It's Good Friday 21st April and there's a blustery, bitingly cold wind while the forecast is for snow flurries. There are yet ten days to go before my proposed start to a cruise along the south coast of England. Most likely I shall set out from Burnham-on-Crouch on or near 1st April which will give me a month and one week to reach Plymouth before the start of the Artemis Transat Race on 11th May; not that I shall be a participant except in spirit, rather I want to watch the spectacle and share the experience with Al who plans to accompany me from that point in his Paradox sailboat. Our boats are almost identical apart from for their colour. (For details visit http://www.paradox-co.uk/)
Only God knows how this cruise will pan out. I can prepare and do all the planning, but I cannot predict the weather nor any event which may affect the cruise; indeed, it may not even get going. I have intentions of setting out with optimism, and yet I know that achieving my first objective of reaching Plymouth in time for the start of the Artemis Transat Race will mean considerable effort on my part. I hope that in the main I shall have an enjoyable cruise, but from experience I've learned to be a realist who realizes that there will be testing times, but that's what makes it worthwhile – meeting and overcoming challenges. There will be moments when the sun shines and times when there will be rain; there may be storms, there may be calms and if Providence graciously provides, there will be fair winds, wonderful things to see, interesting places to experience and fascinating people to meet.
If I have the stomach for it after the start of the Artemis Transat Race my second objective will be to sail to the Scilly Isles along with Al in his boat for company and our intention after exploring the Islands will be to return to Plymouth to watch the start of the Jester Azores Challenge Race on 31st May. Such a cruise on its own would normally present a considerable challenge for me in my tiny boat, and if I am still fighting fit at the end of it I may attempt a third objective which is to sail back to the East Coast. Regarding the three objectives there are many unknown factors which will be revealed in time and only then will I know if what I believe is feasible is indeed the case. Hillary and Tenzing knew that climbing Everest to the summit was feasible and they proved it was possible. I wonder if I have found my Everest.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
Hotspot
This is the first time I've been successful in accessing a hotspot for access to the Internet. I am in the food hall of Lakeside which is a large indoor shopping area at Thurrock, Essex, UK. I had tried previously from advertised Hotspots such as at MacDonalds, but with no success. Having the ability to access the World Wide Web via WIFI through Hotspots means that I'll be able to upload my boat log to this blog whenever I arrive at a port of call.
I am hoping I'll be able to set off for an extensive cruise in my Paradox sailboat along the South Coast in early April. Because of my success at logging on through this particular Hotspot at Lakeside, I'm hopeful you will be able to follow my adventure, albeit, several days in arrears, assuming I'll have success elsewhere.
I am hoping I'll be able to set off for an extensive cruise in my Paradox sailboat along the South Coast in early April. Because of my success at logging on through this particular Hotspot at Lakeside, I'm hopeful you will be able to follow my adventure, albeit, several days in arrears, assuming I'll have success elsewhere.
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Rules and Around-in-Ten
‘Rules are made to be broken’, so the saying goes, and yet we all live by a code of conduct, either consciously or unconsciously; we set our own moral and ethical standards or accept those we choose. I suppose the first rules we learn are those given to us by our parents; afterwards we may accept guiding rules taught by our teachers; we may also accept rules adhered to by our peers and in the long term we may adopt rules set by those who would want to influence us. We discover that virtually every situation is dependent upon a set of rules, perhaps imposed by our fellow beings or by Nature; for example, we cannot drive our cars or ride our bikes along a road without being subject to ‘The Highway Code’, and if we choose to ignore the rules within it we run the risk of injury or death either to ourselves or others, and if we ignore the rules of Nature we’ll most likely suffer the consequences.
Maybe the most well-known set of rules are the Ten Commandments as found in Exodus 20 and Deuteronomy 5, where the first 5 commandments give us a guide for our relationship with God, and the others stipulate how we should relate to humankind. Such a framework of rules can provide the basis of other rules; indeed, in the past many of our English laws determined by Parliament were influenced by the precepts of the Ten Commandments.
I’ve been following the gradual formulation of race rules for participants of the forthcoming Around-in-Ten Race, which will be a gruelling feat of endurance for the competitors as they circumnavigate the globe in 10’ sailing boats with the aim of being the first to complete the circuit. A fundamental rule was set at the outset when the race was proposed - namely boats must be 10’ in overall length. Other rules by necessity have been added, such as the starting date for the Race, a definition of the start line and the naming of compulsory ports of call. More rules are currently being formulated by the ‘Racers’, i.e., those who have declared themselves as committed entrants to the Race. Outsiders can suggest rules, but they do not have voting rights. Only the Racers can determine final rules by majority votes. There was much discussion on whether multihulls would be allowed to take part, but according the wisdom of voters, they have been barred. I believe discussion is still taking place about a possible cut-off date for the acceptance of proposed new Racers, and as each day passes before the start in 307 days (as I write) the urgency for a decision increases.
If he is to succeed each Racer must formulate for himself rules for survival, the basic rule being to ensure he drinks and eats sufficiently well to maintain his health. He must as far as possible according to circumstances have a routine for sleep and have sufficient of it to maintain himself in a state of alertness when awake for the efficient running of his boat. He would be wise to adhere to a daily timetable for such things as updating his position, preparing and eating his main meal, enjoying periods of relaxation perhaps by reading, solving crossword puzzles or listening to music; he might also have a daily communication with home by satellite phone.
The preservation of sanity by a Racer in such a tiny boat would be high on the agenda, and rules designed for this very purpose should be formulated. I am aware of what happened to Donald Crowhurst who was put under enormous self-pressure to win the Golden Globe Sunday Times Race in 1968/9, and as a result he lost his sanity which caused him to take his own life. The crux of the matter arose when Crowhurst realized his boat was not suitable for the Roaring Forties and he decided he would break the rules of the Race by holding station in the southern Atlantic until the other competitors arrived on the scene, at which time he would follow them to the finish line, not to win, but to have public acclaim for finishing the Race, but one by one, with the exception of Robin Knox Johston boats fell by the wayside. Crowhurst realised that on arrival at Plymouth his ship’s log would come under scrutiny and it would fail the test.
Some of us may believe rules are made to be broken, but watch out if we break them, because we may have to suffer the consequences.
Web site for The Around-in-Ten Race: http://www.aroundinten.com/ .
Maybe the most well-known set of rules are the Ten Commandments as found in Exodus 20 and Deuteronomy 5, where the first 5 commandments give us a guide for our relationship with God, and the others stipulate how we should relate to humankind. Such a framework of rules can provide the basis of other rules; indeed, in the past many of our English laws determined by Parliament were influenced by the precepts of the Ten Commandments.
I’ve been following the gradual formulation of race rules for participants of the forthcoming Around-in-Ten Race, which will be a gruelling feat of endurance for the competitors as they circumnavigate the globe in 10’ sailing boats with the aim of being the first to complete the circuit. A fundamental rule was set at the outset when the race was proposed - namely boats must be 10’ in overall length. Other rules by necessity have been added, such as the starting date for the Race, a definition of the start line and the naming of compulsory ports of call. More rules are currently being formulated by the ‘Racers’, i.e., those who have declared themselves as committed entrants to the Race. Outsiders can suggest rules, but they do not have voting rights. Only the Racers can determine final rules by majority votes. There was much discussion on whether multihulls would be allowed to take part, but according the wisdom of voters, they have been barred. I believe discussion is still taking place about a possible cut-off date for the acceptance of proposed new Racers, and as each day passes before the start in 307 days (as I write) the urgency for a decision increases.
If he is to succeed each Racer must formulate for himself rules for survival, the basic rule being to ensure he drinks and eats sufficiently well to maintain his health. He must as far as possible according to circumstances have a routine for sleep and have sufficient of it to maintain himself in a state of alertness when awake for the efficient running of his boat. He would be wise to adhere to a daily timetable for such things as updating his position, preparing and eating his main meal, enjoying periods of relaxation perhaps by reading, solving crossword puzzles or listening to music; he might also have a daily communication with home by satellite phone.
The preservation of sanity by a Racer in such a tiny boat would be high on the agenda, and rules designed for this very purpose should be formulated. I am aware of what happened to Donald Crowhurst who was put under enormous self-pressure to win the Golden Globe Sunday Times Race in 1968/9, and as a result he lost his sanity which caused him to take his own life. The crux of the matter arose when Crowhurst realized his boat was not suitable for the Roaring Forties and he decided he would break the rules of the Race by holding station in the southern Atlantic until the other competitors arrived on the scene, at which time he would follow them to the finish line, not to win, but to have public acclaim for finishing the Race, but one by one, with the exception of Robin Knox Johston boats fell by the wayside. Crowhurst realised that on arrival at Plymouth his ship’s log would come under scrutiny and it would fail the test.
Some of us may believe rules are made to be broken, but watch out if we break them, because we may have to suffer the consequences.
Web site for The Around-in-Ten Race: http://www.aroundinten.com/ .
Monday, February 11, 2008
Testing
This short note is purely for testing the viability of my new miniature laptop which I shall use for writing my log when aboard my sailing boat.
Last year I used my expensive Fujitsu Siemens laptop which was a bit risky in view of the proximity of much water. It was considerably larger than my latest acquisition which is an Asus 'EEE' Surf laptop with a tiny 7.5" screen. This ingenious machine has a miniature keyboard just large enough for touch-typing. The disadvantage at the moment is that I can only access the Internet while at home or in the vicinity of a 'Hotspot', which means I shall not be able to upload my Cruising Log until I'm ashore. Hotspots can be found at most marinas, MacDonalds, Internet cafes and large hotels; BT and 'T' Mobile have their own Hotspots strategically placed in many towns.
A small solid-state computer such as the Asus uses minimal electricity and it can be charged from a 12 volt source quite rapidly, whereas my larger laptop takes forever to charge from the boat's battery. I have already fallen in love with the tiny machine which has 3 USB connectors and a port for an SDIO card. I have yet to test the WIFI at a Hotspot.
Providing I can keep the Asus away from water, I believe it will be an ideal tool for use aboard the boat. I think I could even use it as a digital chart plotter, but as I have a Lowrance Expedition 'C' GPS with NauticPath charts, there would be little point in doing so, except to display the charts on a larger screen.
Last year I used my expensive Fujitsu Siemens laptop which was a bit risky in view of the proximity of much water. It was considerably larger than my latest acquisition which is an Asus 'EEE' Surf laptop with a tiny 7.5" screen. This ingenious machine has a miniature keyboard just large enough for touch-typing. The disadvantage at the moment is that I can only access the Internet while at home or in the vicinity of a 'Hotspot', which means I shall not be able to upload my Cruising Log until I'm ashore. Hotspots can be found at most marinas, MacDonalds, Internet cafes and large hotels; BT and 'T' Mobile have their own Hotspots strategically placed in many towns.
A small solid-state computer such as the Asus uses minimal electricity and it can be charged from a 12 volt source quite rapidly, whereas my larger laptop takes forever to charge from the boat's battery. I have already fallen in love with the tiny machine which has 3 USB connectors and a port for an SDIO card. I have yet to test the WIFI at a Hotspot.
