Seal Watching In Newtown Creek

A lone Harbour Seal, hauled out on the point, surveys the steely, pre-dawn stillness expectantly.




The sun languorously rises from its slumbers and peers, bleary-eyed, over the horizon...




...to suffuse Newtown Creek with a rose-pink glow.




The glow hardens to a white-gold spotlight, as the sun climbs higher. It picks out, raucous, Barnacle Geese, hunkered down in the sedge.




Black Headed gulls cackle and posture; like Mummers strutting a Village Green.




The tide glides in silently...




....covering the teeming banks and shoals.




A black hulled lugger spreads its tan wings, dragonfly-like, and ghosts, on a zephyr, between green fields.




Oyster Catchers take to the water, dagger bills poised.




Yesterday evening, Stargazer rode a fair tide and a, south easterly, jolie brise (F4), to bring us to this haven of birdsong and tranquility:




Past the recumbent, pyjama striped, cliffs of Colwell Bay, we flew;




Past the tall finger of Hurst Point, with the tide boiling under us;




Past, the bulldog squat, Fort Albert, and into the Solent.




We sound into Newton Creek,as the setting sun paints a crimson exclamation mark across our anchorage.
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Location:Isle of Wight

Studland In Summer

It's Friday evening. The sun is setting on a working week. It paints Old Harry a honeyed gold. Stargazer swings contentedly at anchor. I sit reflectively, eating my supper and drinking in the view.




A regal bird of passage alights for Saturday breakfast; before silently taking wing again, bound for some distant shore.




The morning sun glints off cobalt sea and silvered sand. Lone dog walkers are joined by gregarious sun bathers. Beach boats race, excitedly, around the stately anchored visitors, like so many playful children.




Sea mist swirls around Harry's shoulders. The Poole shore, The Island, and even the green dome of Ballard Down's summit, disappear from view.




We are left: sparkling summer butterflies; basking in the sunshine, within our silky white cocoon, of sea mist.
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Location:Studland Bay

Lulworth Celebration

 

The cliff, brindled Chartreus-green and a sun-drenched chalk-white, soars above Stargazer. At its head, twenty five knots of north-west breeze hums tunefully. At its foot, potting boats lounge at their moorings, reclining on a smooth, Bondi-blue, sea.

Stargazer is circled by sheltering rock walls. She lies back to her anchor, bows pointing west. A valley cuts its way, down from the grassy hillside, to a tawny, pebble beach. Cottages gaggle above the high water mark; their backs snuggled into the rolling hillside.

Through the rocky cleft, that is the entrance to Lulworth Cove, I glimpse the open sea. The gnarled finger of Portland Bill points south. Pointing like a lookout, high in the rigging of a tea clipper, making landfall.

 

A flick of spray rises, as the reef, guarding the entrance, turns the marching swell back seaward. Stargazer lies companionably alongside the potting boats, basking in the Friday afternoon sunshine.

I had received some good news on Thursday afternoon: Southampton University had offered me, one of only five, Teacher Training places. That offer came after a long winter of soul searching, about taking a new career direction; school classroom, voluntary work; and interviews. I awoke on Friday with the need to celebrate this moment. It felt like a turning point, for my quest to enjoy cruising and working in equal measure.

 

Friday morning found Stargazer and I off Anvil Point, in the mood for fun, with the tide about to turn west.  Stargazer was striding across the long swell with two reefs in the main, playfully flinging spray up from her bow, scenting freedom. We bore off, on a flying reach, to skirt the southern tip, of the St Albans Head overfalls;  Stargazer easing away her winter stiffness, with quiet creaks and groans, as she romped over the seas, sails bellied.

All thoughts of aches and pains are gone, once we harden up for Lulworth. Stargazer’s bow rises and falls rhythmically. The pitch of the wind song rises and falls with it, like a plainsong chant. We’re hard on the breeze now. The blue green brow of the sea is furrowed in confusion. The wind pulls it one way; the tide pushes it the other. White horses rear.  Stargazer carves through the confusion. Now and then, her bow slaps down an upstart sea, in a plume of windblown spray.

I furl the jib and reach into Lulworth Cove under main. There’s a parting gust from the wind and a last roll from the sea, as we thread the reef. Then the roar of wind and water is gone; replaced by gentle lapping, the echoing cry of gulls, and the splash of our anchor rattling down.

 

We sail on the east bound tide, on Saturday morning. The forecast is for the wind to go south west and to increase overnight. Already the swell is ignoring the efforts of the reef to keep it at bay. The moored fishing boats nod their agreement that it is time for us to leave.

The sun glints off angular, blocky, limestone topped with chromate gorse, as we sail homeward, close under the cliffs.

The white of wave crests echoes the white of tumbling chalk screes, plunging into teal blue water.

The relentless waves carve islands and bays from the rock. The tide sweeps Stargazer through the Jurassic sea scape. The wind builds to twenty eight knots, funnelling along the escarpment. Stargazer shoulders her way, toward Poole, under double reefed main and jib. The wind sings a wild, high, joyful song in her rigging. Spray from her shattered bow wave blows aft in a rainbow cloud.

I anchor for the night in Blood Alley. The wooded cliffs of Brownsea Island shelter us from today's gusting, north easterly, wind.  The wave break, of Stone Island, will shelters us from swell, if it does get up from the south west, later tonight. Beyond Stone Island, unfolds the endlessly enthralling spectacle, of the harbour entrance. I sit on deck eating lunch; drinking in the view; savouring our sail to Lulworth; warming myself in the sun; celebrating my good fortune; contemplating eight weeks of cruising to come, this July and August; dreaming of Irish landfalls.

 

 

First Sail Of The Season: 2013

The setting sun paints sea and sky a fire-glow orange. We're anchored in the lee of a wooded island - briefly rendered as a coal black silhouette, against the evening sky.




The lightest of breezes has bellied Stargazer's sails and brought her back to life, after her long winter of hibernation.




This morning we ghosted silently along sinuous channels. Birds called to us, from the islands. Stargazer replied with the silvery chuckle of her bow wave. Joyful to be roaming free once more.




A catamaran finds a snug anchorage and basks in the spring sunshine. Her crew search for shells alongside, on the beach.




The crew of a dayboat row off eagerly, to explore the uncovering side channels.




A fisherman, works the top of the main channel. We sail past and round up in "our" deep water pool. Down slides the mainsail and out rattles the anchor chain.
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Location:Bournemouth,United Kingdom

Poole Easter

25 knots of Easterly breeze gusts up Poole Harbour.




There's a Siberian chill to it, that sucks the warmth out of the sun.




Undaunted, the Easter Sunday race fleets skud, over opaline water, among white horses.




The futuristic form of the fast cat slices up harbour, towards The Quay.




The Quay quiets the wind. In its lee the restless water relaxes; lies still, warming itself in the sun.




The Twin Sails bridge lifts its silver wings...




...and Holes Bay beckons.




The Bay is home to the RNLI...




...to watchful cormorants...




...and to Stargazer...




...freshly arrived, at her new yard.




Up river, wooded banks ward off the chill breeze.




Shuttered beach huts look on;




Kite surfers gambol, like spring lambs;




Pilot Cutters nod at anchor, like wise old seadogs;




And committed Racers, make for the sea.
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Location:Woodlands Avenue,Bournemouth,United Kingdom