Ad Lib 49

 Bordeaux Harbour, in the Baliwick of Guernsey, surveys Herm, across the Little Russel channel.

The walls are jutting igneous injections of hard granite. Moulded from molten magma, millennia ago. Impervious since, to the steady onslaught of winter seas.

Multiple surrounding reefs are home to lobsters and crabs. The harbour to a small fleet of their hunters.

Rock strewn approaches are guarded, from historic marauders, by Vale Castle. Whilst the hillside, which it tops, wards off prevailing winds, from the south and west.

Whitewashed cottages and luxuriant foliage bask in the resultant shelter. Sea bathers stroll, from their hearths, across the soft sands of the beach.

Here, the still waters, in which shoal draft boats study their shimmering reflections, are swiftly sun-warmed. For they do not run deep. 

Ad Lib 48

 

Flags ripple and billow, tides ebb and flow, friends come and go.

Sue is on the helm of Dehler 37 Illywhacker, as usual. Once of Guernsey, these days of Gosport. Usually in St Peter Port, when Stargazer is passing through. Often as not with a similar passage plan.

This time, Illywhacker, returning from Treguier, is in more of a hurry than Stargazer. Whose skipper is resolved, in the interests of inner pleasure, not to force the tempo set by wind and tide. 

Mindful of Mike Richie's metaphor (along the lines of): Conducting a satisfying passage under sail is similar to fashioning a wooden chair (he, an accomplished wood carver). With many disparate elements to resolve into a, simultaneously aesthetically pleasing and functional, whole. (Alas, I cannot locate the original quote)

Mike, the owner of Blondie Haslar's pioneering Jester. Completing thirteen solo Atlantic crossings aboard the junk rigged, fully decked, Folkboat. Rejoicing in precision navigation by sextant, sun and star. A skill acquired during wartime service (which included a hand in the planning of the D Day Landings). Later put to civilian use, as a founding member of the Royal Institute of Navigation. Mike's full story on the  Junk Rig Association Hall of Fame.

Picture Credits

Jester on passage courtesy of Rick Tomlinson

Ad Lib 47

 

Perhaps Goblin and Jim Brading (see Ad Lib 46) have Gallic alter egos? If so, they slipped silently into St Peter Port on the evening tide.

What is for certain is that Stargazer has finally caught up with Mark and Jude, on Anam Cara. A month after we had first expected to.

We had planned to meet in Dieppe. Until Stargazer was forced to turn back, whilst on passage, to remedy her autopilot fault. (See Ad Lib 17&18). Causing us to miss our carefully selected weather window. Consequently deciding that our quickest recourse was to put in westing along the English shore. As gales and calms permitted.

Anam Cara is making for the Med. Still unsure of how best to tackle over-wintering en route (or upon arrival, if the season settles enough for Mark and Jude to make sufficient progress). 

Topics with which Stargazer's old friends, Daryl and Shirley, aboard Dream Catcher, are fully familiar. Now five years into their sun soaked pelagic odyssey.

Ad Lib 46

 Stargazer slips inside the shelter of the St Peter Port inner harbour. As soon as the cill opens. And before the arrival of a big southerly blow. Which sends flags cracking and small craft seeking safe haven.

Air temperatures and spirits rise. Black rain squalls scamper across silver lined skies. Whilst Guernsey's laid back life plays out on the quayside. The southerlies are expected to linger for a week. Moderating as it progresses.

Southerlies are headwinds, for the Breizh (Breton) shore. However, this is currently less of an impediment, to Stargazer's progress, than the sleepy state of her skipper. Who is emulating Jim Brading, face down in his dinner, at the slightest opportunity.

Jim Brading is skipper of Goblin (Arthur Ransome's, real life gaff, cutter Nancy Blackett). 

He arrives exhausted, at Alma Cottage in Pin Mill (Arthur Ransome's true home; two miles from Woolverstone, where Nancy Blackett is now berthed), after an exhilarating solo overnight passage from Dover. In Stargazer's (and before her, Hunter Ranger 245 Missee Lee's and Elan 31 Goblin's) well travelled bookshelf copy of We Didn't Mean To Go To Sea.

PS: Have 'tidied up' Ad Lib 45, the account of Stargazer's crossing, which was written in a sleep-deprived state. It should read more coherently now!