Providing I can keep the Asus away from water, I believe it will be an ideal tool for use aboard the boat. I think I could even use it as a digital chart plotter, but as I have a Lowrance Expedition 'C' GPS with NauticPath charts, there would be little point in doing so, except to display the charts on a larger screen.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Anticipation
We humans perhaps more than any other members of the animal kingdom have the faculty for anticipation; we can think of possible circumstances before they may occur and we can make provision before they happen. Without this ability of planning according to possibilities none of the great adventures such as walking to the South Pole, or climbing Everest would have been successful. Yachtsmen like Francis Joyen, or Robin Knox-Johnston who have succeeded in breaking records by sailing around the world single-handed in the fastest times are masters of anticipation. They leave nothing to chance; every detail is examined and considered for fitness for purpose – their boat, gear, food and water, the route, the likely weather and preparation for the sailor himself.
Joyen must have anticipated that he would have to undergo heat in the tropics, ice coldness in the Southern Ocean and calm seas in the Doldrums, coupled with frustrations through lack of progress, sleep deprivation and continuous motion with no respite for the body. In view of his experience as a lone sailor prior to his recent triumphant record-breaking circumnavigation his anticipatory mind must have done overtime in overdrive before setting off from France on the epic adventure. In view of a smaller and less demanding adventure which I propose to undertake, my mind is in anticipatory mode. I delight in projecting my thoughts into possible future events when I may be sailing my small boat from Essex towards the Scilly Isles early this year. I dream of sunny days and of the wind being in my favour, but like Joyen from experience I know this will be unlikely; most probably there will be headwinds, dull skies and rain, but that does not prevent me from delighting in all possible outcomes and making provision for them.
Joyen must have anticipated that he would have to undergo heat in the tropics, ice coldness in the Southern Ocean and calm seas in the Doldrums, coupled with frustrations through lack of progress, sleep deprivation and continuous motion with no respite for the body. In view of his experience as a lone sailor prior to his recent triumphant record-breaking circumnavigation his anticipatory mind must have done overtime in overdrive before setting off from France on the epic adventure. In view of a smaller and less demanding adventure which I propose to undertake, my mind is in anticipatory mode. I delight in projecting my thoughts into possible future events when I may be sailing my small boat from Essex towards the Scilly Isles early this year. I dream of sunny days and of the wind being in my favour, but like Joyen from experience I know this will be unlikely; most probably there will be headwinds, dull skies and rain, but that does not prevent me from delighting in all possible outcomes and making provision for them.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
TANSTAAFL
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” goes the saying. To ascertain the age of a horse, a prospective owner will examine its teeth, because the more they project forward, and the longer they are, the older will be the horse. Thackeray when describing a certain woman in “The History of Henry Esmond, Esq.” applied the words, ”long in the tooth”, to a very old person. The whole point of not looking a gift horse in the mouth is not to consider possible defects or shortcomings, rather to be grateful for the gift.
At Christmas we may expect presents, i.e., ‘free’ gifts, but when we receive unexpected ones, we are even more grateful.
In 1885 Joshua Slocum received an unexpected gift from Captain Eben Pierce of Massachusetts - a derelict hulk, which in her heyday had been a fine Chesapeake Bay oyster boat. Pleased with the gift that nobody elsed wanted, because in his own words, "She was a sorry sight," he totally rebuilt her in just over twelve months. Most of us know what happened next, because of his classic book, ‘Sailing Alone Around the World’, in which he tells the story of his epic single-handed circumnavigation aboard the rejuvenated boat.
Another saying about free gifts is, “There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch,” which forms the acronym TANSTAAFL. Joshua Slocum knew this truth, but he also knew there would be the inevitable cost of restoring the boat, both in terms of dollars and hard labour. At the same time, he was cognizant of the joy he would have when the price had been paid.
For those of us who enjoy building boats and sailing them, we know, “There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch!"
At Christmas we may expect presents, i.e., ‘free’ gifts, but when we receive unexpected ones, we are even more grateful.
In 1885 Joshua Slocum received an unexpected gift from Captain Eben Pierce of Massachusetts - a derelict hulk, which in her heyday had been a fine Chesapeake Bay oyster boat. Pleased with the gift that nobody elsed wanted, because in his own words, "She was a sorry sight," he totally rebuilt her in just over twelve months. Most of us know what happened next, because of his classic book, ‘Sailing Alone Around the World’, in which he tells the story of his epic single-handed circumnavigation aboard the rejuvenated boat.
Another saying about free gifts is, “There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch,” which forms the acronym TANSTAAFL. Joshua Slocum knew this truth, but he also knew there would be the inevitable cost of restoring the boat, both in terms of dollars and hard labour. At the same time, he was cognizant of the joy he would have when the price had been paid.
For those of us who enjoy building boats and sailing them, we know, “There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch!"
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Yachts and Sustainability
Last year Mukti Mitchell sailed around Britain in a zero-emission yacht of his own design to promote a low carbon lifestyle. (http://www.mitchellyachts.co.uk/low-carbon-tour/ ) His innovative boat was exhibited at the Southampton Boat Show with much approval by the Show’s promoters who gave lip service to his achievement. Following close upon the heels of the Show the same promoters of the London Boat Show made no mention of this pressing issue of a low carbon lifestyle. Anyone visiting the Excel ‘spectacular’ could not fail to be amazed at the number of huge motor yachts and sailing yachts on display. My reaction was to feel sick because of the lack of understanding of the rich who buy these plastic toys to gratify their whims. Furthermore I was astonished that Ellen MacArthur could fall into the trap that she believes she is able to ‘make a better world’ (her own words) by promoting a campaign for us all to reduce our carbon footprints. She is as blind as the rest of us.
Her personal blog (http://blog.ellenmacarthur.com/ ) is full of the savings in carbon emissions her companies have achieved, which in itself is laudable, but like those who build, market and sell super yachts, she fails to understand that by living the lifestyle of jetting here and there, promoting ocean yacht racing and encouraging the growth of the yachting industry, she defeats the very purpose she sets out to attain.
She and all of us, if we care, can do very little to make a great difference to this ecological issue of sustainability. This is not defeatism; it is a fact. How many of us live by the principle of only consuming what we need? If I were to do it, I would not even own or sail my tiny 14’ yacht which is no more polluting than Mukti Mitchell’s boat. My lifestyle would require a drastic change. I would not contemplate adding an engine to the boat, neither would I plan taking her by road behind my petrol guzzling car. The truth is that very few of us are prepared to make the sacrifices necessary for the benefit of our offspring and future generations. We are blinded by our material world of possessions and our greed for more. Trapped by the culture of our age we cannot escape. Who can convince us that we do not need yachts, neither do we need cars? Who can convince us that our world would be a better place without them?
Her personal blog (http://blog.ellenmacarthur.com/ ) is full of the savings in carbon emissions her companies have achieved, which in itself is laudable, but like those who build, market and sell super yachts, she fails to understand that by living the lifestyle of jetting here and there, promoting ocean yacht racing and encouraging the growth of the yachting industry, she defeats the very purpose she sets out to attain.
She and all of us, if we care, can do very little to make a great difference to this ecological issue of sustainability. This is not defeatism; it is a fact. How many of us live by the principle of only consuming what we need? If I were to do it, I would not even own or sail my tiny 14’ yacht which is no more polluting than Mukti Mitchell’s boat. My lifestyle would require a drastic change. I would not contemplate adding an engine to the boat, neither would I plan taking her by road behind my petrol guzzling car. The truth is that very few of us are prepared to make the sacrifices necessary for the benefit of our offspring and future generations. We are blinded by our material world of possessions and our greed for more. Trapped by the culture of our age we cannot escape. Who can convince us that we do not need yachts, neither do we need cars? Who can convince us that our world would be a better place without them?
Sunday, January 06, 2008
A Sailor's Reality
What is reasonable may be feasible and what is feasible may become reality. As I think about this, a lone sailor is battling with the elements in an attempt to beat Dame Ellen MacArthur’s record time of circumnavigating the globe in 71 days in her trimaran, B&Q/Castorama. The new aspirant is Francis Joyon aboard ‘Idec’, a 30 metre trimaran. He is comfortably ahead of Ellen’s position after sailing 44 days, and no doubt he is relieved that Thomas Coville sailing ‘Sodeb’O’, a 32 metre trimaran, has been forced to retire from his attempt at the record. Ironically, minutes after achieving the record for sailing further than any person in 24 hours, i.e., 619.3 nautical miles, Coville was forced to abandon his circumnavigation attempt because of damage sustained to the starboard float of his trimaran, most probably caused by a collision with ice.
Things that are feasible can hang in the balance when it comes to reality because of uncontrollable circumstances. A sailor can plan a route and determine strategies for success, but he cannot control the weather, neither can he guarantee that his strength will hold out, nor can he predict the unknown such as the possibility of his yacht colliding with an object, as was the case with the unfortunate Coville who is ‘limping’ towards Capetown.
For many of us amateur ‘weekend’ sailors we like to test ourselves by attempting the feasible, while hoping our dreams may become reality.
Things that are feasible can hang in the balance when it comes to reality because of uncontrollable circumstances. A sailor can plan a route and determine strategies for success, but he cannot control the weather, neither can he guarantee that his strength will hold out, nor can he predict the unknown such as the possibility of his yacht colliding with an object, as was the case with the unfortunate Coville who is ‘limping’ towards Capetown.
For many of us amateur ‘weekend’ sailors we like to test ourselves by attempting the feasible, while hoping our dreams may become reality.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Beauty
What is beauty? Something that is in the eye of the beholder, the ear of the listener or the touch of one who feels with his fingers or a sensation of taste – beauty is therefore a subjective reaction involving the senses and the mind. What appeals to one may not be the case for another, but undoubtedly for all who sense beauty, each one experiences pleasure. Conversely those who are confronted by ugliness are repulsed by it. There may never be a general agreement or consensus on what is beautiful, but everyone who knows of it has the common experience of pleasure.
If we are free to think or meditate we usually prefer to ponder beautiful things; we may bring to mind a musical melody, a memory of a glorious sunset or a sensuous intimate moment or even a rapturous episode of closeness with God the Creator.
For those intrigued with boats there is a never-ending fascination with their beauty. The jaunty, functional appearance of a Plymouth Tosher, or the stately elegance of square-rigger or the gliding symmetry of a high-tech racing trimaran can be equally beautiful to the mind.
I was drawn to this topic of beauty by my natural reaction upon seeing a photo of a fourteen foot sailing skiff of the Melonseed type. http://www.smallsailboats.co.uk/dinghy/dinghy_files/melonseed.htm What makes her so appealing and so attractive to me? She calls out with her simplicity of function embodied by her minimal character. Her curvaceous lines speak beauty, far more than the statue of Venus de Milo in the Louvre. To me there’s not another dinghy so beautiful. Every time I see her she brings pleasure and desire. How beautiful she must be to sail!
