LAND CARDINALS

I was in the Canary Islands just before Christmas. I ended up on the Island of La Gomera where the Talisker Challenge rowers were in the final stages of preparing to set out across the Atlantic. I suppose it was inevitable that I would meet someone I had sailed with and indeed I did. He gave me news of someone else I had sailed with who was currently anchored off Teneriffe. Its a small world that brought the three of us - who had once sailed together for a week off Scotland - and here we had come together again by chance on a small obscure Atlantic island.

I found it facinating to see the shorebased cardinals rather than the cardinal buoys I am used to in the North and I had to take a few pictures of these.

This one is at Adeje Marina on Teneriffe

Cardinal mark in a car park!

East Cardinal on a wall and Beardy Sailor in pink: -  two unlikely sights!

REFLECTIONS ON THE CLYDE

I've sailed on the Clyde a few times over the last few years for one reason or another but I had not been on a proper cruising visit since April 2007. I have a great sentimental feeling for this estuary and sort of regard it as my own real home waters. So with the referendum for an independent Scotland looming, I chartered a yacht from Largs, and me Marion, Tim and Mike had a nostalgic weeks's sailing there at the end of August. Possibly sailing a Scottish yacht with a red ensign for the last time. Perhaps next time it will be a Saltire? Interesting times.

The forecast wasn't good so although we took the boat over on Wednesday, we did not set off until Thursday morning. I motored us out of Largs marina and up to just north of the Great Cumbrae. I raised the sails in a SE force 5 and noted that the first reef was already in the sail. The reefing was set up in the single line reefing method and I was happy to keep it in as the boat was well balanced at that. We sailed over to Rothesay Bay and then we messed around for quite a while between Toward point and the cardinal buoy at the start of the East Kyle. We were just seeing what the boat could do. It certainly was not great at heaving-to.

The weather broke down a bit and the sky became threatening so as we had already put some 19 miles on the clock we decided to call it a day and have a dram or three. I drove us in to the inner harbour in Rothesay and tied up to a pontoon. We were alone, until a few hours later we were joined by a German Yacht who had come over from Hamburg via the Cally Canal and was en route for Dublin. They did not know, and we did not tell them, that Tim is fluent in German and Marion and me have a reasonable grasp of the language too. We thought it strange that they addressed each other with the formal "sie" rather than "du", especially given relationships on board a yacht under passage. How very German!

Rothesay Harbour Master keeping an eye on me

Rothesay was very sad and has become quite run down. But the people are as friendly as ever and the young man from the Bute Berthing Company who took my overnight fee was most friendly and helpful. In the morning I went up to the old victorian public toilet block for a shower. The cheerful lady running the place was making herself toast and tea and the smell was wonderful. I'd have given her another quid for a round of buttered toast but I had to get back to the boat alas.

We looked out into the cockpit watching the heavy rain showers sheeting past until just before lunchtime and then I decided we had to move. Last time the Harbourmaster here had seen me he was shouting "There's always Wan!" I hoped he had forgotten me and I called him on the radio to ask him to raise the footbridge and let us out. The Germans, who had been up and about since dawn, looked surprised. I suspect they had been waiting on the authorities to raise the bridge to release them and had not grasped that asking the harbourmaster was a possibility. The bridge closed behind me, no doubt to their further consternation.

Following us into the Holy Loch

We had a good sail north up the Clyde in a southerly force 5. I had decided to go up there to hide from the weather. At the entrance to the Holy Loch, we took the sails down and I drove us around the loch to let the others see what it was like. I had not been here since the end of a delivery trip from Eire in 2008, and it looked pretty much the same to me.

Hunters Quay at the turn into the Holy Loch

After that we tacked down the Clyde into a Force 5 SW gusting 6, making heavy weather of it. The Inverkip Chimney has been demolished! So without that as a navigation mark, I had to focus more on where we were. Eventually we put into Inverkip Marina for the night. The manager's opening words were to ask me how was my landing (whatever that meant). Inverkip marina has such an unfriendly feel to it that I think it is my least favourite place on the Clyde, and I had forgotten this. Had it not been so late and blustery I would have moved on. Anyway, the Inverkip Hotel has improved dramatically and we enjoyed a meal and drink ashore there before retiring to the boat, which bounced around all night due to the swell and the position of the visitor berths at the marina entrance.

