tcm
...
Long motoway queues to the south coast, but an excellent evening sail to Yarmouth in Jimi's boat. Sailbad, me, TwisterKen and jimi. Unfortunately, Claymore couldn't make it cos one of his colleagues had been diagnosed as somehwat deranged, and so presumably had got promoted leaving poor Claysie to do all the work marking postgraduate exam papers.
We found Observer already moored in Yarmouth. Nipped ashore to the Weatsheaf pub, and met up with Parahandy and Stingo (who had come from Gosport on Para's boat). Then all (fairly late) to the Indian, and later back to the boat to investigate the multitudinous whiskies now aboard jimi's boat. Jimi, slightly worse for wear announced it impossible to tell one whisky from another. Indeed, when he was working in pub years ago they filled up al the bottles with Bells. So he bet £2 that Para couldn't tell the difference between Talisker malt and Grolsch lager. But suitably blindfolded and with bogroll up his nose, Para proceeded to tell the difference between lager (with a load of rum in it) and Talisker (also with a load of rum in it) - and won the bet.
Some time later, Para announced that in order to make a reasonable start in the morning, the merriment would have to be cut short, so at 3.30 am he decided it was time for bed, and toddled off to the mooring trots, narrowly averting falling into the sea and falling unconcious. Or, more likely, being unconcious and then falling into the sea.
Monster fried breakfast required Jimi to first go ashore and get some "I can't believe he forgot the butter", but bust his gearbox in his outboard and got towed back by a taxi. With rather a lot of breakfast being fried up(Ken and Observer had to leave early) we invied Para and Stingo along, easiest being to go out and raft alongside them. Para described by telephone how Jimi would be able to identify the proud vessel Passing Trade outside Yarmouth, high prow, classic lines, clean Old English white.... "Och, so what yer saying is, we'll easily be able to find it cos it's a quite an old crappy boat?.." offered Jimi. Para's boat is actually quite a decent cutter.
We motored down to Hurst castle, and North Channel. A bit foggy with occasional vis down to 400 yards, so on with the radar. Para, directly behind and sometimes only 40 yards away, was invisible. So we slowed to bring his radar reflector alongside jimi's radar. No reading. Para moved away. All the other boats around were visible, not Para. Then another boat came from other direction, perfectly visible on radar, and remained visible even when it went behind Para's boat. But Para remained invisible on radar. We decided that Para has a cloaking device on board.
Sailed along in a nice 12-15 knot wind. Studland bay is very beautiful from the sea, with laid moorings. Late in the evening the sea became like glass. At about 7pm three or four motorboats left to go back into Poole and decided it was fine to accelerate out between the moorings, so the sea became distinctly un-glassy. "I'm only doing 5 knots" squawked the helm on one to whom i remonstrated (and was doing more than 5 knots). They might have saved a whole 30 seconds by planing out instead of bimbling out with no wash. The game is to slip away from moorings unnoticed, not "just legal, stuff you". I retired to prepare the proscribed Chicken Fajitas for afternoon tea, and felt a lot better.
Earlier in the day Jimi's boat seemed to have had a bit of rope around the prop, which cleared as we arived at Studland. And because his outboard had also been busted, he used Para's rubber duck with outboard to get us ashore. Jimi nearly busted Para's outboard too, which would have made three knackered engines in 24 hours, but it managed to escape his jinx.
We had to go to the pub, apparently, cos the morings are free for patrons of the hotel or the bar. I told the bar staff that the decoration were quite pleasant in a sort of olde-worlde broken/knackered sort of way, but perfectly acceptable since people in Dorset were probably too poor and ill-educated to afford proper workmen or paint. The lady at the bar said that wasn't what was meant by "patronising" the pub.
Jimi asked our advice about restoring the slightly pitted chrome water tap. I advised that the slightly-unshiny tap would not be a concern for visitors gasping for breath in the stinky bog, who would be preoccuipied with getting out as quickly as possible and running up on deck for a cholera injection, hopefully escaping before their their clothes rotted away. But otherwise all very fine on board his boat.
