Team Alize Goes West!

   

Crew:  Julian & Paul

 

Friday

The week. started at the club with a particularly pleasant evening given the unsettled nature of the weather. Everyone was there to enjoy themselves; a crowd in the bar had clearly started to party much earlier and were in full flow.

We’d managed to get moored up on the pontoon although the club was particularly lively with many yachts turning up and getting ready for Cowes week. There were contrasts, an elderly chap with a crew there for the experience rather than competition arrived at the same time as us and gladly moored inside on hearing of our departure plans; a very competitive Sigma 33 came along outside ready to move off and onto a mooring after a couple of hours so that they could get over to Cowes at first light for a last minute scrub and polish.

 It was good to meet up again over dinner at Gins recounting previous trips and looking forward to another week’s sailing. The passage plan was to go to Falmouth as quickly as possible then slowly work our way back stopping off at Fowey to see the Classic Yachts Regatta. The weather forecast was supportive, a bit rainy perhaps but a force 3-4 southerly wind for the weekend that would see us well on the way westwards. A convivial evening and a fine start to the week even though the dinner was not really up to the standards we’d come to expect.

Monday

The morning started well, up at 6:30, being on the outside of the pontoon we were able to slip away almost silently so that by our planned departure time of 7am we were well down the river. The low cloud base and early morning haze made for a grey start but we did have a light southerly as forecast which was promising. We’d timed out departure to make our way to Hurst against the last two hours of the tide intending to get there just as it changed giving us the best chance of sailing the 40 miles to clear Portland bill before 5:30pm when the tidal gate closed. In light winds this meant motoring inshore to cheat the spring tide that was really ripping past in the deeper water. The customary sailing breakfast of bacon sandwiches with plenty of fresh coffee set us up for the day and filled in the time to take us up to Yarmouth. It was a slow slog against the tide past Hurst but as the tide slacked its grip we moved on up North Channel and into Poole bay. There, the wind picked up and for a while we had a pleasant sail until sods law set in; as it steadily increased in strength it backed turning a close reach into a beat. Having to make over 5 knots to reach the Bill we were obliged to motor sail and made sufficient progress across the Bay in moderate seas. Heading well offshore to clear Anvil Point the sea became quite rough the wind rose to a solid force 6 which was, by then, right on the nose slowing progress. Fortunately it was a bright sunny day so not unpleasant for a while but by the time we reached St Albans Head it was uncomfortable and quite clear that were not going to be able to get past the Bill before the tide changed. Nobody felt like eating lunch; a day sail like this was fine but the thought of an overnight sail making little progress was not appealing. A unanimous decision was therefore taken to divert to Weymouth, disappointing but pragmatic. Just off the wind we had a really cracking sail past the Lulworth ranges sailing fast, what a difference a few degrees makes! At one point we achieved 8.5 miles over the ground in one hour, really exciting and satisfying sailing that more than overcame the disappointment of losing a day in the passage plan.

In three hours we were in the harbour and moored on the quay alongside a very solid veteran motor cruiser.  It looked like being a busy night and we were pleased to be well out on a stable raft. Chatting to other crews we soon found that we were not the only ones to be disappointed, we heard numerous accounts of persistently bad weather, disrupted trips and 6 week cruises spent holed up in one harbour or another. The positive side of Weymouth was that we were able to have a reunion of the full “Team Alize”; Tony, who could not join us due to domestic commitments, came down to meet us by train. We met at a pub by the station where there was a dog that thought it was a member of the bar staff; we then continued with the obligatory vegetarian curry. We’d found a new place, the “Indiana”, which was a bit basic but served really excellent food even if the waiter was a bit surly. Elsewhere the Saturday evening in Weymouth was a lively affair with many stag and hen nights packing out the bars and outnumbering the few holidaymakers that had braved the weather to experience a British Summer.

Sunday

A late start, no need to rush as the tide would not let us round the Bill until 11:30, or so we thought. Many boats wanted to leave early in order to catch the last of the east going tide and get back to Poole and the Solent so pandemonium reined for a while as rafts cleared to allow inside boats to depart. The forecast was reasonable, SW 4-5, so we left at 9:30 having been hurried off our raft. The plan was to take two hours to get

just past the Shambles on the offshore passage and then head west as the tide turned. This might have worked but for the navigator, who, in a moment of mental aberration, forgot about BST and left an hour early. Plugging the tide for an hour going nowhere was not pleasant in similar conditions to the previous day; it didn’t bear thinking about what it might have been like if we’d continued on through the previous night.

Gradually the tide set west and the Bill disappeared behind us as we started to knock off the miles across Lyme Bay. Once again Sods law of the sea asserted itself and the south Westerly backed to a westerly, right on the nose. With another 40 miles to go there was little option but to set the iron sail and bash our way across the confused sea as best we could. A grey mistiness soon erased the coastline including Portland leaving us on our own; that and a lumpy sea diminished our
enthusiasm for lunch once more. Nearing the far side we encountered intermittent rain showers, some quite heavy but once in the lee of the South Hams the sea flattened out and the going became much more comfortable. The last few miles always seem to take the longest and this was certainly no exception but gradually Torbay emerged out of the gloom, then the rocks and eventually the hotels on the hillside above Torquay. Soon we were able to tie up and relax over the traditional sailing dinner of ocean pie, a glass of wine and some chips from Chandlers, the traditional chippie overlooking the harbour.

