Spring Chicken 4

 

The departing Storm Noah spins the roulette wheel, of wind directions. It settles in the north. Giving us a three tack beat out of the anchorage and into the London River. A dawn cloudburst is quickly dispelled by a wan sun, peering from steely skies.

Our choice of destinations is made. The Orwell lies to the north. In the eye of the wind. Inaccesible.

Stargazer sails east, toward the North Foreland. The day brightening as we go. The breeze up and down between sixteen and twenty knots, as the last remaining black clouds rumble off. Huffing and puffing, like scolded schoolchildren.

Leaving ideal sailing conditions, for Stargazer's shakedown cruise. Spray flying. Reaching fast, sails bellied, wind-song playing in the rigging. 

The new autopilot is a revelation. Its nine axis motion sensor enabling it to make small, timely, corrections, like an experienced helmsman. Where its predecessor, guided by only a fluxgate compass, was wont to saw at the tiller, with the heavy hand of a novice.

Romping up from the Foreland comes a big sister Rassy 42. Joyful waves are exchanged, as we flash past one another. Rejoicing to be at sea, this fine spring day.

It is a dead run, down from the Foreland. Over the blue waters of the Channel. I roll the jib, now blanketed by the main, and begin to rig lines and fenders.

Despite the reduced rig, Stargazer sweeps past the lighthouse, making seven knots over the ground. Urged on by wind and tide. I begin to peel layers of jackets, fleeces and balaclavas (yes, plural!), as the sun strengthens.

By the time Stargazer slips into her favoured berth, I am down to my Guernsey sweater and cargo trousers. Enjoying, what feels like, a perfect summer's Saturday afternoon in Ramsgate.