Chapter 7 Target Isle of Wight

  By now I was feeling increasingly confident of my boat and my own ability. It was time to take up again where I left off that day at Herne Bay in May 1949 and try to reach the Isle of Wight. The lifting cabin tops on the Norfolk Broads boats inspired me to make a similar fitting to Zephyr and it proved a great success but also made me realise that altering a boat is an expensive game and that if one is going to spend much money, make certain that you are working on a sound hull in the first place. The speed with which a gross of brass screws vanished into such a small structure amazed me. One big snag was that the mast was inside the cockpit and thus it would be difficult to make a watertight fitting between the moveable cabin top and the mast. In practice the difficulty does not arise for any water that came in ran down the mast into the bilges and all that I had to do was to make certain that my blankets did not touch the mast when it was raining. In practice, being round the mast was an advantage in that it made the cabintop much more stable when raised. At the time some W.D. pontoons were being overhauled at Sadd`s yard at Maldon and I acquired some discarded plywood out of which I cut all that I needed.

The other problem was the sail plan for I found the long yard of the gunter rig was a constant source of worry. It was out of the question to have a new sail made, but by cutting the bulge out at the throat, I was able to make it into a Bermudian sail, which was all the rage at that time. To make the mast longer, I joined the boom onto the top of the mast with a two-foot length of copper heating piping into which I scarped the two pieces of wood and glued them. Performance in light airs was a worry, particularly the failure to make progress over the tide in the light following winds the previous year off Caister. I bought three sections of parachute nylon, which made a fine spinnaker come reaching jib.

All in all, Zephyr was better equipped than ever before when she was finally ready on the 16th of July. Friends swore that she was a plank lower in the water and there may have been something in it for when I beached at Poole some weeks later, a chap came running out from the local boatyard thinking that I had put her ashore because she was sinking!

The Sunday evening tide picked her up off the mud in the Ballast Hole at 2000hrs and I worked my way slowly down stream to anchor off Stone at 0100 hrs in flat calm, cancelling my plans for a night passage. In fact I needed some sleep for I had danced until midnight with the Witham Young farmers club on Saturday night. By a strange coincidence I had danced with a girl who had sailed on Zephyr before I bought her and had been at Rosneath after my time and was a friend of Anne, my original sailing companion. It’s a small world! The ships purse stood at about thirty pounds and I had all the time that I could afford to take. Rationing was easier by this time except for tinned milk. I had a good store of Christmas puddings.

On Monday I slept until noon and then left with the afternoon ebb in brilliant sunlight. There was a light easterly breeze, which veered round to give me a beat down the Ray Sand Channel to the mouth of the river Crouch. One long tack took me right over to the Buxey Beacon for the first time and the sheer massive bulk of it surprised me. At one time it marked the route north between the Buxey Sands and the mudflats extending out from the shore but today it is usually left well to the east. The wind continued to veer and I decided to take the outside passage (as distinct from passing inside Foulness Island and out via Havengore) across the Thames in the hope that it would go right round into the west. By 2000 hrs I was sounding my way across the tip of Foulness sands, which extend seven miles out from the nearest seawall, in light southerly airs. There was little water under my keel but it didn’t matter if I did touch as it was so calm. I use an eight-foot garden cane for sounding, which can be swung regularly for hours as easy as one uses a walking stick. Once into deep water again, the tide was with me and as the sun set, I tried to identify the buoys around me. I took number Three West Swin unlit buoy for the Notice Buoy east of it on the Maplins Sands, due I think, to the fact that plain buoys don’t show up very well against the dark blue sea on Stanford`s charts when viewed by torchlight. From here I mistook number Fifteen Barrow for the West Barrow buoy and then bore away southeast for Margate. Over on the Kent shore the lights of towns stood out boldly but I did not appreciate the basic shape and size of the mighty London River, assuming that the outer or easternmost lights must be those of Herne Bay, whereas, they were in fact those of Margate. I just hadn’t done my homework for I was expecting to see the North Foreland light on the northeast corner of the Kent coast but a careful look at the chart would have shown me that it is blanketed off to the west. Eventually my course, such as it was, took me near a red flashing buoy and I sailed right up to it and used my torch to read the name. I got the shock of my life; number Four Edinburgh! This was progress beyond my wildest dreams but of course I was too far north and altered course more southerly, which soon brought me into the red sector of the North Foreland light. The first signs of dawn appeared as I passed into the lee of white cliffs, dimly visible to the west. The ebb sets in southbound here three hours after high water at Sheerness so in fact I had worked things brilliantly and there was fair tide aplenty to carry me on past Deal. In the mistaken belief that it would soon set northwards, I anchored in the mouth of the River Stour just south of Ramsgate, to get some sleep with a view to taking the ebb tide south at high water.

