We love France, and so we contrived another stop before leaving France, and arrived at Dunkirk, a few miles away, where we wanted to see the 1940 evacuation museum.
We left Gravelines for Dunkirk near to high tide. A small fishing boat, seemingly unused to 17 tons of post industrial aluminium elegance lurching down the channel, reversed out of its mooring into our path causing an quick change to full reverse for us and an apologetic wave from them. It was a short drift with the tide round to Dunkirk. The coastline was largely industrial until the old town revealed itself as we headed down the harbour.
We missed the famous Dunkirk Siren marker buoy at the entrance to Dunkirk, but latter spotted her reclining on the dock awaiting redeployment.
The 1940 museum told the story of the evacuation of Dunkirk. The speed of the German advance in 1940 made us wonder if Putin had been expecting a similarly quick advance in Ukraine. We walked out to the beach where it all took place afterwards.
The next day we headed out along the coast to Belgium. We chose the smaller port of Blankenberge rather than the big ferry port of Zeebrugge. The big red sail came out and with the assistance of tide we kept up 6 knots most of the day in 5-9 knots of wind.
In Blankenberge, Bernie had a good run on the beach and we sampled Belgium beer at one of the many beach bars, until we got too hot in the sun and we went in search of Belgium chocolates.
The next day Bernie stayed at home whilst we took the 15 minute train ride into Bruges. This beautiful town was a mixture of quiet streets and just around the corner, thronging tourists. Not a mask in sight – it was great to see the pandemic is finally over.
Our next stop would cross over the border into the Netherlands, so whilst we waited for the tide to turn in our favour we headed into town to make sure we an adequate chocolate supply for the trip.
Boulogne was an active fishing port with more bustle and less tourists than some places we had been along the coast.
Bernie was super excited about a French smelling town again, and especially one with lots of fishy smells. He started demanding a walk around the town as soon as daylight appeared. He wasn’t disappointed and pulled us up the hill to the old town in search of cafes and fallen chips. We returned in time for the nice gendarmes from Calais to visit the boat and stamp our passports.
Spring time in the old town of BoulogneWe went straight out for bread and wine – and I enjoyed this for dinner.Something more substantial for lunch the next day, 3 course meal with wine – happy to be back!
The forecast for the second day after we arrived was originally ‘a spicy day out’, then increased to ‘you won’t need extra chilli with this’ and finally ‘this is going to spoil your whole day’. We headed out to the harbour entry channel on foot and thanked the clever weather forecasting people for telling us the best day to sail. When all the fishing boats stay in port, its a good day to stay on land.
When calm conditions returned the fishing boats on the wharf opposite us left in the middle of the night (ok, maybe dawn) and returned to sell their fish on the quay opposite us in time for our morning(ish) walk. The fish shops are a famous tourist haunt for the town and sell everything off the boats fresh.
We bought fresh fish fillets, oysters and these whelks from the market. Beautiful with some garlic butter.
We thought we might head to Dunkirk next, but found this little town (Gravelines) accessed by a drying canal that was reported to be super friendly but a little tricky to get to. Red flag to a bull… we were going. They can fit 15m boats and we are no more than 14.5 (ish). We snuck out of Boulogne just after lunch to ensure arrival at the canal entrance at high tide.
The coast was surprisingly rural as we approached Calais. I did an extensive rigging check from the front deck.
As we approached Calais the wind picked up to over 20 knots and the choppy waves from behind made it too rolly for sunning oneself on the foredeck. The ferries on the Calais-Dover run kept coming to say hello and look at our boat. I was later informed we were crossing a ferry lane.
We arrived at the entry channel which was distractingly narrow and had 2 knots of tide crossing it. It seemed like we were approaching at 45 degrees to the channel. I steered a course so we safely crabbed our way into the channel, with Fi watching the chart plotter and the seas closely, and shouting “more to starboard!” to ensure we wouldn’t hit the port side wall. After a few km of channel we squeezed through a lock gate and pulled up at pontoon 2 in the marina. Curiously all the other boats seemed much smaller than us.
Gravelines used to be a vibrant port on the coast, but silting led to its decline as a trading port. These days its more sedate with rotund older gentlemen snoozing on their boats in the emerging spring sunshine trying to recall the boat jobs they were doing today.
