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.

The Summer Holiday That Didn't Go According To Plan

    

 Crew:  Lynda

 

The Start

By Friday evening the plans were in place, bags packed and the food was neatly arranged in green Waitrose bags, we were all ready to go. It was the start of our summer holiday, the last week of June was a bit earlier than usual but we’d miss the crowds during the school holiday period. The plan was to get to France as quickly as we could by going to St Vaast on Sunday after making Portsmouth on Saturday. This would allow us to alternate lay days and sailing days whilst continuing on to Grandcamp, Courseulles and finally Ouistreham  where we’d leave Alize and return by ferry at the end of the week.

Plans and sailing never go together well and the weather becomes decidedly unsettled; a westerly 3-4 was forecast earlier for Sunday changed to a southerly 5 with heavy rain by early Saturday morning. We could stomach one but both together was not a pleasant prospect so we delayed sailing until Sunday. With no rush to get to Portsmouth we could make a leisurely start with a stop for lunch at the Montague Arms in the village at Beaulieu, always a pleasure. The weather was overcast and a downpour came just as we reached the New Forest drenching the motorcyclists, some of which sit in the bar looking decidedly dejected, steaming gently.

Back on Alize there’s an opportunity to sort a few things out before having dinner at the club.  Luckily there was a space on the pontoon before several Round the Island contestants returned for a fitting end to their race. It was just as well as the force 3-4 wind that had provided excellent sailing conditions became squally and the rain set in solidly for the evening. “A day at the Races” came alongside, they were all buoyed up having had an excellent race and keen to see where they came on the internet. It’s a fine wooden yacht formerly owned by Owen Aisher that formally bore the Yeoman name with a distinguished racing pedigree. They had invited a few friends from the Little Ship Club to join them for dinner and soon the pontoon was full of talk and the sound of popping corks.

Nobody was happy with the outlook though, the weather forecast was decidedly grim with very heavy rain and strong winds forecast for Sunday. We decide we would stay until Monday whilst club members Andrew and Julia, more optimistic than most, set off in their pretty Contessa 32 for Lymington. It was their first opportunity to cross the channel and they were really keen to get out there as soon as they could.

The evening was mparticularly memorable as we saw a barn owl flying over the marshes as we walked towards the club. It’s much larger than any other bird and stood out against the grasses by being so light with a smudge of orange. It quartered the field for a while as we stood like statues afraid to move in the slightest way; it then came directly towards us so we were able to clearly see it’s big round eyes and their surrounding feathers like spectacles. It soon realised who we were and sailed off to disappear in the undergrowth. A moment of pure magic.

Sunday

With the papers and a 5 minute call to Metcall our fate was confirmed, no point in going to Portsmouth, it was to be terrible today and tomorrow. We compared forecasts and plans with the crew of Hecuba, a large Beneteau that had wanted to follow up the race with a trip to the Channel Islands; they too had to delay their crossing but hoped to plug on to Yarmouth that day despite the rain.

We decided that Yarmouth would be a nice place to go to as well, but by ferry. With luck we’d then have a quiet night with the pontoon to ourselves. As we left the rain started in earnest and just didn’t stop all day. Through the misted windows of the ferry we could see the raindrops splashing against the glass, the deck and the sea, everywhere.   Visibility was poor, the whole of the western Solent was a grey, indistinct mass with the slightly darker shape of the Island behind it. Through the murk we could see a few yachts making their way in and out of the harbour; for once we were looking down on them and are decidedly dryer.

Not the ideal time for a stroll so we went straight away to the object of out trip, the “Book Place” a second hand bookshop that's the sister shop to the Mother Goose in St Helens, with its excellent supply of maritime books. For over an hour we are lost in a world of long distance sailors, races and epic cruises; a wonderful way of spending a wet afternoon. With closing time we finally moved on but the rain was still pouring down in sheets making the square desolate. Nobody had ventured onto the pier, not even the fishermen. The only thing to do was to have a cup of tea in the pier café and savour the atmosphere of the place that had provided so many happy times in the past.

Returning along the country road and not in a rush to imprisoned down below on Alize we stopped off at the East Arms On a Sunday evening it’s very much a local pub, and busy. True to form there’s a lot of banter, some of it rather colourful, between an eclectic collections of people from the surrounding houses. Dogs formed a major part of the conversation and are a great ice breaker, we’re soon in conversation about their behaviour (or otherwise). The smoky bar with its collection of local memorabilia grew smokier; July the 1^st was sill a week away. Bets are placed on who would arrive and when, the young barmaid kept the old men chatting, a ball was thrown repeatedly to keep a little terrier happy.

We returned to the pontoon where, as we hoped, we were all alone for a leisurely meal on board. Soon the oil lamps were lit, stove on, books out, and a glass of wine at hand. With hardly a sound it was really peaceful with only the oyster catchers for company. A truly wonderfull place to spend the night, even when it’s pouring with rain.