Monday

Torquay had seemed to be a league of nations, Poles, Swedes and a peculiar dialect later discovered to be a

northern variant of English. The harbour had changed considerably since our last visit; there are now many more berths outside the marina and a stainless steel foot bridge across the entrance of a much improved inner harbour.

After replenishing ships stores and a light lunch we motored across the bay past fleets of dinghy’s racing. It was not only the Topper but also the Miracle national championships; lots of great racing for those how could keep upright in the breezy conditions. Brixham made a welcome change of scenery and the opportunity of having some crab sandwiches on the quay was not to be missed. We all agreed that Brixham may not be upmarket but it does have character and is much preferable to Torquay. The fishing fleet seemed particularly busy adding interest; in addition the lifeboat had to go out and help a leaking gaff rigger in. We saw all the excitement from the top of Berry Head where we went to stretch our legs.

Surprisingly the Yacht Club was not that busy despite the racing; the streets were also relatively empty, clearly the British Summer was taking its toll. Dinner at No15 was really excellent, fresh fish cooked to perfection, even the opportunity to buy and oil painting. At least this captured some long forgotten sunny summer.

Tuesday

The forecast was for rain, a gap, then more rain but at least a west south westerly which could get us to Dartmouth. To avoid getting too wet we went to the restaurant overlooking the marina which served a “Full English” breakfast and ploughed our way through that until the rain turned to drizzle and it was safe to leave. Thus fortified we got ready to set off in blustery winds and leaden skies. Getting out of the berth in such strong side winds was a bit nerve racking, the only way was to reverse out fast before the bow was blown round onto the adjacent boat by the wind; a time to be positive! - any hesitation would have resulted in a collision.

Motoring out clear of the forbidding cliffs of Berry Head we had hoped we’d be able to have a sail south but this was soon dashed when it became clear that the wind had gone south, right on the nose with a rough sea for good measure. It was yet another frustrating passage bashing through waves that nearly stopped us in our tracks, fortunately the tide kept us moving and we only had six miles to go to the Mewstone Rock.

Entering the river Dart was a pleasure by comparison, soon enough the unpleasantness was forgotten as we slid into the harbour past the castle with houses scattering the hills on either side. The cloud base was low enough to cover the tops of the hills, which, with the drizzle made it difficult to see the day marks but at sea level we could clearly see the ferries buzzing back and forth in the crowded harbour.

The Dart Marina staff couldn’t have been more accommodating despite the drizzle; to greet us were two dockmasters in red rugby shirts to make sure we able to moor in the only space available without difficulty. On reflection we couldn’t make our minds up what got them out of their office, was it the desire to deliver value for money for the £50 mooring charge or was it that we were the only visitor there that day?

Fortunately the rain cleared enough in the afternoon to allow us to have a walk right through the town and up to the Castle for a cream tea. Above the castle an open air theatre had been set up for a performance of the Tempest that evening; every one of the plastic chairs had a puddle of water in the seat, what a wash out. In the evening a pilgrimage to “The Cherub” just had to be made for a few excellent beers whilst the rain hammered down outside, shame about the theatre. Dinner was at a new restaurant, R&B’s which is definitely to be recommended. The friendly husband and wife team superbly prepare fresh seafood which they always source from Brixham.

Wednesday

We had to clear the Bill before 15:30 at the latest if we were to avoid being caught by the tide so it was a 6am start; motoring out of the harbour to the estuary with bacon sandwiches and coffee. That and a short nap set us up for the day while we continued to motor in a rather light breeze to charge the batteries. Within an hour the wind had filled in and we had the sails up in a brisk south-south-westerly making a good way, a steady 5.5 knots through the water plus a knot of tide, excellent! Miraculously the cloud eased and the forecast rain didn’t make its appearance enabling us to have a splendid sail in good visibility throughout the morning. There were just a few yachts and a couple of trawlers for company. The fishery protection vessel “Tyne” fussed about calling up fishermen on the VHF and plaguing them with awkward questions. By lunchtime the bill was closing as we headed east on a course several miles south to avoid the race; as it happened we could have saved a few miles by going inshore where it was relatively calm. When the light was abeam we headed towards Weymouth

but with the wind astern made little progress until the engine helped out.

 Once the prison was in sight our mobiles started to pick up a signal again, just in time to hear that water was leaking from the airing cupboard through the ceiling into the hall at home! Fortunately British Gas came to the rescue and hastily conceived plans to return by rail were not needed. We gave the quay a miss and moored in the marina for a quiet night in the knowledge that we didn’t need to leave too early the following morning. A leisurely walk along the quay to Nothe Fort set us up for a couple of Jurassic ales at the Red lion at Brewers Quay, the lifeboat men’s pub. It was then off to the Mah Wah for dinner which was adequate rather than memorable but a visit to the Sailors Retreat made a more fitting end to the day. This Angler’s pub is clearly a favourite with the locals if not the tourists, real ale, pork scratchings, even pickled eggs were available at the bar beneath beams festooned with pictures of smiling people holding up huge fish. That evening there was an informal folk session, at least ten guitars and plenty of singers took it in turns to entertain each other. A flavour of the past not often seen now; shame they all had grey hair.