If we are free to think or meditate we usually prefer to ponder beautiful things; we may bring to mind a musical melody, a memory of a glorious sunset or a sensuous intimate moment or even a rapturous episode of closeness with God the Creator.
For those intrigued with boats there is a never-ending fascination with their beauty. The jaunty, functional appearance of a Plymouth Tosher, or the stately elegance of square-rigger or the gliding symmetry of a high-tech racing trimaran can be equally beautiful to the mind.
I was drawn to this topic of beauty by my natural reaction upon seeing a photo of a fourteen foot sailing skiff of the Melonseed type. http://www.smallsailboats.co.uk/dinghy/dinghy_files/melonseed.htm What makes her so appealing and so attractive to me? She calls out with her simplicity of function embodied by her minimal character. Her curvaceous lines speak beauty, far more than the statue of Venus de Milo in the Louvre. To me there’s not another dinghy so beautiful. Every time I see her she brings pleasure and desire. How beautiful she must be to sail!
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Christmas
Christmas means so many different things to many people according to their associations, cultures and age; to some the word conjures up nothing at all.
When I was young, Christmas was a time I looked forward to because of all it had to offer; there was the Christmas Day roast dinner when the whole family would sit around the large table in the lounge; the glowing coal fire would cast its heat upon the one with his back to it; there would be much jollity after the main course was eaten and brandy was poured over the Christmas pudding to be ignited with a match; the blue flame did its magic so that each eater savoured the special flavour as he searched for a silver threepenny bit that had been hidden in the pudding. He who found it could make a wish that would be bound to come true, but the coin had to be returned to the chef for next year’s search.
Our Christmas tree was real with roots and all. Sometimes a tree would survive to grow again for the following year, but most of them shed their needles and died. The tree was always decorated with red candles which were lit for only a brief moment for the sake of economy and safety. Such a tree was a fire hazard, especially as the paper chain decorations criss-crossed the ceiling, but a hand’s breadth above.
The meal over, the table cleared, and the washing-up finished, it was time to relax and listen to the King’s speech on radio. King George V1 died in 1952 when I was 18, and for your interest I’ve found this 1951 Christmas Speech on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bO1k0Uuw7jg&feature=related .
My family were not church-goers, but in the late forties I was a member of the Wilton Church choir. I joined it for the ignoble reason of being paid a small sum at the end of each month which enabled me to buy comics, sweets, marbles, buns and all those delights of little boys. I remember buying a packet of bath salts for my Mum at Christmas, which kind act gave me a glow of inner satisfaction and brought about an outward visible halo because my face gleamed with delight. (It’s always more blessed to give than receive.)
Singing at the Carol Service was a great occasion, although I could never be in tune, but there was always something special about the festivity. Every Christmas the church was packed, and there would be a visiting preacher from the Franciscan Friary with a unique message barely understood by myself.
It wasn’t until I became a Christian back in 1984 that I really understood the significance of the story of the Magi presenting their gifts to the infant King. I believe it was from that event the secular world tradition of gift giving at Christmastide came into being, but much veiled by the myth of Father Christmas. The Wise Men were led to the Jewish King by the 'Star of Bethlehem' and the wisdom given to them of God. They recognised the One who had been born Immanuel, ‘God with us’. Their desire was to worship Him by the presentation of themselves and the giving of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. All of these were costly gifts symbolic in meaning: gold represented their worshipful tribute, frankincense stood for their honourable devotion to Him, and myrrh showed their respect and value of Him.
In secular Christmas traditional objects there are hidden symbolisms associated with the birth and death of Christ. The leaves and greenness of a Christmas tree represent eternal life, because of its evergreen characteristic. The angel at the top of the tree reminds one of the Angel Gabriel, who announced the birth of Christ to the Virgin Mary and the decorative lights speak of the Light of the World who brought light into the world when He was born in a stable at Bethlehem. A holly wreath that adorns the front door has cruel spiked leaves that remind one of the thorns that dug into the Lord’s head when He was forced to wear a crown of thorns and the red berries speak of the blood that was shed when nails held Him to the cross.
Perhaps the most traditional Christmas object is the ‘robin’ Christmas card. Never, it seems at Yuletide is there a mantelshelf which does not have one of these. The robin is always pictured against a pure white snowfall; white being symbolic of the purity of Christ and the red breast of the tiny bird tells of Christ’s blood that was shed. The robin is for all seasons, the most faithful of birds that never deserts, mindful of the fact that the Lord is for ever faithful.
To finish my homily I’ll wish you a Very Happy Christmas and invite you to view my Christmas card in Cyberspace: http://www.smallsailboats.co.uk/robin/robin.htm , and you yachtsmen don’t forget to hoist your tree to the mast top.
When I was young, Christmas was a time I looked forward to because of all it had to offer; there was the Christmas Day roast dinner when the whole family would sit around the large table in the lounge; the glowing coal fire would cast its heat upon the one with his back to it; there would be much jollity after the main course was eaten and brandy was poured over the Christmas pudding to be ignited with a match; the blue flame did its magic so that each eater savoured the special flavour as he searched for a silver threepenny bit that had been hidden in the pudding. He who found it could make a wish that would be bound to come true, but the coin had to be returned to the chef for next year’s search.
Our Christmas tree was real with roots and all. Sometimes a tree would survive to grow again for the following year, but most of them shed their needles and died. The tree was always decorated with red candles which were lit for only a brief moment for the sake of economy and safety. Such a tree was a fire hazard, especially as the paper chain decorations criss-crossed the ceiling, but a hand’s breadth above.
The meal over, the table cleared, and the washing-up finished, it was time to relax and listen to the King’s speech on radio. King George V1 died in 1952 when I was 18, and for your interest I’ve found this 1951 Christmas Speech on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bO1k0Uuw7jg&feature=related .
My family were not church-goers, but in the late forties I was a member of the Wilton Church choir. I joined it for the ignoble reason of being paid a small sum at the end of each month which enabled me to buy comics, sweets, marbles, buns and all those delights of little boys. I remember buying a packet of bath salts for my Mum at Christmas, which kind act gave me a glow of inner satisfaction and brought about an outward visible halo because my face gleamed with delight. (It’s always more blessed to give than receive.)
Singing at the Carol Service was a great occasion, although I could never be in tune, but there was always something special about the festivity. Every Christmas the church was packed, and there would be a visiting preacher from the Franciscan Friary with a unique message barely understood by myself.
It wasn’t until I became a Christian back in 1984 that I really understood the significance of the story of the Magi presenting their gifts to the infant King. I believe it was from that event the secular world tradition of gift giving at Christmastide came into being, but much veiled by the myth of Father Christmas. The Wise Men were led to the Jewish King by the 'Star of Bethlehem' and the wisdom given to them of God. They recognised the One who had been born Immanuel, ‘God with us’. Their desire was to worship Him by the presentation of themselves and the giving of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. All of these were costly gifts symbolic in meaning: gold represented their worshipful tribute, frankincense stood for their honourable devotion to Him, and myrrh showed their respect and value of Him.
In secular Christmas traditional objects there are hidden symbolisms associated with the birth and death of Christ. The leaves and greenness of a Christmas tree represent eternal life, because of its evergreen characteristic. The angel at the top of the tree reminds one of the Angel Gabriel, who announced the birth of Christ to the Virgin Mary and the decorative lights speak of the Light of the World who brought light into the world when He was born in a stable at Bethlehem. A holly wreath that adorns the front door has cruel spiked leaves that remind one of the thorns that dug into the Lord’s head when He was forced to wear a crown of thorns and the red berries speak of the blood that was shed when nails held Him to the cross.
Perhaps the most traditional Christmas object is the ‘robin’ Christmas card. Never, it seems at Yuletide is there a mantelshelf which does not have one of these. The robin is always pictured against a pure white snowfall; white being symbolic of the purity of Christ and the red breast of the tiny bird tells of Christ’s blood that was shed. The robin is for all seasons, the most faithful of birds that never deserts, mindful of the fact that the Lord is for ever faithful.
To finish my homily I’ll wish you a Very Happy Christmas and invite you to view my Christmas card in Cyberspace: http://www.smallsailboats.co.uk/robin/robin.htm , and you yachtsmen don’t forget to hoist your tree to the mast top.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Time to Spare
Mark Twain wrote the ‘Adventures of Huckleberry Finn’, in which he poses questions to the reader, perhaps with tongue in cheek, or rather more seriously he makes statements about the characters within his novel which in turn may challenge the reader in his own experiences. He describes an episode when Huck and Jim spent a day hidden ashore while en passage down the Mississippi on a log raft. They were having an unaccustomed period of relaxation when Huck read stories to ‘learn’ Jim in the ways of Kings and how they spend their time.
The story goes as follows:
I read considerable to Jim about kings, and dukes, and earls, and such, and how gaudy they dressed, and how much style they put on, and called each other your majesty, and your grace, and your lordship, and so on, ‘stead of mister; and Jim’s eyes bugged out, and he was interested.
He says:
‘I didn’t know dey was so many un um. I hain’t hearn ‘bout none un um, skasely, but ole King Sollermun, onless you counts dem kings dat’s in a pack er k’yards. How much do a king git?’
‘Git? I says; why, they get a thousand dollars a month if they want; everything belongs to them.’
‘Aint dat gay? En what dey got to do, Huck?’
‘They don’t do nothing! Why, how you talk. They just set around.’
‘No – is dat so?’
‘Of course it is. They just set around. Except maybe when there’s a war; then they go to war. But other times they just lazy around; or go hawking – just hawking ………’
The retiree often remarks that he is busier than when he worked to earn a living, but for some there is little to do and they feel like dying of boredom; they are as kings with time on their hands and no wars to fight, but the retired yachtsman looks forward to the new season when the days lengthen and he’ll be reunited with his yacht upon the oceans; meanwhile, his faithful vessel needs maintaining while he dreams of future adventures, and to make those a reality he studies the charts, the almanac and the tide tables. His imagination paints scenarios of luxuriant bays with sandy beaches, purple mountains forming far horizons; white horses skipping on the wave tops; green fields rolling to the sea shore and darkened glades running in valleys to the water’s edge; broad sand dunes and granite cliffs; muddy creeks; gulls, guillemots, plovers, Arctic skuas, heron, dunlin and even the perky puffin with his red, white and blue bill.
The retired yachtsman with time to spare is far richer than any king. He does not laze around with nothing to do; neither does he look for wars to relieve his boredom; instead, he dreams of fresh mackerel straight from the pan!
The story goes as follows:
I read considerable to Jim about kings, and dukes, and earls, and such, and how gaudy they dressed, and how much style they put on, and called each other your majesty, and your grace, and your lordship, and so on, ‘stead of mister; and Jim’s eyes bugged out, and he was interested.
He says:
‘I didn’t know dey was so many un um. I hain’t hearn ‘bout none un um, skasely, but ole King Sollermun, onless you counts dem kings dat’s in a pack er k’yards. How much do a king git?’
‘Git? I says; why, they get a thousand dollars a month if they want; everything belongs to them.’