Monday

Two nights are enough; we needed a change of scenery. No matter how bad the weather was we reasoned that despite the weather we could get over to Cowes at least, possibly Portsmouth. At the fuelling berth in Bucklers Hard the Harbourmaster ventured his opinion that the weather was to get worse, not better. The Navtext forecast was for winds of force 6, increasing to force 8 with heavy rain once more.

 It wasn’t too bad then but by the time we’d reached the entrance to the river the cloudbase had dropped and seemed to have merged with the Solent into a uniform mass of grey, nothing beyond the dolphin at the entrance was visible. The wind was 30 knots with gusts of 40 knots, the rain so intense that it was horizontal and felt like thousands of needles as it struck your face. I’d never seen the Solent in such a malevolent mood so turned back for a while, hoping it would ease which it did eventually. 

With the Island just about in view we had something to head for and ventured out cautiously. It was only an hour to get over to Cowes motoring but in these conditions it's very bumpy and very wet. Unfortunately we found that the seams of our oily trousers had lost their ability to keep the wet out and needed recovering. More positively, we had no unexpected occurrences and no gear failed so it was over quickly and we were safely tied up in West Cowes marina with a mug of hot soup in our hands. Probably not an inspired decision to go but at least we did have the change of scenery we sought.

It’s always good to be in Cowes, the home of yachting as far as we were concerned. With the afternoon the rain cleared and we were able to take a short walk through the High street, past the Royal Yacht Squadron to Egypt point and back though Northwood Park. The sea had calmed down a bit, but the evidence of the storm was everywhere, shingle thrown up over the promenade, branches and trees scattered over the roads.

Midweek, the pubs always have a different character to weekends. But on a wet Monday, most were empty and lacking atmosphere. The only occupants seemed to be terminal alcoholics and those well up the obesity scale. To add to our joy that evening the wind went round to the North East, just what you don’t want in West Cowes which is quite exposed to that direction. It had diminished to a Force 6 but the pontoons were creaking and snaking up and down as the yachts tugged at their mooring lines. Thanks to several tons of lead we had a relatively good nights sleep, clearly better than most.

 Tuesday

After a trip to the newsagent, breakfast and a lengthy session on the internet we arrived at  the low point of the week. All the forecasts indicated the same rather sorry outlook, strong winds and rain were to continue for days. Going to France was not going to happen, the best was a force 5 window on Thursday but with the situation changing like it was every 12 hours if we reached St Vaast we’d probably be stuck there.

At least the papers did their bit to make us feel better about it all, we had a good excuse for calling it off. They ranged from “The great flood” in the Independent to “The Monsoon” in the Times. Truly awful weather, we’d only had a disappointing change of holiday plans, others had lost lives and houses as a month’s rain had fallen in a day. Apparently it was the worst in the last ten years, possibly unprecedented.

We had to revise our plans for the rest of the week; we’d enjoy or stay at Cowes, stop off at Portsmouth for a short while then spend most of our time relaxing in Bembridge. Enjoying Cowes involved visiting two previously unknown spots, the library and the Prospect. The Library has a small maritime museum but the gem is it’s collection of maritime books which range across and along the large hall on a raised, almost mezzanine level. There are countless volumes covering every aspect of the sea, those who sail and the craft they venture out in together with their exploits. A great place to spend a rainy day.

The Prospect is the former home of Sir Max Aitkin in Cowes and stuffed full of sailing memorabilia. A delightful lady in a rather formal suit took us round and provided an explanation of the main exhibits such as the Gaff spar from Britannia, all sorts of instruments, pictures of Cowes, countless prizes and a miscellany of relating to the great and very stylish sailing exploits of the 30’s to the 60’s. They too had suffered in the storms, the day before their flag pole had been blown down and had to be dismantled earlier that morning.

As usual, the weather changed, by afternoon the wind had backed and dropped to a light breeze by the time we set off. Instead of the brisk sail we’d expected we had to motor following the tide around the headland past Norris Castle and across to Gilkicker. We didn’t see many Yachts but there were lots of big ships about so we had more than out fair share of course changes to avoid them. Off Gilkicker, just when we didn’t need it, the fickle wind filled in again then the cloud base descended and it started to look threatening. Fortunately we got into Gosport Marina just before the wind really got up and started to howl in the rigging once more.

The marina is not what it used to be anymore and a far cry from the old Camper and Nicholsons yard. It’s only a massive boat park now, devoid of interest or of people for that matter. At the new reception it was clear why they hadn’t responded to our calls on channel 80, it was just an office geared up to answer the telephone, not the VHF. Where were the capable dockmasters, the chandlery, the little café or the signs to the restaurants of Gosport? All as grey and uniform with boats parked in neat rows; all mass produced and seemingly little used.

