From my bunk, I can hear the gentle rattle, of the flag halyards against the spreaders. The wind is from aft, this morning. We have our west wind!
Stargazer sweeps out of the Crouch, over a silver sea. Broad reaching, with the ebb under her. Making eight knots over the ground . Full main and genoa drawing powerfully.
We catch the turn of the tide, at the Whitaker, and close reach south. Double reefed now, in our favourite passage making, eighteen to twenty knots of breeze. Down to the historic Nore anchorage. A favourite naval mustering point, to wait for crew, a fair wind or the turn of the tide, in the era of sail. The Heyday of the Chatham dockyards. Still used today, by coasters, waiting to unload their wares on the London wharves.
It is midday now. The sun busily burning off the haze. Ships churn industriously in and out of the London River, along the deep water channel. We pick a gap, and cross.
Astern, Searcher, the Border Force cutter appears, suddenly, out of the mist. Travelling at speed, on a mission.
The low cliffs of the Kent shore are visible ahead of us now.
Stargazer slips into the Medway. I shake the reefs out, as the wind drops. . . . .
. . . . . stilled by the rolling countryside, which surrounds us.
Stargazer locks into the familiar marina and secures to her berth.
We have made good time, with the help of the west wind and two fair tides. Forty seven miles in seven hours. An average of six point seven knots.
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