‘Aint dat gay? En what dey got to do, Huck?’
‘They don’t do nothing! Why, how you talk. They just set around.’
‘No – is dat so?’
‘Of course it is. They just set around. Except maybe when there’s a war; then they go to war. But other times they just lazy around; or go hawking – just hawking ………’
The retiree often remarks that he is busier than when he worked to earn a living, but for some there is little to do and they feel like dying of boredom; they are as kings with time on their hands and no wars to fight, but the retired yachtsman looks forward to the new season when the days lengthen and he’ll be reunited with his yacht upon the oceans; meanwhile, his faithful vessel needs maintaining while he dreams of future adventures, and to make those a reality he studies the charts, the almanac and the tide tables. His imagination paints scenarios of luxuriant bays with sandy beaches, purple mountains forming far horizons; white horses skipping on the wave tops; green fields rolling to the sea shore and darkened glades running in valleys to the water’s edge; broad sand dunes and granite cliffs; muddy creeks; gulls, guillemots, plovers, Arctic skuas, heron, dunlin and even the perky puffin with his red, white and blue bill.
The retired yachtsman with time to spare is far richer than any king. He does not laze around with nothing to do; neither does he look for wars to relieve his boredom; instead, he dreams of fresh mackerel straight from the pan!
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Vanity of the Sailor
Perhaps no other person in history could match the possessions of King Solomon who amassed a great fortune by inheriting a kingdom from his father, and by increasing his wealth through the receipt of taxes and by accepting gifts from many, including the Queen of Sheba. Solomon was not only revered for his possessions, but for his wisdom also. Without the latter it is doubtful he would have acquired his great material wealth. When not distracted by his many wives and concubines he found time to write exquisite poems and prose, some of which are recorded in the Bible, notably his Song of Songs, several Psalms, Proverbs and Ecclesiastes.
It is generally accepted that Solomon wrote the wisdom literature of Ecclesiastes when in his old age, and although this exceptionally gifted king was noted for his wisdom when he was a young man, his experience of life would have endowed him with a retrospective insight into the nature of life so as to draw from it a synthesis of quintessential moral and ethical values. If anyone could have done this, it undoubtedly would have been Solomon who had experienced so much.
To short-circuit the learning curve of gaining wisdom, it must make sense to study the words of Solomon, and if we examine Ecclesiastes we shall know of his conclusion to the purpose of life and the most apt conduct for us to adopt during our sojourn upon this planet. Such knowledge should give us a head start.
The word that crops up time and again throughout Ecclesiastes is ‘vanity’, and it has two meanings: the first is, ‘excessive pride in or admiration of one’s own appearance or achievements’ and the other is, ‘the quality of being worthless or futile’. How to handle these aspects of vanity requires a certain amount of wisdom. Those who think highly of themselves and who place themselves on pedestals run the risk of falling, and those who believe they are worthless and that their efforts are futile, stand the chance of being victims of their lack of self-esteem. There needs to be a balance, but most importantly there should be a standard for judging one’s conduct and one should have a sense of direction in the pursuit of goals.
At the end of Ecclesiastes Solomon concludes, “Vanity of vanities ………… all is vanity,” and he further proclaims that the correct attitude for man’s conduct should be to “Fear God and keep His commandments.” How does this wisdom relate to the sailor? Surely if he is on the water for pleasure, his conduct is vain – or is it? Those who race across oceans, those who endeavour to break sailing records and those who explore the world by cruising their yachts, are they practitioners of vanity? They certainly are not - if they fear God and keep His commandments.
It is generally accepted that Solomon wrote the wisdom literature of Ecclesiastes when in his old age, and although this exceptionally gifted king was noted for his wisdom when he was a young man, his experience of life would have endowed him with a retrospective insight into the nature of life so as to draw from it a synthesis of quintessential moral and ethical values. If anyone could have done this, it undoubtedly would have been Solomon who had experienced so much.
To short-circuit the learning curve of gaining wisdom, it must make sense to study the words of Solomon, and if we examine Ecclesiastes we shall know of his conclusion to the purpose of life and the most apt conduct for us to adopt during our sojourn upon this planet. Such knowledge should give us a head start.
The word that crops up time and again throughout Ecclesiastes is ‘vanity’, and it has two meanings: the first is, ‘excessive pride in or admiration of one’s own appearance or achievements’ and the other is, ‘the quality of being worthless or futile’. How to handle these aspects of vanity requires a certain amount of wisdom. Those who think highly of themselves and who place themselves on pedestals run the risk of falling, and those who believe they are worthless and that their efforts are futile, stand the chance of being victims of their lack of self-esteem. There needs to be a balance, but most importantly there should be a standard for judging one’s conduct and one should have a sense of direction in the pursuit of goals.
At the end of Ecclesiastes Solomon concludes, “Vanity of vanities ………… all is vanity,” and he further proclaims that the correct attitude for man’s conduct should be to “Fear God and keep His commandments.” How does this wisdom relate to the sailor? Surely if he is on the water for pleasure, his conduct is vain – or is it? Those who race across oceans, those who endeavour to break sailing records and those who explore the world by cruising their yachts, are they practitioners of vanity? They certainly are not - if they fear God and keep His commandments.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Running into Danger
At the age of 16 I often crewed aboard a converted St Ives lugger. She was owned by a man nearing retirement and he had fitted her out as a gaff cutter with a small cabin. There was kneeling headroom and enough floor space for two people to lay out their bunks. Cooking was done on a single gimballed Primus stove. I learnt a great deal about handling this boat under sail from her owner who had sailed all his life. I discovered ‘Petrel’ could easily be balanced on a steady course by lashing her helm, and slightly backing her staysail. I learnt how to reduce the power of the wind in the mainsail by dropping the peak, tricing the tack, or topping-up the boom, and how to reef by tying reefing tails - not around the boom, but under the bundled foot of the sail, as it was loose-footed.
During the school holidays we would spend two to three weeks cruising along the south coast of the South West Peninsular from Dartmouth to Falmouth and back. My memory is of long sunny days when the sparkling turquoise water blended with a clear azure sky, while over the distant land there hovered white cumulus clouds, but there were times when storm clouds rushed above us while we raced up Channel with crested waves pressing us onwards, and there was a time when we ran to the south west with a south easterly bowling us along in thick fog. Our hope was that the sun would break through, enabling us to establish our position, as our dead-reckoning had placed us to the south east of Salcombe. We desperately needed a bearing of Prawle Point before heading for Bolt Head, which marked the entrance to Salcombe. Obligingly, the fog lifted and we took a sight with the hand-bearing compass. We had sailed far enough westwards to have a view of the craggy cliffs above the Mewstone south of Salcombe and we set our course towards it, but within minutes we were again engulfed in thick fog. Another half-an-hour and we should see the Mewstone loom out of the fog, from which point we could sail due north while keeping the steep cliffs to our port and periodically casting the lead to monitor the shoaling bottom.
Half-an-hour passed and we were relieved to see craggy rocks loom out of the fog to port, but there was no Mew Stone; maybe it was hidden to the south. So we turned northwards, triced up the main and took in the staysail; meanwhile our punt streamed astern with a bucket tied behind her to stop her rearing up and smashing into the transom because of the oncoming waves. All of a sudden there was a shout of alarm from the skipper, “Breakers ahead!” followed by, “Bring her round to starboard!” I yanked the tiller to port, but our boat would not come round. The beach ahead drew closer. My companion rapidly hauled in the punt until her bow touched our transom, and with all his strength he used a boat hook to hoist the bucket out of the water. “Take her round,” he commanded, and this time she slowly responded. “Up staysail!” and after much noise, snaking of sheets, flapping of canvas, the sail was hoisted, and ‘Petrel’ gradually clawed to windward, up and over the advancing waves.
It had been a near miss. We both realized we had not allowed for the east-going tide, and no doubt our course steering had not been too clever, consequently we had run up the eastern side of Prawle Point, mistaking it for the eastern side of Bolt Head.
As we sailed seaward the fog lifted, and for a second time we made for the entrance of Salcombe where the flooding tide took us to a peaceful anchorage in The Bag. Back in 1950 that stretch of water was an idyllic spot where there were only a few moorings and a houseboat nestled close to Snapes Point. The most delicious fresh prawns were there for the taking among the seaweed.
During the school holidays we would spend two to three weeks cruising along the south coast of the South West Peninsular from Dartmouth to Falmouth and back. My memory is of long sunny days when the sparkling turquoise water blended with a clear azure sky, while over the distant land there hovered white cumulus clouds, but there were times when storm clouds rushed above us while we raced up Channel with crested waves pressing us onwards, and there was a time when we ran to the south west with a south easterly bowling us along in thick fog. Our hope was that the sun would break through, enabling us to establish our position, as our dead-reckoning had placed us to the south east of Salcombe. We desperately needed a bearing of Prawle Point before heading for Bolt Head, which marked the entrance to Salcombe. Obligingly, the fog lifted and we took a sight with the hand-bearing compass. We had sailed far enough westwards to have a view of the craggy cliffs above the Mewstone south of Salcombe and we set our course towards it, but within minutes we were again engulfed in thick fog. Another half-an-hour and we should see the Mewstone loom out of the fog, from which point we could sail due north while keeping the steep cliffs to our port and periodically casting the lead to monitor the shoaling bottom.
Half-an-hour passed and we were relieved to see craggy rocks loom out of the fog to port, but there was no Mew Stone; maybe it was hidden to the south. So we turned northwards, triced up the main and took in the staysail; meanwhile our punt streamed astern with a bucket tied behind her to stop her rearing up and smashing into the transom because of the oncoming waves. All of a sudden there was a shout of alarm from the skipper, “Breakers ahead!” followed by, “Bring her round to starboard!” I yanked the tiller to port, but our boat would not come round. The beach ahead drew closer. My companion rapidly hauled in the punt until her bow touched our transom, and with all his strength he used a boat hook to hoist the bucket out of the water. “Take her round,” he commanded, and this time she slowly responded. “Up staysail!” and after much noise, snaking of sheets, flapping of canvas, the sail was hoisted, and ‘Petrel’ gradually clawed to windward, up and over the advancing waves.
It had been a near miss. We both realized we had not allowed for the east-going tide, and no doubt our course steering had not been too clever, consequently we had run up the eastern side of Prawle Point, mistaking it for the eastern side of Bolt Head.
As we sailed seaward the fog lifted, and for a second time we made for the entrance of Salcombe where the flooding tide took us to a peaceful anchorage in The Bag. Back in 1950 that stretch of water was an idyllic spot where there were only a few moorings and a houseboat nestled close to Snapes Point. The most delicious fresh prawns were there for the taking among the seaweed.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Around-in-Ten
What is Around-in-Ten? Some who have heard about it may reply, ‘Around the Bend’! But without being prejudicial, it’s a race for 10’ sailing boats around the world. Having regained our breath after taking in the enormity of the task before the intrepid skippers, let’s soberly look at the prospect of circumnavigating the globe in such small vessels via the Panama Canal west going from the Bahamas, a distance of approximately 27,000 miles. The scheduled start will be in January 2009 - that’s just over a year and two months remaining before these micro-yachts cross the start line. Participants will have built and fully tested their yachts before arriving at the Bahamas. They will have equipped their vessels with essential gear and put aboard provisions of food and water and everything necessary for their complete self-sufficiency while crossing oceans up to distances of perhaps 4000 miles.