If that was a disappointment the visit to the Great Wall Chinese restaurant wasn’t. Once you’ve mastered the rules to prevent people abusing the “all you can eat” policy it’s a surprisingly good meal at a reasonable price. If you’re fortunate enough to have a window table as we had, the view over the harbour is superb. Whilst we tucked into seafood followed by duck and noodles we had the spectacle of Brittany Ferries steaming gracefully by towering above the buildings. The new spinnaker tower now dominates the skyline so as the sun set the blue lighting on the three observation decks gradually became clearer and brighter.

Wednesday

A gap appeared between the weather systems early in the morning just before high tide. The wind dropped to a moderate 4 well below the forecast 6-7; we immediately take advantage of it and head out of the harbour towards Bembridge. We were closely followed by a sinister warship bristling with aerials that could only be American. It could have been a beam reach but with only 4 miles to go, once clear of the harbour we didnt bother setting the sails feeling it would be better to get over to the safety of the haven before the rough sea became even more angry.

Safely tied up to the pontoon of the Duver Marina we were in a different world; it was difficult to believe that six ships were at anchor only a mile away and that the bustle of Portsmouth was only a few miles further on. IWe were in complete peace, nobody had ventured out to join us. The silence was striking as the water in the harbour drained away leaving a sea of mud locking us in and everyone else out.

The afternoon was again threatening, but we still took a walk around the millpond and up the hill to St Helens. Fortunately the Mother Goose bookshop was still open so we went inside and plundered the recent additions to the maritime section. Like Yarmouth, this proved a good place to be as the wind was really blasting over the hills; luckily we just got back to Alize before the rain started to tumble down again in thick sheets.

Thursday

Grey skies, intermittent rain, it was good to be securely tied up in a safe place with no pressure to go anywhere. It’s easy to while away a morning onboard, attending to a few of the never ending list of jobs that need to be done, chatting to the dockmaster, buying a paper from the friendly little shop on the green. During the morning we had an interesting demonstration of hovercraft

manoeuvrability in strong winds courtesy of Hovertravel. Nestling between Atrills yard and the marina is their workshop which had always seemed deserted. It was a great surprise to see a large hovercraft nearby with it’s gas turbines wining away in such a small harbour. With only it yellow flashing light as a warning it slid down the ramp being steered by its large, motorised versions of our dorade vents that pushed its bow this way and that. It soon slid across the water and straight out of the entrance at speed leaving a mist behind it as it went. We wondered what a surprise that would be if you were on a yacht outside entering the narrow, buoyed channel! With in a few minutes it came back and made a slow calculated approach banked at an angle of about 30 degrees against the wind then suddenly turned through 90 degrees, mounted the ramp, spun round and came to halt facing forwards. It all seemed highly impressive, that is until we found out it had developed a fault that caused the craft to bank, it wasn’t intentional!

By lunchtime the weather front had blown through and we were able to walk along the coast to Seaview, a favourite walk.  A few hardy souls were on the beach in front of the huts that had once been railway carriages and, despite being re-clad, still bore their distinctive shape. The tide was retreating fast by then leaving a vast expanse of seaweed and the entrance buoys cocked over at unnatural angles. Close to springs and at low tide, the path of the causeway to St Helens fort was clearly visible although probably not yet passable though.

Around the rocks at Nodes Point it’s a bit of a scramble but once we reached the beach at Priory Bay, it was well worth the effort. The sky had cleared to a bright blue with small fluffy cumulus clouds scudding across. The beach looked white in the reflected sunlight, the trees brilliant in various shades of green standing out sharply against the sky; all so different from the greys we’d grown experienced over the past few days. With hardly anyone along the mile or so of beach it was a natural paradise that contrasted sharply with the very man made skyline on the other side of the Solent. Such a different world, characterised by peace and quiet, unlike the hustle and bustle of a major port with it’s seedy side as well as its Naval history.

Around the next headland lies Seagrove bay, a quintessentially English seaside beach with its café and families making sandcastles. It may be more developed than Priory bay but most of the buildings are rather elegant Edwardian houses; some in various stages of gentile decay giving an atmosphere of a bygone age to the place. Unfortunately at the end of the bay there are some incongruous, modern apartments that have to be traversed before arriving at Seaview itself with more jolly Edwardian architecture. 

The shops outside are reminiscent of earlier times whilst inside they cater for very different tastes. It’s a pleasant mixture of past and present typified by the Seaview Hotel. A seemingly small traditional building nestling in a terrace of houses it’s deceptively large but quite understated. It provides stylish accommodation, good service and great comfort in a subtle manner; a great place to stay, eat or just have a drink. There’s a bar further on overlooking the sea and the forts that makes an ideal place to write the postcards and soak up the atmosphere as well as the sunshine. Families banter on the benches above the beach, a rather extrovert painter attempts to capture the colour of the sailing club, the ferries pass too and fro a mile or so away. If only the weather was always like this, if only we could put time on pause.

