LizzyD
New member
What a weekend the Harbour Festival turned out to be.
Bev and I set off from Cardiff at 14:00 on Friday, leaving a furrow in the muddy slime outside of the Barrage. Low water? You’re telling me! We had a choppy ride over to Bristol, but nothing we couldn't cope with. We were too excited about having our first real trip of the season to worry about the sea. Weather conditions were supposed to be Southerly wind at F3. I traced CSail’s mobile number using the net like a celebrity obsessed stalker and asked how things were weather-wise and we decided to give it a go. It was nice to see Tonybarebones heading up the river having only ever seen his posts and never seen him in real life.
We had to wait in the Cumberland Basin for the stopgate tide to recede, and then we were on our mooring at 21:00. I'd never tied stern on before but it wasn't too bad. I don’t know what I was so worried about. I did laugh to myself when the pontoon supervisor asked if we were the boat Lizzy D - when it has "Lizzy D" in massive letters on the dodgers. I fought back the temptation to sarcastically ask what made him think that, and within a short while of landing, we were heading for our first pint in the Mariners Bar.
Two pints of lager? SIX QUID!!!! Call me a tight wad if you like, but we entered the locks with other boats that hadn't booked a place, and who’s owners were probably in Wetherspoons drinking the same as me for half the price. Plus, as all of the entertainment is in the street, I was left wondering why I should bother to pay £40.00 and just turn up like many others did. Note to self for next year maybe. I didn’t feel that £40.00 was value for money when I could have gone there for a lot less. My £40.00 got me into the Mariners Bar (which has no toilets within) and onto a pontoon. Maybe I’m being mean, but I don’t think I needed to pay the £40.00 when I could have rafted up nearer the swing bridges for a lot less, but still had as good a time.
Saturday was a day of sampling cider. People from the South West of the UK certainly know how to drink. I had just one pint of a cider called Screech in a pub called the Orchard near to Force 4, and I swear that I could feel the marrow in my legs bones dissolving. If I'd had one more pint, I could have qualified for a disabled sticker for the car!
The music from the stage was OK I suppose. I accept that since Queen, music will never be the same again and have never understood why since the age of 14, Bohemian Rhapsody was never adopted as our National Anthem. Two young people on the stage masquerading as entertainers had a couple of music decks and were playing a song, which alluded to oral activities between consenting adults. Then the male of this duo invited people in the audience to give him what he had been singing about! This part of the post isn’t meant to be funny. To be quite honest, I was really annoyed and discussed it with Bev. We were going to bring Bev’s 13-year-old niece up on the trip and I would want to expose her to that sort of rubbish. Furthermore, there were other children and toddlers in the auditorium of the amphitheatre by Lloyds Bank. I know that I swear as much as / more than, any other man. But not like that in front of children – ever. This young man should be ashamed of himself, but when you’ve got more spots than you’ve got brain cells, what can you expect?
After the best fireworks display I have ever seen in my life, we went to bed for the early rise the next morning. Before that of course, for supper, we went to “A Taste of India” in the city centre. (Don't ask me in which street - by then I was practically blind due to mixing Screech with Natch!) I had my usual chicken vindaloo, so the following morning when the alarm went of, I was a little delicate.
When you read accounts in the PBO of Roger Oliver and his organised circumnavigation around the UK, and his sagacious advice on passage planning and life aboard, you realise that this is how sailing trips are meant to be. The crew should be well rested and well fed prior to a journey, the boat made ready, weather checked and an orderly slipping of lines for a fantastic sail ahead.
However, on Lizzy D, things are a bit different. I'm awoken by girlie shouts of "That really stinks!" as Bev gets to fully appreciate the aromas of my large intestine, post-curry. So with a mouth that taste's like a head (the boat kind!), I get my fat a*se out of bed, put on whatever I wore last night, and shuffle outside to get the gas on – and to let some more out! I needed my morning tea and maybe some bacon? But no. No time for that. We've got to get off the pontoon and to the basin because of the flippin' stopgate thing.
So, complete with hangover, little sleep and no breakfast, absolutely not like Roger Oliver, we chug into the basin with Tre, and I notice that Tonybarebones has already left his comfortable spot and gone home.
