Last Saturday Clive was up early and joined Jason aboard Lucky Mascot, sailing her over to Brixham while I got up at a leisurely pace and finished off the painting around the cockpit. I joined them early afternoon via the ferry, carrying my life jacket and overnight bag, the other passengers eyed me warily. “You can never be too sure these guys know where the life jackets are on these ferries,” I remarked, making my fellow day trippers glance askance worriedly.

What a lovely place Brixham is, a busy fishing port with the famous Brixham Trawlers. It’s another tourist destination and I understand there are so many holiday homes the economy tends to dip in the winter months. There are some gorgeous community gardens throughout the town, all tended by local volunteers, maximising what might otherwise be dead space and using unusual plants and imaginative landscaping.

One of the fun gardens using dead space in Brixham

The Marina is run by MDL, which also owns a Marina in Torquay, next door to the town one. It’s expensive to moor at an MDL Marina, but boy, they know how to build bathrooms! Bog watch gets a High FIVE!

Jason sold his last yacht, Ziphius, in the autumn. A lovely 28ft Westerly Centaur, it was bought by a lawyer who’s father used to own one and never let him helm. He doesn’t stop talking as Jason found out when he helped this chap sail her to a mooring on the River Exe in October. Small world… it moored up behind us in Torquay last week. We studiously avoided too much contact with the owner, though I had to leap off DD to help him after he cast off the bow, gunning the engine forward, leaving the stern line firmly affixed to the bollard on the pontoon. “Help” he yelped, while running to the bow to try and do something the rope there, though what I knew not. I had to admire that he is sailing her single handed, and sailing her full stop, though wondered that perhaps doing a competent crew course would boost both his confidence and his abilities.

Imagine our surprise when in he whizzed into Brixham Marina, doing a circuit looking for a mooring. Jason ducked down into the cabin looking aghast, praying that he wouldn’t try to raft on Lucky Mascot. We peeked from the windows as he almost hit a trawler, before choosing to raft onto another yacht opposite us. After going in circles a couple of times, the crew of his prey managed to take his ropes and tie him on. We then witnessed the poor owner of the rafted onto boat get subjected to over an hour of non stop talk from the lawyer. Jason from experience knew how the conversation kept momentum…. “Did I tell you I was a lawyer?” “What does this piece of string do?” “How do you get into the Exe?” “Did I mention I was a lawyer?” etc.

There was a festival happening at the fish market called Fishstock, which we went to in the evening. Bands were playing in the main tent and as the crowds grew and the heat rose, so did the stench of fish from the long drain under us. Eugh! I stood well clear watching and listening from the safety of the entrance. Fishstock indeed!

The next morning we studiously ducked out of Ziphius’ owners way before casting off for Torquay. Not a breath of wind so it was an engine sail back across Torbay to the harbour and Distant Drum. Not in time to see the end of the Cowes to Torquay annual power boat race alas, which we thought we’d have plenty of time for, however well in time to meet old pals Jane and Russ, who had flown in to UK from Detroit the day before and were staying with Jane’s brother Ian & his wife Lucy and family near Yeovil in Somerset. They all four arrived with Ian and Lucy’s sons David and Tim, Tim’s girlfriend Emma, a marine biologist who identified the enormous jelly fish as both Barrel and Compass, and their dog Tufty. We had a picnic ‘bufffet’ lunch aboard Distant Drum and a great afternoon and evening, catching up on news, views, sailing talk, plans and living aboard, before ending the evening at a good curry house a short walk away. What a treat, thanks chaps!

(L-R) Russ, Jane, David, Lucy & Ian come aboard

Tufty being a scaredy dog on the pontoon

On Monday we sorted items take back to Harwich (the little freezer we’d bought on the Isle of Wight, laundry, etc) and I fetched Cecile le Citroen from up a steep hill ready for packing and our journey back across the country, leaving Distant Drum safely moored with Jason keeping an eye on her. Seven hours later we were unpacking into our lovely welcoming cottage and ready for Captain Andy Adams funeral the next day at St Nicholas Church. Always sad occasions, his son delivered an uplifting eulogy which had everyone laughing and the Trinity House flag draped over his coffin along with his Captain’s hat was a reminder of his remarkable years at sea. There was a befitting ‘alternative’ wake at his favourite pub The New Bell, where many of his friends gathered during the afternoon and well into the evening. There was a great sense of togetherness and happy stories told. It’s true that clouds have silver linings as seeing our Harwich friends again proved.

Harwich horizon with St Nicholas Church, with the white row of houses, donated by the Norwegian people after the flood of 1953

And talking of old friends, my lovely pal Elizabeth who Fergus the real dog moved in with, came to see us yesterday, furry Fergus in tow, and we had a day of beach walking, chucky ball throwing and catching up. Fergus looks really healthy and well, though seems to have gone deaf. The sliver lining there is that he doesn’t hear gun-fire, thunder and we’re all hoping fireworks, which have always in his previous 12 years, sent him into petrified trembling hiding – not fun when you’re in the middle of a wood enjoying a quiet walk and he disappears at fifty miles an hour, back the shortest route he knows, crossing fields, roads and pathways, heading for the safety of home.

Fergus having a rest after his long walk

Last night Tracy at the Globe invited me to join their crib practice, ready for the new season starting in a fortnight. Three solid hours of crib playing was quite exhausting after the longs walks earlier, and lots of fun. I love playing cards and games and it’s so enjoyable with other people who love it too. The enthusiasm is infectious and team captain Tracy rules with an iron humour and a sharp eye.

More next week in the adventures of DD, Clive & me….

A fisherman trying to land a big fish at Ha’penny Pier this morning – it got away!

This is a good place to stop awhile while we gather our thoughts, make lists for repairs we need to carry out and decide where we go and what we do next. We have another funeral next week, our lovely friend Captain Andy Adams from Harwich who died about three weeks ago, so we’re heading homeward on Monday for a few days. I’ve decided I’ve had enough of funerals for one year, this will be the fourth. I want weddings and birthday parties please. My parents are celebrating their sixtieth wedding anniversary in November so we have that to look forward to at least.

