Ad Lib 16

 This afternoon's low tide is the same height as it will be at six o'clock (an hour after low water) tomorrow morning. I take the opportunity to reconnoitre the Eastbourne entrance. Where the fishermen appear to be favouring the green cans.

As does a local Beneteau of (potentially, dependant upon keel option) similar draft to Stargazer. A change to previous years. When it has generally paid to hug the reds, for best depth.

Today's southerly is forecast to veer south westerly by morning. Blowing sixteen to twenty knots, somewhat forward of the beam, until we come under the lee of Normandy’s Côte d’Albâtre.

Ad Lib 15

 

Running boots pound the wooden pontoon. Basso profundo engines rumble. Twin propellers thresh. “Lines clear.” The Eastbourne lifeboat swiftly transits the lock. Dimly registered by Stargazer's skipper, deep asleep in his bunk.

By mid morning, two of the crew return to shampoo the salt from Esme Anderson, after her night at sea. In search of a missing person off Beachy Head. Later reported safe and sound, ashore all the while. Allowing the search party to return to their berth at three in the morning.

After the shampoo, a fresh water rinse.

Under the beady eye of a basking Cormorant. Enjoying the warmth of the midday sun whilst digesting a writhing fish dinner.

Light polishing ensues. The results so gratifying that a selfie is called for. Whilst, aboard Stargazer, washing wafts in a light breeze. Strung from a line stretched above her foredeck.

Ad Lib 14

 

"What a diff 'rence a day makes," goes the song. The morning is still and glassy. With just a suspicion of a breeze; blowing directly from Dieppe, sixty nautical miles to the south east.

The smooth seastate has the powerboats scrambling for the lock. Singular, for the next several days, because one of the pair is undergoing annual maintenance. A factor to consider for Stargazer's departure.

As is the arrival of spring tides. Low water will coincide with Stargazer's preferred dawn departure slot. By the time that the wind swings south westerly (or, if our luck is in, fully westerly) and attains passage making strength, later in the week.

Winter storms seem, judging from our soundings on the way in, to have created a bar at the mouth of the entrance channel. 'Soon' it will be dredged clear. But, for now, it forms another element to contemplate in our planning jigsaw puzzle.

Ad Lib 13

 

"You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows." Is Bob Dylan's view. And he has a point, when forty knot gusts swoop upon the Eastbourne shore from the south.

A direction from which it is open. The chalk bulwark of Beachy Head unable to offer a sheltering lee, without a more westerly slant.

Dieppe lies more or less directly in the eye of today’s wind. As does the shortest route home for Kindred Spirit. At least until she rounds Beachy Head.

Where she can hoist sail for a blistering reach to Brighton. Whose entrance is likely to be on the lively side.

Although Meteo Consult suggests that, by the time she reaches it, the breeze may have abated to a more manageable twenty knots.

 Perhaps a new sentry was on duty, at Meteo Consult, this morning. For I was granted full forecast access at our dawn check. Sparing Stargazer a lengthy beat in uncomfortably boisterous conditions. 

Ad Lib 12

 

Technical troubles, of the IT variety, set my eyeballs spinning and scramble my mind.

My trusty Meteo Consult weather app refuses to grant me access. The paywall having seemingly turned highwayman. Claiming to have no knowledge of my annual subscription. Demanding an additional monthly fee, 'stand and deliver' style. A fusillade of re-installations, updates and reboots fails to deter the villain. When, in desperation, I finally pay up, the duplicitous, screen blocking, ne’er do well still denies me my forecasts.

I retreat and circle. Attempting to gain side entry, through a website site log in, on the lap top. Where a message declares that Meteo Consult's servers are off line. Being a Saturday, my French pen pal on the helpdesk Karine, does not return my messages.

No sophisticated forecast is required today. For the devil's violin shrieks in Stargazer's rigging, making our best course of action clear. But tomorrow, there is potential for a fast reach accross to Dieppe, on the tail of the blow. Or, for a twelve hour roller coaster rodeo ride, if the system slows overnight.

I seek solace in pastures new. Windy is a much used weather app and comes with a beguiling sister called Wind Hub. This enables a course to be plotted, departure time selected and anticipated speed to be set. A Windy forecast, algorithmically adjusted for time (I think), shows wind strength along the selected route. The prediction is for no more than a brisk twenty five knots on the beam, for Sunday morning, dropping to a pleasant fifteen by evening. But, the question is, can this pronouncement be relied upon?

Ad Lib 11

 

There is time for a laugh and joke, in the lock, before the (visiting) Lowestoft lifeboat puts to sea. Seemingly on lighthearted manoeuvres.

Rather than rendering assistance to rubber boat borne refugees. Who have, no doubt, been tempted out by today's still conditions in the Channel. The last for a day or two. Perhaps three. The forecast being in a state of early season flux.

Nets are carefully inspected, aboard the inshore fishing boats. Soft spring sunshine prolongs the pleasurable task.

The fleet are allocated their own enclave, replete with weatherboarded shack. In true East Coast style.

Adding some workaday grit to a waterfront otherwise dedicated to the pursuit of leisure. Be that afloat or within its purpose built eateries, stores and quayside living quarters.

Ad Lib 10

 

Summery conditions bring out the best traditions, of genteel English seaside kitsch, in Old Eastbourne town.

A Bet Lynch (Coronation Street's matriarchal landlady) lookalike strides purposefully from pub entrance to beer garden. Bearing her oversized wine glass like a Bishop's crosier. As a nervous posse, of youthful hikers, pauses at the threshold. Debating whether to attempt entry.

The golden cupola, of Eastbourne's stately pleasure-dome pier, glitters above shimmering opaline waters.

Whilst zephyrs, of pleasantly cooling sea breeze, set a Union Jack aflutter.

A long crescent of tawny sea smoothed shingle is retained by ranks of weathered wooden groynes.

It is topped by a broad bridleway. Which connects the Victorian facades, of the old town, with the newly built (1993) Sovereign Harbour. Their age gap bridged by leafy, bay-windowed, inter-war suburbia.