Yesterday’s bereavement (Great Aunt Vera) was all but forgotten in the enjoyment of a sunny day out at sea, when the disco ball parted company from its tether on the boom (such was the bouncing of the boat through the waves) and leapt overboard 3 miles from Plymouth. You can only imagine my distress at seeing how quickly the distance grew between Vela and the ball which carried on winking and shining reproachfully in the waves for a good mile after the incident. In all seriousness it illustrated how long it might take to return and find a real MOB victim.

The day started so well, a lovely sunrise in Salcombe following a peaceful night on the mooring. A slap up breakfast at Captain Morgan’s Café was just what I needed for the day ahead. I also had to buy the item that forms the basis for my first serious scientific experiment of the trip – which county makes better pasties, Devon or Cornwall?

That done, I busied myself getting the boat ready to leave the mooring. As I started the engine, a dinghy came over with a very nice chap Andy Dee – owner of a Westerly who had heard about my trip. We had a brief chat and he took some photos of my departure which was very kind.

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Once again I passed over the Salcombe Bar and out into the Channel; the wind was a classic south westerly and by going south from Salcombe for a few miles I was then able to cross Bigbury Bay and into Plymouth Sound on the same tack which I was very pleased about. It was a great day to be out sailing – the wind was 15-19 knots and Vela was pleasantly heeled and making a minimum of 4.5 knots despite the fact that I was going against the tide because I simply couldn’t be bothered to get up at 4.30am! The coastline is beautiful to look at – rugged and dramatic with white spray dashing against its many rocks.

The Devon Pasty taste test

By 1pm, my sailor’s stomach was rumbling and the Devon pasty, still warm from the oven was the ideal sort of food to give me strength to complete the final 10 miles. Peppery, a good meat to potato ratio and crisp pastry have set a high bar for Cornwall to beat!

Plymouth Approaches

Having crossed Bigbury Bay the key landmark is the Great Mewstone that stands sentinel to the eastern side of Plymouth Sound. Once past that, the massive confusion that is Plymouth Harbour is just around the corner with many obstacles to avoid. One such is the Shagstone, you really wouldn’t want to hit that.

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Once through the breakwater into calmer waters, I motored the final mile to Queen Anne’s Battery Marina, completing a journey of 25 miles. I was delighted to find that another old friend from WRAC 863 – Kate Toal was waiting on the pontoon to take me home for a delicious meal, copious amounts of alcohol, access to a washing machine and a trip down memory lane. A wonderful end to an eventful day in Devon, I hope to stay in Plymouth until Monday and find a replacement for Great Aunt Vera.

I’m very sorry to announce that Great Aunt Vera passed away in the night. I hope it was a peaceful ending; I emerged refreshed from my quiet night on the mooring to find that she had no air left in her lungs, and taking note of the DNR instructions that came with her, I said a silent prayer and winched her lifeless body back on to the deck.

You’ll be disappointed to hear that there wasn’t a burial at sea nor did I set fire to her and send her to Valhalla – apparently the Dartmouth Harbour Authorities take a dim view of discarded, or burning Hypalon, and as I had got away without paying for the mooring I decided it was best not to anger the locals.

Back to the sea…

After a few moments of emotional sniffling I pulled myself together and made Vela ready for her next voyage – from Dittisham to Salcombe. The big deal on this leg is getting around Start Point which is one of the three most southerly headlands in the UK – the others being the Lizard and Lands End (see future posts). The pilot book warns sailors of the larger Atlantic swell as you come around the headland and out of the shelter of Dartmouth. As it’s rare to get big waves in the Solent, I confess to feeling a bit apprehensive about what that would feel like. Tom, a colleague from work, surmised that my teaspoons were unlikely to remain safely lodged in the cutlery holder I had made to match the blinds (winter sewing frenzy), in the sea conditions I would find in Devon and Cornwall. Well Tom – everything else in the cabin shifted and covered the floor but the teaspoons remained resolutely in place!!

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Once again the wind was coming from the west and so there was a great deal of tacking to be done before reaching the entrance to Salcombe. I was slightly early and just after low water which can present problems getting over the Salcombe Bar. By following the yacht in front of me and keeping as far west as I could without hitting the rocks on the edge of the harbour, I managed to avoid an embarrassing grounding incident and was moored on V11 in front of the Harbour by 5.30pm. Thanks to the very obliging Harbour Master who took my line and threaded it through the ring on the buoy which avoided the potential of losing my boathook in front of several red-trousered, braying Yachties eager to witness a female boating catastrophe.