It’s great being here with Clive’s brother Jason and sister in law Rikka just up the road and we’ve seen a lot of them. We all caught a ferry to Dartmouth on Sunday in the rain – yes Brad, rain, lovely cool rain drizzling down our cheeks as we sat out on deck determined to get a good view.(Brad is a good friend from Arizona, which ought to be renamed Aridzona, who always makes envious comments when hearing we’ve got rain.)

Dartmouth is very town, very beautiful, very touristy and very pricy. One shop we’ve renamed the F*@x Off shop because every time we looked at the price of a cushion, £250, a skirt, £250, a photograph, £210, a shirt, £280, the stock response for all four of us was F (three blanks) Off. We backed out into the rain, tears of laughter mingling with the steady downpour as we tried to find somewhere for lunch, plumbing for the yacht club. Trouble is when the weather is like this in the height of the summer holidays, everywhere is full as folk try and escape the wet.

It brightened up as we headed back to Torquay via Brixham where we were joined by a large dolphin which escorted us back across the bay. He was a beauty! The other unusual appearance this year along the south coast has been the enormous jellyfish. Alas I only got photos of the latter as they swam or more wafted round the marina.

Jellyfish in Torquay harbour, along side the stern of a boat approximately two metres wide – which gives an idea of its size. They’re all about this size too.

Repairs include treating rust spots on the outside of the cockpit and getting these painted with about five coats of paint (each layer taking eons to dry thoroughly before the next), and fixing sealant round a couple of leaky windows (also on the cockpit) which have been allowing water to seep through into the saloon, run down the 12v panel and onto the navigation station. A rigger is coming out this afternoon to see if he can repair our anemometer at the top of the mast. I would of course go myself, if I was twenty years younger, fit, and had a bosun’s chair. Any one of those three would be good!

Aha, as I was writing that last bit the rigger arrived, scooted up the mast hooked on to our mainsail halyard with me pulling the rope tight as he ascended. All looked good and he took out the anemometer and put it back in a couple of times which seems to have boosted the connection. The wind speed seems to be showing now however the wind direction needs calibrating. I do hope that’s worked. The only thing he thought might have caused a glitch the last few weeks was some condensation within the top of the mast. We shall see….

Chris the Rigger up the mast

Cpn’ Jack is still stinking of paraffin as he wallows in his newspaper hammock, hoping to soak the remainder out, and this afternoon I’ve done a repair of Fergus’s tail using my recently founded felting skills. I even added a bit of extra white to his tail and he’s looking a damned fine beast if I say so myself. Not quite as beautiful as his true canine double of course.

Fergus with his repaired tail

Fergus the real thing

We took an excursion to the cinema last night, built originally as a theatre in the 1930s it’s a great little place about a ten minute walk from the harbour. All was dark when we got into the auditorium and we had to use our mobiles to find steps and seats, along with the dozen or so other punters, so there was much laughter and feeling of Blitz camaraderie as we settled down with our popcorn to see the latest Guy Ritchie film, Man From U.N.C.L.E.. It was great, a real gem of a film, superb humour too, very much of the 60s genre even down to the acting. I do hope he makes more.

Now the next coat of paint before supper…..

Bog watch: Torquay town harbour gets a ZERO. The showers and toilets for the use of sailors is the public bogs with a couple of cubicles converted into showers. With an overwhelming perfume of uric acid, no loo seats, stupid little cubby holes to put your hands to get a) a squirt of soap, b) water and c) drier, cleaning your teeth is a comedy as well as a hazard. Shaving is even more challenge with the silly sinks (so Clive told me) and there are no mirrors. The showers probably work quite well, but why put yourself through the pain.

Silly sinks… Try using these to clean your teeth or have a shave!

Our two crew members Connie and JenJen came aboard in time for supper on Thursday evening, Connie an experienced young sailor and her auntie Jenny, my old college pal, a complete novice. On Friday morning to allay JenJen’s fears of sea sickness, I gave her two motion sickness tablets. I didn’t take any myself as I’ve never yet felt queasy aboard Distant Drum, though luckily I’ve never stated that to anybody……

Connie & JenJen

Sea state was allegedly ‘slight’ with a SW wind, speed 3-4 knots with no gusts, so said the forecasters. In theory perfect for what should be a 9 hour sail across Lyme Bay to Torquay. We cast off from Weymouth at about 9.30am and once in the outer natural harbour we raised the main sail before heading out into the sea, wide of Portland Bill.

I lasted about an hour before having to get myself horizontal, bucket to hand, engine thundering, me chundering. It was rough and very lumpy, just like my breakfast as it appeared for the second time. I could still taste the marmalade and the orange juice as digestion had yet to begin in earnest. Oh boy! That was it, me gone. Trouble is, once you get sick that’s it for the journey, nothing you can do and you can’t fight it, just have to get your head down and sleep if you can.

Luckily Clive had Connie to help him and they got out the foresails and ploughed their lumpy way through the sea westwards, bow plunging into the waves, every seventh wave shuddering the boat and slowing her down, tacking one direction, when everything from one side of the bed descended on me, lap top, radio, books and I could see big waves alternating with fish as the windows disappeared under the water line. Then tacking the other way, teddies, more books, spectacles, more fish and big waves. There was a maelstrom inside the bed though all was calm in the cockpit as Bonnie and Clyde took control of the passage and guided Distant Drum ever onwards. Jenny succumbed to mal-de-mer at about 3pm and conked on the pilot’s berth in the main saloon, under her sleeping bag, more maelstrom occurring, including the paraffin lamp tipping over unseen by all until much later…..

At one stage Clive popped his head round the bedroom door and asked if I was better – yes, I said, better get me a bucket. I couldn’t lift my head without feeling dire once again and there I remained until about 8pm when the sea calmed down a little and the skies started to darken as we approached Torbay and night time. Punching the tide by this stage, our final progress was slow and we eventually navigated our way in to the harbour at 9.30pm, welcomed by Jason, Clive’s brother, who was on the visitors pontoon ready to take our ropes. At last!

