Stemar
Well-Known Member
While looking for something else on the confuser, I came across this, which cheered me up no end with the memories it brought back from, well, only 7 months ago, but it seems so much longer! Sorry, no photos. Use your imagination!
Our First Cross-Channel Trip
Well, we've been talking about it long enough and spent a good few days this year in the Solent being rather glad we weren't halfway across. Every time I've been across, crewing for a mate, it's been an evening departure, but the Admiral (SWMBO) is adamant that she wants a day crossing, so it looks like an afternoon start, looking for an anchorage round the side of the Isle of Wight and dropping the hook for the night with a pre-dawn departure. She also doesn't want to hear any talk of 18-20 hour crossings, so if we can't make 4 ½ knots under sail alone, we'll be using the engine Now, with a couple of week's holiday and high pressure firmly in charge in the weather department, it looked like a go.
The tides were wrong for an early departure from Yarmouth, and would have meant a long slog against the tide West through the Solent and round to Freshwater Bay, so what do we do? Ventor's tidal, so even if we can get in we wouldn't be leaving anywhere near early enough, but perhaps we can find somewhere to anchor in the vicinity. A pontoon discussion suggested that anchoring on whichever side of St Catherine's Point was more sheltered was an option, so we decided to have a go.
We filled up with diesel (keeping the receipt in case the Affaires Maritimes decide to check us out), gave Jissel the once-over and stowed a borrowed liferaft where we could get it in a hurry (is there any other way of needing it?) and I spent an afternoon working out a course to steer. Rather annoying, this bit because I've got Neptune on the PC at home, but we're on the boat so needs must… Bluddy ‘ell these tidal vectors are a nightmare when it's years since you last did ‘em! Anyway at least I can cheat some, because the ones that matter are near enough East for a bit, then West for a bit, then East a bit unless you're really slow when you have to add another West a bit, or quick when you can forget about the second East a bit. Except that some of the bits are quite big, even at neaps! Starting with our planned departure time I wrote down the current in an E column or W column as appropriate for each hour I expected the trip to take plus a few hours and added the Easts and subtracted the Wests for the expected trip time for every half knot from 3.5 to 5 knots to get a net drift. Not, perhaps, very scientific, but I've no illusions about being able to steer Jissel to better than + or – 5 degrees in smooth water, let alone in a swell, so it seemed good enough for the likes of us!
The plan was to aim for a waypoint 10 miles outside Cherbourg then decide which would be the easier entrance to get in in a couple of hours. For anyone who hasn't done it, the tide sluices across the top of the Cotentin and in a small boat, getting downtide of the downtide entrance means a hard slog at neaps and is likely to be severely disheartening on a big spring. (Take charts for Omonville and Barfleur!)
We left Hardway in a flat calm at about 1700 on Saturday and chugged round the island clockwise. A gentle swell came in from the SSW as we rounded Bembridge Ledge which meant we didn't feel like going round Dunnose to a nice rolly – and uncertain – anchorage, so as we came to Sandown Bay, we decided to turn in towards Shanklin and anchored just outside the line of yellow buoys marking the water ski zone in a couple of metres above chart datum and let out plenty of chain as it was just after low tide. An otherwise uneventful night was made slightly uncomfortable by a breeze that came up to hold us across the tiny swell, which seemed to have just the right frequency to set Jissel rolling every few minutes. After we arrived, a couple of other boats anchored right close in by Luccombe Chine, so next time, we'll try that as long as there's some West in the wind.
With the swell, there was no problem being awake in good time for our 0430 departure, so it's start the engine to get going, up anchor and set off to clear Dunnose Point comfortably. As we went round the point I got the sails up, but the sea was confused, the wind was confused and, at that time of the day, I was certainly confused, but the boat was very uncomfortable and hard-mouthed, so I put the main away and we continued motorsailing under genoa. By the time we got clear of the Isle of Wight, the wind died down to F2 at best, so that's how we continued, our newly repaired autopilot at the helm.
In the end, the crossing was uneventful:
Land behind us.
Ships from the left.
Nothing.
Ships from the right.
Land in front of us.
At one point I was watching six cargo ships, but the only one that might have been a problem, a give way vessel, altered course to pass astern of me before I'd got to more than “I'd better keep an eye on that one” level of concern. The only thing of note was that we were carried a looonnng way east by the rising tide and I couldn't believe my calculations in the face of a cross-track error of close to 10 miles on the GPS, so I altered course a few degrees to the West. I should have trusted my calculations, as I had to alter back East to hit the waypoint. Visibility had been OK rather than fantastic all the way across, and we could see Cherbourg and the Val de Saire to the East long before we could see la Hague to the West. This is a common state of affairs as la Hague gets far more than its fair share of fog.
