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.