush rippling grasses.

Bluebells dance daintily in the dappled sunlight - which filters through tangled and twined hedgerow boughs.

Neatly ordered rows of Bramley Apple trees, sheltering behind cropped conifer wind breaks, announce my arrival at the farm. 

The reassurance of a familiar routine is reinforced by the sight of clouds of  apple blossom beginning to grace the most sheltered orchards - as spring has been presaged through the ages . Spreading like cats-paws of sea breeze across a still morning sea.

The factory team are already in, processing fresh fruit fillings to grace the dinner tables (and lift the spirits) of locked down families across the land. Business continues, with adaptions to accommodate the ever evolving thinking on Social Distancing. A local curtain maker, short of work,  has run us up some face masks.

Warm Easter weather has clothed pink buds with delicate white apple blossom three or four weeks before usual. An eventuality bringing both the welcome prospect of an early harvest; and the threat of a frost, literally, nipping our crop in the bud. Yin and Yang. Nature will have her way - man will have no say.

 It has been a wet winter of mire. Tractors unable to tread the land. We take advantage, of the newly firm dry ground, to put the wooden apple boxes out between the rows. In autumn we will pick our, hoped for, harvest into them. Right now we need the crates off our yard, to release space for the first of the Kentish strawberry harvest . We plan to fill our summer making jam, whilst our orchards ripen.

A solitary worker bee begins the task of pollination, delicately picking her way across the Bramley blossom, in its roseate perfection. Pausing from her labour to bask in the morning sun. The first step towards an autumn crop. Soon she will be joined by others from her hive. Nature running her course, her inexorable rhythm unbroken. 

Simple Pleasures

China blue skies above deserted streets. Britain - the world - in lockdown. An Easter like no other. I count my blessings and take delight in life's simple pleasures. Birdsong through my open window. The kiss of the sun, and caress of the breeze, as I sit in the garden. My daily 'permitted exercise' walk round St Mary's Island:

Out of the house and along the boardwalk to Gillingham Docks. The Arco fleet are still operating - ships coming and going daily, in an endless variety. Crew isolated aboard their roving metal cocoons. Invisible below decks.

Up over the manicured grass, and neatly trimmed hedgerows, of The Bund - toward the comfortably sagging stonework of the old slipway. Sparrows and tits flit and trill among dense green foliage. Thrushes and blackbirds peck busily at the fresh mown sward. 

I take in the view downriver, beyond the point, to seaward. A faint mistiness hangs in the air, giving the scene a dreamlike quality. Warm spring breeze over winter chilled sea. The tide laps sonorously on the masonry of the slip. An evocative waft of seaweed, seashore, fills my nostrils - part sharp ozone, part rich ripe vegetation. A calm sense of endless possibility washes over me, like a balm .

The sun is hot and the air still as I walk back upriver, along the sea wall. I'm in the lee of the island now and pause to take off my fleece, draping it over my shoulders. Luxuriating in the warmth of the afternoon.

Trees are awakening. Bursting into verdant life, behind tethered boats.

I have arrived at the drydock, my walk almost over. Reflections shimmer on the sculpted granite work . Blocks hewn, exquisitely trimmed, and laid in 1875 - to service the ships of Queen Victoria's navy. To protect her Empire from its foes.

Now the basin is home to Chatham Marina. Its gates are barred - locked down, to protect from the deadly spread of the Coronavirus. Today's foe.

Ducks doze, oblivious, on deserted pontoons.

I glimpse Stargazer, waiting patiently on her berth. And return to the house. I'm counting my blessings, reflecting on the simple pleasures - and looking forward to a day when we may put to sea once more. 

Equinox

The morning after the vernal equinox . First day of spring. A crisp clean sunlight bathes Upnor village .The lee of St Mary's Island shelters trim, high gabled, cottages from an easterly wind as keen as it is brisk.

The boatyard blossoms into life, redolent with the familiar aroma of polish, varnish and antifouling paint. Trees remain bare and leafless, whilst boats bloom.

Stargazer's topsides are soon polished to a sparkle. Two unctuous coats of Tiger Xtra beautify her bottom in a day.

The customary rites of spring.

