MAY DAY in OSBORNE BAY

Stargazer is hard on the wind. Bound east across Poole Bay, with the race fleet. A May Day holiday invitingly before us.

The sluicing Solent tide gulps us down the Needles Channel. Past its jutting chalk molars and squat candy striped lighthouse.

Royalist thunders unseen out of a hazy Totland Bay - as if springing from the mists of time. Colours hoisted at her peak; all plain sail set; a swashbuckling white bone in her teeth; her gun ports awash.

Stargazer too leans to the breeze and puts her shoulder down. The tide tugs at her helm as it rockets us through Hurst Narrows and .....

.....on into the smooth waters of The Solent. Past Yarmouth and Lymington and down to Cowes, on The Island shore.

A world girdling, master of the seas tanker quails at the tight swing into Southampton Water. A nanny tug sees her predicament, deftly manhandles her round and sends her on her way, with a reassuring pat on the rump.

Diamonds of sunlight dance ahead of us on the water. We ghost past the Royal Yacht Squadron start line, on a falling breeze and the last of the fair tide.

We tip toe round Old Castle Point, into Osborne Bay and anchor amid the green jig saw of its tree lined shore.....

......beneath the weathered stone keep....

......and beside the bleached skeleton of a storm slain woodland giant.

Astern, Portsmouth's Spinnaker Tower bellies tautly on the skyline - bound east, towards the dawn

Above Calshot Spit, an ochre evening sun blossoms a sea borne spinnaker into a bright flower, beneath Fawley's forest of bare headed baobab trunks.

Easter

A pilot cutter carves a foaming white wake across an ink blue sea, inbound at the harbour mouth.




Stagazer swoops by, sheets eased, the ebb under her, nodding approvingly at the lift of the swell beneath her keel - back afloat and putting to sea.




Bright white smiles crack weathered brown faces. Easter sunlight paints our wind bellied sails a honey gold. The breeze sings in our rigging. We wave as we cross, sharing the joy of the moment.




Out in the Swash, the ebb slows. The wind backs and eases. A fisherman wrestles his catch, as we glide by.




The tide turns off Handfast. We ride it gently back to Poole and slip in....




...under South Haven.





Behind Stone Island, the Condor fast cat muscles it's way through the bank holiday...




....boating melee,in the harbour entrance, with five deep throated blasts of its horn...




...and barrels on past Brownsea Castle - decks lined with spectating passengers.




A keen breeze fills in from the North East and freshens. We slip in under the lee of Brownsea Island.




The sheltered pool in Blood Alley beckons and the ululating cries of peacocks hang hauntingly in the still air.




We drop anchor. Soon the spiced scent of toasting Hot Crossed buns mingles evocatively with the tropical birdsong.

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The Yard

Stargazer's mast lances a cobalt sky. Spring sunbeams cascade brightly off the curve of her pushpit and....




....rejuvenate the faded orange of her outboard motor cover. She stands, like a spider crab, out of her element on the tawny gravel of the hard, supported by six improbably spindly brown legs.




Out in the creek garrulous black headed gulls command the deck of a sea blackened hulk.




Ashore, I busy myself.....




.....shipping our new tiller.




Around me the saltings are alive with the bustle of refitting.




The diesel roar of the crane rises and falls - grunting with the exertion of launching and landing boats, like a cantankerous weight lifter.




My arms windmill to burnish Stargazer's topsides and the reflection of a Nauticat is slowly revealed from beneath the rime.




Silence envelops the saltings as the gulls, the weight lifter and I together fall still and drink in their timeless tranquility.

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Old Harry

Old Harry stands tall and proud in the crisp spring sunlight.




Stargazer lifts joyously over the swell, leaning to a jolie brise (F4). Our winter, confined to the berth, a forgotten memory bobbing in her boiling wake.




The breeze fills in to 25 knots off Swanage, sending white horses scampering across the bay.




I tuck in two reefs under the lee of Anvil Point.




Astern the chain ferry bustles to and fro - arms stretched before it like a busy water beetle.




Clear of Anvil Point, Stargazer swoops over a heaving seascape studded with whitecaps and shrouded by wind driven spray. St Albans Head crouches on the horizon, hazed by the salt laden air.




The Channel ferry rumbles by, inbound from Cherbourg. A reminder for me to turn Stargazer's bows homeward.




We beat in towards the familiar tawny, green capped headland, hard on the wind.




Anvil light welcomes us back. Stargazer surfs past it's feet riding wind driven waves.




We round Old Harry and short tack deep into Studland Bay.




Under the tall wooded cliffs, the roar of the wind and the rush of the water quietens.




Off the beach I bring Stargazer head to wind. She glides to a halt. I drop her main and let go the anchor. Our season has begun.

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Location:Ferry Road,,United Kingdom

On The Beach

Stargazer rests on her berth patiently. Her lines are doubled and her jib is stowed below. She's unscathed by last night's storm.




Ashore force ten winds clawed demonically at the house - shrieking and howling.




The car has been dealt a glancing blow by a nocturnal air bourn fence panel.




Today the skies have cleared and the barometer has risen. The Spring sun beams benevolently down on Poole from a cobalt sky.




It warms ranks of storm shuttered beach huts. They are hunkered down shoulder to shoulder, as if wary of another onslaught by the capricious elements.





The swell rolls in to burst into playful shards of glittering white spindrift on the gnarled groynes - protectors of the golden beach.




Bournemouth pier stands foursquare and stoic above the marching wave crests...




...,whilst slick skinned seal black surfers ride the break, at its feet.




As dusk falls, three new charts lie unfolded on Stargazer's saloon table. I pore over them...




.....and hear the lilting Celtic call of the crimson Welsh dragon summoning us for a summer cruise.

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