Thursday

With the tide not due to turn until 11am there was no rush to catch the early bridge opening time, 10am was f

ine making for a civilised start to the day with a leisurely breakfast whilst reading the papers. The South African family we’d spoken to earlier who wanted to leave early did the same thing; their three teenagers must have had their way. They were on a rather old but very capable blue water cruising yacht kitted out with plenty of scuba gear so that the whole family could explore the wrecks that apparently litter Portland Harbour; most of which are very accessible in as little as 10 metres of water.

As always there was quite a scrum at bridge opening time with so many boats all intent on leaving first. We took the last place in the orderly procession that eventually formed, filing past fishing boats, yachts, lifeboat, the piers and finally the sea. Dead ahead in the bay was a huge, really splendid three mast sailing yacht at anchor; she looked as if she was in the Caribbean sitting there in the sunshine which is probably were she was destined.

With a brisk south westerly there was no delay in setting sail and with the range closed we were able to take the inshore route, intending to stay a mile or so off shore to get a good view of the Jurassic coast. We weren’t disappointed and were soon reaching gracefully along as we crossed the bay converging with the cliffs. The familiar landmarks of Osmington, Durdle Door, Lulworth, Worbarrow and Kimmerage passed by all too soon but we could enjoy their incomparable rock formations, clearly visible this trip As we approached St Albans Head

the wind unfortunately backed sharply forcing us to stay close inshore where we had a fine view of Chapman’s Pool; not surprisingly in a southerly, it was empty. In the areas close to the race and for several miles along the coast it was quite choppy but the tide kept us going past the sea caves and cliffs to Anvil Point, the light resplendent in the sunshine. Once round the point we headed into Swanage Bay for lunch, anchoring just of the pier. In the shelter from the wind it was great to hear the sound of so many people enjoying themselves on the beach not so far away. In the calm it was easy to rustle up a lunch of salad, ham and cheese whilst basing in the sunshine; unanimously voted the best of the week!

Reluctantly we raised anchor after an hour or two and motored off. The holding had been perfect, the anchor had set immediately, didn’t move an inch then came up clean, what more could one wish for! In the wind shadow of the cliffs there was not much use for the sails so we motored as close in as we dared to get a stunning view of the Old Harry rock before heading off to the fairway. There we were greeted by the full force of the Birmingham Navy, power boats everywhere all weaving around the sailing yachts with little consideration for the colregs.

This trip was one of those rare moments in sailing when a plan actually comes together; we’d booked a berth three days earlier so could enjoy the luxury of an alongside berth rather than the all too busy quay.

Wishing to replicate our success in hunting out real ales in Weymouth we set off to search the unexplored reaches of the town away from the quay and High Street. We didn’t have to go far to find a completely different Poole to the one we had been familiar with in the form of some really attractive streets around a church to the west of the High Street. Better still there were some excellent pubs by the Guildhall just waiting to be explored before we had a curry at our favourite place in the High Street.

Friday

The tide was perfect for a trip along the south side of the Isle of Wight and on to Chichester; after yet another civilized start we cleared the harbour and were able to sail at a good pace in a brisk southerly across Poole Bay arriving off the Needles when the tide turned at midday. By then the wind had picked up to a good force five, with the clouds blown away leaving a clear blue sky we had a  splendid sail past Tennyson Down and Freshwater Bay to St Catherine’s following the rhumb line well out to sea. There the race was quite vigorous and as it extended well off shore we had no alternative than to accept a bumpy ride for a few miles until it flattened out approaching the Victorian villas of Ventnor. With almost three knots of tide and making six knots through the water we literally flew past the coast and Shanklin Bay to Bembridge Ledge for the last lap across the shipping lanes to Chichester Bar. Arriving earlier than expected we were able to go right up the Chichester arm to the Yacht Basin. Out of the strong winds and in bright sunshine it was a perfect spot for all the dinghy’s that were racing, the families on the beaches, couples having a stroll, a very happy spot to be passing through. Amongst the many yachts large and small that lined the channel past Itchenor were some ancient wooden ones that had been lovingly restored, a few were even out for an airing. It was wonderful to see them gracefully powering by, such a contrast to the uniformity of modern mass produced plastic.

Although busy there was no problem in getting a berth from the reception pontoon and then motoring through the lock and into the marina. The only difficulty was making our way in very shallow water into a space that seemed designed for more manoeuvrable boats but with a bit of pushing and squeezing accompanied by the strident tones of the depth alarm we settled in. The good news was that we were right next to the sailing club and all the facilities. That Friday was the final day of a family week at the club so after the racing had finished there was a barn dance on the grass outside the clubhouse on the side overlooking the water. It made for a lovely evening with young, old and all ages in between having fun against the natural backdrop of the tree lined channel leading up to Dell Quay. Not surprising really, it’s a friendly club without pretension, just a pleasant mixture of folk united by one passion – sailing.

 Saturday

The forecast was not encouraging, rain and strong winds, so it was a surprise to wake up to blue skies and a light breeze, could they have got it wrong once more? Optimistically clad in tee shirts we set off early and had breakfast whilst motoring along the calm waters of the harbour. By the time we had reached the open sea we realised how wrong we were and how right the forecast was; we needed full oilies to get out past the bar in a a bumpy, rather threatening sea. With a south westerly wind blowing around force 6 we were just able to make the dolphins making the passage through the submarine barrier off Portsmouth but not the Forts. With a reefed mainsail and the staysail alone we didn’t have enough power to drive through the waves so it was a bit of a slog close hauled. Letting out the Yankee a bit didn’t improve matters, it was far too baggy. Nevertheless the sea keeping qualities of Alize kept us on course unlike several other yachts that sagged off the wind, disappearing off to Langston before having to tack back to where we were on the lay line to Portsmouth.