That was when I spotted the paraffin lamp – oh no! Its neighbours on the shelf, Cpn’ Jack and Fergus, had absorbed almost ALL the paraffin, so I’m afraid Cpn’ Jack has been strung up for the last two days draining the paraffin into a large bowl. Drip drip drip. His boots were filled in the first draining so now he’s hammock like emptying the boots back into his legs and out beneath him. Drip drip drip. What we need is a hot sunny day to properly dry the pair of them out. Fergus is almost done, just don’t bring any naked flames near or they’ll both go WOOF!

Cpn’ Jack gets strung up

I’m writing this in the Royal Dorset Sailing Club, lovely and quiet and a perfect setting for quiet thought, contemplating the piecing together of the past week into something of literary interest. That was until the loudest bores in Dorset sat bang next to me and proceeded to discuss twaddle at 10 decibels with no let up.

OK, so where are we? Ah yes…. We left Yarmouth last Monday and made our way carefully past The Needles to port and the long shingle bank to starboard, determined not to suffer the same fate as ‘Lucky’ the American Fastnet yacht which grounded itself the day before. Sailing was good and once beyond the danger zone, we tacked our way towards Weymouth making good progress for most of the journey. We finally reached Weymouth towards 9pm and with darkness descending, berthed along the outer harbour pontoon. It was darkness by the time we’d checked in with the harbour master and got our bearings, taking a walk along the harbour wall towards the main town.

Approaching The Needles – spot the yacht for perspective

Looking back at The Needles

En route to Weymouth, all sails engaged

Arrived at Weymouth

A couple of weeks ago we’d left our van in Newhaven. A couple of days after we left Harwich, one of our neighbours and a friend Joan died unexpectedly and her funeral was scheduled for Wednesday 19^th August. We’d got to Weymouth on the evening of the 17^th and had in mind to train it back to Newhaven, pick up the van and head back to Harwich to help celebrate Joan’s life with Steve, Joan’s husband, and Tracy, her daughter, check the cottage and make sure it was in good shape for the next Airbnb guests, and bring the van back to Weymouth, picking up our newly serviced Taylor’s stove en route.

After speaking to the harbour master, it was stressed upon us that as it was summer and hugely busy, our vessel must have someone aboard on a day-to-day basis and certainly every night. Fearing we may be thwarted in our plan, I contacted my old pal JenJen, who lives about an hour away, to see whether she would like a couple of days boat sitting. She in turn suggested her niece Connie, a keen 18 year old sailor who had just returned from taking part in a tall ships race from Norway to Denmark. Connie was thrilled at the idea, and any angst I had about leaving DD disappeared with the knowledge that Connie was packing her bags for immediate embarkation. Clive took charge of ‘post-it’ notes duly describing in detail every nuance an emergency skipper might need – instructions on flushing the toilet, operating the aft shower pump, emptying the forward grey water tanks, the locks, the windows, the lights, which cupboard held what, et cetera. Various texts and phone calls later and we hauled our butts and our bags through town to the train station. Four & a half hours later we reached Cecile le Citroen at Newhaven Marina. The roads were fairly clear from here and in another three hours we reached our friend Sonia’s house in Stansted for supper and the night. The following morning we set off in good time to reach Joan’s funeral with at least half an hour to spare. This diminished to minus four minutes after negotiating two pile-ups on the A120, reminding us how stressful driving can be! We reached the church by the skin of our teeth, just missing the first hymn and the start of the eulogy. Phew!

Our stove – I forgot to mention in our last blog that while we were in Portsmouth we contacted an engineer who’d checked our Taylor’s stove last summer when DD was still at Fox’s in Ipswich. He lives close to Portsmouth though keeps his own boat at Woodbridge in Suffolk. He came aboard in Gunwharf Quay to carry out a proper service as one of the problems that often occurs with these old paraffin stoves is the paraffin has a tendency over the years to gradually soak into the stove lining, which can eventually catch fire. If this does happen it’s very hard to extinguish. We were told a story about a chap who couldn’t put a stove fire out aboard his boat, and to counter it he dismantled it from it’s fittings, hauled the oven on to deck and threw it overboard into the marina. He spoke to John about buying a new one, discovering then that they retailed at over £4k! On hearing this, he donned diving gear, located the stove in the mud and with ropes and pulleys managed to haul the stove to shore where it was dried out, had the lining replaced, was overhauled and worked as new.

In true fashion our stove lining was soaked with 23 years of paraffin, sigh, and our burners were all three leaking a little. So stove was removed for full overhaul and we had planned on collecting it from the New Forest on our way back to Weymouth. Instead John travelled up to Woodbridge on Thursday with safe non leaking, sparkly clean stove in his car, and we picked it up from there. We had tea and cake with our friends Jo and Paddy at Holbrook on the way back to Harwich and on Friday early afternoon we headed home to Distant Drum and to relieve Connie of her boat sitting duties. Luckily she’d loved every minute being aboard and had done a sterling job.

Hurrah, the bores have gone. Quiet descendeth once more and I can hear myself think.

Saturday there was a festival in Weymouth and we explored the town, finding a good parking spot behind the Asda (with a Subaru and Mazda). We explored the west part of town and caught the water taxi across the river in the afternoon, an eight seater boat operated by an oarsman – a great way to keep fit. Sunday we visited the Nothe Fort and the rotating viewpoint gallery, before discovering the sailing club for a late roast lunch.

Weymouth beach from rotating viewing tower

A Trimaster in Weymouth’s beautiful natural harbour

Spot Cpn’ Jack & Fergus soaking up the rays. (The yacht berthed in front of us allegedly came sixth overall in the Fatsnet and 2nd in its class.)

The river taxi has right of way over all other craft

On Monday we ventured to Lyme Regis to see our friend JenJen and unbeknownst to us before hand, to help her move house. We were all three invited to Connie’s parents (JenJen’s brother & sister-in-law Andrew and Liz) house for dinner in the evening and we made our way to a most beautiful 500 year old stone built, semi-detatched stately home, with a huge and lovely garden. We met Connie’s sister Maddie too and enjoyed a relaxed evening, large open fire roaring in the oak panelled drawing room, sound weirdly echoing off the walls in the dining room, uninterrupted view of the stars as we made our way home.