A Clyde Gannet - probably from Ailsa Craig

Saturday. Weather much improved. Set off at 10 into slight mist which soon cleared into blue skies and sun. Force 4 westerly, Kept the reef in as the wind gradually increased to a F5. Really excellent sailing and a real pleasure after the last two days. We made south for Lamlash Bay on Arran. As we entered the bay the wind increased significantly, so I had to lassoo the mooring buoy. The boat was poorly equipped with warps and we had to tie a couple of short warps together to make a mooring line I was happy with and eventually we sat back to relax and have a dram.

I really like it here. I don't know if its the Dharma Bums over on Holy Island who exude a feeling of peace, but peaceful it certainly was and the wind dropped completely to give us a beautiful and quiet night.

Lamlash as evening falls

Sunday was a lovely quiet gorgeous morning. The sort where you sit in the cockpit with your coffee in the warm sun and don't want to go anywhere. All the cares of the world melted away. The Buddhists over on the island had probably been up for about 6 hours already. They have a bunch of women over on the north end of the island who are in the middle of a four year retreat and they are not allowed to talk to anyone. Can you imagine that?

Pladda Island

Anyway, unlike them we had plenty to say and we dropped the buoy and motored south. I didn't put the sails up until we were just south of Pladda because Arran was between me and the wind. We came into a SW 4/5 and we sailed south until we got a good angle for sailing west to Campbeltown. We took the second reef in and out as the wind changed, but as we neared Davaar island the wind started to fall away and leave us moving slowly on a grey sea with sun glittering in a million flashes.

Ailsa Craig

I went to shake the first reef out for the first time since departing Largs and I found that I could not pull the sail up. I went up to the mast to puzzle it out. The reefing line led up from the clutch through a fairlead U-guide popped onto the mast, before going up onto the sail. The top of this fairlead had been pulled back from the mast though constant use and this had created a gap where the reefing line had fallen down through over winching and had become jammed. The sheath of the line had been sawed though, and the core partially cut. I phoned the charterer. He said that if I cut the line to take out the reef to be sure to tie a stopper in the line, but I said I would try to manage with the reef in. Otherwise, if I needed a first reef I would have to rig one using one of the warps. I could do this easily enough, but was being idle and did not want to use warps as reefing lines. I cannot emphasise the lesson more strongly: if you charter a yacht, make certain that before you take the boat you pull the sails up and check them. In fairness to myself, when I took the boat over the boat was moored stern to the wind - which was blowing 15 knots - and even if I had raised them I would not have taken the reef out!  But - no excuse really. For them or for me.

We motored under the lighthouse and told the guys my tales of meeting the scouser who lived there in the lightkeepers cottage and how he boasted to me about how he would drive along the Dorlinn (causeway) when covered with tide, even in the dark, and on listening to my warnings to him he told me that I was risk averse. Well dear reader, he eventually drowned inside his landrover one dark night on that same tide covered causeway and I'm still risk averse.

We tied up at the last space available at the end of  the north side of the pontoon. Not the most elegant example of my boat handling, but no one asked me how my landing was. Paid my berthing fees and was advised that the leisure centre had a "special" shower for yacht people. We declined the offer. I didn't like the sound of this and in Campbeltown it pays to be risk averse. However, I belied my own advice here and went to the Royal Hotel for dinner. Marion walked out on her main course  (I have to say, I would not have given it to my dog). Then we had the dozen drunken Dutch golfers. Then we had the large French yacht which all lights ablaze arrived in the dark and  tied up on the harbour wall in front of the lifeboat. (I heard that the previous week another yacht had for some reason left the East Cardinal to their East and had run aground, needing the lifeboat to tow them off). I got talking to the former chandler who was tied opposite in his ketch and may have  misheard him and thought he said swindler instead of chandler. It all became very mental. Very Campbeltown. And ...and ...I hit the sack.