In the Passe de l'est, the Eastern entrance to Cherbourg, is an orange buoy. From previous experience, I knew to leave it to the East. There's a similar one on the entrance to the Petit Rade, the inner harbour, and the same applies. I knew that because the last time I was there, there was a rather forlorn charter yacht sitting on the rocks just east of it! I heard afterwards that the only real damage was to the skipper's pride, fortunately. Anyone else would use a cardinal mark, but the French have to be different…
Arrival in Chantereyne was uneventful. There are several visitors' pontoons on the east side of the marina, N,O, P & Q from memory and there was plenty of space for a little 'un, even on a bank holiday weekend. Do beware of the finger pontoons, though – they're short and not very buoyant. Death or glory leaps probably won't result in death, but will almost certainly end in a shortage of glory. They also have loops rather than cleats, which can make getting a quick line attached to stop the boat problematical. We went on the outside of Q pontoon, the last on the left as you go in and that had proper cleats. The wind was kind – it had pretty much taken the day off and stayed away for us to come alongside, and there was no current, so those watching us come alongside could have been forgiven for thinking we knew what we were doing, and we were safely tied up by about 1630. Formalities at the Capitainerie were minimal; the staff all speak good English, but were quite happy to let me use my French. A sign on the pontoon said we'd need passports and the boat's registration document, but neither was asked for.
By this time, the Admiral had made a phone call and her family, who live in the area, took us firmly in hand. On Tuesday, we escaped long enough stock up on wine and move Jissel to Omonville la Rogue with Amory, a nephew, as crew. We had a rather more than forecast Easterly F5 to hep us along as well as a favourable tide, so the trip took a pleasant couple of hours, though the swell, forecast as less than 40cms was well over double that, with the odd lump of more than 2 metres. Once out of the harbour, we made good progress under just the full genoa and all on board felt the trip was shorter than we would have liked. Amory is a keep fisherman and has a small open boat. He trailed a line for mackerel, but we only caught one, according to Amory, because we were going too fast – probably the first time Jissel's been accused of any such thing!
If you like peace and quiet and long walks with spectacular views, and don't mind dinghying ashore, Omonville has a lot going for it. It boasts proudly that, apart from Cherbourg, it's the only port with deep water access at all states of the tide in the whole of the Cotentin peninsular – in effect, from Caen to St Malo. The entrance is simple enough but needs care. There's a green painted tower on rocks 100m or so from the end of the breakwater. Locals with shallow draft boats do go between the tower and the breakwater at high tide, but anything with a keel needs to leave it well to starboard on the way in. There's a white post with a sector light on the shore south of the village and keeping that on a bearing of 135 degrees (from memory – check for yourself!) until well past the tower will see you in safely. There are several rows of moorings for locals and half a dozen big white conical buoys for visitors. Shelter is very good as long as there's no East in the wind. Did I mention we came in with an E F5/6 up our chuff?
The visitors' buoys have a ring on top and you're supposed to thread a line through it. With the swell and wind coming straight into the harbour, getting round the one other visitor and squeezing past the other moorings to pick up the most sheltered buoy wasn't easy, but with a quick wellyfull of throttle and full right rudder, I just got the bow up to it and the crew did their stuff. We wouldn't be sleeping on board, so the fact that Jissel was prancing in the swell like a race horse didn't matter, but rather than using our normal 10mm mooring lines, I used 20mm octoplait, doubled up, to tie us to the buoy, then, in a spirit of pure pessimism, looking at the rocky shore half a cable downwind, I unshackled the anchor and used the chain as a backup. This turned out to be unnecessary, but may have helped, as the weight of the chain dampened the snatching at the buoy a little. If nothing else, it helped me to sleep better that night!
Final farewells were said and we managed to get back to Jissel by 1800 on Wednesday ready for an early start on Thursday. There was a gentle breeze from the north, just enough to ensure Jissel sat across the slight, but continuous swell from the East and rolled ferociously. Preparing the boat for the next day's passage was a bit of a nightmare because she just wouldn't sit still, but at least I'd had access to a computer and was able to download Neptune (http://www.neptune-navigation.com/neptunedemosPP.htm) to plan my passage. I'd planned the outward passage at 4.5 knots, but we'd averaged closer to 5, so I based our trip back to England at 5 knots. Sleep proved impossible until we turned to lie across the v-berth instead of fore and aft, when it became merely difficult.
We were awake at dawn and towards Poole at around 0600 into a gentle N breeze. There was a steady swell of about a metre, on the starboard bow, so I put the main up and sheeted it in hard to steady us and we motorsailed along happily at a steady 5 knots on the GPS, which increased to 5 ½ knots as the tide became more favourable.