It was the last day of Cowes week so despite the conditions there were innumerable fleets out racing ranging from large racing thoroughbreds to small keelboats like the Redwings. Sailing on port tack was less than ideal but with plenty of wind it wasn’t too difficult to anticipate what was going on and keep out of their way. As the morning wore on the weather deteriorated and by the time we were off the Hamble there was plenty of rain about which was a shame, not just for us but for the many holidaymakers and couples getting married that day. At least we had the pleasure of a good sail only having to put the engine on at the last minute.

Safely tied up by two o’clock we were able to spend a pleasant hour in the tea rooms reading the papers waiting for the rain to clear; they had changed hands recently and now do Italian food in the evening, they could not have been more helpful.

With a break in the rain we were able to get the boat cleaned up and got ready for an end of cruise pub crawl to the curry house which we’d been able to locate and book using Julian’s new “gadget”. The Kings Arms, The Victory, The Wyte Harte all received our patronage providing convenient stops on the way to dinner saving us from getting absolutely soaked in the teeming rain. Amazingly it stopped abruptly just as we were about to leave making a pleasant end to the day.

Sunday

Such a difference in the weather, clearly the depression had passed leaving bright blue skies and a typical cold sector wind, a keen breeze from the west south west. Needing to return without undue delay there was no alternative to bashing our way directly into the force seven wind along with several other yachts who had further to go, all the way to Lymington. We were only too pleased to drop out of the procession into the Beaulieu River after a couple of hours and let them get on with it.

Overall it had been a great week, we might not have got to Falmouth but we did have some excellent sailing. We’d covered about 300 miles in total which was quite respectable but over 70% of this was under sail unlike many of our other cruises. There’s a lesson to be drawn from this, long trips may be satisfying but the pressure to cover distance and the likelihood of less than perfect conditions means a lots of motoring. Keeping the distances down keeps the sailing time up

Normandy In Summer

  

Crew: Julian & Paul 

 Friday 

During the week it had been really rainy aggravating the flooding that had devastated so many areas the previous weekend. The forecast was unsettled; Friday was for sun and wind during the
day followed by a small depression in the evening. We hoped this would clear away overnight providing a window of opportunity to cross the channel with clear skies and a strong westerly before yet another depression came across on Saturday evening. Unfortunately the rain started to fall from a rapidly descending cloud base just as Julian & I got on board that afternoon, not promising.

It was timed perfectly to get us wet whilst motoring to the pontoon for the evening. Just to add to the fun we were welcomed alongside by a Captain Mannering like individual on a yacht called Trombone who seemed bent on impressing his crew by unnecessarily criticising just about every aspect of our near perfect approach. On being informed that we intended to sail to St Vaast his response was that “we’d be lucky” and not to wake him up in the morning. If only he’d realised the challenge he’d laid made! We got ready for the trip by stowing away all the gear and making final preparations. The tides were ideal for a 5am departure and at a conservative 5kn average speed our planned arrival time would be at high water or 9pm BST, an ideal time to arrive at St Vaast which we should be able to improve on. With high hopes despite the drizzle we retired to the clubhouse where Paul joined us for some excellent lamb shanks with plenty of red wine.

 Saturday 

The  morning was rather raw and an early rise at 4:30 came all too soon after what had been a too indulgent evening. Fortunately it was quite calm, as expected, so we set off as planned. In the early morning the Solent looked as attractive as ever with the soft light of the sun as it crept over the
horizon in the direction of Hamble. Just after sunrise the Queen Mary II approached providing us with a ring side view as she turned round in front of us off Prince Consort; we couldn’t work out why such a tall ship like this didn’t topple over. After taking it in turns to have an hour’s rest down below, we were clear of Bembridge Ledge and heading due south with a stiff westerly that had filled in and was kicking up quite a sea.

This rose to a force 6 as we cleared the Island so all the waves gained a liberal covering of white horses. Although on a beam reach we couldn’t make as much speed as we’d like due to the short nature of the waves. This had the effect of generating a really uncomfortable, compound corkscrew motion that was not at all pleasant. All thoughts of breakfast rapidly receded, Paul ended up down below, Julian leaning over the side and the skipper feeling distinctly cautious about going down below for too long. Sheer cussedness drove us on, under no circumstances were we going to let Captain Mannering’s predictions come true. Fortunately it was bright and sunny so we had a good sail with the first reef in to keep the boat reasonably upright and maintain momentum as best we could. The wave state reduced the effectiveness of the sails as we rolled over the breakers keeping the boat speed down and increasing leeway as we were to find out later on.

By midday Julian and I were alternating one hour on watch helming and one hour off dozing in the cockpit. It became busy with the passing of the shipping lanes as there were rather more ships to negotiate than we’d have liked. Why they always seem to want to share the same space as us so often is a mystery; we had to avoid two tankers and a ferry. In the centre reservation it was time for lunch but nobody was interested in anything other than water, it was a shame that the motion had turned what could have been a fine sail into an endurance test. The eastbound lanes were much easier to negotiate and we soon found ourselves in a very empty sea with nothing in sight apart from the waves. There was only one other yacht, going in the opposite direction, seen during the entire crossing.