Yesterday we drove to Portland Bill and on to see the Portland Race, one of the most notorious areas of dangerous water in the world. You either sail close to the shore, only advisable if you know the waters well, or at least three miles off in good weather, five miles in bad.

Portland Lighthouse

A ketch braving the Portland Race on a relatively calm sea

Waves hitting the headland

Great view on the way back of Chesil beach and we stopped at an extraordinary church, St. George’s, Portland, which is owned and run by The Churches Conservation Trust.

St. George’s Church, Portland. http://www.visitchurches.org.uk/Ourchurches/Completelistofchurches/St-Georges-Church-Portland-Dorset/
Built from Port,and Stone and based on St. Paul’s in London, this church has the most densely packed graveyard we’ve ever seen!

Interior of St Georges with a double pulpit in the centre of the church, the only church in the country with half the pews on the ground floor facing away from the altar. Two galleries either side also face the central pulpits, one of which is used for the sermon and the other for the service, which purportedly took over two hours!

Shall I recite a poem?

We’ve had a lot of heavy rain the last few days, interspersed with sunshine, and checking weather reports Friday looks the best day to sail further west to Torquay. We’re being joined by JenJen and Connie for the next leg of our journey so getting stocked up ready today.

Bog watch: Weymouth harbour has the most modern showers, movement sensitive water dispersal, touch sensitive hot and cold, so you’re advised to keep moving as you shower. No amount of rumba, salsa, merengue or ball room jiving under the stream of water keeps it running for more than 15 seconds before you have to wave your hand close to the sensor to start it up again. With soap in your eyes one is inclined to accidentally touch the hot, or the cold, sensors ensuring far more leaping about as the jet starts once more at a completely different temperature. Hence a 2.

Portsmouth Old Harbour looked intriguing from our vantage point at Gunwharf Quay, so on our last evening we decided to explore and it was a delight. Well worth a visit if you’re in the area. We meandered towards the Isle of Wight Ferry Port and from there we headed across to the old harbour walls and defences from where you get a magnificent view of the historic harbour entrance and across The Solent to the Isle of Wight.

Harbour wall gun emplacement

Rather disappointing formulaic pubs, owned by Fullers and Greene King breweries, dominated the outer harbour. Though tumbling hanging baskets looked beautiful from afar, close up the actual nature of the establishments became clear. One of them The Bridge, was downright hostile, serving vinegar in place of Fullers Pride, and the landlord couldn’t give a stuff when he begrudgingly stomped off to change the barrel, leaving one of his unhappy staff to eventually pour out the contents of our glasses, which no doubt cleared the drains, and pour us a replacement pint.

We abandoned all hope of a pleasant local atmosphere and walked back through the old town. The cathedral was magnificent and the architecture was rather similar to Harwich Old Town, not surprising given their respective ages and naval histories. Much nicer pubs here though all of Portsmouth seemed to portray London prices in the hostelries. Sigh!

Friday morning and we cast off into the harbour, having to slip our extremely tight berth between four large racing yachts and a huge expensive super-yacht to port, whose owner, when asked if he might like to stand by with a ball fender as we departed, grumpily muttered, ‘get the marina staff to do it!’ We ignored him, and so did the marina staff, and we made sure to flow closely past as we made our way out.

The wind, for a change, was in our favour. It was raining however and visibility was limited, never good at the best of times and particularly troubling in The Solent during Cowes Week. Our initial obstacles were the Ferries, the Hovercrafts, the Naval ships and the tankers. We soon left these behind and instead were navigating through hundreds of competing yachts of all shapes and sizes. Our course was perfect and we rode on through at a good speed, reaching Yarmouth, at the north western end of the Isle of Wight, by early evening.

Sailing close through the racing yachts

Impressive spinnaker sails against grey stormy skies

We settled into a good berth before locking up and catching two buses to join our friends in Cowes for the grand finale fireworks of Cowes Week. The bus journey from Yarmouth to Newport was far more hair-raising than our sail through the hordes of yachts, as the island’s B roads were more akin to ploughed fields. A lovely new bus having its suspension sorely tested, as were our backsides!

We arrived at Rob and Sarah’s house where lashings of food was laid on before we all trooped to the sea front in time for the Tornado aircraft flypast and display. It was loud and it was scary!!!

With Sarah & Rob in Cowes

The fireworks were great and a fitting end to the week of racing. Rob’s team had been leading in their class all week however on the last day came a disappointing fourth – still excellent in our books and we felt very proud of him.

The following morning they lent us a car and we went to explore Osbourne House where Queen Victoria and Prince Albert set up their own home in the 1800s. Set in acres of gardens with its own private beach, the place was loosely based upon the Doges Palace in Venice. Albert designed many features himself and was a real creative character. He died young of Typhus at 42 and it’s rumoured Victoria blamed their eldest son ‘Bertie’ who was a philandering tyke whose loose living and Albert’s attempts to tidy up after him led indirectly to his contracting the disease. Superb house and grounds and a monument to the grand days of ‘Empire’.

Osbourne House

Back to Yarmouth on the bouncy bus that evening and the following day we invited our pals to lunch aboard Distant Drum to thank them for looking after us so generously in Cowes. The highlight of the day, apart from spending it with good friends, was the heaving in to view of the Fastnet race fleet, thundering down the Solent from Cowes, enormous sails set on their course to the legendary rock off the Irish coast at Cork, and from there the homeward leg to the finish line at Plymouth.

Fastnet yachts on their way down The Solent

Later in the afternoon there was a kid’s regatta in the harbour during which a shout went up for the Lifeboat to be launched. A Fastnet yacht was floundering on a falling tide after going hard aground on the shingle bank lying to the west of the Needles Channel. An appalling navigational error, it turned out it was an American owned and crewed boat ironically called “Lucky”, which had only last month won the transatlantic New York to Cowes race. With 18 crew aboard, the lifeboat stood by for about five hours until the rising tide lifted them off and they limped tail between legs into Southampton for a haul out and inspection. There’s one navigator who’ll not work again!