The following morning I woke to find another yacht had arrived in the night and tied up in the small space available behind me. She had been late in and had come around the Mull from Stornoway. I met the skipper on the pontoon and discovered that he was my old YM examiner! After telling me off for the way my stern warps had been tied onto the pontoon cleat giving him difficulty with his bow ropes when he arrived, we had a good chat over old times. Then I met another guy I knew from the past when he had been chief engineer to a well known international yacht charter company. the last time I had seen him was in Cork when he had to repair the binnacle of my boat which had been prised loose by people hanging onto it in heavy seas and I had temporarily lashed it together  with a spare sheet. I had hoped that he may have forgotten. He remembered.

The wind was blowing me onto the pontoon, so no pressure on me about how to leave the pontoon, what with my old examiner sitting tied up one metre behind me. I arranged a bow spring which went off neatly and as I glided safely astern past the examiner's boat the engineer was in the cockpit. He told me the examiner was in the town having a bacon buttie and had missed my cool manouevre. So I could have just pushed off and jumped onboard anyway.

We motored out of Campbeltown-Loch-I-Wish-you-Were-Whisky while singing Campbeltown-Loch-I-Wish-You-Were-Whisky and turned north up Kilbrannan Sound. No wind and a southerly swell. With Saddell Bay off to port we put the engine into neutral for a while to watch the dolphins and porpoises. There were a lot of these around as well as Shearwaters and other birds. Must have been shoals of fish.

At lunchtime I motored into Carradale to have a look at the new visitors buoys. What a tip Carradale looks from the sea. A sort of scrapyard on the sea front. Not attractive or welcoming. After this, the wind picked up and remained variable until we arrived at Tarbert, Loch Fyne, and took up a visitor space on the pontoon.

Tarbert and the new pontoons

What a change since I was last here around 2002! At that time there was a single long pontoon and a number of boats on private moorings. I clearly remember rowing across the harbour to the fish quay. Now, you can practically walk across the harbour on all the new pontoons. There is no doubt that a fine job has been made and as a marina type complex it is very tasteful, however I still felt a pang of nostalgia for the old Tarbert. Still, if change has to come, Tarbert has set an example of how to do it.

We ate ashore and the following morning there was no wind so we had a slow start. We all had showers and climbed up to visit the Robert the Bruce Castle. The midges were as bad as I remembered. Probably the same midges as got into my beard last time I was here a decade or so ago!

Heron at low tide while departing Tarbert

We left at lunchtime in flat calm conditions and motored over to Portavadie as I had never been here since the marina was created and I wanted to have a look. Very swanky, and we were given a tour of the facilities before sitting on the raised terrace having coffee and carrot cake. Very nice, but not really my sort of place. There were a good number of people about, but we were the only ones wearing sailing kit for actually sailing and - weirdly - we were the only people in the entire marina that were actually walking on the pontoons. During our tour, to the slight discomfiture of our guide I think, we were all intensely interested in the large "family bathroom" which can be hired for £10. It was the most interesting thing there and it would be a fine way to while away the time if you and your crew were ever stormbound in Loch Fyne.

Ah well, onwards, motoring southwards in complete calm. Went inside Skate island and had a short detour into Ascog Bay to look for mussels, but the tide had covered them. At 1600 hrs we were at the Ardlamont Buoy and there was a slight southerly wind so we put the sails up (still with 1 reef in). After a while it was clear that nothing was doing so we motorsailed up the West Kyle to pick up a buoy off the hotel at Kames. Bit of a faff really and we eventually picked it up at the stern before walking the slime line up to the bows. A calm evening with gulls squawking around us for a while before even they packed it in and we had a quiet  and peaceful night.

Caladh Harbour in the Kyles of Bute

Final day and no wind at all. Slipped the buoy and drove up and into Caladh Harbour to let the guys see it. There was a heron sitting on the tree looking at us. Then drove through the Kyles (south passage) and down the East Kyle, across Rothesay Bay and round the north of the Cumbrae before landing on the pontoon at the National Sailing Centre. We had a wander ashore and then lunch before motoring over the Largs, filling up at the fuel pontoon and then moving back into our home berth.