The origins and spirit for this race go back to the remarkable achievement of Serge Testa, who in 1987 completed a circumnavigation in his 11’ 10” aluminium yacht ‘Acrohc Australis’; in so doing he became the record-holder for having sailed the smallest boat around the world. He arrived back in Brisbane after a gruelling three years of being tossed to and fro while crossing the oceans of the world. During this epic voyaging he suffered many setbacks, including a fire onboard from which he and his boat narrowly escaped oblivion; sleep deprivation, salt water boils, groundings, a hurricane and always continuous movement while cooped up in a space providing barely enough room for him to lie down for respite.
Given this knowledge, why would four people to date commit themselves to such a tortuous undertaking and no doubt others will volunteer for the same venture? Because it will be a ‘venture’ with the outcome unknown – possibly fame and a book recording their achievement, bringing to them a million dollar fortune, or at the other extreme, death and critics saying, “I told you so!”
If we take a sober look at the logistics, it took Serge 500 days of voyaging over a period of three years (1095 days) to achieve his record. The racers will be sailing smaller and slower boats, but like their hero they will have to dodge hurricanes and use the prevailing winds and ocean currents equally well. Unlike him they will be competing in a race for the world record which may spur them on for even more super-human efforts. Only the fittest, most well prepared and the most determined will win.
I don’t doubt the smallest boat circumnavigation record can be beaten and I believe it will be done, if not by one of the venturesome Around-in-Ten sailors, it will eventually be broken by one who will deserve the honour and the accolade he or she will receive.
(Around-in-Ten web site: http://www.aroundinten.com/ )
The origins and spirit for this race go back to the remarkable achievement of Serge Testa, who in 1987 completed a circumnavigation in his 11’ 10” aluminium yacht ‘Acrohc Australis’; in so doing he became the record-holder for having sailed the smallest boat around the world. He arrived back in Brisbane after a gruelling three years of being tossed to and fro while crossing the oceans of the world. During this epic voyaging he suffered many setbacks, including a fire onboard from which he and his boat narrowly escaped oblivion; sleep deprivation, salt water boils, groundings, a hurricane and always continuous movement while cooped up in a space providing barely enough room for him to lie down for respite.
Given this knowledge, why would four people to date commit themselves to such a tortuous undertaking and no doubt others will volunteer for the same venture? Because it will be a ‘venture’ with the outcome unknown – possibly fame and a book recording their achievement, bringing to them a million dollar fortune, or at the other extreme, death and critics saying, “I told you so!”
If we take a sober look at the logistics, it took Serge 500 days of voyaging over a period of three years (1095 days) to achieve his record. The racers will be sailing smaller and slower boats, but like their hero they will have to dodge hurricanes and use the prevailing winds and ocean currents equally well. Unlike him they will be competing in a race for the world record which may spur them on for even more super-human efforts. Only the fittest, most well prepared and the most determined will win.
I don’t doubt the smallest boat circumnavigation record can be beaten and I believe it will be done, if not by one of the venturesome Around-in-Ten sailors, it will eventually be broken by one who will deserve the honour and the accolade he or she will receive.
(Around-in-Ten web site: http://www.aroundinten.com/ )
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Purist Sailor
Purism when applied to sailing is like an aspect of a religion. How can the sailor’s ‘purism’ be defined, and what is the nature of those devoted to this esoteric maritime activity?
A purist sailor can be likened to a religious Puritan of the Elizabethan era; one who was not satisfied with blemishes within the Reformation or papism within Catholicism. He sought a simple form of worship not tainted by the world or the traditions of men; he wanted to live the purity of the word of God as found in the Bible. The exclusion of all else, except the truth of the Bible was to be his form of worship; he desired an inward and outward life, devoted exclusively to God for His glory.
The term Puritan was used in a derisory sense aimed at those who did not conform to, or accept the Elizabethan Religious Settlement that established Queen Elizabeth 1st as the Supreme Governor of the Church of England and neither did they subscribe to the Common Book of Prayer decreed by the Act of Uniformity. There are some sailors today who would use the word ‘purist’ in a derisory sense too when referring to seafarers who will not have an engine on their boat. The same critics would consider these purists irresponsible because they voluntarily restrict themselves to using the wind, the currents and manual power for navigating waterways, or crossing lakes, seas and oceans. They heap further criticism upon purists for their lack of consideration when negotiating congested waters such as the Solent where huge ships are restricted by their draught; they further argue that common sense and safety should dictate the use of an engine.
Despite ridicule and reasoned argument by those who advocate engines the real sailing purist will not budge from his belief. His intellect confirms that engines on boats are evil, smelly polluting contrivances that contribute towards global warming and noise pollution. He considers using them is to commit the ultimate sin because they blemish and stain otherwise pristine seas and oceans by the spillage of oil and fuel. They contaminate the water, and their exhaust fumes permeate the air. The purist further reminds himself that in the good old days when the seas were plentiful with fish, fishermen earned their living by using boats powered by sail and oar. His ridicule of those who succumb to the convenience of engines is equal to that poured out upon the purist.
As with the non-conformist Puritan and his counterpart, there are two sailing fraternities practising their beliefs.
A purist sailor can be likened to a religious Puritan of the Elizabethan era; one who was not satisfied with blemishes within the Reformation or papism within Catholicism. He sought a simple form of worship not tainted by the world or the traditions of men; he wanted to live the purity of the word of God as found in the Bible. The exclusion of all else, except the truth of the Bible was to be his form of worship; he desired an inward and outward life, devoted exclusively to God for His glory.
The term Puritan was used in a derisory sense aimed at those who did not conform to, or accept the Elizabethan Religious Settlement that established Queen Elizabeth 1st as the Supreme Governor of the Church of England and neither did they subscribe to the Common Book of Prayer decreed by the Act of Uniformity. There are some sailors today who would use the word ‘purist’ in a derisory sense too when referring to seafarers who will not have an engine on their boat. The same critics would consider these purists irresponsible because they voluntarily restrict themselves to using the wind, the currents and manual power for navigating waterways, or crossing lakes, seas and oceans. They heap further criticism upon purists for their lack of consideration when negotiating congested waters such as the Solent where huge ships are restricted by their draught; they further argue that common sense and safety should dictate the use of an engine.
Despite ridicule and reasoned argument by those who advocate engines the real sailing purist will not budge from his belief. His intellect confirms that engines on boats are evil, smelly polluting contrivances that contribute towards global warming and noise pollution. He considers using them is to commit the ultimate sin because they blemish and stain otherwise pristine seas and oceans by the spillage of oil and fuel. They contaminate the water, and their exhaust fumes permeate the air. The purist further reminds himself that in the good old days when the seas were plentiful with fish, fishermen earned their living by using boats powered by sail and oar. His ridicule of those who succumb to the convenience of engines is equal to that poured out upon the purist.
As with the non-conformist Puritan and his counterpart, there are two sailing fraternities practising their beliefs.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Identity
Jean-Jacques Rousseau declared, “I feel, therefore I am”. Although blamed for a degenerative civilization in view of his radical and life-changing philosophy, many would accept Rousseau’s statement as being true for them and would go along with the gist of his teaching. When he made this observation about himself perhaps he was trying among other things to establish his ‘identity’ - that’s the very nature of himself that makes him unique. Not only was a he a human being, but he was aware of his essential characteristics that combined to make the one and only Jean-Jacques Rouseau.
When listening to a sermon about the Christian Identity I was faced with the question as to my true identity and did it fit within the collective identity of those belonging to Christ? Did I have Christ-like characteristics? More recently I happened upon a BBC 2 TV programme featuring Donny Osmond called ‘Identity’. I can’t say the viewing was riveting, neither was it particularly entertaining but there was a certain desire on my part to discover the nature of the mystery identities. A guest participant under the prompting of Donny endeavoured to ascertain which tag feature belonged to each of a number of personalities who stood upon a stage. Some clues were obvious, for example, in yesterday’s programme a fit young lady wearing a sweater with the words, ‘Surf Competition’ emblazoned upon it turned out to be a Surfing Champion. Although undoubtedly being a surfing champion was a clue to her true identity, I wondered what essential feature really identified her as unique.
Well, we all know about the uniqueness of our DNA for establishing our identity or for providing a strong scientific basis as to heredity or family relationship, but that does not allow for character as shown in our actions in the drama of life.
What has any of the foregoing to do with my passion for sailing boats? Well, all boats essentially do the same thing, i.e., they float upon water, because they weigh the same as the water they displace, but when we examine these floating mobile creations they are often so different in appearance. Some have points at each end, in contrast to those with sharp bows and wide sterns; some are broad, while some are narrow; some are deep heavy displacement craft, but others are like skimming dishes that plane across the waves. Do the characteristics that personify these boats tell us something about the identity of their designers? When I look at my most recent creation, a Paradox sailboat designed by Matt Layden, what do I see as identifying features that truly make her unique? Undoubtedly the answer must be her chine runners; these are longitudinal narrow ‘wings’ that stick out horizontally from the chines. They act in some mysterious way to minimize leeway when the boat sails to windward. What do they tell me about Matt? They indicate that he is a free-thinker; a person not caught up with restrictive traditional design. He is a pragmatic person very willing to try new ideas. Such a characteristic points to his identity.
Those capable of truly creative thinking such as Leonardo da Vinci transform the society in which they live; they can transform it for the better or for the worse. We can only hope and pray that their true identities will bring benefits to mankind.
When listening to a sermon about the Christian Identity I was faced with the question as to my true identity and did it fit within the collective identity of those belonging to Christ? Did I have Christ-like characteristics? More recently I happened upon a BBC 2 TV programme featuring Donny Osmond called ‘Identity’. I can’t say the viewing was riveting, neither was it particularly entertaining but there was a certain desire on my part to discover the nature of the mystery identities. A guest participant under the prompting of Donny endeavoured to ascertain which tag feature belonged to each of a number of personalities who stood upon a stage. Some clues were obvious, for example, in yesterday’s programme a fit young lady wearing a sweater with the words, ‘Surf Competition’ emblazoned upon it turned out to be a Surfing Champion. Although undoubtedly being a surfing champion was a clue to her true identity, I wondered what essential feature really identified her as unique.
Well, we all know about the uniqueness of our DNA for establishing our identity or for providing a strong scientific basis as to heredity or family relationship, but that does not allow for character as shown in our actions in the drama of life.
