A short passage along the Jurassic Coast – day four

On Saturday, the wind was still heading me, although a direct tack out to sea allowed a long tack back into, and west along, the coast. An approaching front appeared as forecast as the long tack took me into Beer Roads.

(Click on image for short slideshow)

I tacked close to the beach and headed out to sea again. The next tack would have taken Blue Mistress all the way to Teignmouth had the wind not veered when we were off Straight Point, between Exmouth and Budleigh Salterton. I lost interest in photography at this stage and concentrated on the beat along the final 10 miles.

. . . end

Images by Bill Whateley


From Plymouth to Teignmouth – a new mooring

Blue Mistress and I left Plymouth early on Saturday morning.


The wind was favourable but the tide was still ebbing at the Great Mew Stone . . .

P1080026. . . and would be against us until Bolt Head, where the tide would turn but the wind would begin to head us. Both wind and sea rose at Start Point and pushed us further out sea before we tacked back towards Dartmouth, arriving just over nine hours after leaving Plymouth.

Overnight in Kingswear, looking across to Dartmouth, then the following morning . . .


. . . with little wind, and joined by my son, we motor-sailed to Teignmouth, an amiable passage, arriving around 1400.


Monday morning, we have a swing mooring – and a fresh start.


(Images by Bill Whateley)

A short passage to Dartmouth

7 – A brief moment on the passage home

I had plenty of time to reflect on single-handed sailing during the week away. I passed many yachts, some with large sociable crews, more with large racing crews. They are the norm. So what about single-handed? Is it about sailing from A to B with no crew or is it something else – sailing for the sake of it, a little of which can be illustrated on camera but most of which remains in the mind of the sailor? The following records a few moments on the passage back from Dartmouth to Plymouth on that Friday evening.

Continue reading