The East Kyle looking SE

At the pontoon on Cumbrae

It had been a good cruise of just over 150 nautical miles. It was great being back on the Clyde. But you know what? I found it a little claustrophobic. A fantastic place to sail, but I think I have outgrown it and hadn't realised that until this trip. Great destination for day sailing or a long weekend, but a week is long enough to cover most of it.

A Shag on a buoy

SAILING AROUND MULL AND JURA

It happened in the Outer Hebrides. On the east beach of the Island of Berneray to be precise. Hector, my dug, required capturing and in a moment of complete madness I attempted to rugby tackle him. Afterwards, I remained curled up in a foetal position moaning softly to myself while the dug licked my face and the LHG called me an old fool.

Anyway some 5 days later and despite still being in pain, I was back on the mainland  where I caught the steamer from Oban to Craignure on the Island of Mull so as to join Ian and Laurie who were bobbing on the pontoons at Tobermory. They had just come over from Aros Bay where they had anchored the previous night. We had lunch and set off in the direction of Ardnamurchan with the possibility of sailing over to Muck. However the wind was F4 WNW and we eventually decided to sail for Coll and by 1800 we were anchored safely at Arinagour.

The following day we had a gentle day's sailing past the Treshnish Islands and Staffa, (where Ian did the usual and played Mendelssohn's overture Fingals Cave to the empty sea), before anchoring for the night at Bunessan. The tide was right first thing the following morning for passage through the Sound of Iona, and through we went. Once again, we were spared by the mad ferryman who hates yachts and we lived to tell the tale, so once through the Sound we steered for the north end of Colonsay.

Off the port side I spotted one of those silver helium baloons in the water. You know, the ones that say Happy Birthday or Happy 21st, or some such fatuous greeting. Over the next hour we spotted another three of them. Once they deflate fully I have no doubt that some poor creature will mistake the flashing silver plastic for a meal and it will scoff its last supper. If you must buy these things, try not to let them escape.

We continued on and entered West Loch Tarbert on Jura before coming to anchor in front of Glenbattrick Hunting Lodge. This is where the Prime Minister and his wife have a quiet break from matters of state and when he doesn't go deerstalking. Of course, I had a good swatch through the binoculars, but the lights were off. So I was able to look at the numerous raised beaches instead. A geological paradise!

The following morning we were off down the Sound of Islay and sailed over to Gigha in a F5/6 ENE. The forecast was for worse overnight and for the next day so we anchored in the southerly of the tombolo bays joining Eilean Garbh to the rest of Gigha. I have been anchored in the north beach before but had not been in this one. It was F7, perhaps F8, overnight and we were joined by another yacht at 0530. I guessed they they would have had an uncomfortable night somewhere and had come in for some respite. We tried to sail off the following day, but it was too rough for comfort and the boat was under strain, so we turned back, re-anchored and spent the day and night stormbound.

On our last day, we raised anchor at 0830 and enjoyed a sparkling and swift sail over the 35 miles to Ardfern. The wind was F5/6, E or SE, the sky was blue. All was right with the World!

The pain was unbearable and the Doc said I had broken one, possibly more, ribs. She asked me what painkillers I had been taking. I declined to mention the Talisker, Whyte and McKay, Jura and Highland Park. She prescribed me pills and told me to behave myself in future.

That wee ginger ninja will be the death of me some day.

THE NORFOLK BROADS

I have heard it said that if sailing is mucking about in boats then sailing on the Broads is boating about in muck. A lot of yotties I have come across rather look down their noses at sailing on the Broads. I don't care: its their loss. I absolutely adore sailing on the Broads and believe that  if you can handle sailing there you can sail anywhere. Sailing is sailing and there are so many different experiences of sailing to be had. The Broads is where I first learned to sail well over 40 years ago, and I return there again and again. Me and my wife now have all sorts of qualifications and experience but this was the first sailing experience I passed to my wife and kids, and I was there with her again last week after a fairly long gap of eight years. Hector the dug was dragged along for his third experience there.

