17th to 25th July 2022
It's been a little over a week since we embarked on the final leg of the Two Summers circumnavigation of Britain. In that period, till now, I have failed to find the required combination of free time, energy and a working wifi, with the result that I've not been able to update the blog till now. So here is a quick update of what has been happening in the world of Goldfinch. Spoiler alert: it's all fine.
Unfortunately the camera on my phone has stopped working properly after I dropped it on the deck. Thanks to Debbie for sharing a few of her photos.
Weymouth to Poole
We left Weymouth on 17th July, at the beginning of a week that was forecast to break all temperature records. As thermometers started reading in the thirties and above, we were able to appreciate the cooling benefits of a breeze out at sea. The wind was from the east. Our route initially took us somewhat south of east, so with a couple of tacks we were able to sail nicely. Poole is less than 30 miles away from Weymouth, so there was no pressing hurry and we were able to enjoy being out at sea.
Poole is a busy harbour, with all types and sizes of vessel coming and going. It also has some precariously shallow patches, which means that most boats are approaching along a relatively narrow channel; you have to keep your wits about you. As you sail towards it you pass some striking chalk stacks called Old Harry Rocks. The biggest is Old Harry himself, and there's a smaller one that is generally taken to be his wife. It's not clear who Old Harry represents: some say the Devil (but surely that's Old Nick?) while others say it refers to a pirate who used to hide his ship behind the rocks. Geologically these rocks are part of the same stretch of chalk as the Needles at the western end of the Isle of Wight, where we were going the following day.
At the entrance to Poole Harbour we turned to port and went down a stretch of water called South Deep. This passes to the south of Brownsea Island, a National Trust property that was the site of the first ever Boy Scout camp; it is also home to a thriving community of red squirrels (the grey sort have never been introduced to the island).
'South Deep' is a faintly ironic name. There is a narrow winding channel, marked with buoys, and the water gets very shallow very quickly if you stray outside this. We planned to anchor there, which you have to do just outside the channel. We were in what looked like a big expanse of water, but finding a spot where we would not go aground at low tide was tricky, and made even trickier by the dozens of boats that had got there before us. After much mooching around, we found a suitable place and dropped the hook.
It was a very peaceful night, in a beautiful location. Many of the other boats around us were only there for the afternoon, so by the time evening came it was much less crowded. A great start to the homeward leg of our voyage.
Into the Solent
The next day was even hotter, and there was barely any wind. Leaving Poole Harbour we met with even more boats than when we arrived - sailing boats, ferries, boats doing sightseeing trips, personal watercraft, fast motor cruisers. They all dispersed in various directions, and we turned towards the east on a flat sea, motoring because of the lack of wind. It was very hot, even out at sea, and we unfurled the mainsail so that at least part of the deck was in the shade.
The gap between the western corner of the Isle of Wight and the mainland is one of those places where you have to get the tide exactly right. As the sea moves through the gap, it's a bit like squeezing a hose to make the water come out with more force. If you get it right, it'll hoosh you along at an exciting rate of knots; if you get it wrong, you'll just sit there with your motor screaming, getting nowhere. Fortunately the passage from Poole to the Solent is not very long, so it's easy enough to get the timing right.
Once we had passed through and entered the Solent, the wind picked up and we managed to do a bit of sailing; but we did not have very far to go. We went up the Beaulieu River and found a mooring buoy where we spent another peaceful night in another delightful spot.
For the next few days we didn't have many miles to cover, so we could take it fairly easy. From Beaulieu we went over to Bembridge, at the eastern end of the Solent, on the north of the Isle of Wight. I'd never been there before and had read somewhere that it was attractive. It's one of those places where you approach along a narrow channel, and sometimes at low water it is inaccessible. It was clouding over and gusty when we arrived. Our next-door boat neighbours told us of the various attractions, all of which seemed to be a long way away. A couple of crew managed to hail the harbour launch and go across to do some much-needed provisioning; but apart from that we just stayed on the boat. To be honest, it wasn't that attractive.
Chichester Harbour
The following day we had an even shorter passage to make, over to Chichester Harbour. Unfortunately because of Bembridge's shallow entrance we had to get up in time for a six o'clock departure. That night we were planning to stay in Sparkes Marina, just at the entrance to Chichester Harbour. But we had time on our hands, so we decided to explore the harbour for a few hours. There was a very gentle wind in the morning, so we drifted up the Thorney Channel until it got too shallow, then turned round and tacked back down it in a freshening breeze. This was exciting sailing. At one point we misjudged the moment of tacking and ran aground on soft mud, but managed to float off again fairly easily.
We then turned up the Chichester Channel and sailed along that as far as Itchenor. We hoped to get as far as the entrance to Birdham Pool, where Mike (a regular crewmember on earlier legs) keeps his boat; but we found another patch of shallow mud and ran aground again. When we were afloat once more we turned back, found a buoy and had lunch.