The town still has a moat and walled defenses. Fi jumped the moat in a single bound.
This is another example of the architecture of the Marquis de Vauban a French engineer, who was responsible for a number of fortifications along the coast, some of which we saw when we cruised in Brittany. He is thought to be one of the greatest engineers of his time. The town centre is shaped as a star with the moat around the outside.
Beautiful moat with the fortifications for the town.Taking a bike ride through town and around the moat. Bernie was having some mandatory rest at home.Having completed her ride through the fountain, Fi wondered about the type of water it might be….Looking towards the sea. To the left of this picture, the canal continues to the marina. This is not quite low tide yet.
Low tide at the marina gave both of us a shock when we left one morning. We could clearly see the bottom, and boats on the inside pontoons would sink into the soft mud. We remained floating, as we were placed on the outer pontoon. This boat looked like it had been settling in the mud now for a few years.
We are keen to see a little more of this coast line, and on our next trip we visit Dunkirk in France, and also plan our next country change into Belgium, leaving behind cheese and baguettes, for chocolate and beer.
It was finally time to shake off our winter inertia and venture out into a world beyond Eastbourne.
The passage to Boulogne is 50 miles in a straight line. But the tide goes from 0 up to 3 knots sideways so a straight line is a curved line. And then there are shipping channels that you must cross at 90 degrees. But you must point across at 90 degrees so with the tide it might be 75 degrees or 105 degrees. And the shipping channels change direction so 90 degrees might point you East and a few miles away 90 degrees might point you East North East. But at least we are sure about our boat speed because it is dependent on the wind and the forecasted direction and strength is always right.
So we started with a plan, and then we changed it, and changed it again as the conditions changed.
Eastbourne marina had been a friendly sheltered harbour for Away over winter. Dinner at the Grand Hotel and catching up with friends were highlights. But Bernie never quite fell in love with pebble beaches and the local Harvester never felt like our local. It was time to return to the land of baguettes and fine wine. At 5 am the alarm reminded us sailing in tidal areas is not always on our preferred timetable.
The Eastbourne lock dropped us a disconcerting distance into the exit channel.
We slowly made our way out with the center board raised for extra clearance.
The wind was behind us and our recent practice with the pole was put to good use. This used to be one of our favorite ways to sail on Addictive and Away seems equally happy with this configuration.
We managed to get further along the coast than we expected before picking our moment to dodge the big ships in the shipping channel. Our path successfully avoided 5 of them but the last looked a little close.
A couple of minutes later Fi appeared on deck looking suitably chuffed and announced she had chatted to the ship and it was changing direction for us!
The wind and waves built to 20 knots and 1-2 meters as we scooted across the no-mans-land between the east and west shipping channel. We experimented with some reefs and different sail configurations. It was looking as if we might sail a straight line to Boulogne if the wind continued and we hit the shipping channel far enough north.
Bernie was flat out helping with everything.
There was one ship that was on a collision course with us, but Fi jumped on the radio and soon had him sorted out.
I was just commenting that we had 30 minutes till the edge of the shipping channel and then we would need a close look out for crab pots, when a crab pot whistled past a few meters to starboard. We were back in French waters.
Approaching the French coast the waves started reflecting off the shore and it became more and more confused. Away handled it with ease but we were extra careful when going forward on deck.
We had made the crossing faster than expected, and once safely docked we did perform arrival formalities: wee on the dock (Bernie), buy baguettes and red wine (Fi & Adrian).
We also did the other more boring arrival formalities, such as filling in forms, and getting a visit from the lovely police officers from Calais who drove down to visit us especially and give us the much coveted stamp in our passports.
The next day the entrance to the harbour looked slightly different with gusts into the 50s! We might stay here a few days till it calms down. Boulogne is the biggest fishing port in France, so there is plenty of food to keep us interested.
Now past the canal closure we took a slower pace. We found a great pub (The Malt) at Aston-on-Trent and stayed for a few days. Bernie enjoyed the walks and chasing squirrels. After enjoying this idyllic spot, we meandered a few miles east to a town called Shardlow.
Historic Shardlow was once a thriving canal port and many of the original buildings are still there. Most are Grade 2 listed and the town has an other worldly feel about it, They still cover it in mist to give it that genuine industrial age feel (think Peaky Blinders without all the gangsters).