The trip was much the same as the outbound passage:
Land behind us.
Ships from the left.
Nothing.
Ships from the right.
Land in front of us.
About 2/3 of the way across, the wind veered enough to allow the sails to draw and we unrolled the genoa, which added a good knot to our speed and we didn't drop below 6 knots until we passed Old Harry, seeing over 7 knots on the GPS for the best part of an hour and we were dodging the evening racing fleet in the entrance to Poole Harbour by 1800 and at anchor near Pottery Pier by 1900.
So, was it worth it? Absolutely. The Admiral's talking about Dinan as a destination for next year – her parents live there and it'd be a great way to visit them. Can a 37-year-old 24ft boat still cross the Channel? Yes. It's a serious trip and has to be prepared properly, but with the right weather even a little ‘un can do it. We were the smallest British boat in Cherbourg by at least 6 feet, and below average size by more like 10, but you don't need a 35 footer to do it, in spite of one insurance broker telling me that 24 feet was too small for a channel crossing and he wouldn't insure me even third party outside UK waters.
What would we do differently? I think we'd turn the wick up a bit on the way out. Jissel has a good, powerful engine and can cruise at 5 ½ knots all day. I was concerned about fuel consumption, but in the event, we used not much more than 2 litres an hour at 5knots and only a little more at 5 ½. On the way out, I'd filled up from cans half way across, slopping a significant amount of diesel across the port quarter and the port dodger instead of into the funnel, but it turned out not to have been necessary. We will have a better method of transferring fuel from cans to the tank next time, though. We will also avoid Omonville in Easterly winds and find a better place to anchor the night before. Going earlier in the season would give longer daylight, so allow a more civilised departure time, but this year, the end of August and beginning of September seem to have been the only period of stable weather since the spring.
Biggest ‘Oh bugger!' factor? Dropping the fuel cap over the side, followed an hour later by the fuel dipstick the day before we left and finding that the cap is no longer available from normal sources. It's a female threaded cap, similar to old Westerlies, but with a 2” internal diameter and a much finer thread. For the trip, I used a wooden bung in the hole and a piece of plastic over the top, held on by a cable tie. It worked fine until I replaced it with a water container cap that I found on Omonville beach. It's the wrong thread, and doesn't seal perfectly, but it will keep the rain out until I can get a proper replacement cap.
Our First Cross-Channel Trip
Well, we've been talking about it long enough and spent a good few days this year in the Solent being rather glad we weren't halfway across. Every time I've been across, crewing for a mate, it's been an evening departure, but the Admiral (SWMBO) is adamant that she wants a day crossing, so it looks like an afternoon start, looking for an anchorage round the side of the Isle of Wight and dropping the hook for the night with a pre-dawn departure. She also doesn't want to hear any talk of 18-20 hour crossings, so if we can't make 4 ½ knots under sail alone, we'll be using the engine Now, with a couple of week's holiday and high pressure firmly in charge in the weather department, it looked like a go.
The tides were wrong for an early departure from Yarmouth, and would have meant a long slog against the tide West through the Solent and round to Freshwater Bay, so what do we do? Ventor's tidal, so even if we can get in we wouldn't be leaving anywhere near early enough, but perhaps we can find somewhere to anchor in the vicinity. A pontoon discussion suggested that anchoring on whichever side of St Catherine's Point was more sheltered was an option, so we decided to have a go.
We filled up with diesel (keeping the receipt in case the Affaires Maritimes decide to check us out), gave Jissel the once-over and stowed a borrowed liferaft where we could get it in a hurry (is there any other way of needing it?) and I spent an afternoon working out a course to steer. Rather annoying, this bit because I've got Neptune on the PC at home, but we're on the boat so needs must… Bluddy ‘ell these tidal vectors are a nightmare when it's years since you last did ‘em! Anyway at least I can cheat some, because the ones that matter are near enough East for a bit, then West for a bit, then East a bit unless you're really slow when you have to add another West a bit, or quick when you can forget about the second East a bit. Except that some of the bits are quite big, even at neaps! Starting with our planned departure time I wrote down the current in an E column or W column as appropriate for each hour I expected the trip to take plus a few hours and added the Easts and subtracted the Wests for the expected trip time for every half knot from 3.5 to 5 knots to get a net drift. Not, perhaps, very scientific, but I've no illusions about being able to steer Jissel to better than + or – 5 degrees in smooth water, let alone in a swell, so it seemed good enough for the likes of us!