Kid’s regatta with decorated boats and vikings, kings and squabbles aboard

Yarmouth Lifeboat leaving harbour

With this in mind, we cautiously departed from Yarmouth the following day on a rising tide in the early afternoon. With one eye firmly on the chart plotter and the other on the shingle bank to our starboard side, we sailed past the Needles and on to Weymouth. An enjoyable sail with a few deep tacks en route, we reached harbour at 9pm, both of us tired though happy. And what a delightful place Weymouth is….

Hugo & Sarah with Cpn’ Jack & Fergus

Bog watch

Yarmouth gets a ZERO! Shower tokens had to be purchased for £1.30, which gave you six minutes of water. The slots for the shower tokens were outside each individual shower and the countdown began the moment you insert the token. The floors were worn with yellow and brown stains showing through the blue and white vinyl flooring. We showered aboard in our lovely shower!

Duver Marina, Bembridge, has a bar on approach from the sea, not the kind you find in an Inn, a ledge of sand, mud or rock that sits close to or above chart datum, which at low or falling tide can be a real hazard. Sailors have a tendency to get stuck in both.

When we called the marina, the harbour master assured us we’d be fine with our draft of 2.3m as long as we waited until the tide was 3m over the bar. After this, he said, it was plenty deep enough the entire way to the marina. They even have a live sensor, and as long as you can get internet connection, you can monitor the height of the clearance in real time and don’t have make your own calculations. We waited at anchor until we could see 3m above the bar on the iPad, then confidently made our way towards the buoys marking the safe passage into harbour.

0.3m under us as we flowed over the bar, and it got shallower. Fear and trembling filled the cockpit as we trepidaciously progressed as slowly as possible, gliding past a beach a few feet away with 0.0m under us, touching the sand as cruisers sped past churning up a wake in our path. By the time we reached the pontoon 20 minutes later, we were gibbering wrecks, eyes bulging, hearts pumping at 20 knots, both shaking like a bucket full of marbles in an earthquake.

It was Friday evening and after getting a concise run down on how sparse and unreliable the local bus service is from our neighbours on the pontoon, Mike & Val (sailing with their lovely red & white border collie Ted), we thought it wiser to hire a car for the weekend. We just caught the boss of Value Rent-a-Car in Sandown as he was locking up shop and he had one car free, a Skoda Octavia for £30 a day, and we could keep the car until Tuesday morning for the price of three days, no deposit, and he came and picked us up from Bembridge. What a result, and what a great guy he was too. Owns a car body-shop so any bumps and scratches his guys fix and I’m glad to report that the only marks the Octavia returned with were seagull poo!

What a difference having wheels compared to our normal mode of transport in harbour towns (our legs) and as Duver Marina was a few miles from Bembridge village, we were able to forage for provisions in comfort. We stocked up the fridge and fruit bowl and replete with home made Spaghetti Bolognese we took an evening stroll across the sand dunes and along the local St. Helen’s beach at low tide, marveling at how on earth we’d managed to make it in.

Cpn Jack & Fergus at Duver Marina, Isle of Wight

Our freezer has been running badly the last couple of weeks and process of elimination, with the help of Clive’s brother David on the phone, revealed the gas refrigerant needs replacing. Sigh! In the meantime it has been slowly getting warmer as it has struggled to keep going. Averaging -8C and no chance of finding a refrigerant engineer on the Isle of Wight, let alone during Cowes Week, we decided the wisest course of action was to purchase a small stand alone domestic freezer which, once the yacht’s freezer is repaired by David when we get to Torquay, we could usefully transfer to the cottage in Harwich.

It took most of the afternoon to achieve our aim and by the time we got back to base, it was time to set off once again for Cowes and to Sarah & Rob Peace’s house, pals I met when I came back from travelling in 1993 and who I’ve not seen for about 14 years. It was brilliant, a big rambling house, four children, Barney 17, Hugo 15 (the only two I’d met before), Willow 13 and Phoebe 9, and it was fantastic to see them all. Rob’s cousin Andy (a British Olympic sailor) was staying too and they were both racing all weekend and most of next week. We had a lovely dinner (beef casserole and lots of trimmings) in the garden before hitting the town centre, which was like a festival in full flow on the first day of the famous Cowes Week. Thousands of people celebrating sailing in all its forms, families and loads of youth which was invigorating to see. After Rob’s comment, “Great to see you and you look great! I was terrified you might have become an old woman!” I was almost feeling youthful myself. It reminded me, make the most of life.

After breakfast the next morning, we walked to the Royal Yacht Club to watch the start of Rob & Andy’s Sunday race, before heading back to Distant Drum ready for an evening seeing Clive’s old friend Lucy in Bembridge, who he hadn’t seen in fifteen years…..

Cowes Week mmmmmadness out there in the Solent!

We picked up barbecue and salad ingredients and went in hunt of Lucy’s beach shack along Bembridge beach. What a spot, beautiful view along the coast and hidden among trees and shrubs on a hill. In fact the whole shack was a hill in itself as it was subsiding into the beach. It was time for Clive to be reminiscing instead of me and we had a fab evening as the sun set with Lucy and her little dog Ludo. The Co-op sausages and burgers were actually very good and we managed to roast sweetcorn and tomatoes on the barbecue to perfection. We arranged to dine at Lucy’s bungalow the following evening, which she’d moved into this year.

Clive and Lucy at the beach shack

Lucy’s Bembridge beach shack view

Small world moment – Lucy’s sister Emma and her husband Paul are best friends of Sarah and Rob in Cowes. What are the chances!

Monday was overcast and downright foggy in places as we spent the day touring the Island. A welcome reviving Ice cream in Ventnor was delicious, and though the fog curtailed our appreciation of the beauty of the Isle of Wight, we enjoyed our day none the less, made even better by a delicious lasagna in the evening.