We stayed one evening in Shardlow as we had some plans to meet up with friends in a few days.
Large lively lock
After a few large locks (the locks in this part of the country are designed for 2 narrowboats or 1 wide narrowboat), the canal soon turned into the River Trent and we were rushing along at 15 knots (?) propelled by a vigorous current and pondering the return trip against the current. Just before Nottingham a barrier across the river appeared out of the mist. Its designed to catch stray canal boats that miss the ‘All routes turn left’ sign, before they plunge headlong over the weir. We pulled hard on the handbrake and spun to the left just in time.
Nottingham was our first big city for a while and we planned to meet friends and have a quick look around. A friendly local boater said it was safe enough in the city center if you didn’t mind people banging on the boat or jumping aboard at night. He was heading to the River Trent where there was a more peaceful mooring and better pubs. A quick discussion together ensued, and we agreed to awkwardly stalk the nice old mate with the good advice. The Trent turned out to be an enjoyable stop for us too.
We parked outside the council chambers, and again, pub life called, as well as some provisioning, and some bike riding. After a couple of quiet evenings, we retraced our steps through Nottingham stopping in the city centre to visit the limestone caves that are under much of the city. They have been used for everything from shelter, fresh water, cellars, toilets, tanneries and secret meeting places, although not usually at the same time.
The return trip up the river was somewhat slower, but we made way against the rushing torrent and avoided being sucked back over the weir. The countryside changed from industrial megaliths to impossibly charming country manors in the time it takes to fill a lock.
Swans visited the boat looking for handouts. Bernie soon realized these big hissing beasts were not scared by his big dog bark. One in particular notified us of his presence by tapping on the boat, to which Fi responded with the requisite amount of swan treats out the window.
As we headed south the days turned colder. The fields took on a white morning tinge, the canals iced over and knots in the ropes barely unraveled. Its surprisingly hard to open the lock doors even with a thin sheet of ice on the water.
But by now we had acclimatised and the cold still conditions often led to beautiful sunsets on the sun deck. When people warned us about English winters, we knew it would be like this.
We found a few tunnels, which, not as exciting as the Harecastle experience still made interesting navigation. These are apparently big enough for two vessels to pass , although we didn’t have the opportunity to prove this rather optimistic proposition.
At Foxton the canal headed up a hill in a series of locks all joined to each other. They even have friendly volunteers to ensure you empty and fill the locks in the right order…red first and then white, or was it white then red? Next to the locks are the remains of a hill side lift that reduced the lock time of 45 minutes to 8 minutes in an effort to compete with the pressures from the developing rail network. There are plans, but not funds, to restore it to its former glory.
Unexpectedly we ran out of canal. The locks ahead were closed for maintenance so we took to the road for a quick jump to another canal. There are no tides, currents, shipping lanes or channel markers, but perhaps canal navigation was more complex than we had given it credit for.
We were soon safely landed in a new and more open canal. A few miles further on we reached our final destination and after two enjoyable months we left The Earl for new adventures.
What did we learn?
Bernie loves loves loves canal boating.
Locks are hard work and lightweight coats would have been better than offshore gear.
The user interface on the canal app could use some work to make stoppages clearer – oops.
Mud is okay.
Winter is okay.
We think we prefer a “reverse layout” style of canal boat with the bedroom at the front. The Earl was traditional layout.
We need to go further north for snow.
That the people that treat lock goings on as a spectator sport are called “Gongoozlers”.
That Bernie is the best behaved Springer Spaniel in the land. He got just so many compliments on his nature.
South of the Harecastle tunnel was industrial Stoke-on-Trent, but to the north we turned on to the Macclesfield Canal and the buildings gave way to fields and little towns and eventually the Peak District hills. Our first climb was the Bosley Locks, a series of 12 locks. There were so few boats travelling at this time of year that we found a boat stopped for lunch in one of the locks which saves the need to tie up.
With Christmas approaching we decided stock up with plenty of coal and Christmas goodies for a quiet Christmas on the boat.
Alas there was no snow on Christmas day. On boxing day we enjoyed a quick walk up to the Lyme estate, the 1300 acre estate and deer park that is Pemberley in Pride and Prejudice. It didn’t snow but felt like it could have done.
