An English Summer 7

 

The first whisper, of the morning breeze, ruffles a cobalt sea. A golden dawn illuminates the stately pleasure dome, on Eastbourne's pier. Stargazer's sails belly and fill . We are underway.

On our starboard bow, Beachy Head is mantled in a fine sea mist . We steal out, in its lee, with the fishing fleet.

The west wind fills in and the visibility lifts, once we clear its tip. We beat to and fro, the wind and tide against us, gradually clawing our way, in eight tacks, past the candy striped lighthouse.

We dive deep north, out of the adverse current, almost paralleling the shore. The wind favouring us, with a long and sustained lift.

Close beneath the jutting molars, of the wave riven cliffs, we sail.

Down to Newhaven.

Stargazer makes a short board to seaward. The midday sun now at its zenith.

Before standing in, once more, for a long, elliptical, tide assisted tack, along the shore, past Brighton. A dense offshore fog bank, moves in, toward us, carried on the freshening sea breeze. (The first whisps are enveloping the most seaward boat, to the left of the picture, here).

We are engulfed. Making six to seven knots over the ground in sixteen to eighteen knots of breeze. Short tacking, through the Looe Channel, off Selsey Bill. The Mixon reef to our north. Boulder Bank to our South. Aiming for the, one hundred metre wide, gap between them. I have both plotter and iPad running. Seeking out the Boulder (starboard hand mark) and Street (port hand mark) buoys, which mark the passage. We are close, very close, but I can see neither. Four to five boat lengths off, Boulder appears. Street never did.

(If the eagle eyed among you are wondering, why Stargazer is passing a starboard hand mark to port, the answer is that, in the Looe Channel, the direction of buoyage is eastbound, toward the London River. Boulder is therefore passed to port and Street to starboard, when bound west))

I ease Stargazer's sheets and bear off, for the Chichester Bar. A Halo of sun appears, through the damp white shroud, draped over us. In a moment, the fog is gone. Our myopic, monochrome world, of the past five hours, replaced by the rich colours and textures, of sunset; by long vistas and open horizons.

The silvery chime, of Stargazer's bow wave and the song of birds, settling for the evening, mingle, in the stillness of nightfall. Stargazer's sails catch the last zephyrs of the breeze, as we ride the flood, up the Emsworth Channel.