By Tuesday we’d recovered our nerve enough to brave an exit from Bembridge, and with baited breath took our leave of Duver Marina. Slowly slowly, depth alarm beeping the entire way, we wove through the marker buoys at high tide and over the bar into the Solent. What a relief! We anchored for a nerve soothing chamomile infusion and considered our options. We wanted ideally to get into Cowes for a couple of days however it was just too busy in the main harbour, and too shallow and too tight to manoeuvre in marinas further down river . We chose instead to sail to Portsmouth and to Gunwharf Quay in the shadow of the Spinaker Tower. You have to gain permission from the Queen’s Harbour Master to cross the busy harbour in to the Quay and it was quite hair-raising berthing into a tight spot surrounded by expensive fiberglass vessels along D pontoon, nestling amongst seafaring ghosts and large racing yachts getting ready for The Fastnet on Sunday.

Distant Drum  (with the red stripe) in Gunwharf Quay, Portsmouth, dwarfed by the ocean racing yachts

Gunwharf Quay is a special little marina with a huge shopping and eating centre built alongside, all new and shiny with water features and old warship’s figureheads prominently displayed. In contrast with Eastbourn, this has real soul. Centuries and layers of Naval history thrumming through the water. Wide pontoons with a smattering of decent outdoor furniture making a comfortable place to stop, and great showers!

HMS Victory being refurbished at Portsmouth Naval Yard

A minor figure with a major figurehead

HMS Warrior prow with refurbished figurehead

Cpn’ Jack & Fergus dwarfed by a major ship’s figurehead with the Spinnaker Tower in the background

Cpn Jack & Fergus relxaing on the midday cannon

Where to next…..

Bog watch

Duver had lovely shower cubicles, with plenty of hooks for hanging towels, clothes, bags, a soap dish (a rarity in marina showers) and little bench seat. Let down by the shower itself, fixed height, one temperature (hot) and push in button giving 20 second bursts of water, A 2 overall.

Portsmouth Gunwharf Quay gets a 4. Lovely bathroom cubicles like your own en suite. Would have got a 5 if the shower heads were moveable.

A Thames Barge ‘Alice” silhouetted in the sunset at Gunwharf Marina, Portsmouth

Just sitting off Bembridge on the Isle of Wight, anchored between a range of tankers dotted towards the horizon waiting to get into port, and the shipping route into Portsmouth. Lots of ferries heading into England and out en route to France and Spain, and a plethora of small fishing boats hauling their catches in. The wind has started to pick up and the turquoise sea is going from calm to slight, and it’s beautiful.

I’ve never been to the Isle of Wight and don’t know what to expect. Clive has an old friend Lucy there who we’re meeting on Sunday night and I have some old pals too, Sarah & Rob, who we’re spending the night with tomorrow. We hadn’t realised it was Cowes Week and we’ll be joining them for the Saturday festivities. Luckily Sarah is coming to pick us up as, being Cowes Week, we haven’t been lucky in hiring a car. We both think it’s about fifteen years since we’ve seen either of our respective friends, whose children are almost grown up! Where does time go? Where does life go? It’ll go where it will, whether we do anything about it or not.

A couple of hover flies are hitching a ride so we’re close to land. The Bembridge Bar has about 1.7m of water over it and we can start moving in once it’s reached 3m, which allows enough water under us to ensure we don’t hit the bottom. Once over that, the channel should have plenty of depth, even though it’s narrow. More later!

The Nab Tower at the eastern mouth of The Solent, where the ‘naughty’ soldiers got sentry duty during Napoleonic times

Anchored tankers waiting to be called in to port

Southern tip of the Isle of Wight from the deck of Distant Drum

We drove Cecile the Citroen back down to Newhaven on Wednesday 29^th July, parking up next to the horsebox home of the wonderful duo Theresa and Gaz, ready to sail the next day. However the wind was blowing strong again from the south west, right on our nose. There’s an old mariner’s saying, ‘Gentlemen don’t beat to windward!’ As with all these sayings, the wisdom should be noted and acted on, which we did and instead waited until Friday before casting off at 7am and heading west. The wind was from the south east, perfect, oh no it wasn’t, ‘light airs’, meaning next to nothing and when it did register, was veering about daintily. As the temperature rose and the land warmed up, the wind gradually rose and we pulled out the fore sail and stay sail, which steadied our passage past Brighton and on to Littlehampton. We arrived at high tide into the second fastest flowing river in the UK (the fastest being The Severn). As we were nearing the river mouth we heard a M’aidez from the owner of a fishing boat called Busker, who’d lost his rudder and so couldn’t steer. He was drifting west about a mile from Littlehampton, though he couldn’t give his compass bearing or his Lat/Long and when asked to spell the name of his boat phonetically, said Bravo….. er U S K E R. We heard the rescue unfold as a coastguard cutter went to his aid. He was towed in to the river ahead of us and tied up on the pontoon with us behind. The very welcoming harbour master Billy buried his head in his hands as he told us of Buskers many adventures with lifeboat and coastguard frequently having to go to his rescue. Berthed on the Town Pier, we explored Littlehampton and it’s a proper little seaside town. Very busy with two large beaches, one either side of the River Arun. You can get a small ferry across to West Beach and cruise up to Arundel. This reminded me we have some good pals live there, so I sent a couple of texts to see if they were about over the weekend. We were in luck and firstly Jason and Nick invited us to join them for lunch on Sunday with other old pals Harold and Andy. Sunday was the day of the annual regatta and we were woken early with blaring music and stalls being set up along the harbour wall. We had to shift Distant Drum down to the fishermen’s pontoon once the tide rose at about 11am, with strict instructions to move her again before the tide fell too low in the afternoon, or we’d be stuck in the mud. Hurray, we were away from the music and most of the hoards.