At Marple we made a sharp right hand turn and headed into the Peaks and for the first time ran out of canal at historic Bugsworth Basin. Much of the infrastructure where lime and gritstone were loaded onto canal boats can still be seen.
With no more canal, we continued on foot into the hills, although many of the tracks were wet enough to take a canal boat. We came across old mine workings in the side of the hill and even the remains of the crane for lowering material to the valley floor.
New Year was fast approaching so we climbed another hill. We decided to stay in Bugsworth and share the midnight revelry with other boaters. Although we misjudged the profile of your average canal boater most of whom were off to bed at 8pm with a cuppa.
Now half way through our trip we reluctantly turned south and retraced our steps toward the Harecastle tunnel, considering whether to turn right and go through Birmingham or left and head towards Nottingham.
We booked to go through the tunnel at 8am, shortly after dawn, although this still required a pre dawn departure from our overnight stop. We were, perhaps unsurprisingly, the only boat going through the tunnel at this time of day. Maybe we would be visited by the tunnel ghost!
We entered the tunnel in drizzle and half light, but came out to bright sunshine. It amazing how the climate changes from one end to the other. To our amusement there was only one boat waiting to head north through the tunnel and they were a Tasmanian crew. Its mostly mad aussies on the canals this time of year.
With the worsening covid resurgence we decided to head towards Nottingham and the more rural route south, leaving Birmingham for another trip. A planned closure on the canal meant we needed to ‘rush’ as much as one can on a canal. We disappeared into deep locks and passed the old pottery kilns in Stoke, fed the swans in Rugely, and braved the snow in Stone.
Bernie going flat out!
After a week of rushing we made it passed the railway bridge that was being worked on, with only hours to spare.
After a month we think we have settled into canal boat life, drinking stout and reading the Tillergraph at the end of a hard day on the cut.
We awoke one morning ready for a big travel day north on the canal, but as Fi surveyed the days route she discovered we had to book to go through a tunnel that was only an hour away. So far it had been a turn-up-and-go system.
We quickly got on the phone and tried to book a passage, but soon discovered the boat was too deep to fit through the tunnel. Surely an administrative oversight in the boats registration as it didn’t seem any bigger than any other boats. A quick cycle to the tunnel entrance and we were assured that if we turned up at 8:30am in two days time the tunnel master would sort us out (or send us back). Boats go through the tunnel in convoy in one direction at a prescribed time and when they all emerge a convey enters from the opposite direction.
The tunnel entrance looked sort of small, but doable.
With a day to kill in the Stoke-on-Trent we went in search of a booster. We walked for four hours but were rewarded with sore shoulders and the knowledge that we were once again as safe as we could be from the raging pandemic. We celebrated with one of the finest stouts we’ve tasted made at the local Titanic brewery.
A little research revealed that the tunnel entrance was indeed the largest part of the tunnel and as you progress it keeps getting smaller and smaller until you can only just peer over the top of the deck. How are you supposed to steer if you can’t see forward we wondered? And was the boat really too big and might it get stuck in the narrow section miles underground in an unlit tunnel?
But before we could answer these questions we discovered some poor chap a few years ago had not seen one of the tunnel narrowings and was knocked off the back of the boat. There were others on the boat but they didn’t notice. Was his helming so bad that no-one noticed that he had gone? Should we tie ourselves on? The poor fellow was found eight hours later and unfortunately did not survive the experience.
These days safety has improved and they check the number of people on each boat that goes into the tunnel and then count the boats and people that come out the other end. One might wonder if you had fallen into the almost freezing water, been run over by all the boats behind you, and then waited 20 minutes for your boat to emerge and another 20 for the rescue boat to come searching, that perhaps this was merely a measure to avoid the build up lost souls in the tunnel.
At 8:30am after a sleepless night pondering how a claustrophobic helmsman would manage 40 minutes 1600m under ground in an ever narrowing unlit tunnel, we arrived for our safety briefing. Horn, check, headlight, check, 2.5 people onboard, check. We lined up the second vessel to enter, but exuded such a quiet confidence that we were soon promoted to tunnel leader with some excuse about the other boat having a smelly engine.