I had chartered a  hand built traditional gaff rig boat from the boatbuilder Colin Buttifant whose Swallowtail Boatyard is in Ludham.  He built her in his shed during 2003 and she is 23 feet long with two berths, a galley and heads. A lovely man, and his son Paul is now working full time in the yard alongside his father. It is always interesting to sneak into the shed which smells of fresh wood and varnish and look at the boats under construction.

For those who don't know about them, the Broads is an area in Norfolk of seven interconnected rivers, and around 65 lakes and flooded medieval peat diggings extending to a total of 120 miles of navigable water with an average depth throughout of less than 4 metres. They are mildly tidal and there is an exit to the sea at Great Yarmouth, but the tides are really created by the inability of the rivers to drain out to sea during the tidal flood at Great Yarmouth. So when there has been heavy rain over the land, the tides are higher than usual, but the furthest reaches of the Broads have no significant tidal rise. However small though the tides are, it is always enough for you to factor into your navigation planning.

River Ant

The typical Broads yacht is a wooden gunter or gaff rig sloop around 30 feet long together with a bowsprit. The freeboard is low and the aft cockpit has a metal tiller. The mast is well forward and short and the boom is long - always extending well aft of the transom. The foresail is small and fractionally rigged, usually set by roller reefing. Halyards come to cleats at the base of the mast, and the mainsail has a peak and a throat halyard. There is never any vang and the sheet winches (if there are any) are small and manual with no winch handles. The boat will be well balanced and turn on a sixpence due to the large rudder. The mainsail is large for the length of boat and is reefed down by tying down at the clew and luff cringles followed by tying the reefing points. They are shallow draft with a short keel and wide in the beam  which makes them quite stable. Especially since in gusts the gaff blows to leeward and spills wind from the sail. Although I've never managed to get them to heave-to very well, they are easy to scandalise by hauling up the topping lift or dropping the peak halyard.

 If they don't have an auxiliary engine, (and some prefer not to have an engine), they have a long pole called a quant, which you use to manually punt her along by dropping it in adjacent to the bows and walking aft along the side deck with the end of the pole in the front  hollow of your shoulder. Make sure you twist as you get to the end - otherwise you and the quant go over the stern. I can testify to this only too well!

One thing they all have in common is the need to lower the mast to pass under bridges. This is usually achieved by having the base of the mast in a tabernacle with a metal gate across the base and a counterweight balanced to the weight of the mast. Some boats have an A frame mechanism but most just need strong hands and sweat. Particularly pulling it up again - and it is an awful lot of string to go wrong if you are not well organised.

Hector enjoying the sun in the cockpit

Sailing on the Broads can be facinating as you have such a mixed environment to deal with. Everything from large-ish lakes surrounded by trees or reedbeds to narrow snaking rivers or quite wide rivers lined by reeds. The advantage of the gaff rig soon becomes apparent as you have a lot of sail where the wind is, above the level of the tops of the reeds.

Because the rivers snake around you can find yourself constantly having to change your point of sail, and can be tacking, reaching and running all within ten minutes. Add to that, the various wind shadows from trees, other boats, and even buildings, and you need to learn fast to read the water for the wind. When you are tacking, you can "huffle" as well, which is using your way at the end of a tack to run parallel alongside the bank until the last safe moment before putting the helm over onto the new tack. You often need to help this along by backing the jib momentarily so as to get you round onto the new tack. As you do all this, of course you can have myriads of motorboats  to contend with as well as other yachts on every point of sail all at once. A lot of the motorboats are driven by guys who are holidaymakers with no idea how to handle a boat, never mind the luxury of the colregs. You do need to keep your wits about you and I can promise that you do not get bored. Thankfully the yachts at least are easy and swift to handle. More than once I've driven my boat straight up onto the reed beds to avoid someone else hitting me!

We took the boat over in Ludham in the afternoon, following a five hour drive, and motored out at 1600 hrs. It was just great being on the river Thurne again and passing through and smelling the countryside and the water. We got into Malthouse Broad and moored up stern-to onto a staithe and I dropped the mud-weight over the bows to keep her steady overnight. It was almost new moon and it was very dark and silent overnight which gave us the refreshing sleep we needed. Helped along by a few drams.