 After what seemed like an eternity the French coast came into view by which time we were close hauled. The wind had backed a bit and we’d been taken off course to the east by underestimating our leeway which the west going tide was not going to be able to counteract. Always, the last few miles are the longest; the 15 miles on the approach to our waypoint off St Vaast definitely proved this and we had to put on the engine to make the best progress we could to windward as the tide took us east once more. With the benefit of hindsight we should have made sure that we had more weather gauge and were further up tide as we neared the coast. Mal de mare took the blame but we’d been a bit lax which should not have been allowed to happen. Getting into St Vaast by 9pm was at risk, much later than that would mean an approach in darkness, not something to relish in the poor conditions forecast, the rain and force 5-7 winds associated with the oncoming depression.

Fortunately this was delayed, the wind dropped, the waves flattened and we made good progress for the last few miles arriving at 8:30pm making the highly unattractive contingency plan of sailing on to Ouistreham unnecessary. With a positive outlook everyone’s spirits rose, we even had a cup-a-soup, the first food all day. These positive hopes were nearly dashed during our final approach close to la Gavandest the mark indicating the entrance to the Harbour. The rain had started to fall and the visibility plummeted making the coastline into a dark, featureless smudge of grey with the light dropping all the time. Fortunately it cleared just enough to be able to see the multi coloured sector light on the breakwater and the entrance to the harbour which we entered just after 9pm.  Safely tied up we enjoyed a meal on board and looked forward to what we considered to be a well earned, good nights sleep.

 Sunday 

We’d all voted for a lay day, an opportunity to recharge our batteries, do a few jobs and enjoy being in France. The morning drifted away remarkably quickly with breakfast, getting provisions in from M. Gosselin and wandering around the flea market that occupied the road around the

harbour. Much of what was on sale was only fit for the Déchetterie, but there were some interesting stalls, in particular a magnificent spit roast with a pig, legs of lamb and numerous chickens. After some haggling we bought a grappling iron and some excellent saucisson.

Lunch around the new cockpit table in the rain was another test of our endurance before we started on a list of things that needed attention. Amazingly everything went right first time and soon the mainsheet track was fixed, the wind instruments indicating

properly both at the helm and navigation positions, and a means of hauling a casualty out of the water resolved and tested. Julian made a particularly effective dummy as he was lifted bodily off the pontoon in the helicopter strop using the anchor winch. By this time the clouds and rain had gone leaving a wonderful evening with blue skies and bright sunshine; ideal for a walk to the Fort St Houlogue to work up an appetite followed by an excellent meal at the Bleu Marin.

 Monday 

With shore power we’d been able to access the internet and delighted to find to that high pressure was going to dominate for the next 2-3 days. Thoughts of an enforced quick return receded and we could spend the next few days going along the coast leaving the crossing back to England to Friday. After consulting the tides a plan emerged to go to Courseilles that afternoon, Dive on Tuesday, Trouville on Thursday and after a lay day return to Portsmouth. The forecast that day was for a NW 3-4 wind turning easterly, fine for our destination which bears 120 degrees from St Vaast. With brilliant sunshine and leaving at high water, taking a leisurely sail between tides over the 35 miles to Courseille was not going to be difficult.

In brightness of daylight the marks on the southern side of the approach to the harbour that had been so difficult to make out earlier became clear, just as the rocks they marked had been at low tide; definitely to be avoided. In the lee of the pretty island of Tatiou we set the sails, turned the engine off and enjoyed a peaceful, pleasant sail. Unfortunately we could only make just over 3 knots but enjoyed it whilst we could, hoping the wind would pick up. The Iles St Marcouf passed to starboard looking like real islands rather than the ships they appeared to be at a distance. A couple of trawlers made their way past us cris-crossing the bay with their nets streaming behind. The fishery protection vessel we’d seen earlier occasionally roared off to check who they were from time to time, probably out of boredom rather than a sense of duty.

With a clear view of the coast around to Grandcamp and lots of conspicuous towers it was ideal time for practising fixes. Unfortunately the results of this only reinforced the view that the coast behind was receding too slowly so after several idyllic hours we reluctantly set the iron sail, it was a long way to Courseille. With more speed the coastline began to change, we had a clear view of Port en Bassin with its harbour moles clearly visible as it crept by. The dark shapes of the Mulberry harbour came in to view next, stretching for miles in front of the coastline as we passed Arromanches.

By a combination of luck and good judgement we arrived at the clear water buoy off Courseille

with near perfect timing to make the earliest entrance we could just after 9pm before it got dark. Not sure of the depth we made our way in cautiously; first following the transit between the church and the double spire then onto the transit on the harbour entrance. Being late in the evening there were hardly any other boats around, we had the sea and the channel to ourselves. With a metre under the keel, as predicted, we actually had a relatively stress free entrance with only occasional beeps from the depth alarm. Passing the piers we were welcomed by lots of happy holidaymakers and fishermen, all rather festive. Reaching the bridge and lock with just a few minutes before the predicted opening time we only had a little French yacht ahead of us.

Amazingly the bridge opened exactly as expected and after some dithering the other yacht took up the only visitors mooring, what a surprise! The basin was rather cramped and quite full of boats, almost all considerably smaller than us. Certainly there were no visitors spaces so we did the French thing and moored to the most convenient place, a hammerhead pontoon close to the entrance. Fate must have willed us there as at the end of the gangway was a hotel, Les Alizes, where we just had to have a much appreciated beer before heading down below for the night.

