An English Summer 5

 

Dungeness light comes abeam. Finally . I breath a sigh of relief. The tide is about to turn against us. And this is where it will run the hardest. We are through our tidal gate.

Stargazer is hard on the wind. Beating in twenty four knots, of apparent wind. Two reefs in the main, full jib. It is really a bit too much sail for the conditions. But, if I put a couple of rolls in the jib, we'll loose at least ten degrees of Stargazer's uncanny ability, to climb to windward, in a breeze. That ability is vital to our passage, today.

Through the surging whitecaps, a lifeboat approaches, on our port beam. Moving slowly, rolling heavily. As she passes astern, I see the reason. An empty inflatable tows behind. On deck, among the yellow oilskinned RNLI crew, stand a group of rescued migrants. Making for the fog bound shore on the horizon.

A heavy sea mist fell, as we slipped lines in Dover. We exited the harbour, on autopilot . iPad in one hand (Navionics charting running, with an AIS overlay, showing ship movements), vhf in the other (coordinating safe passage, with port control). For an hour or two, we sail south, in a sun filled bubble, surrounded by cotton wool walls. In a world of our own.

Occasionally, the morning sun lifts the white veil, to reveal glimpses of the towering chalk cliffs, as we beat down, toward Folkestone.

Sun and wind strengthen, in concert, through a roistering, rolling, wind-roaring day. We tack long, out into the southbound Channel shipping lane (spotting a gap in traffic on AIS), to clear the low, tawny, shingle snout of Dungeness. Stand deep in toward Rye, to escape the eastbound tide. Short tack, inshore, west, past Hastings.

Over the bow, the grey loom of Beachy Head slowly takes on form and colour, as we approach it more closely. (No forward facing photography today, solid water is flying) ! Its lee calms the wind and the sea. Enough for the autopilot to cope. Enough for me to brew a lunchtime pot of coffee and take a peanut butter sandwich, sat in the companionway, at five in the afternoon. Relaxing, in the evening sun, as we beat in toward the shelter of Sovereign Harbour, Eastbourne. Fifteen nautical miles ahead.