We head down the river and we both were surprised at the amount of debris on the surface. Other boats left us for dead and I'm wondering whether a larger engine would allow me to keep up. 13 1/2hp isn't big by any stretch I suppose.
We entered the Channel after what seemed ages and turned for Cardiff. Some of the boats we went down the river with now seemed to be aiming for Denny Island. Is the flow better there? We realised there was quite a chop outside Portishead and with the wind bang on the nose, and our flag and burgee board-flat, we ploughed through the waves. Before we got anywhere near Clevedon, we were beginning to take waves over the bow.
Now from here, you'll see the decisions I took and why I took them and if anyone can suggest even better decisions, I'm happy to take advice, as I'll never stop learning.
I turned slightly to starboard to head towards Newport. I thought if I could dash over to Uskmouth by the power station, I could use the deep water channel there to head towards Cardiff and hopefully, get some eventual lee from Penarth head. We started to take waves on the port bow but at that point, the boat coped OK. However, in the middle of the channel the wave size increased. My Internet weather report gave a WSW wind at F3. If that was an F3 - then I'm an F ladyboy! These waves were six footers when you were in the troughs and Lizzy seemed OK, but only just. Some waves were knocking us beam-on to the next. I increased the revs on the Volvo and watched a couple of yachts appear to effortlessly shoot past with full main and jib! A quick committee meeting in the cockpit concluded that I should furl out some of the Genoa, but just enough to give us stability and steerage. As I did so, a massive wave hit us bow on and water shot up to the spray hood followed by a deafening sound of pouring water running into the cockpit and out of the deck and cockpit scuppers.
Heartbeats were beginning to increase considerably by now and we pressed on to get out of this confused water. I had the tiller in my right hand and the Jenny sheet in my left. Even with two turns around the winch, the wind was desperate to yank it from my grasp. I chose not to cleat the line in case I wanted to let it go really quickly. We made progress across the channel over toward Newport and then – deep joy, the echo read 2 metres. I turned the boat and tried to tack back as we motor sailed. Once in deeper water, the sea suddenly calmed down. A quick check on the chart and I realised that we’d passed the Middle Ground sandbanks and that we were just over halfway home.
The clouds came back, and so did the large, dirty grey waves. Still we pressed on until we were about 5 miles east of Cardiff. Then it happened.
The engine started to rev high, and then low on its own. It sounded funny and you knew in a second that something was wrong. I knew that earlier this year, I’d changed both fuel filters, the oil and oil filter, the alternator and drive belt, I mean, what was left to go wrong on the engine? Now the exhaust sounded as though no cooling water was coming through and I dropped the revs. I left Bev with the tiller and jumped into the cabin. I got the engine cover off and was met with a massive cloud of steam and the heat from the engine itself was incredible. I killed the engine and jumped back into the cockpit with Bev. I readjusted the sails. We needed to tack our way out of this, but now without the engine, we weren’t getting anything like the forward propulsion from the sails. I went to the mast to get the main up and put a reef in before hoisting. All the time the boat was being thrown from one way to the other with the occasional beam-on wave to ensure that we were truly frightened.
I called up the CG on 16 and was told to go to 67. On 67, I told the CG what our condition was and that I wanted them to be aware. I didn’t think that at that point I needed to make a Mayday or a Pan Pan of my message. I just told them that we would try and make it to Cardiff under our own steam. We were rolling everywhere by now and steering, sheet handling and using the radio all at once was quite a nightmare. Bev was frozen with fear but responded to direct instructions when asked to (makes a change!!!) and she would relieve me of the tiller occasionally. I gave the CG our Lat and Long from the GPS and could see that we were only doing 3kts.
The CG came back to us on 67 and asked if we wanted assistance. The next bit of the conversation took place over the space of ten seconds, but I was wrestling with a little bit of male pride here. I’m a Firefighter, and I don’t get rescued. I do the rescuing. So do I want assistance? “No thanks”, I told the CG, “We’ll battle on.” I heard the muffled thump of Bev’s morale hitting the floor. The CG told me I had one hour of ebb tide left, after that, I would be pushed by the wind and the tide back up the channel. Time to stop acting like a willy, and accept the help offered. A “Yes please” from me, brought a “No problem Sir” from him, and the Penarth Lifeboat was turned out.