The plan was to aim for a waypoint 10 miles outside Cherbourg then decide which would be the easier entrance to get in in a couple of hours. For anyone who hasn't done it, the tide sluices across the top of the Cotentin and in a small boat, getting downtide of the downtide entrance means a hard slog at neaps and is likely to be severely disheartening on a big spring. (Take charts for Omonville and Barfleur!)
We left Hardway in a flat calm at about 1700 on Saturday and chugged round the island clockwise. A gentle swell came in from the SSW as we rounded Bembridge Ledge which meant we didn't feel like going round Dunnose to a nice rolly – and uncertain – anchorage, so as we came to Sandown Bay, we decided to turn in towards Shanklin and anchored just outside the line of yellow buoys marking the water ski zone in a couple of metres above chart datum and let out plenty of chain as it was just after low tide. An otherwise uneventful night was made slightly uncomfortable by a breeze that came up to hold us across the tiny swell, which seemed to have just the right frequency to set Jissel rolling every few minutes. After we arrived, a couple of other boats anchored right close in by Luccombe Chine, so next time, we'll try that as long as there's some West in the wind.
With the swell, there was no problem being awake in good time for our 0430 departure, so it's start the engine to get going, up anchor and set off to clear Dunnose Point comfortably. As we went round the point I got the sails up, but the sea was confused, the wind was confused and, at that time of the day, I was certainly confused, but the boat was very uncomfortable and hard-mouthed, so I put the main away and we continued motorsailing under genoa. By the time we got clear of the Isle of Wight, the wind died down to F2 at best, so that's how we continued, our newly repaired autopilot at the helm.
In the end, the crossing was uneventful:
Land behind us.
Ships from the left.
Nothing.
Ships from the right.
Land in front of us.
At one point I was watching six cargo ships, but the only one that might have been a problem, a give way vessel, altered course to pass astern of me before I'd got to more than “I'd better keep an eye on that one” level of concern. The only thing of note was that we were carried a looonnng way east by the rising tide and I couldn't believe my calculations in the face of a cross-track error of close to 10 miles on the GPS, so I altered course a few degrees to the West. I should have trusted my calculations, as I had to alter back East to hit the waypoint. Visibility had been OK rather than fantastic all the way across, and we could see Cherbourg and the Val de Saire to the East long before we could see la Hague to the West. This is a common state of affairs as la Hague gets far more than its fair share of fog.
In the Passe de l'est, the Eastern entrance to Cherbourg, is an orange buoy. From previous experience, I knew to leave it to the East. There's a similar one on the entrance to the Petit Rade, the inner harbour, and the same applies. I knew that because the last time I was there, there was a rather forlorn charter yacht sitting on the rocks just east of it! I heard afterwards that the only real damage was to the skipper's pride, fortunately. Anyone else would use a cardinal mark, but the French have to be different…
Arrival in Chantereyne was uneventful. There are several visitors' pontoons on the east side of the marina, N,O, P & Q from memory and there was plenty of space for a little 'un, even on a bank holiday weekend. Do beware of the finger pontoons, though – they're short and not very buoyant. Death or glory leaps probably won't result in death, but will almost certainly end in a shortage of glory. They also have loops rather than cleats, which can make getting a quick line attached to stop the boat problematical. We went on the outside of Q pontoon, the last on the left as you go in and that had proper cleats. The wind was kind – it had pretty much taken the day off and stayed away for us to come alongside, and there was no current, so those watching us come alongside could have been forgiven for thinking we knew what we were doing, and we were safely tied up by about 1630. Formalities at the Capitainerie were minimal; the staff all speak good English, but were quite happy to let me use my French. A sign on the pontoon said we'd need passports and the boat's registration document, but neither was asked for.
By this time, the Admiral had made a phone call and her family, who live in the area, took us firmly in hand. On Tuesday, we escaped long enough stock up on wine and move Jissel to Omonville la Rogue with Amory, a nephew, as crew. We had a rather more than forecast Easterly F5 to hep us along as well as a favourable tide, so the trip took a pleasant couple of hours, though the swell, forecast as less than 40cms was well over double that, with the odd lump of more than 2 metres. Once out of the harbour, we made good progress under just the full genoa and all on board felt the trip was shorter than we would have liked. Amory is a keep fisherman and has a small open boat. He trailed a line for mackerel, but we only caught one, according to Amory, because we were going too fast – probably the first time Jissel's been accused of any such thing!