Following day we rose and took our time over breakfast. Then we motored off and I took the helm for a while to practice manouevres to get the feel of the boat. I was repeatedly driving the stern of the boat towards the staithe and stopping a few inches away and I soon realised that it was a left-hand prop, which is not what I am used to, so the practice was useful. Then we moved into the middle of the Broad and raised the sails. Paul at the boatyard had put a reef in for us before we arrived and we certainly needed it. Marion had the helm and we sailed around enjoying ourselves for nearly an hour before taking the sails down and motoring off for the River Ant, which flows into the river Bure.

Ludham Bridge is quite near the mouth of the Ant. We tied onto the windward bank to get the mast down and the post I had tied the stern onto came out of the ground leaving a big hole full of water! I dived in the cockpit locker and found one of our Rond Anchors. This is a right angled iron with a spike at one end and a ring at the other. Bowline through the ring and a good kicking administered to the other end got us secured onto the grassy bank and my trousers covered in mud.

I forgot to mention there are no showers on these boats and none at the boatyards. The water tank only holds around 6 gallons. You gradually get dirtier and smellier as time goes by, so mud this early in the trip was not welcome. Sometimes on these trips in the past I've carried more booze than water. (Real hardship!)

We got the mast down and set off again. This makes you slightly more unstable and a lot more difficult to manouevre, what with half the mast sticking out astern and whoever is on the helm standing among sheaves of string with poor visibility. Marion took the helm and it was with some relief that we could see no traffic coming at us under the bridge (it can only fit one craft at a time) and we shot through and then after much sweat and cursing I got the mast up again.

We then had a delightful motor up the narrow twisty Ant and came into Barton Broad. A great favourite with us. We remembered that years ago we were the only yacht sailing here during the solar eclipse when all the world went dark and the birds stopped singing. Anyway we sailed up and down and around the Broad for a couple of hours, before dropping sails and motoring to the SW corner to Gayes Staithe. We used to come here for the Barton Angler pub, but its now a house alas. So we moored alongside another yacht and after a lovely walk down the lane into Neatishead village, we prepared dinner and had a few drams again before settling down for the night.

At Potter Heigham

I was in no hurry the following morning and walked back into the village for the Times. All the other boats had departed except one motorcruiser. Remaining tied up, I hoisted the mainsail and put in the second reef. We got talking to the guys in the motorcruiser. They were a 50 year old couple from Essex and had been singing and jive-dancing in their huge saloon the previous evening. I had been watching this with great interest when I was walking the dog, and asked them about it. But she took this as her cue to commence singing unaccompanied hymns to me, so as they say, I made my excuses, and left.

Conditions in the broad were great with blue skies, sunshine and a good F6 blowing. So we sailed all over the broad for a few hours before going up behind the island known as the Heater and tied up alongside Paddy's Mile. A walk around the Barton Turf boatyard and village before returning, eating and getting into our berths.

Next day we were up and on the Broad again before 8 o'clock and had the place to ourselves, eventually being joined by a 30 foot Hunter's Yacht (these are all at least 50 years old, built from mahogany and have no engines). We had fun for a while and then set off back down the Ant, mast down, through Ludham Bridge, mast up and motored on until we reached Potter Heigham.

This is another bridge and its a rite of passage for everyone going to the Broads. It's a mediaeval stone arched bridge which is narrow (meant for horses) and can only take road traffic one way. The arch is actually half a circle and its not square on to the river. The river clearance is about 6.5 feet wide and 6.5 feet high, the tide pours through it, visibility is poor, the wind scythes sideways across the arch, and it terrifies me. I got the mast down and, as always at this bridge, Marion took the helm. I'm convinced she finds this bridge straightforward because she can park Volvo Estates. What an advert for them! The wall underneath the bridge is deeply scored and boats passing through this bridge draw tourists from miles around. Marion took the boat through in her usual matter of fact way, and I got the mast up and the boat underway again.

We were now in wild territory. No big motor boats get here. Flat horizon. Big skies, reeds and water and birds as far as you can see. Sound of the reeds whispering and the wind sighing. On we went and tried to tie up a few times, but were unhappy about the fetch and the slop knocking the hull giving an uncomfortable motion. I tried various methods of putting out springs with the lines I had brought with me, but it was no use and we decided to go up to Hickling for the night. A yacht which preceded us was unfamiliar with the approach and ran aground, giving us some amusement. Eventually we tied up in the dyke belonging to the pub and fell sound asleep after the usual medicine.