As we hung on, a fishing boat had been listening in and we could see in the distance that it was heading towards us. The boat was called Predator III from Penarth Marina (thank you whoever you are for coming to us) and in five minutes, Bev and I could make out something orange splashing along side him also heading our way. It was, of course, Penarth lifeboat with what can only be described as three true heroes on board. Within another five minutes, possibly less, they were both along side us and the lifeboat put a man on board. I’d kept the sails up to try and give us steerage, so we dropped them, and I was asked to sit in the cockpit. I know that they have their routines as do we in the Fire and Rescue Service, and an amateur lifeboatman is going to be more of a hindrance than a help. So I did as I was told - (makes a change!!! Bev made me put that in.)
I sat in the cockpit and felt sick. I felt weak and emasculated. I was supposed to look after Beverley and she’s supposed to be confident in me when we’re at sea. I felt like I’d let her down, myself down, and now had three brave men out here to get me out of my mess. I wasn’t too complementary with myself privately and was calling myself everything under the sun that is bad. The lifeboat crew quickly rigged a towline and we were pulled at a fairly zippy speed towards Cardiff and safety.
I asked the lifeboatman, Nathan, what he was doing when his pager went off. He told me that he was watching DVDs with his children. Arrrrrrrghh. Why couldn’t you have been drowning kittens, or beating up an old lady. Then I would have felt better about having to call you out. At least I would have done something useful. But no! You left your sweet children to expose yourself to the dangers of the sea to get me out of the mess I was in. May God bless you Nathan – and your two mates on the RIB.
We were taken into the Barrage with 1m showing on the echo. Once in the lock, everyone wanted to know what had happened, and luckily for me, just to compound my embarrassment, Rent – A – Crowd was having a day trip to the Barrage. I awaited the inevitable “Only me!” character that Harry Enfield used to do. You know the one. Full of advice and dying to tell you what you did wrong. To be fair, of the sea of faces that looked down on us from above, everyone showed concern. We shared our tales with the other boaters in the lock and the visitors from Rent – A – Crowd listened intently, glad that they were landlubbers.
The Cardiff Harbour Authority boat reversed in (it’s obviously not a long keel) and rafted up alongside us. “The Coastguards here and they want a word” they said. I thought it was too good to be true. Here comes the ollockingb (anag) I’ve been expecting. Once tied on the water bus pontoon, I explained to the blue overalled blokes from the CG about all that had happened, the decisions I’d taken and my reasoning behind them. They quizzed me about the safety gear on my boat and seemed happy, even though I confessed to having flares 12 months out of date. With a solemn promise to replace them, the Harbour boys skilfully took us across to the Cardiff Yacht Club pontoon, where Lizzy was finally safely moored.
Lessons learned? I think I did the right thing getting a call into the CG quickly. We were in 7m of water when I did that, and in 5m when the lifeboat arrived. I did consider going with the tide to Newport, but didn’t have the confidence in my ability to sail the boat onto a mooring, assuming there’s one available. I tried to sail us out of trouble, but simply couldn’t. I had looked after the engine and checked that the impeller was OK, which it was and still is. So was confident that it would work fine, but I never have changed the thermostat.
So what was the cause of the problem? The jury’s still out, but if you want find out first hand, you’ll find me on the pontoon this weekend effing and blinding at the engine for being located in such an awkward position. The early prognosis is a defective thermostat. With the engine on light to medium tickover coming from Bristol, the engine probably coped to a degree, but was getting hotter all of the time. When I increased the revs, the engine began to heat up so much that what little water that was getting in turned instantly to steam. As you know, steam expands and it pushed on of the push fit, low-pressure water pipes out. If it’s not that, it could be blocked channels in the exhaust manifold, as all flexible hoses were checked and found to be sound. I’ll keep you informed.
Thanks for taking part in such a marathon read. I need to get on now. I have a few thank you letters to write and a subscription to Shoreline to renew.
PS, Apparently three boats were brought into Cardiff by lifeboat yesterday, including our own Commodore. One couple who got back under their own steam had 2 feet of water in their cabin (yacht), another described conditions as horrendous (mobo). A third couple turned for Portishead (mobo) and a fourth has got a crack in the structure of the interior after hitting waves (mobo). Good old British weather!!