If you like peace and quiet and long walks with spectacular views, and don't mind dinghying ashore, Omonville has a lot going for it. It boasts proudly that, apart from Cherbourg, it's the only port with deep water access at all states of the tide in the whole of the Cotentin peninsular – in effect, from Caen to St Malo. The entrance is simple enough but needs care. There's a green painted tower on rocks 100m or so from the end of the breakwater. Locals with shallow draft boats do go between the tower and the breakwater at high tide, but anything with a keel needs to leave it well to starboard on the way in. There's a white post with a sector light on the shore south of the village and keeping that on a bearing of 135 degrees (from memory – check for yourself!) until well past the tower will see you in safely. There are several rows of moorings for locals and half a dozen big white conical buoys for visitors. Shelter is very good as long as there's no East in the wind. Did I mention we came in with an E F5/6 up our chuff?
The visitors' buoys have a ring on top and you're supposed to thread a line through it. With the swell and wind coming straight into the harbour, getting round the one other visitor and squeezing past the other moorings to pick up the most sheltered buoy wasn't easy, but with a quick wellyfull of throttle and full right rudder, I just got the bow up to it and the crew did their stuff. We wouldn't be sleeping on board, so the fact that Jissel was prancing in the swell like a race horse didn't matter, but rather than using our normal 10mm mooring lines, I used 20mm octoplait, doubled up, to tie us to the buoy, then, in a spirit of pure pessimism, looking at the rocky shore half a cable downwind, I unshackled the anchor and used the chain as a backup. This turned out to be unnecessary, but may have helped, as the weight of the chain dampened the snatching at the buoy a little. If nothing else, it helped me to sleep better that night!
Final farewells were said and we managed to get back to Jissel by 1800 on Wednesday ready for an early start on Thursday. There was a gentle breeze from the north, just enough to ensure Jissel sat across the slight, but continuous swell from the East and rolled ferociously. Preparing the boat for the next day's passage was a bit of a nightmare because she just wouldn't sit still, but at least I'd had access to a computer and was able to download Neptune (http://www.neptune-navigation.com/neptunedemosPP.htm) to plan my passage. I'd planned the outward passage at 4.5 knots, but we'd averaged closer to 5, so I based our trip back to England at 5 knots. Sleep proved impossible until we turned to lie across the v-berth instead of fore and aft, when it became merely difficult.
We were awake at dawn and towards Poole at around 0600 into a gentle N breeze. There was a steady swell of about a metre, on the starboard bow, so I put the main up and sheeted it in hard to steady us and we motorsailed along happily at a steady 5 knots on the GPS, which increased to 5 ½ knots as the tide became more favourable.
The trip was much the same as the outbound passage:
Land behind us.
Ships from the left.
Nothing.
Ships from the right.
Land in front of us.
About 2/3 of the way across, the wind veered enough to allow the sails to draw and we unrolled the genoa, which added a good knot to our speed and we didn't drop below 6 knots until we passed Old Harry, seeing over 7 knots on the GPS for the best part of an hour and we were dodging the evening racing fleet in the entrance to Poole Harbour by 1800 and at anchor near Pottery Pier by 1900.
So, was it worth it? Absolutely. The Admiral's talking about Dinan as a destination for next year – her parents live there and it'd be a great way to visit them. Can a 37-year-old 24ft boat still cross the Channel? Yes. It's a serious trip and has to be prepared properly, but with the right weather even a little ‘un can do it. We were the smallest British boat in Cherbourg by at least 6 feet, and below average size by more like 10, but you don't need a 35 footer to do it, in spite of one insurance broker telling me that 24 feet was too small for a channel crossing and he wouldn't insure me even third party outside UK waters.
What would we do differently? I think we'd turn the wick up a bit on the way out. Jissel has a good, powerful engine and can cruise at 5 ½ knots all day. I was concerned about fuel consumption, but in the event, we used not much more than 2 litres an hour at 5knots and only a little more at 5 ½. On the way out, I'd filled up from cans half way across, slopping a significant amount of diesel across the port quarter and the port dodger instead of into the funnel, but it turned out not to have been necessary. We will have a better method of transferring fuel from cans to the tank next time, though. We will also avoid Omonville in Easterly winds and find a better place to anchor the night before. Going earlier in the season would give longer daylight, so allow a more civilised departure time, but this year, the end of August and beginning of September seem to have been the only period of stable weather since the spring.
Biggest ‘Oh bugger!' factor? Dropping the fuel cap over the side, followed an hour later by the fuel dipstick the day before we left and finding that the cap is no longer available from normal sources. It's a female threaded cap, similar to old Westerlies, but with a 2” internal diameter and a much finer thread. For the trip, I used a wooden bung in the hole and a piece of plastic over the top, held on by a cable tie. It worked fine until I replaced it with a water container cap that I found on Omonville beach. It's the wrong thread, and doesn't seal perfectly, but it will keep the rain out until I can get a proper replacement cap.