You may well wonder how I got to shore, without Vera? Luckily by crossing the Harbour taxi’s palm with £1.50 I managed to find a very good pub away from the main drag – The Fortescue Inn – excellent burger and local gin. The perfect end to a tragic day.

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Before I get into my flow, let me introduce another member of the family – meet Vera…

Vera is like the old slightly smelly Great Aunt that is kept in the corner; Vera is grey, saggy, old and rather worn around the edges, she used to be someone else’s relative but somehow she’s now my responsibility. And like a Great Aunt, she is a bit on the large side, unfashionable and frankly incontinent! It’s a tricky family situation – Vela – late thirties but huge amounts of style and panache, and Vera the dinghy that only just gets you to your destination. I guess I just have to deal with it – like all relatives.

Today was a trip of only 3 miles, upriver to a mooring at the village of Dittisham. This was the first time I was faced with picking up a mooring buoy singlehanded without anyone else on board and it was with an audience that I sadly mucked up my first pass. I gave them a hard stare as they had at least 4 on the boat. The sniggering subsided and second time round it all went to plan and Duncan Wells’ book Stress Free Sailing once again proved itself worth every penny (to the person that bought it for me!). Once secured, I lay on deck in the sunshine and had a 2 hour nap – apparently this is very important for sailors.

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Dittisham is a haven of peace halfway to Totnes on the River Dart. Out of the main season there is not much traffic and even the Dart Harbour authorities haven’t yet claimed any money out of me. The mooring sits close to the dinghy pontoon by the Ferry Boat Inn which brings me back to Vera. As I clambered down the boarding ladder into her, a poorly placed foot resulted in a near brush with the river and a scraped thigh. On stepping aboard I found my canvas shoes soaking wet with sea water which was swilling around inside. When I think of all the little holes that I have patched in the last few weeks, it’s really annoying to find that I must have missed one! Anyway it wasn’t deep enough to bail out and the shore wasn’t very far away so I rowed in a very inefficient manner towards it.

The Butler did it!

Having successfully landed at Dittisham, I then boarded a much more efficient water taxi to get across to the other side to Greenway, a National Trust house that used to be the holiday home of Agatha Christie. Some holiday home! I spent a very pleasant couple of hours wandering around the gardens and house – trying to imagine Hercule Poirot in the Drawing Room.

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Talking to total Strangers

One of the interesting things about solo voyaging is that you end up talking to people you don’t know – in the Ferry Boat Inn I had a great chat with Alfie – an ex-sailor and bass guitarist who, when he isn’t sinking pints in the Ferry Boat, is touring with his band of ageing rockers – Alfi Romeo – next gig is the Lichfield Blues Festival. I detected a slight Brummie accent and it turned out he came from Streetly, Sutton Coldfield – where I spent my teenage years – its a very small world. I also bumped into an old platoon mate from 1986 – Sue Bagshaw – it was turning into a strange old day. My last social engagement of the afternoon was to meet up with my cousin Steve who lives in Totnes. We caught up on some family gossip over a pint and then he watched me as I rowed Vera back to the mothership – reassured by the fact that there didn’t seem to be more water in the dinghy than there had been previously. Salcombe tomorrow – going around Start Point with Vela and Vera should be interesting to say the least!

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I’ll tell you Arya* what lies to the west – a ruddy huge expanse of the English Channel that is Lyme Bay. It’s the bit at the bottom of the south coast that looks like a giant bite mark. But it’s not just a case of coming out of Weymouth harbour and turning right, oh no, before you even get there you have to negotiate the horrors of Portland Bill, which should have turned into an island millennia ago so that sailors could nip through some lock system into Lyme Bay. Known as the ‘Cape Horn’ for Day Skippers, most pilot books start off by saying that there is nothing to worry about and then proceed to talk about ships lost in the dreaded ‘Portland Race’ never to be seen again! They speak of the need to keep within two cables of the Bill. Sorry Ma but WTF? I looked up a ‘cable’ length and it seemed like a pretty movable measurement – perhaps dependent on how much grog has been consumed by the measurer! Successfully freaked out and with my younger son as crew I opted to take the longer way round which is an extra 15 NM before you even start setting course across the Bay.

*If you don’t watch Game of Thrones then sorry!