Take care all and be careful,
Lizzy D
Bev and I set off from Cardiff at 14:00 on Friday, leaving a furrow in the muddy slime outside of the Barrage. Low water? You’re telling me! We had a choppy ride over to Bristol, but nothing we couldn't cope with. We were too excited about having our first real trip of the season to worry about the sea. Weather conditions were supposed to be Southerly wind at F3. I traced CSail’s mobile number using the net like a celebrity obsessed stalker and asked how things were weather-wise and we decided to give it a go. It was nice to see Tonybarebones heading up the river having only ever seen his posts and never seen him in real life.
We had to wait in the Cumberland Basin for the stopgate tide to recede, and then we were on our mooring at 21:00. I'd never tied stern on before but it wasn't too bad. I don’t know what I was so worried about. I did laugh to myself when the pontoon supervisor asked if we were the boat Lizzy D - when it has "Lizzy D" in massive letters on the dodgers. I fought back the temptation to sarcastically ask what made him think that, and within a short while of landing, we were heading for our first pint in the Mariners Bar.
Two pints of lager? SIX QUID!!!! Call me a tight wad if you like, but we entered the locks with other boats that hadn't booked a place, and who’s owners were probably in Wetherspoons drinking the same as me for half the price. Plus, as all of the entertainment is in the street, I was left wondering why I should bother to pay £40.00 and just turn up like many others did. Note to self for next year maybe. I didn’t feel that £40.00 was value for money when I could have gone there for a lot less. My £40.00 got me into the Mariners Bar (which has no toilets within) and onto a pontoon. Maybe I’m being mean, but I don’t think I needed to pay the £40.00 when I could have rafted up nearer the swing bridges for a lot less, but still had as good a time.
Saturday was a day of sampling cider. People from the South West of the UK certainly know how to drink. I had just one pint of a cider called Screech in a pub called the Orchard near to Force 4, and I swear that I could feel the marrow in my legs bones dissolving. If I'd had one more pint, I could have qualified for a disabled sticker for the car!
The music from the stage was OK I suppose. I accept that since Queen, music will never be the same again and have never understood why since the age of 14, Bohemian Rhapsody was never adopted as our National Anthem. Two young people on the stage masquerading as entertainers had a couple of music decks and were playing a song, which alluded to oral activities between consenting adults. Then the male of this duo invited people in the audience to give him what he had been singing about! This part of the post isn’t meant to be funny. To be quite honest, I was really annoyed and discussed it with Bev. We were going to bring Bev’s 13-year-old niece up on the trip and I would want to expose her to that sort of rubbish. Furthermore, there were other children and toddlers in the auditorium of the amphitheatre by Lloyds Bank. I know that I swear as much as / more than, any other man. But not like that in front of children – ever. This young man should be ashamed of himself, but when you’ve got more spots than you’ve got brain cells, what can you expect?
After the best fireworks display I have ever seen in my life, we went to bed for the early rise the next morning. Before that of course, for supper, we went to “A Taste of India” in the city centre. (Don't ask me in which street - by then I was practically blind due to mixing Screech with Natch!) I had my usual chicken vindaloo, so the following morning when the alarm went of, I was a little delicate.
When you read accounts in the PBO of Roger Oliver and his organised circumnavigation around the UK, and his sagacious advice on passage planning and life aboard, you realise that this is how sailing trips are meant to be. The crew should be well rested and well fed prior to a journey, the boat made ready, weather checked and an orderly slipping of lines for a fantastic sail ahead.
However, on Lizzy D, things are a bit different. I'm awoken by girlie shouts of "That really stinks!" as Bev gets to fully appreciate the aromas of my large intestine, post-curry. So with a mouth that taste's like a head (the boat kind!), I get my fat a*se out of bed, put on whatever I wore last night, and shuffle outside to get the gas on – and to let some more out! I needed my morning tea and maybe some bacon? But no. No time for that. We've got to get off the pontoon and to the basin because of the flippin' stopgate thing.
So, complete with hangover, little sleep and no breakfast, absolutely not like Roger Oliver, we chug into the basin with Tre, and I notice that Tonybarebones has already left his comfortable spot and gone home.