Hickling Broad from the Dyke

We woke to wind around F7 speed and on the nose with a cold overcast sort of day. After endless faffing and a walk to the village we decided that there was a very strong end of season feel around the place and decided to go back to Barton Broad. Although we could sail it, tacking a triple reefed small boat for miles did not appeal to our sense of comfort and we motored into the wind with our little engine until we got back to Potter Heigham and through the bridge eventually stopping for the night back in Ludham Dyke.

Next morning we motored back up to Barton and enjoyed the sailing there. Gayes Staithe was busy and the only place I could tie alongside was occupied by three anglers sitting on portable seats surrounded by heaps of gear. I had actually sailed in and floated about twenty feet away from them asking them if they would mind moving along please? The one with the sunglasses spat in the water and jerked his arm at the other vacant place while mumbling in some hideous northern accent. I explained I could not go there because of the trees and my mast. You never see the faces of anglers from the bank but when you are on a boat you see them from the front and realise how unhappy they all look. The fat ugly one with the stained clothes (actually all three were fat and ugly and had stained clothes), cast his line again and sat staring at the float. I could hear my watch ticking.

I turned about and motored along the narrow tree lined dyke until I reached Neatishead Staithe, tied up and went to the pub where we made friends with two local women and three Essex builders. We all had a great night sitting round the fire and drinking far too much beer.

Whispering Reeds

The following day was our last full day and we motored off down the Ant again. I had good fun passing very close to all the anglers I saw and obliged them to pull their lines in with much cursing and complaining. It's my new hobby and I look forward to many more years of similar pleasure. After a brief stopover at Ranworth, I sailed off over the Broad and down the dyke turning eastwards at the bottom. The wind was sufficient to have two reefs in, yet sometimes I was completely becalmed and other times we were up on our beam ends. An exhilarating and enjoyable sail in strong gusting conditions. We turned north at Thurne mouth and sailed back up to Ludham dyke before turning into wind behind the shelter of some poplar trees and took the sails down. After a brief recce into Womack Water (which had no berthing spaces left) we returned to the river just outside the boatyard and tidied the boat up before having a last night boat stew involving cubes of tinned spam. Still, finishing all the wine and whisky left on board was some compensation.

HEAVY WEATHER SAILING

I'd been waiting for sometime now for a bad weather forecast so that I could undertake some training in heavy weather sailing. Then out of the blue I received an email: Force 7 forecast off Arran this weekend - you up for it? You bet I was!

We spent sometime in Ardrossan marina putting up the foresail pole and leaving it out to starboard before eventually setting out running towards Arran under an easterly F6 sailing with just the foresail out to port. Then we had a discussion about how to use just the jib to bring the boat into wind to raise the mainsail. We tried heaving to under the jib. This can work for some boats but not ours. Need a longer keel I think. Then we put the mainsheet traveller well down to leeward and carefully came round to beat with the jib alone. Obviously you can't sail forward of the beam unless you have two sails, but it was enough for long enough to get the boat into wind. Then we hoisted the double reefed mainsail quickly. It worked as expected, so we turned back towards Arran running on starboard tack with the foresail now poled out to starboard. So we rolled our way onwards looking for more wind.

We approached the NE of Arran and when we could see the whites of the sheeps eyes we turned N. We had the wind now all right. We messed around doing stuff in 30 - 35 knots of wind, as you do, then when we got bored of having fun with that we beam reached up to the sound between Inchmarnock and Bute. We took the pole down now and entered the West Kyle.

We now started to practice heaving-to. We played with the size of the foresail to see the effects, but it was pretty reefed down by now anyway. You can gybe out of being hove-to or you can tack out. The wind was now 44 knots true and gybing was dangerous so we practiced heaving-to and tacking out perhaps half a dozen times. Everytime we found she settled best at 60 degrees to the wind.