Picture Credits

Jim Brading words and illustration courtesy of Arthur Ransome

We Didn't Mean To Go To Sea jacket picture courtesy of  Arthur Ransome / Puffin Books.

Ad Lib 45

 

The day builds 'poco a poco' to a crashing overnight crescendo:

Stargazer bids a fond farewell to Old Harry. Poole's famous chalk stack, at the tip of Ballard Down. 

Which separates Studland and Swanage bays. Stargazer's skipper opts to take his afternoon siesta anchored off the beach in the latter. The most seaward of the pair. 

We leave at twenty hundred. So as to have a couple of hours of daylight, to settle into a passage making rhythm.

For, during the day, each successive forecast update adds a knot or two to the wind strength. We will be sailing in twenty five knots of breeze. A full force six on the Beaufort scale. It will also be well forward of the beam. Meaning that Stargazer's motion will further increase the Apparent Wind strength.

Stargazer's skipper is therefore keen to experiment with a part furled jib. It balances the helm, with a double reefed main set, and reduces heel. But turns out to mean, as suspected, that Stargazer cannot sail close enough to the wind for tonight's purpose. (See short leg, at the start of our passage, where we are heading for Cherbourg. Aided and abetted by the last of the east going tide). The turn of the tide fails to fully remedy the problem. However, unfurling the full jib, in combination with a west going tide, has the desired, dramatic, effect on both speed and angle. (See long diagonal leg, Poole to Casquets.) Albeit a night of hand steering is required. The combination of a lively seastate and spirited sailplan, overwhelming the autopilot.

The spring tide is at its height. Carrying Stargazer three to four nautical miles west per hour. The requirement is to race across, before it turns east. Then slip into Guernsey by the 'back door.' Around the Casquets. Where, because of the circular flow around the Channel Islands, the tide is slack becoming favourable. Whereas, ten miles away, on the other side of Alderney, the Race is cascading northward at seven knots or more.

(See Ad Lib 40 for chart marked up with positions of places mentioned)

It is a challenge which Stargazer rises to. Once around the Casquets, the seas smooth to a low regular swell, and the wind drops to a pleasant twelve knots. All that is needed for Stargazer to reach a respectable five knots. The autopilot takes back the con. Allowing Stargazer's skipper the luxury of a fried eggs and mushrooms breakfast in the cockpit. Watching the scenery slip by.

On the horizon, a puff of white cumulus cloud marks the spot where Guernsey lies unseen. By the time that coffee is poured, three grey smudges are visible: The cliffs of Guernsey, to the right; those of Herm and Jethou, garlanded with tinsel sands, to the left; and, between them, the Brehon tower, silhouetted. Signposting the Little Russel Channel.

Our leading mark for St Peter Port. Where the tide is falling fast. Leaving the inner harbour cill high and dry. Stargazer secures, on the waiting pontoon, until the arrival of the evening flood.

Picture Credits

Stargazer AIS track screenshot courtesy of MarineTraffic (aka kpler)

Ad Lib 44

 The same waters, yesterday strafed by windsurfers, are today the preserve of perambulating paddle boarders.

The is breeze light. From the north, in line with predictions.

It is expected to veer westerly on Saturday. Building to passage making proportions by evening.

Stargazer's skipper plans to review forecasts over a leisurely breakfast. Hoping to slip down harbour, on the ebb, and anchor off Swanage for a siesta. Prior to an overnight appointment with the Alderney Race (Raz Blanchard).

Ad Lib 43

Sudden thundery downdrafts tax a windsurfer's reflexes, off Hamworthy Park. The board skipping, across eerily lit waters, on the ragged edge of control.

He sheets in, powering on, in level flight once more. As hailstones rattle down, like staccato bursts of machine gun fire.

White horses fill the harbour channel. Whilst tethered yachts tug restively at their moorings, off the beaches of Brownsea Island.

Stargazer's skipper retires below decks, for some passage planning. Optimistic that the still plunging barometer, racing clouds and intervening spells of hot sunshine, herald the arrival of a southbound weather window (see Ad Lib 42).

On the Quay, the police launch reels. Caught by a hammer blow gust, as she swings alongside.

A swift application of power, from the helm, together helping hands, from the shore, combine to salvage the situation.