The wind remained a steady southwesterly for the rest of the day and throughout the afternoon I sailed steadily southwards past Deal, where I had spent the first three months of my time with the Royal Marines, to enter Dover Harbour at 1700 hrs and anchor near some other moored craft. Sitting there in the shadow of the mighty castle, I was a very happy fellow. For some reason, which I cannot remember, I made no effort to get ashore although I did write some letters in the hope that a passing dinghy could post them for me. By the time I had finished writing them, all the small craft had gone. Wednesday started with a fine breeze from the northwest as I left the harbour at 0445 hrs but it soon died away, leaving a calm sea under an overcast sky. In order to be able to kedge East Coast fashion if the wind failed, I kept inside the five-fathom line, which was clearly marked on my half-inch road map. Off Hythe at 0830 hrs the sea was like a millpool and the wind had gone completely. When the anchor went down I found that the tide was flowing strongly to the east. Some sporadic fire from the shore came in my direction and a look at the map showed that I was to seaward of some rifle ranges. I weighed the choice of a stray bullet or a tide borne trip to Ostend and stayed put. After an hour or so, the firing died away, to be replaced by a plague of tiny flies, which smothered everything for the rest of that sultry day. Gradually I grew to hate the hooter of what must have been the Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch railway as I busied myself with jobs about the boat for I carried a full set of tools and some spare wood. New Romney gave me the first hint of the very ugly appearance of some south coast seaside town when viewed from the sea.

Dark clouds came racing in from the east at teatime and I got the anchor up and set the sails ready for wind. Then I took a second look and started to reef down. The wind hit me before I could tie in the reef points, but as I was going down wind, the sail set well enough. When the time came for a new mainsail I decided that it would have to be loose footed. After the first few vicious gusts, the wind settled down to a good blow from the northeast. Once round the flat shingle headland of Dungeness at 1800hrs Zephyr was into the smooth water in the lee of the land and began to look for the entrance to Rye which was not covered by my map of East Kent. Suddenly she was in shallow water. A furious bout of sounding across the entrance failed to find any sign of a channel, so I anchored as close to the harbour training-wall as seemed prudent. Of course the tide was rising and by anchoring so that I could see water all the way into the harbour, irrespective of depth, I can sail in after making and drinking a cup of tea for during that time, the water will have risen by more than my draft. As it happened, a local boat appeared and I followed her in. It must be a grim place indeed when the wind blows hard onshore and of course that means the southwesterly, the prevailing wind here. Once into the narrow channel, the high banks on either hand took all the wind and I kept her in mid channel with an oar while the swift tide swept her along. The banks were very steep and I looked in vain for safe shallow mudflats on which to moor for the night. Just below the town, which stands on an island rising above the marshes, the main channel leads off to port but I didn’t realise this and swept on by. Suddenly the channel swung round to starboard with a low bridge ahead so I anchored at once in midstream. The boat swung and tugged about her anchor like a mad thing, so strong was the flood tide in the River Rother. Over on the western bank against the town were a number of fishing smacks moored to rough wood jetties and I was tempted to tie up alongside one of them but thought better of it. As the tide rose quickly I could see that the steep mud slopes flattened out for a few feet inside the cant of the saltings. At High water I moved over to the eastern bank, moored up with a line ashore from the masthead to an anchor in the saltings so that she could not fall outwards when the tide left. It was 0130 hrs before she settled down on the firm mud. The wind was now blowing hard and I was glad to be in somewhere safe.