Having departed Weymouth to get through the lifting bridge at 10.00am, it was a bit galling to find that by 2.30pm we were still circumnavigating the Bill, and a recurrent theme was established which was that it never felt like we were getting anywhere in the direction we wanted to go. The crew was pretty easy going however, no lashes required although my wallet feels much, much lighter. Fish and Chips on the harbour wall in Weymouth the night before and bacon rolls for breakfast along with copious amounts of coffee, rum, chocolate hobnobs throughout kept Hugh from mutinying. By the early hours of the morning some desperation had crept into his voice – “Honestly Mum, a marathon runner could cover the distance much quicker!” – I just passed him more Red Leg Rum which seemed to quieten him down a little.

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A brief word about this rum, a present from Becky – I can vouch for it being absolutely delicious – I wouldn’t recommend mixing it with anything because it has so much flavour but a slug of that into a cup of instant coffee at 2am warms the cockles of your heart – Red Leg Rum.

To tack or not to tack…..

Choices present themselves to a sailor when the destination is exactly where the wind is coming from. Sailing boats need to be at an angle to the wind to go anywhere, so this inevitably means that you have to zig zag or tack if you want to use the wind. As this picture shows – it’s exhilarating to sail fast but when it’s in the wrong direction it can be time consuming and frustrating.

Eventually after an especially fruitless series of tacks during which I really didn’t seem to be getting any closer to Dartmouth I did a terrible thing – I turned on the engine, furled the Genoa away and put the pedal to the metal (please don’t judge me). We motored slowly but westward from around 8.30pm to 11.30pm. While Vela was happily drinking diesel, Hugh and I had our dinner of Cassoulet, courtesy of Ma’s latest French supermarket run. A hearty stew of sausages, duck leg and haricot beans – this was just what flagging mariners needed to raise morale on what was a long and chilly night. Fortunately the wind changed direction (nothing to do with the Cassoulet) and we were once more flying along for the final 3 and a bit hours of the passage.

Some highlights of the passage…

It was such a beautiful clear and sunny day, the sunset was amazing and yielded an incredibly starry sky. I was lucky to see the small fin of a young dolphin that flashed up beside the boat a couple of times before leaving us, hopefully not the last time I’ll see one this trip. There is the ultimate satisfaction of course in reaching your destination, avoiding all obstacles into the River Dart and berthing up on a clear pontoon without any drama – even at 03.30am. Only 17 hours after leaving Weymouth – Yay!

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Dartmouth

Dartmouth is a lovely town, Vela is berthed on a pontoon with a fantastic view of the hillside – a very special place to wake up this morning. I’ll spend a few days here to rest and enjoy the sights. Sad to say goodbye to Hugh who was quality crew, we took the Dartmouth Steam Railway up to Paignton where he caught the London train. I’m not sure he’ll want to crew again – best to let the memory of the 17 hours fade before I ask him. But for me having company for this long leg was fabulous.

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Having listened to the drama unfold on CH16 over the weekend, it’s good to know that the poor fishermen who accidentally trawled an unexploded WW2 mine near the Needles managed to get released without incident; and the Navy had great fun detonating it. For a spectacular video see BBC News.

I was delighted to be joined today by my friend Ruth Cliffe who met me at the Marina with very smart looking picnic (she was obviously worried that she would get some weevil infested hardtack biscuit with her rum ration). With Weymouth our ultimate goal, we dodged the Poole gin-palace boaters and pushed our way out of the harbour to see the first geological spectacle of the day – Old Harry Rocks. In a bid to outdo the disco ball, Ruth brought along some special ears for the occasion.

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Sadly, there wasn’t much wind to speak of, and what there was, was coming from the wrong direction, so the sails (and bunny ears) weren’t very effective. However the motor seemed happy enough to chug along and the new propeller proved itself once again as a good purchase. Despite the day being a bit murky, we decided that anchoring in Lulworth Cove was worth it for a late lunch. A quick phone call to Lulworth Range Control established that we weren’t in danger of being hit by a mis-directed artillery shell and we were able to relax for about an hour within the perfect circle that forms the Cove and enjoy a lovely picnic.

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Following this stunning coastline due west we finally entered Weymouth Harbour at 5.30pm – ready to make it through the lifting bridge into Weymouth Marina and in time for Ruth to catch her train home. A really good day and stunning scenery, it’s so special to be able to see it from the sea. I really couldn’t ask for more – except a better wi-fi signal – this marina’s router is miles away from Vela!

I’m finding that a good measure of Plymouth Gin (41.2%) in the evenings encourages the unleashing of literary genius – I hope you agree. Today started very satisfactorily with a bacon bap (sorry to my vegan friends but you are never going to ‘turn’ me) and coffee. On my way back to Vela, I happened upon a genuine fisherman (he was grey and grizzled with a cap), selling lobsters that looked delicious. He had pulled them up from St Catherine’s Point at about 4am, cooked them at 7am and here was his stall, fresh as fresh could be at 9am. You really should visit Yarmouth.

