Ad Lib 173

 

Stargazer seizes her opportunity: Twelve to fifteen knots of easterly breeze and a tide which turns shortly after dawn. Departing Ramsgate with the wind farm support boats.

We gybe off the Longnose beacon. Which marks the foundations upon which the cliffs of the North Foreland once stood. Before the sea drove them into retreat.

Into the London River (Thames) we sweep. Wind and tide unified, in their mission to bear us homeward in memorable style.

Merchantmen, in the Margate Roads anchorage, loom out of an autumnal mist. Which survives throughout the day. Despite the best endeavours of a polo-shirt-and-shorts sun. A reminder that October is almost upon us. The autumn equinox a week gone.

Surf breaks, on the Margate Hook sands, a boat length to starboard. But Stargazer sails on, untroubled, in deep water. As she lines up on the Copperas Channel. Her skipper straining to pick out the Reculver Towers daymark.

Stargazer skims across the watershed with a metre to spare beneath her keel. Deep water, by East Coast standards! Trusting to her waypoints. The physical marks revealing themselves, theatrically, at the last moment.

Lunch is taken on the wing. As Stargazer makes her stately way west, along the Four Fathoms Channel. Whitstable, the Swale and the Isle of Sheppey are lost to view, behind a gauzy grey veil, down to port.

We gybe into the Medway Channel as a dredger emerges. Hotly pursued by a pilot boat.

Happy Bunny speeds by, having left Ramsgate five hours after Stargazer. They have returned from St Peter Port (where we met in August) via the Normandy coast.

Inside Garrison point, duty tugs stand by below the Sheerness port control tower. 

Dwarfed by their leviathan charges.

With almost two hours of fair tide still to run, Stargazer ambles up the river Medway. Enjoying the transition from its industrial mouth, to the wild open horizons of the saltings.

Then, to the welcoming wooded banks of Upnor Reach.

At the head of which lies Basin No.1, of the former Chatham Naval Dockyard. Which Stargazer calls home.

Ad Lib 172

 

Two bikini clad mannequins, wearing sensible sun hats, wave from the balcony of the Royal Temple Yacht Club. 

Which is set above the ornate red brick arches of Ramsgate's signature seafront viaduct. That carries a road up the cliff face, at a gradient suitable for wheeled traffic.

Beneath its arches, bohemian boutique businesses thrive: Photographers, cafes and emporia of all kinds.

Beside the carriageway, lies a feast of Victorian architectural achievement. Overflowing with intricate detail. (Note Queen Victoria's head, sculpted on the gable)

Laid out before this distinguished assembly, is the close packed and characterful inner harbour. With as eclectic a collection of boats as is to be found anywhere.

Including a Heavenly Twins catamaran with its sailing rig substituted by a substantial solar array. Whose purpose (I am guessing) is to supply energy to electric motors. As a means of propulsion.

Across the basin is the former home of the Harbour Watch. Stone built to reflect the port's Royal status. Its imposing facade and clock tower currently undergoing sympathetic restoration.

Ad Lib 171

By mid afternoon Stargazer has secured, beneath the lighthouse, in Ramsgate harbour. After a short but sweet passage. Which positions her to play the tides of the London River.

 "Follow that ferry." Is the gist of Dover VTS's instruction, as we depart. Caveated by a caution to stay well north, in order to clear a rapidly approaching inbound vessel.

As soon as Stargazer has complied, her skipper switches off the engine. Safe in the knowledge that the tide has turned north-going and the breeze, although light, is forecast to fill in from the south.

The face of the South Foreland is sheer. Making it safe to stand close in. With due allowance for fallen boulders on the sea bed.

St Margarets at Cliffe slides by, at five knots. Its houses nestled in a break in the glowing white chalk buttress. 

The tide is running hard now. As eager as Stargazer to turn the corner at Hope Point.

From where an offing is required. Families out for a Sunday stroll skim stones, from Deal's pebble beach. Which shelves gently out toward the Goodwin Sands.