The vessel coming south squeezed out of the tunnel entrance and we were on! The tunnel master counted both boats as we entered the tunnel. Trying hard to appear semi competent to onlookers we managed to negotiate the entrance without hitting the wall. As the boat behind us entered, they shut the door behind us and started the large and noisy exhaust fans. Here we go.
The black and white arch shows the tunnel dimensions at its smallest…looks like we will fit!
The tunnel is brick lined with the occasional drip of water dribbling onto the boat. There is no tow path so there is no where to escape the water if you were unfortunate enough to take a dip. They say the air is cold inside, but at this time of year it actually warms up as you progress deeper into the tunnel.
After about 10 minutes the roof gets a little lower. And then a little lower again. This keeps going until you don’t think it can get any lower, and then it gets lower again. The boat does self steer to some extent with the wake reflecting off the tunnel wall and keeping it straight. There are some big chips out of the top and lower edges of the tunnel where it narrows, confirming that it is possible to miss the tunnel. We imagine that hitting the tunnel wall would be followed by a period of quiet consideration of the older parallel tunnel that was closed due to subsidence.
Lower and lower
After about 30 minutes the tunnel expands and the light of the exit door comes into view. Its still 10 minutes away but its presence is somewhat reassuring. The exit is quite difficult to negotiate as you are blinded by the semi daylight of an overcast English winters day and need to avoid a strategically placed work boat right in the tunnel entrance. But the overwhelming pressure to exude calm confidence to tunnel master busy doing his addition, helped us negotiate the tight entrance with a jolly wave and all infrastructure intact.
The final test. Water in this area is orange due to iron rich springs in the area.
All in all it was a unique and fascinating experience. Would we do it again? Well as it happens its our only route south so we will be in for a repeat experience which, we are rather looking forward to…
After a big night at the Anchor Inn at Hartshill the canal served up the Atherstone locks as a welcome distraction. Bernie was getting the hang of the locks by now. He’s working up to opening and closing gates, but he’s feeling part of the team. Eleven locks lowered us back to level water and we headed for Tamworth.
Tamworth was where some of Fi’s family had lived in the castle. It was nice spot overlooking the river so we dropped by for a cuppa, but alas the relos had left sometime earlier.
Tamworth Castle where we went to visit the family
The canal veered west tantalizingly close to Litchfield which had a cathedral and a Waitrose. We meandered into the city center paying appropriate homage to the cathedral where we brought a magnet and headed for Waitrose in search of chestnuts. A long walk only for our Christmas dreams to be cruelly dashed with the discovery Waitrose had run out of Chestnuts.
We left Litchfield and completed the last couple of locks before joining the mighty Trent and Mersey canal. A short distance along the canal is the place called one of two names: ‘Alrewas’ or ‘The hardest place name to pronounce in England’. We never did work out the correct pronunciation and suspect no-one really knows. Cute town and we found a friendly pub to meet with some potential Garcia buyers who had made contact with us.
Its a beautiful place even if you can’t tell anyone you have been there
Next day we ventured out to the memorial arboretum a short walk away. For once the English foot path system failed us and we had and exciting dash across a 6 lane road. I suspect not many people make it by foot as they tried to charge us for car parking and seemed quite surprised that we had arrived by canal and foot. Plenty of memorials and stories here as you meander through the woodlands.
After a U turn we were heading North again on the Trent and Mersey. The locks at Fradley junction have lowest bridges at the end of each lock. Canal boating is not a tall persons activity…
Lots of canals are closed for maintenance at this time of year and indeed one of these closures at Great Harwood would stop us going north until December 17th. Close to the closure was Shrugborough Estate and an area of outstanding national beauty.
Nice cottage mum, can we live here?Lets not be here after dark when these trees come alive.English sense of humour?All this walking is soo tiring
With the canal works completed the path north was open and Stoke-on-Trent was beckoning.
Could it be anywhere else?The English sure know how to dress up a garden. There are some fantastic examples all along the canal. This one had an unusual twist on the Christmas theme.
Whilst we filled up with water in Stone, Fi and Bernie discovered a shop selling the best meat pies, scones, quiches and vegies in the UK. We stayed the night in a quiet field and awoke to a misty morning.
MorningBeautiful iron bridges in this areaBernie opens another lock
At last the countryside subsided and Stoke-on-Trent revealed itself.