We head down the river and we both were surprised at the amount of debris on the surface. Other boats left us for dead and I'm wondering whether a larger engine would allow me to keep up. 13 1/2hp isn't big by any stretch I suppose.
We entered the Channel after what seemed ages and turned for Cardiff. Some of the boats we went down the river with now seemed to be aiming for Denny Island. Is the flow better there? We realised there was quite a chop outside Portishead and with the wind bang on the nose, and our flag and burgee board-flat, we ploughed through the waves. Before we got anywhere near Clevedon, we were beginning to take waves over the bow.
Now from here, you'll see the decisions I took and why I took them and if anyone can suggest even better decisions, I'm happy to take advice, as I'll never stop learning.
I turned slightly to starboard to head towards Newport. I thought if I could dash over to Uskmouth by the power station, I could use the deep water channel there to head towards Cardiff and hopefully, get some eventual lee from Penarth head. We started to take waves on the port bow but at that point, the boat coped OK. However, in the middle of the channel the wave size increased. My Internet weather report gave a WSW wind at F3. If that was an F3 - then I'm an F ladyboy! These waves were six footers when you were in the troughs and Lizzy seemed OK, but only just. Some waves were knocking us beam-on to the next. I increased the revs on the Volvo and watched a couple of yachts appear to effortlessly shoot past with full main and jib! A quick committee meeting in the cockpit concluded that I should furl out some of the Genoa, but just enough to give us stability and steerage. As I did so, a massive wave hit us bow on and water shot up to the spray hood followed by a deafening sound of pouring water running into the cockpit and out of the deck and cockpit scuppers.
Heartbeats were beginning to increase considerably by now and we pressed on to get out of this confused water. I had the tiller in my right hand and the Jenny sheet in my left. Even with two turns around the winch, the wind was desperate to yank it from my grasp. I chose not to cleat the line in case I wanted to let it go really quickly. We made progress across the channel over toward Newport and then – deep joy, the echo read 2 metres. I turned the boat and tried to tack back as we motor sailed. Once in deeper water, the sea suddenly calmed down. A quick check on the chart and I realised that we’d passed the Middle Ground sandbanks and that we were just over halfway home.
The clouds came back, and so did the large, dirty grey waves. Still we pressed on until we were about 5 miles east of Cardiff. Then it happened.
The engine started to rev high, and then low on its own. It sounded funny and you knew in a second that something was wrong. I knew that earlier this year, I’d changed both fuel filters, the oil and oil filter, the alternator and drive belt, I mean, what was left to go wrong on the engine? Now the exhaust sounded as though no cooling water was coming through and I dropped the revs. I left Bev with the tiller and jumped into the cabin. I got the engine cover off and was met with a massive cloud of steam and the heat from the engine itself was incredible. I killed the engine and jumped back into the cockpit with Bev. I readjusted the sails. We needed to tack our way out of this, but now without the engine, we weren’t getting anything like the forward propulsion from the sails. I went to the mast to get the main up and put a reef in before hoisting. All the time the boat was being thrown from one way to the other with the occasional beam-on wave to ensure that we were truly frightened.
I called up the CG on 16 and was told to go to 67. On 67, I told the CG what our condition was and that I wanted them to be aware. I didn’t think that at that point I needed to make a Mayday or a Pan Pan of my message. I just told them that we would try and make it to Cardiff under our own steam. We were rolling everywhere by now and steering, sheet handling and using the radio all at once was quite a nightmare. Bev was frozen with fear but responded to direct instructions when asked to (makes a change!!!) and she would relieve me of the tiller occasionally. I gave the CG our Lat and Long from the GPS and could see that we were only doing 3kts.
The CG came back to us on 67 and asked if we wanted assistance. The next bit of the conversation took place over the space of ten seconds, but I was wrestling with a little bit of male pride here. I’m a Firefighter, and I don’t get rescued. I do the rescuing. So do I want assistance? “No thanks”, I told the CG, “We’ll battle on.” I heard the muffled thump of Bev’s morale hitting the floor. The CG told me I had one hour of ebb tide left, after that, I would be pushed by the wind and the tide back up the channel. Time to stop acting like a willy, and accept the help offered. A “Yes please” from me, brought a “No problem Sir” from him, and the Penarth Lifeboat was turned out.