The Ramsgate race fleet beat by. Fighting two or three knots of tide. Stargazer lopes northward making an effortless six knots, with its assistance.

Stepping off the tidal escalator, into a warm weekend welcome from Ramsgate Royal Harbour.

Ad Lib 170

 

High on the cliff top, Dover Castle stands four square. The keep ringed by two curtain walls, bristling with turrets and towers. More porcupine than British bulldog.

A light north wind fans the harbour below. A headwind for Stargazer. 

Keeping her company, in port, is the fifty foot catamaran, Oracle. Last seen sheltering in St Peter Port (see Ad Lib 144). Her three year circumnavigation fully completed.

A lazy, late summer, feel pervades the weekend air. With musicians playing on the promenade.

Whilst the prospect of a fair wind and tide, for tomorrow, beckon.

Ad Lib 169

 

On the horizon, Cap Gris Nez glints white, capped with an undulating garnish of black. Close enough that Stargazer's skipper's phone 'pings' in his pocket. A "Welcome to France" message lighting up the screen.

As he stands atop a mirror image chalk cliff. Cut through rolling green downland by a torrent of glacial meltwater. Which swept away the Weald-Artois limestone ridge.That had hitherto connected the two shores. Replacing them with the Dover Strait.

There are two options for the ascent. A slow steady climb along a graded path. Or, Stargazer's skipper's preferred option, a short sharp series of steps. With long level stretches between them. From which to enjoy the view and slow the heart rate.

The way lined with luxuriant growths of berries ripening in the autumn sunshine.

The phone 'pings' once more. Anja and Bethold (see Ad Lib 145) are approaching the Ile d'Brehat. They would like an informed opinion on their intended mooring spot. Circled on a sketch map.

Stargazer recommends burrowing deeper between the crags of granit rose. For greater shelter and maximum scenic amenity, in this special spot.

Several flights of steps later, a photograph and a 'thank-you' arrive. 

Anja and Bethold have secured in the picturesque, and wholly natural, harbour of Port Clos. The 'best' of the suggested options. Albeit one which Stargazer has never been able to take herself. Due to fierce competition for the buoys, in season.

Ad Lib 168

 A smooth sea licks at Dover's shingle foreshore. Retreating with a characteristic seething scrunch. 

The waters stirred more by ferry movements than by wind action.

At the head of the beach, an elegantly turned out crescent. With cross Channel views. And sheltered seating upon which to take the sun.

Behind it, "The Wellington" (Dock).

Recently dredged and renovated. A process which has dislodged an accumulation of quietly decaying 'projects.' Raising the tone, whilst leaving much space available along the new pontoons.

Beyond it, beats the tarmac artery of the town. A dual carriageway which throbs in time to ferry arrivals and departures. With a regular thirty minute pulse.

Ad Lib 167

 

A mackerel dawn, flaming fish scales in the sky, tells of a fair southerly breeze for the day. Before a change in direction, to the east, from tomorrow.

Stargazer leaves Sovereign harbour on the morning tide. For, by rounding Dungeness today, the expected run of easterlies will become favourable for her homeward journey.

The Pevensey Bay shoreline emerges from night's shadow. Gradually gaining colour and form.

Stargazer's skipper now able to see sufficiently to set about accurately adjusting sail trim.

Stargazer canters over a low swell. Fiery mauves and oranges give way to crystal blue, in the palette of the sky.

Soon, we are upon the mighty shingle spur of Dungeness. Which juts far out into the deep waters of the English Channel. Sending its tidal stream spinning off in whorls and eddies. 

Hastening Stargazer's progress. The low shores of Rye Bay are swiftly replaced with towering chalk cliffs.

Ahead lies the South Foreland. With the port of Dover crouching, dwarfed, at its feet. Ferries bustle to and fro, under the laconic direction of Dover VTS (Vessel Traffic Service). Who must co ordinate the multitude of commercial and leisure movements.

A Stargazer sized gap is found. We sweep in through the western entrance. Diving for the opening, before an eager tide can sweep us past. As if alighting from a moving train (in the days before driver controlled door locks).