damo
Well-Known Member
First sail of the year one time
I notice that hlb has been getting twitchy about how the forums aint wot they usedta be, and how all these newbies keep asking questions about fuel and props and ropes and stuff, and not telling outrageous stories any more like wot tcm and trouville do. So while I can still remember, here's an account of the first sail of the year one time, in the days when I was a willing crew and didn't know anything about boats, but would pull on the appropriate bit of string when the skipper said so.
The skipper had a small Westerley which spends the winter in the little "harbour" of Cockwood, on the Exe. It was Easter time, and his insurance had just kicked in again so "Can you come down and help me antifoul and get her out of the harbour and get the mast up?" he says. "We'll get her on the mooring, and then if the weather's ok we'll go down to Anstey's or something"
I drive down and find that he had got the tides wrong again, so instead of of having to hang around, or go aground, or go backwards like we usually did, he had started early and managed to get the boat out of the harbour on his own. Now for those of you who know the Exe, the main line railtrack goes across the creek leading into Cockwood, giving a clearance of about bu**er all at high water. But just before HW is when his boat floats off so he thinks I won't wait for Damo to get here, I'll take advantage of it and get out sooner. Now the boat won't fit under the bridge at HW, so the skipper planned to wait just above, sitting back on the anchor, for the tide to drop and he'd pop through. But there's lots of moored boats there, and a bit of a current, and just him to do everything, so of course he got into a pickle and couldn't control the boat and the anchor at the same time , so he ends up pinned against the bridge with his head and shoulders on the bridge and desperately pushing the boat off with his legs. The mast is hanging over the bow and the stern, the boat is across the current and he is trying very hard to stop the vhf antenna and the roller reefing gear being scraped off the buttresses at each side.
Anyway, after about 20 minutes, when his legs are getting very trembly, the tide drops enough that he can literally scrape through and out into the river. So he puts the boat on the drying-out bit at Ashes Quay, where I find him sitting in his kayak, so he doesn't get his arse muddy under the boat, and scraping happily. I join him under the boat and start ladling on the minimal stuff that he had got together, cos he had called me and asked me to get some antifoul from the chandlers on the way and when I phoned him from the shop he said "£60! I'm not paying that. I got some stuff last year for £35 and I think there will be enough left"
Now the skipper "works from home", and his current project was walking along the mainline tracksides in the south west doing a vegetation survey for Railtrack. So while the skipper's lying on his back under the boat his mobile goes off and his boss is asking him how it's going. "Fine" says he, "I'm just next to the Exeter main line now" just as an intercity goes past and blaring its horn. "I won't keep you then" says the boss "I can hear you are busy". "That should be good for another week" says the skipper, "Let's get her on the mooring".
So we get her out there, and it's a lovely afternoon, and he says that we can step the mast now. So with his tried and trusted method involving various bits of string and sticks, up it goes and it's time for a cuppa and a sandwich. Now his food locker hasn't been touched since September so the tea is OK, but the sugar is a single lump, and so is the powdered milk. He's brought half a loaf, and reckons that the green fur on the marge won't be harmful, so I have a fag and a bottle of beer instead.
We get the weather off the vhf, which is for lightish north easterlies and fine weather, so we decide that I will nip ashore for supplies while the skipper does nautical skippery stuff, and we won't go for a local cruise, but we'll head south. So mid afternoon and we are sailing along lovely, and the tatty bags are ballooning beautifully from the mast and his homebuilt self steering is working great (It was a mini hydrovane made in stainless in the winter metalwork class, called Vanessa - Vane Activated Non Electronic Self Steering Apparatus - and he was justifiably proud of it). In the early hours we see the blink of the Casquets right where it was supposed to be, not like another time when he had a 19' boat and I sailed with him for the first time heading for Guernsey.
He didn't have gps but he did have a new compass which pointed wonderfully well, but really needed swinging first, so it was a bit of a surprise for him when the Casquets appeared on the wrong side. That's why we went to Alderney for the first time.
Anyway, the wind died, the tide was going the expected way, which was a nice surprise, and it was a gorgeous warm sunrise, so we motored in the last bit to anchor at Sark. One of my most memorable times was that morning in early April, sitting on the rocks in just shorts at 9am, with a bottle of red and the steaks sizzling on a beach barbecue, then playing with my new superduper catapult and a seagull. Actually it was most memorable later, because I started traversing the rocks above the sea, trying to climb around into the next bay, but it was very hard and a hold snapped off on an overhang and I fell in the sea, which was very cold at that time of year.
I've got no recollection of the rest of the voyage, but that was a damned fine 24 hours!!!