What has any of the foregoing to do with my passion for sailing boats? Well, all boats essentially do the same thing, i.e., they float upon water, because they weigh the same as the water they displace, but when we examine these floating mobile creations they are often so different in appearance. Some have points at each end, in contrast to those with sharp bows and wide sterns; some are broad, while some are narrow; some are deep heavy displacement craft, but others are like skimming dishes that plane across the waves. Do the characteristics that personify these boats tell us something about the identity of their designers? When I look at my most recent creation, a Paradox sailboat designed by Matt Layden, what do I see as identifying features that truly make her unique? Undoubtedly the answer must be her chine runners; these are longitudinal narrow ‘wings’ that stick out horizontally from the chines. They act in some mysterious way to minimize leeway when the boat sails to windward. What do they tell me about Matt? They indicate that he is a free-thinker; a person not caught up with restrictive traditional design. He is a pragmatic person very willing to try new ideas. Such a characteristic points to his identity.
Those capable of truly creative thinking such as Leonardo da Vinci transform the society in which they live; they can transform it for the better or for the worse. We can only hope and pray that their true identities will bring benefits to mankind.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Cobnor (Day Nine)
Being ashore with the boat on the trailer during the night meant there was no movement as one would have while at anchor; therefore I slept well and woke rather late. My first task after breakfast was to remove the recalcitrant mast and to that end I enlisted a yachtsman who was working on a nearby yacht. Our combined efforts accomplished the business. An examination of the mast showed that the base had swollen due to being very damp on account of the rain over the past days. Rain water had entered the ventilation hole through the deck and naturally drained away through the pipe under the mast as it was supposed to, but in so doing the wood had become swollen. When I arrived home it was a simple matter to rectify and I should no longer have a problem with it.
The sun shone brightly and for the first time in the past eight days the sky was cloudless. There was no wind whatsoever. So, even if ‘Faith’ had been on the water she would not have gone anywhere, but what an irony that the very day she was ashore, a mini-high pressure system approached the British Isles. Still, I knew there were many things needing attention at home and I had been on the water for over seven days and nights – it was time to go home.
Having paid the Marina dues for the use of the slipway I set up the TomTom in the car to assist me in finding the right roads for the journey on that Bank Holiday weekend. TomTom did not let me down. It took a route first towards Portsmouth then the A3 and M3. Fortunately there were no long delays going east, but I noted huge traffic jams on the opposite side of the road and I was thankful I was not travelling to the West.
It only took just under 3 hours and ‘Faith’ was on the driveway at home being emptied of her stores in readiness for a complete clean before her next cruise or outing on the water.
Cobnor had been fun, despite the unfavourable weather and I was pleased I had met DCA folk I had not seen for many a year.
The sun shone brightly and for the first time in the past eight days the sky was cloudless. There was no wind whatsoever. So, even if ‘Faith’ had been on the water she would not have gone anywhere, but what an irony that the very day she was ashore, a mini-high pressure system approached the British Isles. Still, I knew there were many things needing attention at home and I had been on the water for over seven days and nights – it was time to go home.
Having paid the Marina dues for the use of the slipway I set up the TomTom in the car to assist me in finding the right roads for the journey on that Bank Holiday weekend. TomTom did not let me down. It took a route first towards Portsmouth then the A3 and M3. Fortunately there were no long delays going east, but I noted huge traffic jams on the opposite side of the road and I was thankful I was not travelling to the West.
It only took just under 3 hours and ‘Faith’ was on the driveway at home being emptied of her stores in readiness for a complete clean before her next cruise or outing on the water.
Cobnor had been fun, despite the unfavourable weather and I was pleased I had met DCA folk I had not seen for many a year.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Cobnor (Day Eight)
As each day passes, so the equivalent tide on successive days is later and if the moon is on the wane the rise and fall of water becomes less until the moon begins to wax. By Friday, 24th August the range of tide was only 1.5 metres as opposed to 3 metres when I first arrived at Chichester Harbour. This meant the speed of currents generated by the rise and fall of water would be less than when I started my cruise, which in turn would ease the effect the wind would have on the water when blowing against the current. For a change, the wind eased, and the combination of neap tides bode favourably for enjoyable sailing.
After a quiet night I awoke to find sunshine, and as I ate breakfast I enjoyed watching several rabbits scampering around the patchy grass at the front of a nearby private beach house. They bobbed up and down while chasing one another, stopping now and again to check for predators by sitting upright so as to have a good view and at the same time listen for tell-tell sounds. Shoals of silver mullet broke the surface of the placid water as an Egret waited patiently at the water’s edge for an unsuspecting tiddler swimming within range of its black needle-sharp beak. I caught a glimpse of a fine mullet when it passed just a foot or so from the side of ‘Faith’. I was told that only red mullet are good for eating. An elderly couple complete with fishing gear arrived at the slipway with their dinghy and outboard motor and within a short time, having deployed their rods and lines, they were drifting between the moored yachts. There was a shout of joy from the lady as she hooked a small fish and expertly landed it into the dinghy.
By 0815 we were underway with the aid of a gentle wind fanning us towards the Chichester Channel. Only a couple of yachts were on the move and there was no sign of any DCA members or their boats. At 0830 we were at Camber Beacon that marks the entrance to Thorney Channel stretching to the north. With full sail and on a beam reach we made rapid progress eastwards leaving East Head by a cable to the south before coming on the wind towards Verner Beacon adjacent to the inlet leading to Hayling Island Yacht Company’s moorings. Sporadically motor vessels and motor yachts chugged seaward, most bent on fishing somewhere within the Harbour or beyond in the Solent. A few sailing yachts, also under motor, took the same route. Meanwhile I tacked ‘Faith’ northwards between the deep water channel markers with the aim of getting as near to Emsworth Marina as possible. Low water wasn’t until 1433, so there was ample time, especially as the tide was still making, but as things turned out I would have to wait hours before I could take ‘Faith’ into the Marina, because the wind petered out when she arrived at the North East Hayling beacon which marks the channel to Northney Marina. I wasn’t in a hurry otherwise I would have tried using the yuloh for the next mile to Emsworth Yacht Harbour. My desire was just to relax and enjoy the scenery, the sunshine and the peace, so I set the anchor and made a coffee before lying down for a snooze.
Being anchored at the junction between Northney Marina, Emsworth Yacht Harbour and the north/south-going Emsworth Channel I tied my black wading shoes together as an anchor ball and hung them on the lazy jack. This indicated to an ever-increasing number of boats on the move that ‘Faith’ was at anchor. After my snooze I made a coffee and I was surprised to find Al in ‘Little Jim’ nearby; he informed me he and other DCA sailors intended to sail around Hayling Island. At that moment the wind was almost non-existent, but there was just enough for making way. I noticed Cliff was also within hailing distance aboard his well-sailed Mirror; he gave me a call and continued with his endeavour of working close inshore towards Northney and Langstone Bridge where both he and Al would have to remove masts from their boats so as to pass under the bridge. In the distance, way to the south, I saw Liz in her Cormorant and someone in a Wayfarer, but the ebb had set and within a quarter of an hour they were no more to be seen.
Just before mid-day the wind set in and I could discern a dark tan sail way down the Emsworth Channel; by using my binoculars I confirmed it was the sail of Liz’s dinghy. Twenty minutes later she sailed along an identical track to the one taken by Cliff, but she didn’t appear to recognize ‘Faith’. I noticed there was an outboard motor at the stern of her dinghy and it was obvious she had no intention of using it, unless absolutely necessary. A very official looking motor launch slowly chugged by and I observed it belonged to the Harbour Master who gave me a hearty wave and a cheery greeting.
Half-an-hour before low water at 1400 I took in the anchor and tacked northwards between the many moored yachts, motorboats and runabouts. Eventually the water became so shallow that I could proceed no further under sail and therefore I tried to make progress against the wind with the yuloh, but at first I had little success until the tide turned in my favour when I continued until grounding on pebbles near the entrance to Emsworth Yacht Harbour. I knew there would be a long wait because I could see the sill was not covered and I would need at least one foot six inches of water to pass safely over it; otherwise ‘Faith’ could become stranded on it sideways with the force of the water, or the rudder could be damaged by being hooked on the sill as the boat traversed the tide-induced waterfall into the Marina.
My wait in the sunshine was a pleasant one. Swans swam around hoping for tidbits and two Egrets vied with one another for territorial rights. A gull attacked a large grey heron that retreated with little defence from the swifter smaller bird. As this was happening a motor launch tried approaching the Marina along the pebbly gully, but she became stuck and after ten minutes of frantic grinding and propeller clanging she reversed off to await the tide at a pontoon by the Emsworth Sailing Club. Two lads who had erected a tent on the weedy beach decided to relieve their boredom by throwing stones at each other and a fat woman took her equally fat dog for a walk between the many small boats dried out on their moorings. A car zoomed down a slipway between the expensive waterside mansions then turned around in a semi-circle over the weed-covered stones before climbing back up the slipway to disappear from view around the corner. A homeowner not wishing to draw attention to himself peered around a wall at the bottom of his garden to examine ‘Faith’. Transfixed, he stared for several minutes before slowly withdrawing behind the wall.
At 1730 ‘Faith’ was still anchored near the entrance to the Marina and the gushing of water could be heard as it rushed over the sill. An hour later when the moving water no longer plunged to the lower level within the compound a mother duck with many tiny chicks briefly peeped outside and took one look at us before fleeing back to the safety of their enclosure.
By 1930 I had retrieved the boat on her trailer, but not without a minor flap when the car lost traction on the weedy slipway. I asked a kindly yachtsman for his assistance and he suggested attaching his four-by-four to my car with a tow rope, only to abandon the idea when we could not find a tow bracket on the Mondeo. It wasn’t until I arrived home that I discovered a hidden loop behind a cover. He enlisted a friend and they both sat on the boot of my car while I eased it forward in first gear. The extra weight on the tail of the car did the trick. The next slight hiccup was when I tried extracting the mast, only to discover it was well and truly jammed. No amount of effort could dislodge it. Sweat poured off me in my attempt at lifting it out. Abandoning the attempt until morning I went to the washroom for a welcome refreshing shower and to escape the persistent attack of midges. By the time I returned to the boat after nightfall there was no sign of the little blighters. I settled down for the night and for the first time of the whole trip I could see stars through the window in the hatch.
After a quiet night I awoke to find sunshine, and as I ate breakfast I enjoyed watching several rabbits scampering around the patchy grass at the front of a nearby private beach house. They bobbed up and down while chasing one another, stopping now and again to check for predators by sitting upright so as to have a good view and at the same time listen for tell-tell sounds. Shoals of silver mullet broke the surface of the placid water as an Egret waited patiently at the water’s edge for an unsuspecting tiddler swimming within range of its black needle-sharp beak. I caught a glimpse of a fine mullet when it passed just a foot or so from the side of ‘Faith’. I was told that only red mullet are good for eating. An elderly couple complete with fishing gear arrived at the slipway with their dinghy and outboard motor and within a short time, having deployed their rods and lines, they were drifting between the moored yachts. There was a shout of joy from the lady as she hooked a small fish and expertly landed it into the dinghy.