As we hung on, a fishing boat had been listening in and we could see in the distance that it was heading towards us. The boat was called Predator III from Penarth Marina (thank you whoever you are for coming to us) and in five minutes, Bev and I could make out something orange splashing along side him also heading our way. It was, of course, Penarth lifeboat with what can only be described as three true heroes on board. Within another five minutes, possibly less, they were both along side us and the lifeboat put a man on board. I’d kept the sails up to try and give us steerage, so we dropped them, and I was asked to sit in the cockpit. I know that they have their routines as do we in the Fire and Rescue Service, and an amateur lifeboatman is going to be more of a hindrance than a help. So I did as I was told - (makes a change!!! Bev made me put that in.)
I sat in the cockpit and felt sick. I felt weak and emasculated. I was supposed to look after Beverley and she’s supposed to be confident in me when we’re at sea. I felt like I’d let her down, myself down, and now had three brave men out here to get me out of my mess. I wasn’t too complementary with myself privately and was calling myself everything under the sun that is bad. The lifeboat crew quickly rigged a towline and we were pulled at a fairly zippy speed towards Cardiff and safety.
I asked the lifeboatman, Nathan, what he was doing when his pager went off. He told me that he was watching DVDs with his children. Arrrrrrrghh. Why couldn’t you have been drowning kittens, or beating up an old lady. Then I would have felt better about having to call you out. At least I would have done something useful. But no! You left your sweet children to expose yourself to the dangers of the sea to get me out of the mess I was in. May God bless you Nathan – and your two mates on the RIB.
We were taken into the Barrage with 1m showing on the echo. Once in the lock, everyone wanted to know what had happened, and luckily for me, just to compound my embarrassment, Rent – A – Crowd was having a day trip to the Barrage. I awaited the inevitable “Only me!” character that Harry Enfield used to do. You know the one. Full of advice and dying to tell you what you did wrong. To be fair, of the sea of faces that looked down on us from above, everyone showed concern. We shared our tales with the other boaters in the lock and the visitors from Rent – A – Crowd listened intently, glad that they were landlubbers.
The Cardiff Harbour Authority boat reversed in (it’s obviously not a long keel) and rafted up alongside us. “The Coastguards here and they want a word” they said. I thought it was too good to be true. Here comes the ollockingb (anag) I’ve been expecting. Once tied on the water bus pontoon, I explained to the blue overalled blokes from the CG about all that had happened, the decisions I’d taken and my reasoning behind them. They quizzed me about the safety gear on my boat and seemed happy, even though I confessed to having flares 12 months out of date. With a solemn promise to replace them, the Harbour boys skilfully took us across to the Cardiff Yacht Club pontoon, where Lizzy was finally safely moored.
Lessons learned? I think I did the right thing getting a call into the CG quickly. We were in 7m of water when I did that, and in 5m when the lifeboat arrived. I did consider going with the tide to Newport, but didn’t have the confidence in my ability to sail the boat onto a mooring, assuming there’s one available. I tried to sail us out of trouble, but simply couldn’t. I had looked after the engine and checked that the impeller was OK, which it was and still is. So was confident that it would work fine, but I never have changed the thermostat.
So what was the cause of the problem? The jury’s still out, but if you want find out first hand, you’ll find me on the pontoon this weekend effing and blinding at the engine for being located in such an awkward position. The early prognosis is a defective thermostat. With the engine on light to medium tickover coming from Bristol, the engine probably coped to a degree, but was getting hotter all of the time. When I increased the revs, the engine began to heat up so much that what little water that was getting in turned instantly to steam. As you know, steam expands and it pushed on of the push fit, low-pressure water pipes out. If it’s not that, it could be blocked channels in the exhaust manifold, as all flexible hoses were checked and found to be sound. I’ll keep you informed.
Thanks for taking part in such a marathon read. I need to get on now. I have a few thank you letters to write and a subscription to Shoreline to renew.
PS, Apparently three boats were brought into Cardiff by lifeboat yesterday, including our own Commodore. One couple who got back under their own steam had 2 feet of water in their cabin (yacht), another described conditions as horrendous (mobo). A third couple turned for Portishead (mobo) and a fourth has got a crack in the structure of the interior after hitting waves (mobo). Good old British weather!!
Take care all and be careful,
Lizzy D