By the time we headed back down towards Sparkes Marina, the wind had picked up quite noticeably. Sparkes is yet another place with a winding narrow entrance channel, which we crept along and into our berth in the marina. That evening we dined ashore in the restaurant.
To Dover
Our passage eastwards continued. Shoreham, where we watched a big ship ease itself into the lock with inches to spare on either side. Sovereign Harbour, near Eastbourne, where there is a huge marina surrounded by expensive-looking waterside properties and an array of restaurants. And then Dover.
We approached Dover on a sunny day. Because of tidal streams we did not set out from Sovereign Harbour till early afternoon. The sea was fairly rolly for much of the passage, but the waves were mostly astern of us, and gradually abated as the afternoon wore on. Dover was in sight shortly before sunset.
The Dover Straits are one of the busiest patches of sea you'll ever find. Cross-channel ferries come in and out of the harbour at regular intervals, and little boats like Goldfinch need to keep out of their way. The Port Control run the place strictly, almost like air traffic control, regulating every shipping movement large or small. You must call them on the radio when you are two miles off, and then again as you approach the entrance, and they give you very specific instructions.
When I was planning this trip, it was announced that Dover would not be open for yachts until August, because of work on a large new marina that is being built there. But shortly before we embarked on the July leg, I heard that there would be a few places available, which you had to book in advance; so I got in touch and made a reservation.
As we approached, we heard a conversation on the radio between Port Control and another yacht ahead of us, which had not booked, not called the controllers, and entered the harbour against a red traffic signal. They were given a good telling-off but were lucky enough to get a place in the marina.
It was dusk when we arrived. For the last mile or so, the sea had become rather choppy, and as we entered the harbour we were caught by some monstrous swell that tipped Goldfinch over almost on her side (or so it felt). Fortunately this did not last long, and we were soon safely tied up in the marina and enjoying a pint of Broadside in the nearest pub.
To Queenborough
Our next passage, to Queenborough on the Isle of Sheppey, would take us up the eastern coast of Kent and then westwards along the north coast. For a few hours we were able to sail, with the wind astern. A few miles into the passage, we heard the sound of an aircraft engine and looked up to see a Spitfire soaring above the White Cliffs: a beautifully English scene.
On the way along the coast, we heard reports on the radio of a dinghy that had been seen awash out at sea, with no one on board; and the Coast Guard were advising all vessels to keep a watch out for migrant boats in the Channel. The specific incident seemed to be fifteen miles north of us, so there was little we could do except marvel at how desperate you would have to be to try and cross the channel in a tiny overcrowded boat.
Once past Ramsgate we turned round the North Foreland and pointed due west. Now the wind was almost dead on the nose. Because we were going into it, the apparent wind was stronger; and in any case the underlying true wind had also been building during the day. It was soon obvious that we would not be able to sail and make respectable progress towards our destination; so we motored.
The next few hours were tedious. The wind was extremely fresh but we simply had to plough on. The water along this coast is very shallow (we were taking the inshore passage, known with good reason as the 'overland route'). A few times we had to zigzag our way round especially shallow bits. Fortunately, because of the direction of the wind, the waves were not large.
We passed Herne Bay and Whitstable, and worked our way along the northern coast of the Isle of Sheppey to Sheerness. As we came round the corner here, the waves were building once again, and by the time we were motoring down the entrance of the Swale towards Queenborough, it had become very uncomfortable.
We had booked a berth on the pontoon at Queenborough, but when we got there it was already occupied, and we didn't fancy spending the night rafted up next to another boat in these windy conditions, so we found an unoccupied mooring buoy and settled there for the night. It was windy but in the harbour at least we were protected from the uncomfortable waves.
A change of plan
We had come to Queenborough because it is a convenient starting place for a trip up the Thames into London. To make this passage we would have to leave at four in the morning, for the usual reasons: the tide flows fiercely in the Thames and you need to have it on your side. I'd booked a berth at St Katharine Docks, near Tower Bridge, and we were looking forward to spending a couple of nights there.
The passage to Queenborough had been uncomfortable, motoring into a stong westerly wind. The forecast for the next day was more or less the same, and we had almost 50 miles to go to reach St Katharine Docks. The prospect was not appealing. So after a quick discussion we all agreed that we would not attempt it the next day, but instead go up the Medway to Chatham, a mere ten miles away. This had the added benefit of a nine o'clock start - a much more attractive option than 4 am.
As far as I remember I've never sailed (or rather motored) up the Medway; but the places we passed were familiar names from my childhood, which I spent in nearby Sittingbourne. As we went past Gillingham we must have been close to where I used to come with my father to sail our GP14 dinghy, though to be honest none of it looked familiar.
Chatham has a large friendly marina near the historic dockyard, and within easy reach of a wide choice of places to eat. We chose the Ship and Trades pub, and were glad.
And that brings us up to date. We are now no longer planning to go to London: instead we will stop off at one or two places on the east coast before returning to the River Orwell and completing the loop. I'll let you know how that goes.
Comments