I notice that hlb has been getting twitchy about how the forums aint wot they usedta be, and how all these newbies keep asking questions about fuel and props and ropes and stuff, and not telling outrageous stories any more like wot tcm and trouville do. So while I can still remember, here's an account of the first sail of the year one time, in the days when I was a willing crew and didn't know anything about boats, but would pull on the appropriate bit of string when the skipper said so.
The skipper had a small Westerley which spends the winter in the little "harbour" of Cockwood, on the Exe. It was Easter time, and his insurance had just kicked in again so "Can you come down and help me antifoul and get her out of the harbour and get the mast up?" he says. "We'll get her on the mooring, and then if the weather's ok we'll go down to Anstey's or something"
I drive down and find that he had got the tides wrong again, so instead of of having to hang around, or go aground, or go backwards like we usually did, he had started early and managed to get the boat out of the harbour on his own. Now for those of you who know the Exe, the main line railtrack goes across the creek leading into Cockwood, giving a clearance of about bu**er all at high water. But just before HW is when his boat floats off so he thinks I won't wait for Damo to get here, I'll take advantage of it and get out sooner. Now the boat won't fit under the bridge at HW, so the skipper planned to wait just above, sitting back on the anchor, for the tide to drop and he'd pop through. But there's lots of moored boats there, and a bit of a current, and just him to do everything, so of course he got into a pickle and couldn't control the boat and the anchor at the same time , so he ends up pinned against the bridge with his head and shoulders on the bridge and desperately pushing the boat off with his legs. The mast is hanging over the bow and the stern, the boat is across the current and he is trying very hard to stop the vhf antenna and the roller reefing gear being scraped off the buttresses at each side.
Anyway, after about 20 minutes, when his legs are getting very trembly, the tide drops enough that he can literally scrape through and out into the river. So he puts the boat on the drying-out bit at Ashes Quay, where I find him sitting in his kayak, so he doesn't get his arse muddy under the boat, and scraping happily. I join him under the boat and start ladling on the minimal stuff that he had got together, cos he had called me and asked me to get some antifoul from the chandlers on the way and when I phoned him from the shop he said "£60! I'm not paying that. I got some stuff last year for £35 and I think there will be enough left"
Now the skipper "works from home", and his current project was walking along the mainline tracksides in the south west doing a vegetation survey for Railtrack. So while the skipper's lying on his back under the boat his mobile goes off and his boss is asking him how it's going. "Fine" says he, "I'm just next to the Exeter main line now" just as an intercity goes past and blaring its horn. "I won't keep you then" says the boss "I can hear you are busy". "That should be good for another week" says the skipper, "Let's get her on the mooring".
So we get her out there, and it's a lovely afternoon, and he says that we can step the mast now. So with his tried and trusted method involving various bits of string and sticks, up it goes and it's time for a cuppa and a sandwich. Now his food locker hasn't been touched since September so the tea is OK, but the sugar is a single lump, and so is the powdered milk. He's brought half a loaf, and reckons that the green fur on the marge won't be harmful, so I have a fag and a bottle of beer instead.
We get the weather off the vhf, which is for lightish north easterlies and fine weather, so we decide that I will nip ashore for supplies while the skipper does nautical skippery stuff, and we won't go for a local cruise, but we'll head south. So mid afternoon and we are sailing along lovely, and the tatty bags are ballooning beautifully from the mast and his homebuilt self steering is working great (It was a mini hydrovane made in stainless in the winter metalwork class, called Vanessa - Vane Activated Non Electronic Self Steering Apparatus - and he was justifiably proud of it). In the early hours we see the blink of the Casquets right where it was supposed to be, not like another time when he had a 19' boat and I sailed with him for the first time heading for Guernsey.
He didn't have gps but he did have a new compass which pointed wonderfully well, but really needed swinging first, so it was a bit of a surprise for him when the Casquets appeared on the wrong side. That's why we went to Alderney for the first time.
Anyway, the wind died, the tide was going the expected way, which was a nice surprise, and it was a gorgeous warm sunrise, so we motored in the last bit to anchor at Sark. One of my most memorable times was that morning in early April, sitting on the rocks in just shorts at 9am, with a bottle of red and the steaks sizzling on a beach barbecue, then playing with my new superduper catapult and a seagull. Actually it was most memorable later, because I started traversing the rocks above the sea, trying to climb around into the next bay, but it was very hard and a hold snapped off on an overhang and I fell in the sea, which was very cold at that time of year.
I've got no recollection of the rest of the voyage, but that was a damned fine 24 hours!!!
