Heading back into the chaos of the Solent I realised just how much more relaxing sailing is anywhere away from this supposed home of the sport I love.
Leaving Portsmouth harbour behind once more I headed west towards the Solent. After the peace and solitude of the previous few weeks it seemed odd at first to see so many sails around, particularly as it was still mid week and most definitely not yet the high season of children’s holidays. I tend to keep one of my sailing instruments set to display AIS (Automatic Identification System) data, this shows the position, speed and direction of other ships within range, handy for knowing if someone is going to come a little too close. This quickly filled up with targets of boats that were out and about. In fact it wasn’t too long before the system was overloaded and the message “Max Targets Exceeded” came up, and this was a quiet week day! To be honest, with that many boats around I was watching for myself and not relying on electronic wizardry to avoid any collisions anyway.
zipping around the Solent
Sailing further up into the Solent I was treated to the majestic sight of two immense three masted schooners racing, along with a few other large classic boats in the distance. Watching these two immense yachts with their myriad of crew looking like ants moving across the deck was a sight to behold. The almost seamless work of lowering one topsail, tacking and trimming all of the sails, and hoisting a topsail up the other side of the main sail seemed to be completed faster than I am able to type the description of events. It was a well oiled human machine in action.
The Isle of Wight
I spent a couple of nights on the Isle of Wight in the company of one of my sailing buddies, Robin. He had come down to do some jobs on his boat before sailing it with his family this summer. Robin was soon distracted from his work and we spent a day driving around the island and visiting a few places I have never been to before, followed by an evening enjoying a medicinal rum or two. I don’t know what we were medicating, but it certainly seemed to work.
Taking a break
While I was on the Isle of Wight I decided to take a break from the sailing experience for a few weeks, I had been considering this for a few days anyway.
I know I have the ability to sail, I’ve sailed large stretches of the coast of the UK previously and even sailed across the Atlantic ocean, but sailing completely alone is another experience entirely. At times during the trip I have questioned myself and my abilities. Of course I know these are just passing moments of self doubt and I’ve been able to easily shake them off, so these Donald Crowhurst moments haven’t been too bothersome [if you don’t know the Donald Crowhurst story see *1 below]. Taking a break for a while would also allow me to sort out a couple of issues on the boat, and that wouldn’t be a bad thing. Also there are a few lessons I’ve learned along the way that I can take the time to work through, and improve how I manage my future single handed adventures.
This doesn’t mean my sailing season is over, not by a long way. And the round Britain trip is simply being postponed until next year. At the very least I’m determined to make it to Lough Swilly Yacht Club in Donegal, Ireland.
Returning to my home mooring
Setting out from the river medina and through Cowes on a Saturday afternoon was an experience, an exhibition of the new version of the British Disease. This is the one where the self entitled, and frequently extremely arrogant, are given more money than sense. Heading through Cowes at one point there were three large motor boats all side by side across the channel [to any non-sailors out there that’s like stopping in the fast lane of the motorway to decide if you want to take the next exit]. Just as I was weaving my way round the selfishness of skippers, the rather large car ferry that was docked on the other side of the river decided it wanted to leave, straight into the space occupied by the assembled motor yachts. I escaped the impending carnage, but then I was faced with a young man steering his boat straight towards me down the wrong side of the channel and through an already chaotically busy harbour, all the time his head bowed into his phone. The age of individuals taking responsibility for their own actions seemed well and truly dead to me at that point in time. How no boats came to grief in that mele I really don’t know.
I crossed the Solent under engine power. I did consider putting the sails up but once again being on my own, and having to watch for the “Idiots in Motor Boats” who zoom past creating as many white water waves as they are able to, made for an added challenge. These waves roll the boat so violently it can shake the wind out of the sails, the alternative is to turn the boat into the waves and crash headlong through them. Added to this were the sailing school boats that seemed to be trying to sail while ‘hove to’*2. Edit – it turned out they were apparently trying to teach a man overboard rescue drill.
The chaos that abounds in this area on a weekend was keeping me busy watching in every direction all the way across the Solent.
Well that turned into a bit of a rant didn’t it! Just to clear up my thoughts on motor yachts, I don’t have an issue with them. My issue is with those who really don’t have a clue how to drive them. A fast motor boat, driven and trimmed properly, planes above the water, almost flying. A motor boat of any kind that is creating a huge wake is wasting an awful lot of fuel to do so, and just creating a nuisance for everyone else on the water. There were several times on that trip across the Solent that I had to turn my boat sharply into another motor boats’ wake, just because the size of the waves would likely have knocked me off my feet as my boat rolled needlessly from side to side. It seems no one who drives a motor boat is capable of looking behind to see what effect their driving is having on others.
Turning up into the river Hamble was such a relief. Within the confines of the river the steady stream of boats heading in after a day on the water seemed to be keeping everything, and everyone, in order. Or maybe it was something to do with the harbour masters’ boat patrolling along the channel. I finally made it back up the river and onto my own mooring. Now all I had to contend with was the cacophony of children and teenagers splashing, squealing and shouting, as they enjoyed the water on this sunny Saturday afternoon.
Safe travels
The Grumpy Sailor!
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*1 Donald Crowhurst was possibly the bravest fool ever to race a sailing yacht. In 1968 a challenge was set by the Sunday Times newspaper, the Golden Globe race. No one had ever sailed non-stop single handed around the world before, in fact even now, 55 years later, only around 300 people have completed this epic journey [for context, more than twice that number of people have flown into space]. In 1968 many experienced sailors thought it couldn’t be done; there was no satellite navigation or communications, the weather forecast was what you could guess by looking at the clouds & watching a barometer, and pre-packaged and preserved food was virtually non-existent. Even to this day only 6 people have ever completed the journey using only a sextant and paper charts for navigation, which was the only way to navigate at that time.
Of the 9 people who set out in the original race (in the end only one person finished) Donald Crowhurst had the least experience of being at sea, having been a weekend sailor in his local area. He made many claims and promises in the build up to the race, including a contractual commitment that would have bankrupted him if he had backed out at any point.
Overtaken by self doubt and insecurity, Donald Crowhurst faked his entire trip. He sailed in circles in the south Atlantic for many months until the other sailors caught him up and he re-joined the boats heading back towards England. No one will ever know what happened for sure, but it appears that when he realised there was a possibility he may win the race, and therefore have all his notes and navigation data scrutinised, he was unable to face the humiliation of being caught. His final ships log entries show a person in the midst of a breakdown. His boat was found but his body was never recovered.
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*2 When a boat is hove to it is a way of slowing a boat down to close to nothing. The sails are set to work against each other and the boat will steadily drift either down wind or with the tide.
