weather & tides

A Change in Direction

/ Bill

This blog is timed to finish after three months –  on 4th January.

When I started I was purely interested in finding owners of Folksong 25s, wherever they may be.
I had no idea whether anyone would respond.
What would be the likelihood of anyone a) searching on Folksong 25, and b) finding my blog?
Have you ever tried Googling ‘Folksong’?
In the event, I have been pleased that there is at least one owner – on the East coast. Thanks, John.

However, something else has happened in the meantime.
I have discovered how easy it is for blogging to take over from journal-keeping.
It’s a very public form of journaling and needs far more discipline than I imagined
It can lead in all sorts of unexpected directions.

I set out to talk about Blue Mistress – (don’t try Googling Blue Mistress!!).
I wanted to keep it light and merely create a link for other owners.

What emerged in the beginning was my enthusiasm for my boat – (looking back, a rather unqualified enthusiasm).
I found it has led to thoughts on the sea and on maritime history – both of which have threaded through my life.
And now I am about to add an even more thoughtful entry, which
a) started as plain description of a short voyage along a stretch of well-traveled water
b) became full of links which can lead the reader in all sorts of directions
c) ended up as a comment on the people involved with the sea and their value to a future that involves global warming.

This entry confirms my belief that writing things down helps you move forward, and I commend journaling to you.
In navigation terms, it is the equivalent of being in the middle of an ocean with nothing but the sea, the weather and the currents.
Where you head is entirely up to you, based on your own skills and present wishes.
I hope the entry itself, ‘A Short Voyage – An Unfinished Story’, works.

The End of the Honeymoon

/ Bill / 1 Comment

Blue Mistress is in her winter berth following a short voyage – (short story to come later), and the honeymoon is over.

First Sail

Bought in May, put on the water in July, this is the boat I have always wanted.

The excitement has been in discovering the pluses I knew would be there. Speed wasn’t the issue. I wanted her to sail well in a sea, to hold a course, to sail consistently under a reefed mainsail, to be easy to sail myself and so enjoy different crews of different experience, although she would be too small to live aboard, to have sufficient accommodation to spend several days cruising along the coast.

Many family and friends, (but not all yet), have spent time on board. We have been to Fowey (in a blow) and back, and I have been out to the Eddystone solo, (no Katie Miller but good enough for me). In the past three months, we have hoisted every sail in most conditions (no full gales), and motored in flat calm across a breathless sea.

I have revised old navigation skills, looked to my seamanship, obtained a Short Range Certificate and have come to realise that I have seriously underestimated the advance of technology in sailing. I have picked up a mooring solo in a fast spring tide, (as well as failing to do so and having to come round again). And I have found myself wanting in many areas.

After the honeymoon, comes the reality:

1. The details that don’t live up to expectations – Why does the depth sounder consistently fail to register depth? Why is the starboard lower shroud anchored with a different bottle screw to the other shrouds? Where is the leak in the deck coming from?(if it’s not sea, it’s rain I worry about!) The spray hood needs repairing. And the main sheet track needs rethinking.There’s a long list.

2. And I didn’t buy a boat to spend time sailing aimlessly, however good that can sometimes be.  There are modifications to the accommodation that would be allow me to write on board and practice my photography – perhaps more chart space. And a sturdier engine box/step to the main hatch. And a whole range of technology to research.

3. And as much as I enjoy sailing in Plymouth, would we be better based further east along the coast, nearer home? Just a  thought.

We will be in the water for most of the winter and there’s more sailing to come. So Phase Two looks to be full of interest, ups and downs, and a lot of fun.

Whatever the future holds, for sheer rush, it will be hard to beat that moment when Blue Mistress’ keel first touched the water.

Launch Day 2

On Steeple Point – Memory of the Sea 2

/ Bill

DSC04276

Aged twelve, on another beach, body surfing on the residue of some distant storm. A wave begins to swell and move swiftly towards the shore. I sense it will break just after it reaches me. As I feel the water begin to lift me, I launch myself. But, starting too soon and swimming too weakly for this particular wave, I feel myself tipped forward and dumped headlong into the water. A quick breath before submerging, I bounce on the sandy bottom only to be rolled over and over. Eyes wide open, I relax and see the frothy surface many feet above me and the sun shining through the water. I feel calm, enjoying the tremendous strength of the wave buffeting me. I know it will move on. Pushing to the surface, I gasp for breath and see its frothy peak speeding away to waste itself on the distant beach. I turn to find the next wave almost on me. A deep breath and a dive, dolphin-like, beneath it. Meeting its energy head on, my body is buffeted again, but this time I am in charge and it washes swiftly over me, leaving me to resurface and prepare to surf again. Have I mastered the sea in those years? No, only myself in this one situation. To the sea I will always be insignificant – just flotsam and jetsam. As years go by, I will learn different ways of relating to it, but the sea is the sea . . . is the sea . . . is the sea . . . is the sea . . .

On Steeple Point – Memory of the Sea 1

/ Bill

We had a great sail on Saturday – one leg being a long beam reach out to sea to a point well south of the Mewstone. The sea was a little lumpy and had taken on a deep greeny blue colour in the sunshine. For me, this was just perfect. My crew had different opinions as to the state of the sea and I started wondering why I liked it so much – where did it come from? A couple of early memories came to mind and I hope to recall a few more over time.

Memory of the Sea 1Aged 2, on the beach. A lone rock stands out in the sand, a pool has formed around it. It seemed deep to me then.

Feeling wet sand between my toes, I stand on the water’s edge, watching ripples on the surface reflected on the sand below. They drift across the water in wavy lines, dissolving into the rock beyond. Shiny seaweed, with the bubbles of sticky liquid that burst over your fingers when pressed, wave back in the clear seawater. I am entranced. The sun shines hot on my back and all is childly contentment. All at once, I am tumbling in the pool, mouth wide open sucking in water, eyes smarting with water and salt. I cry out only to take in more water. A stray wave, for that is what it is, bounces me onto the sand and rolls me over and over. I see sand, then frothy white bubbles, then blue sky as I hit the surface and then the bottom as I am sucked down again. The rock comes towards me. I flail legs and arms, and fail to find my feet. All is water. The helplessness is overwhelming. Suddenly, bright sunlight, nose running with seawater, mouth coughing, spluttering, dribbling, throat hurting, eyes stinging, Mum’s comforting arms around me, my chin on her shoulder – a brief moment of peace. Concerned faces appear behind her, relieved smiles, then laughter apparently at my misfortune. And the tears flow – not just with my own fear, but more with frustration, indignation, embarrassment and humiliation at the unfair laughter. Yes, it was all there – aged two, and remembered today, 56 years later . . . as if it happened this morning.
End of the Wave