10am saw me making my way out of the harbour ready to go through the perils of the Needles Channel – the western gateway out of the Solent. This is only the second time that Vela and I have ventured this far west together so it was a BIG moment! I chose the northern channel and as there was zero wind and slack tide, it was extremely undramatic. Lovely views of Hurst Point and Castle though. Once through, the wind picked up and although it had shifted to a south westerly, the angle was just right to be close hauled on the same tack all the way to Hengistbury Head. Some great speeds were achieved – for a fraction touching 8knots (Speed over Ground) with the tide doing some of the work.

I reached the East Looe Channel into Poole Harbour at 2.30pm and then spent ages faffing – taking the sails down, getting out fenders – when you are singlehanded you have to do everything earlier than you would do if you had a cabin boy with you (I have learnt that the hard way). Managed to dodge the Chain Link Ferry and inch my way past all the extremely rich peoples’ houses in Sandbanks – “But Daddy where can we park the helicopter?”

I finally arrived in Salterns Marina, Poole at 4pm. Very helpful, nice showers and a Tesco Express (more Tonic). Unfortunately it’s drizzling so it may be an early night. Looking forward to the first visitor tomorrow – Ruth (hope she’s practiced her clove hitches and bowlines).

D day dawned ‘dreek’ and grey in Gosport, the rum ratio was well judged as I had a really good sleep and was up and about at a leisurely 8.30 ready for a symbolic last breakfast at the ‘Crew Mess Café‘ where you can have a proper full English for a fiver. That ritual done, final preparations were completed – Jon acting as a pretty fair cabin boy cast me off and manfully ignored the slightly soggy, sniffy farewell before I stiffened my lip and concentrated on not hitting anything out of the marina.

I have had some really great presents from friends which range from useful to bizarre – a voice changer to make sending out a May Day call that much more exciting, a book on creative writing to improve my mind as I journey around, a life size cardboard cut out of Hugh Jackman which sadly I had to leave guarding the house where he won’t go limp from the sea air(!), an amazing waterproof hat which people have laughed and pointed at in the street but which has been great in rainy Yarmouth today. I think the prize for originality however goes to Jon who handed over a plastic cactus (no need to water it), a cuddly toy for those lonely nights aboard, and a disco ball for when the urge to dance becomes irresistible – brilliant!

Yarmouth

Yarmouth is a great little place, even in the rain. It lies on the western edge of the Isle of Wight and if you are lucky you can play a successful game of chicken with the Lymington-Yarmouth ferry and get into the marina before the tide sweeps you down into the Channel. It doesn’t take very long to walk around it so I paid a visit to Yarmouth Castle today which had some nice cannons and views out over the Solent. Found a great little coffee shop PO41 – fantastic place which buys their coffee from Inside Ground which helps young offenders to rehabilitate by learning how to process and make coffee while they are ‘inside’.

Just got some great photos of departing Portsmouth from the lovely Karen Goodwin who runs Goodwin Studios. Here is my favourite…

I can’t really believe that it’s nearly time to set off. I have spent today stowing the remainder of the kit on the boat. I have packed and repacked several times, each time weighing up how many layers of merino wool bloomers I would really need and whether two bikinis it too much for the west coast of Scotland in June? This coupled with the realisation that I’m never going to eat the tins of beans without a tin opener so that’s one for the Co-op in Yarmouth tomorrow I think. In the end I’ve had to remind myself that I’m sailing around Britain, not to a foreign land and so I can speak to the natives and buy stuff in shops – have credit card, will travel is my new mantra!

“Proceed as if success is inevitable….”

Lovely to see some good friends for coffee and later on for cocktails – I thought a rum based Dark N’ Stormy (2 for 1 pitchers in Los Iguanas) was most suitable. And then to continue the nautical theme some Moules et Frites. Thanks to Jon (Vela’s co-owner) for fitting the spare battery and dinner, and Johnny Lawson for asking me searching questions about weather (which only revealed my ignorance of the difference between GFS and GEMs) before explaining some useful stuff.

And now I am here tucked up in my bed, with my alpaca blanket from Debbie and Warren and the fan heater pumping out cosiness and wondering whether the copious rum will be enough to guarantee a good night’s sleep.

It was my leaving lunch at work today – only a week to go, two days to handover the job, shred the paperwork and delete the inbox. Very generous gifts from my lovely colleagues, I’m sure I can spend the voucher before I cast off!