Cpn’ Jack & Fergus admire the Shoreham Lifeboat

Mad whooshy Jet Feet run from Jet skis at the Littlehampton Regatta

An amphibious car a.k.a. and amphicar, driving up the river

Jason picked us up at 12.30 and we drove to Arundel, a lovely old town with a great big castle. Lunch at The Black Rabbit on the river, before the boys all decided they wanted an ice cream and to see DD back in Littlehampton, in that order. Ice cream had to wait as upon our return, we were told best to move right then as the tide was falling fast. We spun round, changed fenders and gauging the relative skills of all concerned, I assigned a mooring rope each to Andy and Jason with instructions to just hurl them at the chaps waiting to tie us up on the pontoon as soon as we were close enough – they performed magnificently and we’ll make mariners of them yet.

River Arun with Arundel Castle in the background

Later that evening my other local pal, Kay Wagland, climbed aboard with her brother Trevor and his girlfriend Hilda, a Norwegian bronzed blond bombshell who lives 50 miles north of the Arctic Circle, and who professes to be a blood descendant of both Boudicca and Richard III. Kay also had in tow Millie(tant), a hugely moulting pooch, suspect Jack Russell cross with another terrier. The muzzle was a giveaway as to her temperament and we refrained from petting or patting for fear our fingers might disappear. Kay had initially thought I was another Sarah who she sees regularly and was screaming with excitement when it dawned on her it was me.It was a great day seeing everyone and I enjoyed receiving many photography tips from Trevor as the sun set across the river.

Trevor and Hilda at the back with Kay, Clive, Cpn’ Jack & Fergus

Millie(tant) looking angelic – don;t be fooled!

Monday was filled once again with south westerly winds so we stayed put in Littlehampton. Kay had left a cardigan aboard and once she found we were still here, suggested she pick us up later and introduce us to her favourite haunt, The King’s Arms in Arundel. She collected her pal Issie en route who is a gardener at Arundel Castle, working mainly in the kitchen gardens, and lives in one of the gate lodges, a fabulous mini castle in its own right. The pub, which is on Tarance Street, is well worth a visit if you’re in Arundel. A bad weather front was heading towards us and another seven yachts rafted up to each other and to us for Tuesday, hunkering safely from the strong winds and huge waves out at sea. Still we were heeling at about 20 degrees onto the pontoon. After sorting our fenders for more effective protection, we caught the 700 bus to Arundel with the specific aim of visiting the castle gardens, which were fabulous!

A castle garden vista

One of many beautiful flowers

Across the kitchen gardens

Meadow flowers in the castle gardens

Meadow flowers in the castle gardens

An Eagle Owl at Arundel Castle

We had an early dinner at La Campania, a reasonable priced Italian restaurant and it was superb, possibly one of the best dishes I have ever had in a restaurant. I felt quite emotional, which caused much amusement for Clive. All I had was a chicken breast with spinach, roasted new potatoes and a cheese and port sauce. The chicken had been roasted to perfection with fresh rosemary, the spinach, I don’t know what seasoning was with it, was delicious. There were roasted cherry tomatoes on the vine which were the sweetest I’ve ever tasted. The new potatoes were heavenly and the sauce, which Clive saw them sieving (the chef’s kitchen being on view from our table), was to die for. It was so flavourful yet no one flavour dominated. Simple and perfect. It’s Wednesday today and we’ve decided to stay here to ride out another approaching weather front tomorrow. Then to Bembridge on the Isle of Wight on Friday. Bog watch: Littlehampton, two loos and a shower, nice and clean and lots of hot water, nowhere to put your soap or shampoo and only one hook for towels, clothes, bags, earns itself a 3.

Cpn Jack relaxing in his hammock

Sunset on the Arun at Littlehampton

At the end of the Orwell and Stour rivers, we should have turned left. We’d have had excellent winds for sailing and would have likely rounded the Hebrides by now. Instead we are battling to sail westwards with strong headwinds making progress arduous. On Tuesday we ventured forth into the English Channel and ploughed our way through a heavy confused sea around Beachy Head towards Newhaven, the wind blowing us inland at every opportunity and waves crashing over our bows. Distant Drum felt safe and solid, as if she was enjoying the experience. It is boring though when we have to have the engine running and cannot make any headway with our sails unless we tack out to the shipping lane and back, which would make a normal three hour sail into about twelve.

Windsurfer in our wake off Eastbourne

Beachy Head

On reaching Newhaven we had to stand off for about twenty minutes whilst a Newhaven Dieppe ferry backed out of the river mouth. Once in past the harbour wall, calm descended and we progressed to the small marina on our port side, scrap heap on our starboard side, being met by the smiliest marina staff we’ve encountered, Gaz and Theresa who rafted us up to a large yacht which hadn’t been off it’s pontoon for over a year. They gaily assured us we’d be left in peace on this spot for as long as we liked.

The next morning at 9am, we were stunned to find the owner’s skipper of the large yacht wanting to go out for a sail. We duly moved to the outside of the visitors pontoon, where we could remain undisturbed, hurrah.

The weather continued to blow a hooley in the easterly direction until Friday when it turned westwards and chucked it down with rain. We’d decided by this time to stop for a week as we needed to get back to Harwich to collect Boris the Morris from his MOT in Ramsey, and sort the cottage out for new Airbnb guests. By this time we were feeling like locals. We’d made friends with Shem and Liz at The Hope, a pub down the lane towards the harbour mouth, lost dramatically at the pub quiz. We also met Matt working on a neighbouring yacht, who normally lives on his yacht in Fox’s Marina in Ipswich, where Distant Drum had all her renovation work done. So we were already east coast neighbours! It’s a small world.

What do you get when you cross an English Mastiff with a Standard Poodle… Pip, the welcoming pooch at The Hope

By Friday evening more yachts were coming in to take shelter from storm force gales, including six soggy Dutch sailors who’d been racing in Saint Marlo (where they came third!) and were heading back to Holland. The Dutch are such cool sailors, they sweep in like nothing is ever a problem, moor up without a worry in the world, and are just so damned nice. The only problem I find is I get a cricked neck when trying to talk to them because they’re all so tall!