Lets find another spot to stay the night
Next time we try to fit the boat through a tunnel that’s too small for it…
We had various ideas for what to do in the winter. Firstly we were planning very seriously to be in Scotland on Away, enjoying some highland winter walking and the occasional sail around, but that has been postponed until next year for a number of reasons (visas, timing etc).
A frosty and slippery Away – winter is here.
Once we realised that our dreams of finding Bernie the perfect snow covered Scottish peak were on hold for this winter, we decided that perhaps the best thing we could do would be to go and find snow in England via the beautiful British canal system – so we have hired a 60ft narrowboat for 2 months, and we have put Away to bed in Eastbourne.
Away all packed up for a few weeks.
We started in Fenny Compton, northwest of London, southeast of Birmingham, on a chilly afternoon on the 1st of December. Sufficiently introduced to “The Earl” (our new floating home) by late afternoon, we put our things away, prepared to leave and naturally went to the pub. A friend told us that canal boating is just travelling from pub to pub – so we figured, when in Rome, and began our new adventure with a pint.
We are in this general area in England.Our temporary home – 60ft, 7ft wide.
Our first day, we awoke to the most beautiful dusting of snow. It seems a good omen that our little trip will hopefully be fruitful in our quest to get Bernie neck deep in some powder.
The lines were frozen solid when we went to take them off to get going, but we had plenty of coal for the fire
We had previously been on the canals and so we had a fair idea of what to expect. Walking pace travelling, interspersed with lock loading/unloading exercise, and chasing the dog back on the boat (this was new…).
We meandered north over the coming days, stopping next to fields with cows for company in the evenings. Sitting next to the fire at night listening to the rain, working on some crochet, cosy and warm with an exhausted spaniel at my feet and a glass of French Bordeaux in my hand, is my current idea of heaven.
Yes its cold, and its so beautiful.Coal fireAbsolutely INSISTED that he needed to come up…Clearly has no concept of his size.I thought this was hilarious, which naturally has encouraged this behaviour.I don’t care.
We took the opportunity to catch up with some ex workmates at – you guessed it – a pub on the Saturday (namely the Admiral Nelson at Braunston). They were lovely enough to share some wonderful photos – please give @red72mini a follow on Instagram if you are keen to see some amazing car pictures.
Go check out @red72mini on insta!Adrian being ever the strong serious type, and me being a dufuss. A happy one though!I snapped this pic as we turned right into Braunston. Absolutely gorgeous.
Bernie is taking to canal life like a duck to water. He’s desperately wanting to understand swans, but they just hiss in his face and confuse him more, and he’s loving running around in the mud – not so much the inevitable wash off afterwards.
Trying to talk sense to a spaniel…
And I am finally fulfilling my desire to put cute jackets on him, as standing still in the cold and damp while we motor along is very cold and he is getting cold. The top temperatures don’t go over 5 degrees C, and are mostly around 1-3 degrees C. Combine that with some drizzle, and we’re all very grateful for the heating on the boat!
These are his pyjamas…This is his waterproof and warm jumpsuit raincoat.This is his dry-za-bone.And this is his “puffy jacket”.
As its winter, the canals have many closures for maintenance, and we have only 1 route north open to the Peak district where we hope to find some really great walking. We have already woken to ice on the canal and a cold snap will make progress difficult. Will we get iced in or will Bernie reach the snow covered peaks before Christmas?
A beautiful winters morningI took the opportunity for a good dog walk in the sun while Adrian drove the boat. Pretty convenient.
Pubs Bernie visited in our first week:
The Wharf Inn – Fenny Compton (dogs met: 2 chihuahua cross malteze wrapped in blankets)
The Admiral Nelson – Braunston (dogs met: another chihuahua wrapped in a blanket)
The Rose Inn – Willoughby (dogs met: Maltese, also wrapped in a blanket)
The Raven – Brinklow (dogs met: none)
The Anchor Inn – Hartshill (dogs met: 2 full size poodles and Bentley – the fluffiest puppy there ever was – Bernie was told he was so calm and relaxed – very proud)
As we moved east from the Solent the anchorages became more spread out and many of the smaller ones require you to sink into the lovely soft mud at low tide. We were done with mud. At Brighton, however, there is no mud, and promising only a dose of nostalgia as we had both worked there in former lives. The forecast predicted a single day of sturdy sailing weather to make the passage before a week of rambunctious conditions.