Thursday was fine and I awoke to find a trickle of water left in the channel a long way below me. The fishing smacks were all moored fore and aft without springs. The slack necessary for the big rise and fall meant that they took the bottom well down stream of the jetties. Rye turned out to be a charming little town very much after the style of Maldon and among my purchases was another half-inch map to take me on as far as Bognor Regis (the one inch series would have been too expensive). As the early afternoon tide came racing in, one of the smacks awoke from its slumbers and swung upstream with a sharp jerk on her mooring lines. The bowline broke with a sharp crack, letting the boat swing round through one hundred and eighty degrees to round up alongside the next boat upstream with a sickening crunch whereupon its stern line snapped. Released into the mercy of the strong tide, she drifted towards the bridge. A deckhand on another moored smack lassoed her stempost and took a turn on his own craft to stop her but she had a mind of her own that day. The stempost just tore out and she disappeared under the bridge as I watched with horrified amusement and thankful that I had not moored alongside her last night. Apart from the damage to Zephyr, I might well have been blamed for the whole sorry episode and I had no insurance cover. The wind was blowing as hard as ever at midday high water so I decided to stay for another twelve hours.

It was flat calm under a full moon when the tide returned at midnight. I left with the ebb, paddling with one oar to keep her in the middle of the channel. The chimes of Rye town clock rang out for miles over the open marshes in the cool night air. When I noticed that patches of mist seemed to be moving steadily past me, I hoisted the sails and found steerage-way to the entrance. It was 0230 hrs by the time I was clear of the long harbour and Zephyr settled down to make the best of the steady northwesterly breeze, bowling along merrily with the track of the moon between the shrouds as I lay back across the stern seat wrapped up in my greatcoat. (my beloved duffle coat was lost when I took it of, laid it on top of our van and forgot it when we drove off.) I even managed to get the end of the tiller into my pocket to keep my hands warm. The cliffs of Hastings loomed out of a golden sunrise at 0530hrs but the sun soon killed off the wind to leave a flat calm by the time the tide turned against me at 0830 hrs. The morning was spent kedged while I caught up on sleep. A gentle breeze appeared with the afternoon ebb to help me to beat slowly round Beachy Head. Visibility was poor as Zephyr crept slowly level with Cuckmere Haven where the tide turned against me once more. When I anchored, a large motor yacht came over and offered me a tow but I declined for there is a terrible strain on a small boat towed above her normal speed. Nevertheless it was a nasty spot and I reefed down before squeezing into my bunk with the cabin top still down, ready to clear out in a hurry.

A cool breeze on my face woke me after what seemed a mere few minutes. Surely the tide couldn’t have turned already to let a southwesterly wind blow straight into the open end of the tiny cabin! By torchlight my watch showed that it was only 0230 hrs; the wind must be coming from the east! In a matter of minutes the reefs were shaken out, the anchor was aboard and the little boat was on her way once more. The wind hardened steadily and I soon reefed again but I was being over cautious for the wind began to ease almost at once. By keeping the reef in too long I lost several miles but it came out at first light off Shoreham and the spinnaker went up for a fine run past Worthing at 0630 hrs. Once more the tide turned against me so I kept close inshore. Every detail on the bottom showed up clearly through the shallow waster. The beach shelved gently and I took the liberty of assuming that it continued the same under water. I couldn’t sound as the sounding pole is also the spinnaker boom on the principle that one should not be carrying that sail when there is a danger of running aground. The wind built up again as the sun rose higher for another perfect day. Little Hampton slipped by at 0900 hrs. I had planned to put in there but pressed on in view of the fair wind. The haze made things difficult and my map ended at Selsey Bill. Off Bognor I steered out to sea to avoid Bognor rocks, which sounded dangerous to an east coast man used only to mud banks, so I unshipped the spinnaker boom, taking the tack of the sail to the bowsprit as a reaching jib. Gradually the Bill came into view and I began to look for the Looe Channel, navigating with Reed`s Almanac which gives a very good description of the Mixon Beacon. In fact it was easy to find for it stands out boldly. A lucky glimpse of the white cliffs at St Catherines Point beyond the Nab Tower at 1215 hrs gave me a course to steer for the Isle of Wight, lucky because it was another hour before I saw the island again. The wind increased steadily as the working jib and then the reef points came into play on the glorious triumphant broad reach to Bembridge which I entered on the top of the tide at 1530 hrs with an escort of the famous Redwings. It looked very good indeed as I had a leisurely meal before beaching on the western shore to call on a friend from the Broads who had watched my arrival while umpiring a cricket match at Bembridge school. Something attempted, something achieved, remains the best formula for contentment and happiness; I was a very happy and contented fellow that afternoon!

Continued