Tuesday 

As we were locked in until just after 10 am there was no rush for breakfast, which was fresh croissants and coffee. We then took a walk along the waterway to the sea passing the fish market where preparations were being made for a busy day. Every type of fish imaginable was being

prepared, from dogfish to the little aiguille that we saw being landed at St Vaast. Although only an hour before opening time the level of water was such that it barely covered the bottom, good job it was flooding in fast. As luck would have it, it was market day and the main street was filled with stalls. Towards the northern or sea end they were predominantly clothing stalls, either rather shoddy goods or cheap Maroquinerie. Towards the other end it was very different, there was a tremendous assortment of wonderful food available. Vegetables in abundance, endless varieties of cooked meats, more fish, fresh bread and any number of cheeses. Quite enough to make us wish for a larger refrigerated cool box!

Resisting the temptation to over stock Alize we just bought a paper to keep abreast of the Figaro Solitaire race that was due to start from Caen the next day. Julian then took us out of the basin, through the lock and out to sea; everything went smoothly despite being quite tight for such a beamy boat as Alize. Once out to sea there were only a few hours during the period of high tide to make the 15 miles to Dives; we had little alternative but to motor. Gradually we got off shore far

enough to avoid the rocky plateau near the entrance, we could then cut across the bay leading to Ouistreham where we could clearly see the ferry port.

Arriving off Dives at HW +1.5 hours we had half an hour to spare as we didn’t want to enter later than two hours after high water. The entrance is relatively straightforward compared with Courseille, there is a well buoyed channel with two lit beacons that marks the river entrance off Houlgate just before it turns sharply towards the marina behind Cabourg. This time the entrance was quite free of anxiety unlike our previous visit, many years ago but all too memorable; we had 2.3m underneath the keel instead of 0.3m. This turned out to be due to the double high tide that Dives has, it was only just starting to flow out with the lock in free flow; we could have stayed offshore longer. The marina itself is a Norman version of Port Solent, a huge area surrounded by anonymous apartments, mostly shuttered up. To its credit it was all very smart and they’d tried to copy the traditional Norman seaside architecture with steeply pitched roofs.

The staff at the marina could not have been more helpful; certainly they had time with hardly any other visitors but clearly did go well out of their way to ensure we felt looked after. When we finally moored up it was well past midday, hot and sunny; time for a leisurely lunch of wine, cheese and saucisson around the cockpit table. Perhaps not the greatest of sails but an enjoyable

passage never the less. The surroundings had changed little in the 12 years since we were last there. Built on the site of a large factory in the 1980’s it was a massive development, still ongoing. The developers had the sense to keep a few of the original buildings to give it at least some character which was further revealed by the rows of little terrace houses that lie on the way to the town centre. As a foundry it must have been very different, dirty and industrial compared with the affluent, sterile state it is now. Dives was almost deserted and Houlgate not at all crowded, just a few sun worshippers enjoying the first warm spell for weeks.

 By luck and good fortune we came across what was clearly a remarkable restaurant in Dives for dinner, Le Bouenot. Unassuming from the outside except for ranks of recommendation plates from various guides, inside it had a unique character evoking the 1930’s with white tiles on the walls, wooden furniture and period memorabilia. A friendly group of French people on the adjacent table encouraged us to be adventurous; they had come from Deauville as they thought it the best restaurant for miles. After an excellent Pouilly Fusse with a glorious egg starter we had pig’s trotter (Julian) and Tête de Veau; in this case what very clearly included the cow’s nose! Both were excellent. The cheese and deserts to follow were equally good and the whole meal cost the same as a main course in an English restaurant, €19 or just over £12, quite incredible.

 Wednesday 

We had a similar wait for the lock to open as we had in Courseille but this time there was no market to add interest, just the concrete jungle. We busied ourselves with a few jobs and filled the fuel tanks despite the extortionate price compared with red diesel. Once out and clear of the coast there was little wind to be found and despite really wanting to get a sail in could only make a couple of knots. With a tidal gate looming we had to motor even though the breeze did pickup,

shame it was late and right on the nose. Deauville is another easy entrance, at least in fair weather; it’s clearly marked and relatively deep for Normandy. Wanting to get out the next day as early as possible we avoided the inner harbour, turning to starboard just after the entrance channel into the lock and onto on of the many free visitors berths in the outer harbour.

The marina is another huge development but this time totally out of character with the more elegant surroundings. Very modern, angular apartments did not sit comfortable alongside the beach resort and the chic buildings around the casino. The Yacht Club was a disappointment, being closed, even though it was high season. So too was the surrounding area with little life, drab and seemingly in decline. Only towards the casino did the town become smarter as the shops changed from scruffy bars to luxury goods shops such as Louis Vuitton. In the centre the market was empty, the fountains only watched by very few bystanders who were watched in turn by a sparse audience sitting outside the bars and brasseries nearby. The only crowds to be found where in the mobile ‘phone shops - who said the French don’t like gadgets!