We didn’t have enough information to conclude if the Chichester harbour entrance bar would be too dangerous after several days of strong onshore winds and an ebbing tide. So leaving our mooring at first light we surveyed the entrance and decided it was safe to head out as there were no big breaking waves to be seen. It was bouncy and we took it slow to avoid any crockery cracking airborne moments.
Soon the sails were raised with some appropriate reefs and we were zipping along the coast albeit against a knot of tide. Rounding Selsey Bill and entering The Looe (why did Cook give us ‘One Tree Island’ in Australia when he came from a land of such interesting place names – even ‘The New Looe’ would have been preferable) required navigating between a port and starboard marker only a few hundred meters apart. The crab pot marker set right in middle of this tiny channel could hardly have been more maliciously placed.
This looks like a good spot for a crab pot
Fi enjoyed some downstairs time out of the wind. The view from here is surprisingly good under the sails and the added safety of being warm, dry and relatively fresh cannot be understated. Its tiring being on deck in the chilling wind and sea spray but some of the crew find a perverse enjoyment in the elements.
Apparently you can sail through this wind mine which must be an interesting experience. We spied a small yacht on the AIS doing just that. As conditions were getting more rolly we took a direct route to the marina at Brighton.
The marina wall has been designed to reflect the waves back out to amplify the incoming waves. The resulting turmoil with some good tidal flow can make entry quite entertaining. I snapped the photo below of the entrance channel just after we entered (left) and the same channel when we departed (on the right).
The marina is a healthy dog walk from the main pier. Bernie the well travelled dog prefers his beaches with white sand, turquoise water and shallows to chase the fishies. At least we don’t end up with a boat full of pebbles after a walk on the beach here.
Whilst the sea boiled outside the marina we set about revisiting Brighton. It remained much as we remembered it, although the new doughnut on stick was difficult to miss. The touristy pier and beach front look a little tired during the colder months so we spent our time in the little lane ways and cosy pubs.
Brighton turned out to be the place to test mooring lines and our fender configuration. We added to our fender collection and then watched as the wind and wave surges tested them out. After a day watching over the boat as the wind gusted over 40 knots in the marina, we were pleased to return to land and catch up with some former work colleagues for dinner.
More settled weather returned and a gentle drift along the coast was in order. We learned more about tides. Our plan was to have a small amount of tide with us for the whole trip. But a late start meant the tide was already against us and we kept getting further and further behind the changing tide and ended up fighting it all the way. Still, white cliffs, gentle seas and a short distance meant we could meander along and watch the world go past. This butterfly joined us for some sunshine.
The entrance to Eastbourne can be a little shallow and indeed a local yacht following us ran aground. Did we say we appreciate our lifting centre board almost every day? The Eastbourne harbour RIB could not free them but, fortunately it was almost low tide and so they did not have too long to wait to float off. These photos show low tide with the unfortunate grounded yacht and high tide in the same channel.
The harbour is inside a lock to keep the water level fairly constant. We are getting used to these locks although they are all slightly different. In this one the pontoons on each side are floating so you can tie up to them while the water fills/empties the lock. Its a lot easier than adjusting lines as you rise or fall.
The weather in Eastbourne is much more settled than Brighton with long periods of still conditions. A local told us it has the highest solar index in the UK the met office confirms its 2nd and holds the record for most sun in a month since 1911. One might ponder if this is like claiming the highest mountain in Australia or best surf spot in Switzerland, however, as the available daylight hours dwindle our vitamin D levels need all the help they can get.
No fender testing here
We reached our first pole during the trip. Not quite as well known as the north and south poles but significant all the same…
Eastbourne is one of the more sheltered harbours we have visited, with good dog walking close by, plus a supply of food and beer. We might stay here a while.
Our pilot guide suggested that passing the famous Needles on the Isle of Wight when the tide is running against the wind is an uncomfortable experience. A few weeks earlier we had watched the start of the Fastnet race in such conditions and it looked rough enough to spill ones gin and tonic. The race finished in Cherbourg where a competitor explained that his sea boots stayed dry even when the 12 foot wave broke over the boat as they passed the Needles… No thanks, we can get up early to get a favourable tide.