On Sunday there was a mixup with the menu cards detailing the breakfast and luncheon requirements: Sunday's seemed exactly the same as Saturday's. But who am I to argue? So, another monster fried breakfast special, again with Stingo and Parahandy.
Sundays weather was forecast rain and possibly a force 3. Later the wind was forecast force 4-5 . So about 11 oclock we set off in sunshine and 23 knots of wind, which built to over 30 knots - force 7 from SW on starboard quarter. Para had set off ahead, with us in hot pursuit as the sea and wind built up behind us.
For some reason jimi and sailbad sugested that it might be a good idea to take down some sails. Eh? Why would we take some sails down to go faster downwind? Sailbad tried to explain "reefing" and seemed alarmed to discover that I would be fine about the boat lurching about on following sea as our speed crept up to power-boat-challenging double figures. He mentioned that he was supposed to be getting married next Saturday. I assured him he would most defintely make it to the church, tho praps it might be in a wooden box.
Jimi relented and let us (me) have a 1-reef mainsail and all the genoa with a pole out. Hurrah! We goosewinged/surfed up the needles channel, and up the solent reaching over 10knots and once 12.6 SOG, while the wind went to 28knots gusting 35. Most other boats were on bare poles or storm sails. Teehee. Sailbad kept nipping down to find the next buoy, then coming up to find it was already behind us. Para was left in our wake from Yarmouth, and we only broached once in the solent, when sailbad decided to have a helm, then (as it broached) decided ahem praps not.
Fabulous, fabulous sail with the trip from Studland to Hythe taking just over four hours. I wanted to go back and do it again. Perhaps we could organise some "heliboating" sometime - airlift a boat out to the Needles and then run downwind back to port a few times?
We spotted Burgundyben in Southahmpton water, but couldn't raise him on VHF. I managed to gain some more cooking-in-a-30-knot-wind practice up southhampton water, and locked into Hythe.
All too soon it was time to go. Before departing, I apologised to Jimi for buying a softback 2003 Ordnance Survey UK Road Atlas in a service station, writing the name of his boat on it, putting it under his nav table on the Friday night and then "uncovering" it whilst everyone was listening to his Yachtmaster exam stories. Sorry about that.
We found Observer already moored in Yarmouth. Nipped ashore to the Weatsheaf pub, and met up with Parahandy and Stingo (who had come from Gosport on Para's boat). Then all (fairly late) to the Indian, and later back to the boat to investigate the multitudinous whiskies now aboard jimi's boat. Jimi, slightly worse for wear announced it impossible to tell one whisky from another. Indeed, when he was working in pub years ago they filled up al the bottles with Bells. So he bet £2 that Para couldn't tell the difference between Talisker malt and Grolsch lager. But suitably blindfolded and with bogroll up his nose, Para proceeded to tell the difference between lager (with a load of rum in it) and Talisker (also with a load of rum in it) - and won the bet.
Some time later, Para announced that in order to make a reasonable start in the morning, the merriment would have to be cut short, so at 3.30 am he decided it was time for bed, and toddled off to the mooring trots, narrowly averting falling into the sea and falling unconcious. Or, more likely, being unconcious and then falling into the sea.
Monster fried breakfast required Jimi to first go ashore and get some "I can't believe he forgot the butter", but bust his gearbox in his outboard and got towed back by a taxi. With rather a lot of breakfast being fried up(Ken and Observer had to leave early) we invied Para and Stingo along, easiest being to go out and raft alongside them. Para described by telephone how Jimi would be able to identify the proud vessel Passing Trade outside Yarmouth, high prow, classic lines, clean Old English white.... "Och, so what yer saying is, we'll easily be able to find it cos it's a quite an old crappy boat?.." offered Jimi. Para's boat is actually quite a decent cutter.
We motored down to Hurst castle, and North Channel. A bit foggy with occasional vis down to 400 yards, so on with the radar. Para, directly behind and sometimes only 40 yards away, was invisible. So we slowed to bring his radar reflector alongside jimi's radar. No reading. Para moved away. All the other boats around were visible, not Para. Then another boat came from other direction, perfectly visible on radar, and remained visible even when it went behind Para's boat. But Para remained invisible on radar. We decided that Para has a cloaking device on board.
