Ad Lib 2

 Stargazer improvises her exit, before the impending month-long lock closure. Choosing the lesser of two evils. A light airs day; in preference to the thirty to forty knot blows otherwise on offer.

Darnet Fort slips slowly by. For we must fight the incoming tide, in order to have depth in the Copperas Channel. Now that neaps have passed unutilised, during a weekend of high winds and low temperatures.

Greylag and Oystercatchers serenade Stargazer from the steadily covering mud flats. As we hug the shallows to hasten our progress seaward.

A coaster rumbles by, in the main channel, making for the Chatham wharves.

Still close inshore, Stargazer turns east out of the Medway and into the Thames, at Garrison Point. Our speed rising as the foul tide slackens.

We pass the Reculver Towers, landmark for the Copperas Channel, with the tide fully turned beneath us. . . . .

. . . .and the North Foreland in sight. A creamy white wedge suspended between shades of silver and grey.

Stargazer reaps the reward, of her earlier tussle with the Medway Tide. The Thames ebb carrying her out to meet the Dover Strait’s south-going flow.

It sweeps us past the breakwaters of Ramsgate; the shingle shores and huddled houses of Deal. . . . 

. . . . around the South Foreland. Beneath the soaring salt stained White Cliffs of Dover.

Dover VTS radios Stargazer: "Keep on coming. Make your best speed. Come in astern of the ferry now departing." Here to wait, at our leisure, for a suitable weather window in which to proceed south.

Ad Lib 1

 

Stargazer's cruise preparations normally follow a structured stepwise process. When Stargazer and her skipper feel ready, we set sail.

The spring equinox arrives. A wash of green leaves clambers across bare brown branches. The clocks click forward into British Summer Time. Days lengthen, nights shorten, the air warms and the weather settles. An auspicious moment is sensed.

But this year the countdown clock is ticking. On April the seventh the lock, in Dockyard Basin No.1, closes until (at least) May. The final neap tide (required to exit the river via either the Copperas Channel or the Swin Spitway), before that shutdown, is on Friday the twenty seventh of March.

This year we must Ad Lib, if we are to make good our summer escape. Those remaining parts, yet to be delivered, must be diverted to ports that we later expect to pass through. Provisions come aboard; sails are bent on and systems are tested.  The early morning ritual, of scrutinising shifting forecasts in search of a suitable weather window, resumes. With a rush, the new cruising season is upon us.

Winter Work 10

 

Tick, tock, tick, tock goes the countdown (to cruise departure) clock. A slot appears in the crane lift schedule, for Wednesday 18th of March. The last available before the April 7th lock closure. We book it.

Stargazer's skipper's passport is returned, by the French Consulate, complete with his 2026 visa. Stargazer's propeller is ready to refit, delivery of a new engine start panel is due on Tuesday 17th. The whereabouts of our new deck filler valve are less precisely known. Whilst the misbehaving masthead anemometer can only be safely investigated once back afloat. Tick, tock, tick, tock. . . . .

Winter Work 9

 

Stargazer's skipper makes his annual London pilgrimage. To submit documention in support of his six month French Visa de Long Sejour application.

Stargazer is joined in the yard by yachting royalty. In the form of Sir Alec Rose's Lively Lady. ( See this post for his & her story)

Her long keel's towering draft requires deployment of the, rarely resorted to, 'Big Cradle.' Despite her svelte beam and diminutive (thirty six foot) length. 

 Work is crossed off Stargazer's spring fit out list: Engine service, Saildrive oil change, replace anodes, polish hull, two coats of antifoul. But unexpected jobs are added: Replace the engine starter panel, which fails whilst testing the motor post service; Replace the diesel tank deck filler valve, which has developed a slow weep over the winter; Repair or replace the anemometer cups, of the masthead wind instrument (only five years old), which have unaccountably seized since the autumn. Parts are sought. Meanwhile the countdown, to April's lock closure, ticks inexorably by.

Winter Work 8

 

Lifted, in all senses. Both Stargazer's hull and her skipper's heart. To mark this moment, sunshine breaks through the grey winter cloud canopy. Injecting colour, warmth and optimism.

An early start, and a cheeky enquiry, have brought Stargazer to the head of the haul out queue. Of boats whose spring crane bookings have been delayed by high winds, staff shortage or mechanical breakdown. Creating the usual lift out lottery. In which a persistent, yet cheerful, presence often provides the winning ticket.

A mostly mild off-season has proven fruitful for marine growth. But the Shogun 033 antifoul has kept molluscs at bay. And a verdant accumulation of slime is soon pressure washed clear.

There is added urgency to Stargazer's spring refit this year. We normally set sail, for the summer, in mid-April. Propelled south by the north-easterly winds which often prevail during the month. But this year the lock will be closed, for maintenance, throughout April.

Unless we can leave before Easter, Stargazer will be trapped in Dockyard Basin No.1 until May. By which time the wind is likely to have switched to the south west (headwind), passage ports will be busy and cruising time (and range) curtailed.

Before the annual flurry of scraping, painting, polishing and engine servicing begins, Stargazer and her skipper pause to savour the heady prospect of the summer ahead. Basking before the ornate Victorian brickwork of The Pump House. Which once housed the steam boilers, that operated this naval drydock in its shipbuilding heyday. And is now home to the burnished retorts of the Copper Rivet distillery.

Winter Work 7

 Two frozen tenders huddle together for warmth, at the head of Faversham Creek.

Solid fuel stoves warm the liveaboard boats on Standard Quay. Scenting the air, with the deep tarry tang of coal and salty driftwood topnotes, through makeshift stacks.

Beyond the bohemian boatyard, and its backdrop of neatly ordered apartments, a footpath leads onto the seawall. Shadowed white, where the midday sun has yet to fall and the night frost lingers.

Spoonbills saunter in the shallow remnants of the channel. Which is navigable for an hour or so, either side of high water, by mariners strong of nerve and shallow of draft.

Thus a favourite with Thames Barge skippers. Who, in summer, guide their historic craft up from the Swale, following the extravagant meanders. On a ‘touch and go’ basis.

After, perhaps, pausing in the Shipwright's Arms at Hollowshore. Sited where Oare Creek and Faversham Creek combine to empty seaward.

It is a tranquil spot in which to wait for a favourable tide. Set amid wind tousled rushes and rolling countryside. 

Quintessentially coastal Kent.

Winter Work 6

 

In a blaze of pied wingbeats, an Avocet alights. Casting its long shadow upon the glutinous bank of the rill. Which shelters the new arrival from a piercing arctic breeze. The bird surveys the shimmering waters, as they drain swiftly between its slender grey legs. Its scimitar beak and bold plumage mirrored sharp and clear.

As the tide recedes, so the land advances. Whilst the salt tolerant sedge stands its ground. Stoically watching this twice daily dance of the elements. A Redshank emerges from within intertwined stems. Enticed by a freshly formed pool.

Busily, the Redshank scurries about the mudflats. Like its surroundings, perpetually in motion. Like the Avocet, its eyes intent and beak poised, searching for the stirrings of a subsurface meal.

Teal too are down, this morning. They favour south facing slopes. Basking in the low winter sun, between languid dips.

The Avocet paces methodically seaward. Scything the silt, with its long black beak, sifting for a snack. Once beyond the lee of the earth ramparts, the keen wind shatters the stealthy hunter’s snowy reflection.

On the sea wall, red berried branches sway. Beyond them stretches the limitless horizon of the salt marsh. The air is laden with the cries of wildfowl and with saline scents. Which belong neither to shore nor sea, but are unique to these enigmatic wetlands.