We were up before dawn and motored out of Poole in the dark. Leaving in the dark is easier than arrival as you can follow your incoming track. Even so we needed both of us on deck to work out all the channel markers. Once clear of the channel we hoisted the sails, headed east keeping a keen eye out for crab pots as the sun rose. Approaching the Needles we had a moment of excitement when we decided to put the big red sail away and it decided it wanted to head over the side for a swim. Fortunately we got it under control with only some minor bruising.
We sailed on past the needles and took the obligatory selfie, feeling pretty proud about how far we have come from our few first tentative steps in Sydney Harbour on a J24.
There are so many marinas and anchorages in this area, but we picked Yarmouth on the Isle of Wight as it was close, sheltered from the forthcoming SW blow and close to some Garcia buyers we had met in Cherbourg. After dropping the sails we motored towards the harbour entrance, although I realised shortly afterwards that our 3 knot boat speed was matched by 3 knots of current and we were stationary… hmmm, more revs needed to get into the harbour.
Docking was one of the more challenging ones, as there is a significant cross current in the marina, however we managed it no problem and didn’t donk the neighbouring 75 foot luxury motor boat.
Once ashore and paper worked we headed to closest pub, about 50m away, for a late lunch. We had great restaurants, pubs, fresh local produce and a bakery all within a few minutes walk of the marina. We soon came to appreciate the slower pace of life on the IOW.
Away trying to blend in to Yarmouth
Away attracted the usual attention. The marina is next to the car ferry and waiting motorists would pop over for a look and a photo. We met a local couple starting their own sailing adventure who took an interest in the boat. We ended up having a delicious dinner at their home on the south side of the island.
The other Garcia buyers brought their friends for a quick look around the boat and we were invited for a cuppa the next day. The instructions led us over the river and along muddy paths (Bernie heaven) and eventually to large Elizabethan manor house overlooking the river. Bernie was a little spooked by the robotic lawn mowers but soon made friends with the 3 retrievers that lived there.
We were also shouted dinner with our Garcia friends which was lovely. We felt so welcomed on the IOW and would love to come back to this special place.
We got the folding bikes and headed out for a ride across the island. Bernie provides propulsion… who needs an e-bike when you have B-bike? Of course e-bikes don’t chase squirrels.
Next stop was Newtown Creek only a few miles along the Solent, and still on the IOW. Choosing a friendly tide and a lazy headsail we were soon inside the creek and attached to a convenient mooring buoy.
5 sea eagles appeared and reminded us how much we enjoy being out of the marina. We went ashore for a look round Newtown which was somewhat quieter than its namesake in Sydney.
We also managed to spot the local seals lazing around on some rocks nearby.
Another walk through the fields and along the edge of the Solent ended at the dinghy which was now a long muddy slide away from the water… oops, forgot about the tide going out. As the sun set we quickly realised that the thigh deep mud was not easy to traverse. New plan. We carried the dinghy, motor and fuel tank along a long narrow wooden pier and dropped them 1.5m down into the remaining channel. It was a relief to arrive back at the boat with nothing that a hose, hot showers, a dog wash and a dozen heavy soil long cycles in the washer couldn’t fix.
After a couple of days in Newtown Creek the weather and tide provided a great opportunity to get up after dawn for the short drift along the Solent to Chichester. The Solent mid week in autumn is an attention grabbing mix of leisure craft, scary big commercial ships, ferries, sail training and racing. Add some strong tide and gusty winds and the trip was less leisurely than we anticipated. Must be fun on a summers bank holiday weekend!
These old fortifications mark the end of the mayhem, but as the traffic eased the wind picked up. The narrow channel leading into Chichester was shallow in parts, enough to bring Away’s centre board up for extra clearance. Once inside we anchored and considered our options for the night. The forecast had increased to gusts well into the 30 knot range and while we would be secure on the anchor it would be more comfortable in the shelter of a marina. A quick ring around failed to turn up an available berth big enough for the mighty Away, so we opted for some better shelter and a visitors mooring further up the river at Itchenor.
We were welcomed by the Chichester Harbour Master for the two nights we stayed, and took the opportunity to have some rest after our muddy fun, and the rolly passage in. We still want to head east, so we need to take the weather when we can so we planned our next steps… The forecast for the next week had become quite robust, so we really needed to get going…