Clive in sou’wester heading into the rain on Friday

The Ferry at Newhaven is a huge RoRo (roll on roll off) which comes into the harbour forwards and reverses slowly out about three times every 24 hours. The noise reverberates though our steel hull to such a volume you can detect the fourth piston misfiring in the third engine. When there is a strong gale out at sea, she has to turn in the river right opposite our mooring. Matt emailed this picture he took last night as the ferry did her river spin, with her bow only 15 metres from Distant Drum. Yikes! Luckily we were by this time languishing back in Harwich.

Transmanche Ferry coming in to harbor. Manche is the name the French have for the English Channel, meaning sleeve

The Ferry’s bow just 15m from Distant Drum’s starboard side yesterday

We had a bit of a sticky journey home, got ourselves in a jam so to speak which was jarring to say the least….. remember that lovely strawberry conserve I made a week or so ago. We decided to bring a jar back to Harwich with us on our long train journey yesterday. Newhaven to Lewis, change bump bump stairs, Lewis to Victoria, change bump rumble bump bump more stairs, London Underground Circle Line to Liverpool Street, change bump rumble bump, train to Mannigtree…. I reached into the convenient box on wheels to retrieve a bottle of water to find our beautiful jam everywhere but in the jar. Aaagh! We’d been trailing drips of the stuff across London. At one stage I was walking behind Clive in Victoria and noticed splodges of red on the ground and thought ooh dear, it looks like someone’s bleeding – very strange looking blood, a little light a gooey. Didn’t occur to me what it actually was. Clearing up was messy, it had already got everywhere and then went further still, over Clive’s trousers, my dress, up our arms. A sticky situation!

Back in Harwich the beer festival was in full flow at the Redoubt Fort and the Sea Festival was getting going for today. Radio Mi Amigo 106.8fm is broadcasting from the Lightship at Ha’penny Pier until the 2^nd August (there’s a link to the broadcast at http://www.lv18.org/mi-amigo.htm) and today it’s belting down with rain. Oh joy!

Our plan is to drive the van back to Newhaven on Tuesday or Wednesday, all jars stored upright in double sealed containers.

Things learnt this week: On the east coast we have a tidal range of around 4 metres which we think is quite enough. On the south coast it’s 7 metres.

Bog watch: Newhaven gets a 2, 1970s and tired though functional, and would get more if the thermostats on the showers didn’t veer from cold to scalding with no warning, and if there was anywhere to put your shampoo and soap.

Until next week, hasta la vista!

Cpn Jack & Fergus astride the boom in Newhaven with the RoRo in the background

Staying in Dover a few days wasn’t as tortuous as I’d anticipated. The harbour is far more sheltered than Ramsgate, and though the town is run down, it has some unique features including the oldest surviving wooden boat in the world, discovered whilst digging a pedestrian underpass so people can walk safely under the four-lane highway dividing the seafront from the town. Dated at 3600 years, it is now beautifully preserved and resides in the town museum. An enterprising local boat builder has constructed a half sized replica which was in our marina.

Replica of 3600 year of boat

There is also a ‘Grand Shaft’ built as a short cut between the town and the Western Heights, for troops stationed at the barracks above, particularly during Napoleonic times. They were described in 1823 as ‘holes in the ground for Englishmen to hide from Frenchmen.’ It is a 140ft triple spiral staircase dug through the cliff between 1806 & 1809, designed to move troops very quickly from the fort above to repel any invasion. As this never happened the Shaft instead became a route for troops to very quickly get to the bars and brothels of Snargate Street and the Pier.

The triple staircase lent itself well to the strong class prejudice which reigned supreme in the Victorian army, one staircase for ‘Officers and their Ladies’, the second for ‘Sergeants and their Wives’, whilst the last was for ‘Soldiers and their Women’. Cock a snook to that!

The Grand Shaft

We also discovered a couple of Micro pubs, the Mash Tun and the Arlington, both very welcoming, the former has a pulpit as the bar with local beers straight from the barrel, and the latter served gin and tonic in tea cups. Apparently coaches full of discerning real ale and cider drinkers descend on the area to partake of the tipples. Ones we didn’t get to were The Lanes and The Rack of Ale and there are others besides.

Nice cup
of tea in the Arlington

Our pals Birgit, Carsten, Tim, Jule and their dog Rhonya spent Friday on the M25 and the M2, battling eight hours of traffic in 30C. It was great to see them, even jaded. They set up their camp just outside Folkestone and we met them on the Dover seafront, enjoying an excellent curry at the Cinnamon Island before introducing them to Distant Drum. On Saturday we spent the day on a beach towards Hythe followed by a feast of a barbecue at their campsite.

Bergit, Jule, Tim & Rhonya aboard DD

Jule & Carsten

Cpn Jack & Fergus visit Dover beach

Cinque Ports Yacht Club on Dover sea front

Dover beach with the Castle & White Cliffs in the back ground

Sunday we were up at 4am and set sail towards Eastbourne. Forecast for 7 gusting 12, the actual wind was 26 gusting 31! A lumpy journey was had with the wind on our nose. Though we got the sails up close to Hastings, we made no headway and would have had to tack to France and back to get anywhere, so gunning the engine, we arrived via a turbulent passage in Eastbourne. The Marina is locked in and we had fun pulling into the lock behind three other yachts and fishing boats, with another behind us. Known as Sovereign Harbour, it is owned by the same company that own Brighton Marina as is just as soulless. Surrounded by new high-rise apartment blocks there are no shops, pubs, character, churches, personality, you get the picture. It does however have excellent showers!

Bog watch update for Dover – the Granville Dock has a set of 5* showers close to the Marina office, each a large self-contained bathroom. Alas I only discovered these whilst being nosy on Saturday night. That’s bog watch done.

France in the distance as we set out from Dover. It’s only 24 nautical miles away and Eastbourne is 46.5

White cliffs from our passage

Dungeness Nuclear Power Plant as we rounded the headland

Distant Drum at Eastbourne Marina

Today’s weather forecast tells us there is strong head-on south westerly wind at 30 knots, our experience leads us to believe this actually means 40+ knots, and walking down to the sea earlier revealed a wall of fog, so we’re heading out tomorrow. Next stop Newhaven.

Selfie with Cpn’ Jack & Fergus at Eastbourne