By 0815 we were underway with the aid of a gentle wind fanning us towards the Chichester Channel. Only a couple of yachts were on the move and there was no sign of any DCA members or their boats. At 0830 we were at Camber Beacon that marks the entrance to Thorney Channel stretching to the north. With full sail and on a beam reach we made rapid progress eastwards leaving East Head by a cable to the south before coming on the wind towards Verner Beacon adjacent to the inlet leading to Hayling Island Yacht Company’s moorings. Sporadically motor vessels and motor yachts chugged seaward, most bent on fishing somewhere within the Harbour or beyond in the Solent. A few sailing yachts, also under motor, took the same route. Meanwhile I tacked ‘Faith’ northwards between the deep water channel markers with the aim of getting as near to Emsworth Marina as possible. Low water wasn’t until 1433, so there was ample time, especially as the tide was still making, but as things turned out I would have to wait hours before I could take ‘Faith’ into the Marina, because the wind petered out when she arrived at the North East Hayling beacon which marks the channel to Northney Marina. I wasn’t in a hurry otherwise I would have tried using the yuloh for the next mile to Emsworth Yacht Harbour. My desire was just to relax and enjoy the scenery, the sunshine and the peace, so I set the anchor and made a coffee before lying down for a snooze.
Being anchored at the junction between Northney Marina, Emsworth Yacht Harbour and the north/south-going Emsworth Channel I tied my black wading shoes together as an anchor ball and hung them on the lazy jack. This indicated to an ever-increasing number of boats on the move that ‘Faith’ was at anchor. After my snooze I made a coffee and I was surprised to find Al in ‘Little Jim’ nearby; he informed me he and other DCA sailors intended to sail around Hayling Island. At that moment the wind was almost non-existent, but there was just enough for making way. I noticed Cliff was also within hailing distance aboard his well-sailed Mirror; he gave me a call and continued with his endeavour of working close inshore towards Northney and Langstone Bridge where both he and Al would have to remove masts from their boats so as to pass under the bridge. In the distance, way to the south, I saw Liz in her Cormorant and someone in a Wayfarer, but the ebb had set and within a quarter of an hour they were no more to be seen.
Just before mid-day the wind set in and I could discern a dark tan sail way down the Emsworth Channel; by using my binoculars I confirmed it was the sail of Liz’s dinghy. Twenty minutes later she sailed along an identical track to the one taken by Cliff, but she didn’t appear to recognize ‘Faith’. I noticed there was an outboard motor at the stern of her dinghy and it was obvious she had no intention of using it, unless absolutely necessary. A very official looking motor launch slowly chugged by and I observed it belonged to the Harbour Master who gave me a hearty wave and a cheery greeting.
Half-an-hour before low water at 1400 I took in the anchor and tacked northwards between the many moored yachts, motorboats and runabouts. Eventually the water became so shallow that I could proceed no further under sail and therefore I tried to make progress against the wind with the yuloh, but at first I had little success until the tide turned in my favour when I continued until grounding on pebbles near the entrance to Emsworth Yacht Harbour. I knew there would be a long wait because I could see the sill was not covered and I would need at least one foot six inches of water to pass safely over it; otherwise ‘Faith’ could become stranded on it sideways with the force of the water, or the rudder could be damaged by being hooked on the sill as the boat traversed the tide-induced waterfall into the Marina.
My wait in the sunshine was a pleasant one. Swans swam around hoping for tidbits and two Egrets vied with one another for territorial rights. A gull attacked a large grey heron that retreated with little defence from the swifter smaller bird. As this was happening a motor launch tried approaching the Marina along the pebbly gully, but she became stuck and after ten minutes of frantic grinding and propeller clanging she reversed off to await the tide at a pontoon by the Emsworth Sailing Club. Two lads who had erected a tent on the weedy beach decided to relieve their boredom by throwing stones at each other and a fat woman took her equally fat dog for a walk between the many small boats dried out on their moorings. A car zoomed down a slipway between the expensive waterside mansions then turned around in a semi-circle over the weed-covered stones before climbing back up the slipway to disappear from view around the corner. A homeowner not wishing to draw attention to himself peered around a wall at the bottom of his garden to examine ‘Faith’. Transfixed, he stared for several minutes before slowly withdrawing behind the wall.
At 1730 ‘Faith’ was still anchored near the entrance to the Marina and the gushing of water could be heard as it rushed over the sill. An hour later when the moving water no longer plunged to the lower level within the compound a mother duck with many tiny chicks briefly peeped outside and took one look at us before fleeing back to the safety of their enclosure.
By 1930 I had retrieved the boat on her trailer, but not without a minor flap when the car lost traction on the weedy slipway. I asked a kindly yachtsman for his assistance and he suggested attaching his four-by-four to my car with a tow rope, only to abandon the idea when we could not find a tow bracket on the Mondeo. It wasn’t until I arrived home that I discovered a hidden loop behind a cover. He enlisted a friend and they both sat on the boot of my car while I eased it forward in first gear. The extra weight on the tail of the car did the trick. The next slight hiccup was when I tried extracting the mast, only to discover it was well and truly jammed. No amount of effort could dislodge it. Sweat poured off me in my attempt at lifting it out. Abandoning the attempt until morning I went to the washroom for a welcome refreshing shower and to escape the persistent attack of midges. By the time I returned to the boat after nightfall there was no sign of the little blighters. I settled down for the night and for the first time of the whole trip I could see stars through the window in the hatch.
Cobnor (Day Seven)
Weather dictates what the sailor can do. If there’s wind, he can sail, providing it is not too strong and preferably if it comes from a favourable direction. Paradox can work to windward, but not handily as a Wayfarer or a Mirror dinghy; therefore I must first consider the proposed route before setting off. Without an engine there is no guarantee of achieving the objective. Perhaps that’s not such a problem with Paradox, if there is time to spare, because the necessities of life and items for survival are immediately available. The boat is very strong and she can take the ground; she can be sealed from the elements to provide relative comfort. With food and drink available it does not matter if plans are changed by the weather or if the boat is stranded on a mud bank until the next tide.
Considering these factors and having been afloat for two days without moving from the anchorage at Cobnor I felt I could not face another day of bobbing around while the wind whistled from the north; therefore at 0710 I beached ‘Faith’ near the slipway, but as the water receded and the wind pushed her on the beach I became aware of the sharp flint stones under her. As she lifted on each wave and the noise of grinding was magnified by the hollowness of her hull, but my fears that there would be damage were without foundation, because a later inspection of the bottom showed there was no discernable wear. An hour and half later she was high and dry which meant I had ten hours before ‘Faith’ would be afloat again.
With the prospect of drizzle and the aim of reaching Emsworth by foot I donned my anorak and placed a Mars Bar in the pocket. More appropriately I should have prepared a picnic with ample drink. I needed to buy fruit, milk, yoghurts and paper towels and a knapsack would have been useful for carrying the goodies. Having told Al and Len of my intentions I set off for the ten mile return trek. There was lightness in my heart when I found myself in isolation walking the sandy eastern fringe of the Thorney Channel. Glancing behind I saw the imprints of my shoes and I made a mental note to look for them on my return. To my right there was a red sandstone bank almost hidden by clusters of miniature ancient gnarled oak trees and to my left was the broad and colourful expanse of marshland stretching to narrow muddy channels where flocks of gulls searched for food. The silence, apart from a faint rustling of leaves was most apparent. My spontaneous reaction was to burst into song and with no one to hear me I was not embarrassed with being off-tune. The joy of freedom I greatly cherished.
I became aware of my lack of knowledge regarding the huge variety of estuarine plants and flowers it was my privilege to see; some were so beautiful I just had to stop and examine them; the flotsam and jetsam cast up at the foot of the sea wall I purposely ignored. Appearing from nowhere a stranger approached me from ahead. To my mind his appearance was weird – tall, tassel haired and with his head inclined towards his right shoulder. On passing close, because of the narrow path between tall grasses each side of the pathway, I greeted him with, “Good morning!”, but there was no reply. Pleased that our encounter was brief I scanned the way ahead and noted two more figures proceeding in my direction. Optical perspective gave the impression they were a long way off, but it was only a matter of minutes and we were greeting each other. The two were obviously hikers out for the day because of the way they were dressed with boots while having small rucksacks on their backs and using walking sticks.
How many more people would I meet along this protected stretch of National Trust walkway? Only a few, and those meetings were near easy access points which encouraged owners of dogs to bring them for exercise and to do their inevitable deposits of whatnots. I kept my eyes open for treacle sausages, because if there’s one thing I dislike it’s having the smelly stuff on my shoes!
By mid-day I had traversed the southern boundary of Prinsted and walked through the boatyard of Thorney Marina where I called into the Boater’s Café for a ploughman’s lunch without the cider. The cup of coffee did not satisfy my thirst, but the salad, cheese and buttered loaf more than satisfied my hunger. I did not care for the loud piped music. Before continuing with my walk I thought it prudent to ask the way to Emsworth and how far I needed to go. It was just as well I did, because I would have followed the path going south towards Stanbury Point, only then realizing my error. Instead of taking the path dictated by my instinct I went as I was directed up the road from the Marina until coming to a main road which I crossed to a footpath leading to Emsworth Marina. There was barely room between overhanging branches and bramble bushes, but I proceeded until reaching the Marina. As I had walked to the town centre before from the Marina I confidently made my way along the delightful raised pathway that lay between a tidal leat and a large pond.
With only a short distance left to the Co-op I raised the hood of my anorak to protect myself from the drizzle, but I felt people were looking at me with some trepidation because of my resemblance to one of David Cameron’s adorable ‘hoodies’ who are people we should not hug, but understand. By the time I had done my little shopping the drizzle had ceased and I could walk with my hair blown by the blustery wind. Back at Emsworth Marina I called into the office to inform the duty staff that I would be taking ‘Faith’ out of the water some days later than stated and I enquired if I could use the slipway winch.
The return to Cobnor was over previously covered ground, but more prolonged because I stopped to pick blackberries on the way. I noted a colourful pair of spectacles that were hung on a signpost and tried them to see if they were any good for reading and they were perfect, but they were not mine; therefore I replaced them for the owner to find. In my mind I was convinced I would come across the spectacles I had lost when I fell off the boat and to this end before arriving back at Cobnor slipway I searched the muddy stretch by the sea wall where I had had the mishap. Saddened that I could not find my spectacles in the mud or blobs of weed I returned to ‘Faith’ for a welcome cup of tea, but before getting aboard I mentioned to Al that I had run out of reading material and he gave me a Pan book by Agatha Christie, ‘The Secret Adversary’.
By 1900 my boat was at anchor in her ‘spot’ overlooking the slipway. The wind had abated and was only a zephyr. Reading the Christie book was difficult because the print was small, the light bad and I had to use the magnifying glass. I took solace by listening to the radio and telephoning my wife. Then I slumbered until I fell asleep.
This is small boat cruising.
