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.
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.
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.
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.