The only interest was provided by a group of young people kitted out in black tee shirts and

trousers to celebrate “La mort d’un jeune femme” The subject was a girl dressed up in white with really outrageous sunglasses being wheeled around in a wicker basket surrounded by banners and a pink coffin. Bystanders were encouraged to make contribution and in return received a small present, all great fun but rather confusing until we realized that the date on the backs of the tee shirts was for a forthcoming wedding. Fun without alcohol, certainly different to the average British stag or hen night. Dinner that night at Le Dosville was better than average; they had an excellent menu although expensive and lacking atmosphere. More diners would have made it better but they still had more than most.

 Thursday

 First thing in the morning is the time to experience Deauville, along the pristine beach freshly racked by the tractors. Horses ran along the sands close to the sea, serried ranks of sun umbrella’s awaited beach lovers, smart cream buildings looked warm in the sunshine. It’s a shame that one of the most memorable aspects are the sanitary facilities where the woman who manages them is so officious we all got told off for one reason or another, Gradually the tide came in and at 11am we considered it safe to lock out in order to make our way to Fecamp. The forecast had been for a strong westerly, ideal for a northeast passage but what had not been mentioned was a rough sea, much more than the wind strength would seem to justify. As soon as the lock gates opened we were exposed to the breakers that came rushing down the channel and round into the lock. As we crept out a cumbersome

amphibious vehicle came into view having a very difficult time manoeuvring towards the lock and safety.

Once in the channel we found waves at least 2m high and feared grounding; with the tide gushing in we made slow progress out to sea and into deeper water where the sea state was much more manageable. With the sails up our motion improved further and we could start to make more significant progress across the estuary of the Seine and towards le Harvre. Although we had a westerly wind and a course of due north to clear Cap de la Hève we had to go close hauled to counter the effect of the tide which was running strongly into the Seine. Gradually we inched across the main fairway avoiding the traffic; we then crossed the more northerly one running directly into Le Havre following a line clearing the Cap by half a mile. With the tide behind us we were able to free off onto a reach and had a grand sail along the coast to Cap d’Antifer making 7.5 knots over the ground.

The harbour of Harvre-Antifer is not the prettiest of sights but just past it is Etretat with its needle and archway, a French equivalent of our Jurassic coast. It’s a beautiful coastline, clearly popular with walkers and understandably a favourite for artistes. There the wind backed and we had to sail almost downwind to make Fecamp another 8 miles away. Downwind is not the fastest point of sailing for Alize and not wanting to be caught when the tide turned we reluctantly admitted that the

sail had come to an end and reached for the iron sail once again. With its distinctive light house high up on the cliff and extensive buildings Fécamp is unmistakable from a distance. The entrance is just as easy to identify with its two miniature lighthouses either side of the entrance. In no time we’d passed through the channel and were safely tied up alongside the extensive pontoons that float up and down despite the huge tidal range making it one of the few ports along this coast that is accessible at any state of tide.

If Deauville had been asleep Fécamp was very much alive, lots of activity, noise, people everywhere. The blend of a working port and a seaside town, like Weymouth, is a great combination; the variety of architecture including the outrageous gothic monastery adds to the interest. Regrettably, Le Grand Banc, our favourite restaurant had closed but the receptionist in the marina office who clearly enjoyed her food recommended Le Garde Mange in the centre of town. This turned out to be one of the best dinners of the trip; a wine merchant cum restaurant it combined excellent wines with a superb set menu. The thick soupe de poisson had some real bite to it, the Bar was exceptional, the desert cornets of green apple served with a sweet caramel sauce – delicious! Returning to the harbour the beach was buzzing, a band were playing to a crowd engaged in pétanque and table sports, elsewhere teenagers were playing volleyball to the sound of a booming loudspeaker. Not a time for rest, clearly a calvados on deck was called for!

 Friday 

Well before the alarm went off at 5:30 for a 6am start we were awoken but lots of chattering on the pontoon – Why? We were soon to find out; a group of noisy motorboats had decided to leave at the same time with an excess of goodbyes. Shame they couldn’t just get up and leave quietly as we

planned to. In the dim light of dawn we followed them out after letting them get well clear. There was hardly a breath of wind, quite consistent with the forecast of a force 1-2 westerly. Once clear of the coast we set a course due north and watched the sun rise over the cliff tops, as we did so a thick layer of advection fog flooded down the cliffs and out of the harbour. Good job we’d left when we did, we might have had second thoughts about leaving if we’d woken up in thick fog. With plenty of time to go before the shipping lanes and not much to watch out for, we motored across the mirror like sea, had breakfast and then set too cleaning and polishing. It’s not unpleasant motoring in the sunshine, just a bit boring.

This came to an abrupt end with the arrival of the east going shipping lane late in the morning; avoiding deeply laden tankers and ugly car transporters soon kept us busy. Fortunately they were all clearly visible as the sun had burned off any hint of mist that might have lingered around. With the approach of midday at 13:06 I took a sun sight before, at, and after the meridian. I then spend longer than I should plotting a running fix that was not very accurate; one hour either side of noon is not enough for a good cut! As the Westbound lane of shipping gradually turned into a steady precession behind us Beachy Head came into view. It felt good to see part of England once more, adding to our pleasure the wind filled in and with ten miles to go we put the sails up, shame it hadn’t happened earlier.