Considering these factors and having been afloat for two days without moving from the anchorage at Cobnor I felt I could not face another day of bobbing around while the wind whistled from the north; therefore at 0710 I beached ‘Faith’ near the slipway, but as the water receded and the wind pushed her on the beach I became aware of the sharp flint stones under her. As she lifted on each wave and the noise of grinding was magnified by the hollowness of her hull, but my fears that there would be damage were without foundation, because a later inspection of the bottom showed there was no discernable wear. An hour and half later she was high and dry which meant I had ten hours before ‘Faith’ would be afloat again.
With the prospect of drizzle and the aim of reaching Emsworth by foot I donned my anorak and placed a Mars Bar in the pocket. More appropriately I should have prepared a picnic with ample drink. I needed to buy fruit, milk, yoghurts and paper towels and a knapsack would have been useful for carrying the goodies. Having told Al and Len of my intentions I set off for the ten mile return trek. There was lightness in my heart when I found myself in isolation walking the sandy eastern fringe of the Thorney Channel. Glancing behind I saw the imprints of my shoes and I made a mental note to look for them on my return. To my right there was a red sandstone bank almost hidden by clusters of miniature ancient gnarled oak trees and to my left was the broad and colourful expanse of marshland stretching to narrow muddy channels where flocks of gulls searched for food. The silence, apart from a faint rustling of leaves was most apparent. My spontaneous reaction was to burst into song and with no one to hear me I was not embarrassed with being off-tune. The joy of freedom I greatly cherished.
I became aware of my lack of knowledge regarding the huge variety of estuarine plants and flowers it was my privilege to see; some were so beautiful I just had to stop and examine them; the flotsam and jetsam cast up at the foot of the sea wall I purposely ignored. Appearing from nowhere a stranger approached me from ahead. To my mind his appearance was weird – tall, tassel haired and with his head inclined towards his right shoulder. On passing close, because of the narrow path between tall grasses each side of the pathway, I greeted him with, “Good morning!”, but there was no reply. Pleased that our encounter was brief I scanned the way ahead and noted two more figures proceeding in my direction. Optical perspective gave the impression they were a long way off, but it was only a matter of minutes and we were greeting each other. The two were obviously hikers out for the day because of the way they were dressed with boots while having small rucksacks on their backs and using walking sticks.
How many more people would I meet along this protected stretch of National Trust walkway? Only a few, and those meetings were near easy access points which encouraged owners of dogs to bring them for exercise and to do their inevitable deposits of whatnots. I kept my eyes open for treacle sausages, because if there’s one thing I dislike it’s having the smelly stuff on my shoes!
By mid-day I had traversed the southern boundary of Prinsted and walked through the boatyard of Thorney Marina where I called into the Boater’s Café for a ploughman’s lunch without the cider. The cup of coffee did not satisfy my thirst, but the salad, cheese and buttered loaf more than satisfied my hunger. I did not care for the loud piped music. Before continuing with my walk I thought it prudent to ask the way to Emsworth and how far I needed to go. It was just as well I did, because I would have followed the path going south towards Stanbury Point, only then realizing my error. Instead of taking the path dictated by my instinct I went as I was directed up the road from the Marina until coming to a main road which I crossed to a footpath leading to Emsworth Marina. There was barely room between overhanging branches and bramble bushes, but I proceeded until reaching the Marina. As I had walked to the town centre before from the Marina I confidently made my way along the delightful raised pathway that lay between a tidal leat and a large pond.
With only a short distance left to the Co-op I raised the hood of my anorak to protect myself from the drizzle, but I felt people were looking at me with some trepidation because of my resemblance to one of David Cameron’s adorable ‘hoodies’ who are people we should not hug, but understand. By the time I had done my little shopping the drizzle had ceased and I could walk with my hair blown by the blustery wind. Back at Emsworth Marina I called into the office to inform the duty staff that I would be taking ‘Faith’ out of the water some days later than stated and I enquired if I could use the slipway winch.
The return to Cobnor was over previously covered ground, but more prolonged because I stopped to pick blackberries on the way. I noted a colourful pair of spectacles that were hung on a signpost and tried them to see if they were any good for reading and they were perfect, but they were not mine; therefore I replaced them for the owner to find. In my mind I was convinced I would come across the spectacles I had lost when I fell off the boat and to this end before arriving back at Cobnor slipway I searched the muddy stretch by the sea wall where I had had the mishap. Saddened that I could not find my spectacles in the mud or blobs of weed I returned to ‘Faith’ for a welcome cup of tea, but before getting aboard I mentioned to Al that I had run out of reading material and he gave me a Pan book by Agatha Christie, ‘The Secret Adversary’.
By 1900 my boat was at anchor in her ‘spot’ overlooking the slipway. The wind had abated and was only a zephyr. Reading the Christie book was difficult because the print was small, the light bad and I had to use the magnifying glass. I took solace by listening to the radio and telephoning my wife. Then I slumbered until I fell asleep.
This is small boat cruising.
Monday, September 03, 2007
Cobnor (Day Six)
Wednesday, 26th August was a day of strong winds, at times reaching near gale force 8, as forecast. For ‘Faith’ this meant being on anchor at her ‘acquired’ spot. The ground was good for holding, since it was thick black mud. Transits showed the boat was secure.
I never cease to be amazed at human activity because of audaciousness or because of ignorance or foolishness on the part of the doer. Without being judgemental or having a sense of superiority I wonder if a few people are plain obdurate. An example of such a person, who incidentally may be reading this, decided he would launch his Avon Redstart pneumatic dinghy and row it to his craft at a mooring. There was a near gale. As he held the inflatable at arm’s length it waved around in the air like a kite. When he reached the water’s edge without taking off he realised he did not have the oars. It dawned on him that he could not leave the dinghy on the pebbly beach because it would be whipped away with the wind. Unable to find a means of securing the dinghy he carried it back up the beach to the slipway where he grabbed his oars. Like a cartoon character he repeated the journey to the water’s edge and by leaning into the wind he managed not to be blown along the beach. With force and determination he restrained the dinghy so that it floated in shallow water then smartly jumped into it, whereupon the dinghy was immediately blown onto the beach. Embarking from the dinghy, he waded into deeper water, jumped aboard and rowed like a madman with no success at making headway, again ending up on the beach. Undaunted he repeated the exercise so as to be blown back to the beach. Only then, did he acknowledge defeat, retreating with his head hung low as the dinghy gyrated in the air at arm’s length.
While at anchor, time passed surprisingly quickly because there was always free entertainment especially provided by the Activities Centre. First thing in the morning instead of sailing their dinghies the youngsters were ushered into open canoes that had been lashed together in pairs. They paddled with all their might to stay in the upper reaches of the Bosham Channel. After morning break they were taken in the ribs by their instructors to explore other parts of Chichester Harbour. Each person wore a lifejacket. On returning, one of the ribs was towed by another; presumably the engine of the one being towed had failed. After lunch the wind had moderated, although still rather boisterous with intermittent squalls. The trainees were out sailing the Bosun dinghies, the Picos and the Lazers.
When the dinghies sailed to the northern end of the Chichester Channel where the wind was less strong because of the lee provided by Cobnor Point I turned with some difficulty to reading ‘Survive the Savage Sea’ because I had to use the magnifying glass. While engrossed with the incredible account I made use of the strong wind by drying one of my sweaters.
At mid afternoon I observed an adoration party gathered around Al’s ‘Little Jim’, which was always a source of wonderment for passers-by. I take my hat off to him because of his exuberant enthusiasm. Had it not been for him I would never have built ‘Faith’. He kindly let me visit his home twice and sail his boat twice, besides giving me plenty of advice and help while building my Paradox.
Late afternoon Cliff returned from sailing his heavily reefed Mirror dinghy. He approached the beach with much forethought, first making his way well to windward before lowering sail; then as the boat drifted downwind he used the rudder to edge across the incoming tide so as to nudge the bow on the beach at the very moment of raising the rudder, the daggerboard having already been removed.
The evening meal over, I listened to music on Radio 3 while I read more of the Robertson family’s epic survival in the Pacific ocean adrift in their dinghy after abandoning their worn-out life raft. The sky being heavily covered with cloud, darkness came early before I made a non-alcoholic nightcap and turned in with hopes for a sail the next day.
I never cease to be amazed at human activity because of audaciousness or because of ignorance or foolishness on the part of the doer. Without being judgemental or having a sense of superiority I wonder if a few people are plain obdurate. An example of such a person, who incidentally may be reading this, decided he would launch his Avon Redstart pneumatic dinghy and row it to his craft at a mooring. There was a near gale. As he held the inflatable at arm’s length it waved around in the air like a kite. When he reached the water’s edge without taking off he realised he did not have the oars. It dawned on him that he could not leave the dinghy on the pebbly beach because it would be whipped away with the wind. Unable to find a means of securing the dinghy he carried it back up the beach to the slipway where he grabbed his oars. Like a cartoon character he repeated the journey to the water’s edge and by leaning into the wind he managed not to be blown along the beach. With force and determination he restrained the dinghy so that it floated in shallow water then smartly jumped into it, whereupon the dinghy was immediately blown onto the beach. Embarking from the dinghy, he waded into deeper water, jumped aboard and rowed like a madman with no success at making headway, again ending up on the beach. Undaunted he repeated the exercise so as to be blown back to the beach. Only then, did he acknowledge defeat, retreating with his head hung low as the dinghy gyrated in the air at arm’s length.
While at anchor, time passed surprisingly quickly because there was always free entertainment especially provided by the Activities Centre. First thing in the morning instead of sailing their dinghies the youngsters were ushered into open canoes that had been lashed together in pairs. They paddled with all their might to stay in the upper reaches of the Bosham Channel. After morning break they were taken in the ribs by their instructors to explore other parts of Chichester Harbour. Each person wore a lifejacket. On returning, one of the ribs was towed by another; presumably the engine of the one being towed had failed. After lunch the wind had moderated, although still rather boisterous with intermittent squalls. The trainees were out sailing the Bosun dinghies, the Picos and the Lazers.
When the dinghies sailed to the northern end of the Chichester Channel where the wind was less strong because of the lee provided by Cobnor Point I turned with some difficulty to reading ‘Survive the Savage Sea’ because I had to use the magnifying glass. While engrossed with the incredible account I made use of the strong wind by drying one of my sweaters.
At mid afternoon I observed an adoration party gathered around Al’s ‘Little Jim’, which was always a source of wonderment for passers-by. I take my hat off to him because of his exuberant enthusiasm. Had it not been for him I would never have built ‘Faith’. He kindly let me visit his home twice and sail his boat twice, besides giving me plenty of advice and help while building my Paradox.
Late afternoon Cliff returned from sailing his heavily reefed Mirror dinghy. He approached the beach with much forethought, first making his way well to windward before lowering sail; then as the boat drifted downwind he used the rudder to edge across the incoming tide so as to nudge the bow on the beach at the very moment of raising the rudder, the daggerboard having already been removed.
The evening meal over, I listened to music on Radio 3 while I read more of the Robertson family’s epic survival in the Pacific ocean adrift in their dinghy after abandoning their worn-out life raft. The sky being heavily covered with cloud, darkness came early before I made a non-alcoholic nightcap and turned in with hopes for a sail the next day.
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