Sailed along in a nice 12-15 knot wind. Studland bay is very beautiful from the sea, with laid moorings. Late in the evening the sea became like glass. At about 7pm three or four motorboats left to go back into Poole and decided it was fine to accelerate out between the moorings, so the sea became distinctly un-glassy. "I'm only doing 5 knots" squawked the helm on one to whom i remonstrated (and was doing more than 5 knots). They might have saved a whole 30 seconds by planing out instead of bimbling out with no wash. The game is to slip away from moorings unnoticed, not "just legal, stuff you". I retired to prepare the proscribed Chicken Fajitas for afternoon tea, and felt a lot better.
Earlier in the day Jimi's boat seemed to have had a bit of rope around the prop, which cleared as we arived at Studland. And because his outboard had also been busted, he used Para's rubber duck with outboard to get us ashore. Jimi nearly busted Para's outboard too, which would have made three knackered engines in 24 hours, but it managed to escape his jinx.
We had to go to the pub, apparently, cos the morings are free for patrons of the hotel or the bar. I told the bar staff that the decoration were quite pleasant in a sort of olde-worlde broken/knackered sort of way, but perfectly acceptable since people in Dorset were probably too poor and ill-educated to afford proper workmen or paint. The lady at the bar said that wasn't what was meant by "patronising" the pub.
Jimi asked our advice about restoring the slightly pitted chrome water tap. I advised that the slightly-unshiny tap would not be a concern for visitors gasping for breath in the stinky bog, who would be preoccuipied with getting out as quickly as possible and running up on deck for a cholera injection, hopefully escaping before their their clothes rotted away. But otherwise all very fine on board his boat.
On Sunday there was a mixup with the menu cards detailing the breakfast and luncheon requirements: Sunday's seemed exactly the same as Saturday's. But who am I to argue? So, another monster fried breakfast special, again with Stingo and Parahandy.
Sundays weather was forecast rain and possibly a force 3. Later the wind was forecast force 4-5 . So about 11 oclock we set off in sunshine and 23 knots of wind, which built to over 30 knots - force 7 from SW on starboard quarter. Para had set off ahead, with us in hot pursuit as the sea and wind built up behind us.
For some reason jimi and sailbad sugested that it might be a good idea to take down some sails. Eh? Why would we take some sails down to go faster downwind? Sailbad tried to explain "reefing" and seemed alarmed to discover that I would be fine about the boat lurching about on following sea as our speed crept up to power-boat-challenging double figures. He mentioned that he was supposed to be getting married next Saturday. I assured him he would most defintely make it to the church, tho praps it might be in a wooden box.
Jimi relented and let us (me) have a 1-reef mainsail and all the genoa with a pole out. Hurrah! We goosewinged/surfed up the needles channel, and up the solent reaching over 10knots and once 12.6 SOG, while the wind went to 28knots gusting 35. Most other boats were on bare poles or storm sails. Teehee. Sailbad kept nipping down to find the next buoy, then coming up to find it was already behind us. Para was left in our wake from Yarmouth, and we only broached once in the solent, when sailbad decided to have a helm, then (as it broached) decided ahem praps not.
Fabulous, fabulous sail with the trip from Studland to Hythe taking just over four hours. I wanted to go back and do it again. Perhaps we could organise some "heliboating" sometime - airlift a boat out to the Needles and then run downwind back to port a few times?
We spotted Burgundyben in Southahmpton water, but couldn't raise him on VHF. I managed to gain some more cooking-in-a-30-knot-wind practice up southhampton water, and locked into Hythe.
All too soon it was time to go. Before departing, I apologised to Jimi for buying a softback 2003 Ordnance Survey UK Road Atlas in a service station, writing the name of his boat on it, putting it under his nav table on the Friday night and then "uncovering" it whilst everyone was listening to his Yachtmaster exam stories. Sorry about that.