The rituals of the season's start, enacted in their time honoured way. A reassuring normality.

Beyond the lock gates, the world has become anything but normal and reassuring.

The spectre of Coronavirus stalks the globe. A news story, from a faraway land, turned personal and threatening. Cosy routines swept away. Replaced by the unknown. The uncertain. The dangerous.

Swift negotiations see Stargazer safely relaunched. A bevy of boats join us - mindful of the possibility of yard operations being suspended amid, government ordered, business shutdowns. As the pandemic spreads, so the list of affected trades grows daily. Perish the thought that Stargazer be left trapped ashore.

Out in Upnor Reach (to the windward side of St Mary's Island), 30 knots of easterly breeze playfully heaps the ebb into white crests. Misty Rider, sails already bent on, seizes the opportunity to blow away her winter cobwebs. 

The same breeze sets Stargazer's ensign cracking above me, like a bullwhip, whilst I scrub the yard dirt from her decks. Her sails remain stowed below, freshly valeted. Rigging them will have to wait for a calmer day.

Wait is all we can do to discover what cruising, if any, will be possible in 2020. For now, UK ports remain open and sailing is unrestricted. Long may that remain the case! But where is left to go?

France, Spain and Portugal have shut down domestic leisure sailing and closed their marinas to boats arriving from seaward. Its the same story in Belgium, The Netherlands, Germany and (certainly the Eastern European) Baltic states. A sign of things to come in the UK? 

Will mainland European ports reopen? Will UK ports close? How will the situation change before our, intended, departure date in May? The only knowns are unknowns. All we can do is to ready ourselves to seize whatever sailing opportunities present themselves - and hope to craft a cruise from them. 

Stormy Weather

Ciara, Dennis and Jorge flounce impishly through February's skies, in rapid succession. Moored boats skitter and shy in alarm at their passing.

Troops of white horses run wild across the grey green greasy (Limpopo-esque) waters of Upnor Reach.

Three named storms in as many weekends. A nonchalantly mild mannered winter ending in a pent up crescendo of high winds and flooding.

Aboard Stargazer, I pore over charts and tidal atlases. I plot intricate paths north, through the shoals and sands of the Waddenzee. Rain drums its impatient fingers on the deck, willing this winter to end. Gusts of wind rock our warm cabin and sing in the rigging.

My thoughts wander south, to the cobalt blue Atlantic waters and craggy granite cliffs of the Bay of Biscay - where Stargazer last sailed, on our summer long 'Living the Dream Cruise,' in 2012. 

Now, on the first weekend in March, Stargazer queues patiently at the crane dock . Waiting for a break in the weather, so that she may be be lifted ashore for her annual refit.

A refit to prepare her for our summer cruise. Destination(s) under active review. 

Anticipation

In Upnor Reach, the tide ebbs fast - leaving only an unctuous east coast ooze to prop craft against the sea wall.

On this chill January day, naked trees shiver above the castle.

The winter solstice is past, a new decade has begun. On a weathered red brick arch, above the naval dockyard's gate, industrious shafts of sunlight burnish the coat of arms. As Nelson's sailors once polished brass aboard the Victory.

 Days are growing longer. Green shoots herald the first stirrings of spring's awakening - and the sailing season to come.

Across the rooftops...

.... the spire of Rochester's ancient cathedral, and turrets of its castle, stand four square and proud. Rising serenely above the humdrum waves of ephemeral riverside development lapping at their time worn feet. Rolling Kentish hillside looks on impassively, stalwart and changeless.

Long shadows play across the rills and gullies of the still uncovering river ooze. Sun beams stipple bright silvers, ochres, blues and golds across a canvas of grey and brown.

It is low water now. The Command House quay high and dry.

Down river, boats slumber at their winter moorings. Bare masts front bare trees. Both await the signal, from spring's warm breath, to blossom once again.

Stargazer rests too. Snug in the navy's former dry dock. Aboard, the heater is running. Charts are spread across the rich mahogany of her saloon table. Plans for our 2020 cruises are being hatched. Tales, last heard on our Texel cruise, have whet our appetite to explore further. To delve among the riddling sands, beckoning islands and labyrinthine channels of the Friesland. An excited anticipation mounts within me.