Friday

Being woken up by incessant rain is not pleasant, it’s hammering noisily down on the coachroof but the grey of the harbour is remote from the dry warmth of the cabin. Fortunately it’s been raining all night and the worst clears quickly enabling us to walk in the other direction to Bembridge. The beach between the harbour and the lifeboat station is like something out of the tropics. With the rain gone there’s a bright blue sky that reflects off the sea and warm sunshine radiating along the length of the beach. The wind’s still strong but in the lee of the 

village it was warmer than it had been all week. A few boats anchored just beyond the low tide line provided some colour to contrast with the blue of the sea and pale yellow of the sand, also some relief from the clumps of seaweed that the storms had thrown bodily along the length of the beach.

It’s pleasant meandering along the beach carefully avoiding the rocky patches and peering into the pools as we pass by together with a handful of other walkers. By the lifeboat station we could see round the headland to the south past Culver down, Sandown and Shanklin towards Ventnor. Exposed to the strong winds the sea took on a very different character, the deep blue was covered in white horses, comfortable enough on board a ferry but to be avoided on a small yacht. Making our way over to the Crab and Lobster at extreme low tide the full extent of the ledges became evident. They could be clearly seen as a mass of brown seaweed strewn rocks ranging along the coast and out to the cardinal marks of Bembridge Ledge and Princessa Shoal; definitely to be avoided.

The walk back through the village was saddened by the changes made over the past few years; several colourful shops had closed as had one of the pubs. The Maritime museum had been converted into a block of apartments and the odd patches of space once left now filled in with holiday homes. It seemed that second homes had sucked the very life out of the village, colourful family homes had been changed into empty dormitories that clearly didn’t come to life this early in the season. Investments perhaps, rather than homes.

It was enjoyable to have a few lazy days for a change, the weather may have been changeable but two sunny afternoons in a row made us feel we had an adequate substitute for our planned trip to France.

Saturday

With a rain laden front due to pass over the country followed by a strong westerly airflow on Sunday it made sense to stay put for another night. True to form the misty rain that started the day rapidly deteriorated into a steady downpour that continued for most of the daylight hours. We had another trip to Mother Goose, what else is there to do on a day like this? Three rallies had been organised that weekend but everyone had cancelled. We felt rather sorry for the little yacht club that had been expecting 30 diners that evening, instead just a few retired locals who seem to make up the mainstay of the club and support out of season. The race committee still went ahead with their tasks organising the club race even though there were only two competitors as far as we could see; perhaps they enjoyed organising it as much as competing.

We must have seemed to be a bizarre sight to the car borne occupants of the Vine as we clambered in and out of our waterproofs in the lobby; we still preferred our cabin to their caravan though. It was the same in the evening when we went to the Baywatch on the Beach café for dinner; but there, most of the other diners got wetter than we did dashing to and fro from the car park. Nice meal, nice view, shame about the weather.

Sunday

A terrific screaming of wind in the rigging woke us up at around three in the morning, after that it was difficult to get back to sleep; thoughts of being pinned onto the pontoon and having to return by ferry just wouldn’t go away. In the light of day the weather proved to be much better that we’d expected, gradually the wind moderated and the clouds seemed to lift, at least for a while.

We didn’t want to leave until 11am when there would be plenty of water and a favourable tide back to Beaulieu so there was quite a bit of hanging around with the six other boats that wanted to get away too. Finally we left the pontoon in reverse after trying to spring Alize off into the wind but getting the spring a bit tangled up, a manoeuvre we’d have to practise in more forgiving conditions. Out to sea conditions didn’t seem too bad until a strong squall came rolling down off the Island just off Ryde sands, once again rain like needles and hardly any visibility for a while. The VHF was strangely silent, probably because the few yachts that had ventured out knew what they were doing and didn’t waste time asking for radio checks. There were a few situations though; a securite announced that a large yacht that had lost its keel off St Catherine’s Point was a hazard to navigation as salvage operations had had to be suspended. Later a couple of Mayday’s kept the channel quiet. We blasted on with nothing more than the staysail up and the engine idling.

Off Cowes the wind blew up and with wind over tide the wave state deteriorated. We had some quite violent short, deep waves as we made our way across to the entrance of the Beaulieu River. Eventually we reached the safely of the river and not a moment too soon, we’d had enough of the rough stuff with driving rain and were soaked through. Mooring was a bit of a challenge but with the aid of a warp we eventually got tied up and were able to call Sea Echo who was still operating to take us ahore.