The silence was blissful after hours of motoring, as we gently sailed towards the crown of high rise buildings that marked Brighton on the horizon. Gradually the coastline turned from an indistinct line into rolling hills and towns and the massive concrete structure that was our destination. We tried to reserve a berth but were requested to go to the reception area first, not the best option with time marching on and a restaurant to get to. Predictably on arrival chaos reigned; at least six other yachts had arrived at the same time while the reception area was already full. It turned out that the number of berths had been reduced by dredging operations but it was clear that they could have been better organised. Eventually they found us one of the 800 berths for the night, just about the most remote but at least accessible and quiet. We were alongside a very striking Oyster 38 with a proud but friendly owner that also admired Tradewind 35’s.

Despite the staff’s efforts to delay us we were soon ready to celebrate out arrival with a couple of pints of real ale and a particularly good curry at the “Memories of India” Having found out that it was gay pride weekend we decided to stay in the marina area with was full of people all geared up
for a good night out. You just couldn’t help make a comparison between the hen nights we were faced with there and the one at Deauville. Dumpy girls stomping about with fairy wings on their backs and L- plates on the bride to be all hell bent on getting to the bar in the shortest possible time. Not a great advert for Britain but the salesmen we guessed came from phone shops didn’t seem to mind though. 

Saturday 

The objective was to head for Portsmouth, nearly 40 miles away to the west, for the night ready to be able to head back to Beaulieu early on Sunday morning. The forecast wind was south westerly, force 3-4; not the ideal direction for the first 25 miles to the Looe channel so we didn’t have any time to waste. After an excellent breakfast of scrambled egg with ham and cheese courtesy of Paul, we set off. The wind did pick up a bit in the morning but not enough to get us past Selsey Bill

within a reasonable time. We really did try to sail and did have a couple of enjoyable hours first gliding past the piers of Brighton, and later on Worthing pier, before succumbing to the inevitable and firing up the engine once again.

 The highlight of the trip was a brave attempt to finish up the supplies of andouille, saucisson and cheese, we even had a bottle of wine to help wash it down but after a valiant effort admitted defeat. Julian had stocked us up with just about every newspaper on sale before we left so by the time we reached the Looe Channel we must have been one of the most informed crew afloat. Here our luck changed, a stronger that expected tide whisked us through and when clear were able to ease off the wind towards the high rise flats and spinnaker tower of Portsmouth that appeared like isolated teeth on the horizon. With a strengthening breeze the sails were soon up and we had another fine sail past the entrance to Chichester Harbour, Langstone and finally to Horse Sand Fort. Not surprisingly as it was the first sunny Saturday with a pleasant wind just about everyone was out sailing or motoring in something or other.


With the approach of Spit Sand Fort we dropped the sails, listened to QHM on channel 11 and prepared to enter the busy harbour. Inevitably just off Southsea there was a yacht taking down its sails in the middle of the channel; a ferry just missed them, how typical of what happens the Solent! We’d never seen them before but QHM officials were very much in evidence nearer the entrance; clearly they’d seen enough of this sort of misbehaviour and were prepared to do something about it. Being
the start of Cowes week, Haslar Marina was just about full and the only place for us was to moor alongside Angela Aline, a massively built wooden yacht that had been to Dunkirk as one of the little ships. It made a pleasant change. The evening was almost tropical in character, so unlike weekends over the previous two months. Pleasantly warm, deep blue skies and lots of sun had tempted everyone out in their beach cloths.

After a swift pint on the lightship we settled down to make our way through five courses of

Chinese food at the Great Wall restaurant. The food is always good enough but that night the entertainment provided by the occupants of the pub opposite exceeded expectations, a stream of taxi’s and limo’s disgorged scantily dressed revellers who wanted a few quick (and probably cheap) drinks before heading over to Portsmouth on the ferry. With lots of Police present it was all very well natured, according to the restaurant staff this usually changes later on in the evening. 

Sunday

 Another bright, sunny day with hardly a breath of wind; the forecast was for the hot spell to break with rain in the evening. We had been incredibly lucky with the weather really; the fine period had exactly coincided with our week away. Unfortunately all things must come to an end and we wanted to get back early so packed up and slid out at 8am. At High water +4 hours it was a bit of a risk but we took the route out over the Hamilton Bank and only reached the deeper waters of the Solent after the alarm from the echo sounder had made sure we were well awake. With the last of the ebb tide we made good progress towards Cowes and after a bacon sandwich for breakfast were amongst the many yachts milling around off Cowes Roads waiting for their start, Cowes week had not appeared to have lost any popularity!

Our arrival just off the bar of the river coincided with low water and although neaps it was a particularly low water, lower than most spring tides. Generally we can get in at any state of tide when its neaps but this time we estimated that we had only a meter rise of tide on top of the charted depth of 0.8m, not much margin for safety as we drew 1.7m. There may not have been much wind but the tide was really flooding directly across the entrance of the river, I didn’t want to be pushed onto the putty broadside on to the tide so took a cautious approach. We waited until someone we could trust in the form of “a day at the races” informed us a little later that there was 2m over the bar.

We then edged in, crabbing gently along the transit between No 2 post and Lepe House as we stemmed the tide. The depth was called constantly as was the bearing being monitored; we went down to 0.3 metres beneath the keel, exactly as expected! Soon the water started to deepen and we were clear, able to make our way up to top up the tanks and return to our mooring. It had been a great week, some good sails, good food and good company.

In total we’d covered 267 miles on the log and 60 hours passage making, it was a shame that less that 40% of the time we were sailing but we’d been to some lovely places. The sunny weather may not have been ideal for sailing but it had been a wonderful change from the past two months.