When we decided it was now time to seek shelter, the foresail became jammed. Sod's law. There was very little furling line left. I think that given the wind we had been reefing the sail too tightly and that had been the cause of the problem. What to do? We could drop it but first of all we tried some hare-brained scheme of taming and tying the sail around the forestay. It actually worked perfectly well and until we could sort it out properly we hoisted the storm jib with the spinnaker halyard and tied off the tack with tape, running the sheets aft. Not sure we got the length of the tape short enough, but we could sail the short distance we had remaining.

So we rattled up the Kyle at a great pace. It was getting silly now and the wind was F9. There were no other boats around. In fact there was no sign of any other life around. We approached Caladh Harbour as it was starting to get dark. In we went - never seen it empty of boats before -  and wanted to practice laying two anchors in a fork. We only had two small anchors. The main anchor was still lying in some welder's yard. He had promised to fix it and get it to us that morning, but as is the way all over the world, sailors are always being let down by these guys.

There is three ways of laying a fork. The first involved the dinghy. It was no weather for dinghies. The second method involved buggering around with a long warp in the dark with the possibility of getting it round the prop. So bugger that. We would use the third way.

We put a tripping line on the anchor and laid it, pulling back at high revs. It dragged. There was no electric windlass So I pulled up the chain by hand nearly giving myself a heart attack. We laid it and the tripping line for the second time. It held. Then I untied the bitter end of the warp, tied a fender to it, and threw the whole lot overboard. Great fun this!

So now we pulled out the Danforth and fixed a chain and warp to it. We moved forward until the tripping buoy was on the beam of our bow and we dropped anchor number two along with another tripping line. Pulled back and yes, even though it was hard to see transits by now, it was clearly dragging. Forward again and pulled the bugger up. Laid it again and it dragged again. The idea was that if it had held we would have picked up anchor no 1 with the fender and put both warps through the bow fairleads. There would have been a period of fiddling and adjusting until we got the balance right. But it was not to be. Had enough. So both anchors and tripping lines were recovered with much cursing and we set off for the Kyle under engine alone. It was now as black as the Earl of Hell's waistcoat and the wind was absolutely screaming a full force 9. We identified the lights of the main passage and drove the boat through. We went to look for a buoy at Colintrive belonging to a mate of one of us. Shining torches everywhere. What an entertaining spectacle we must have made. Couldn't find it, but the swell was horrible so we abandoned the idea anyway.

We drove down the East Kyle towards Rothesay. Me helming the boat which was bucking around all over the shop, especially passing Loch Striven. The wind was now 50 knots true, and we turned for lights of the town. (In fact the highest gust we recorded was 54.1 knots). We got into the inner harbour at 2100 hrs and were tying up onto the pontoon when the Harbourmaster approached me and in a weary tone he sighed and declared "Therrs always wan!" He went on to say "Are ye's mad? Whit are ye's daen oot in a wee yacht (33 feet) in weather like this?" I left him talking to the others because  basically I ran away -  to the Black Bull for a wee libation or two.

The following morning, the wind was around 40 knots and it was absolutely freezing at -4 degrees centigrade ambient and the hills were covered in snow. God knows what the wind chill was, but I can tell you that you needed gloves. The Sunday papers had not yet arrived on the ferry so we worked on the boat while we had the shelter of the harbour. We took the furling jib down and flaked it away before bending on the storm jib and furling it away ready for use. A bit bright orange for my taste it was. I had never put on a trisail before so this was all learning for me. We took out the mainsail slides and piggybacked the trisail over the furled main on the boom. Hoisted it to check it then tied it away.

Now we had to get off the pontoon the wind was holding us against. We tried a stern spring. No joy. Thought of warping forward along the pontoon and trying a bow spring so that we could go astern down the aisle. Before that, we thought it might be less work to warp the bow through the wind. I took a line over and sweated it on a cleat from a pontoon finger. All I succeeded in doing was exacerbating my tennis elbow. Someone suggested a longer line and a further away pontoon finger to give a better angle. I took another line to extend the first one but could not remember how to tie a sheet bend and was getting myself worked up and had skinned my knuckles. Eventually I tied the lines together with two bowlines, pulled the bow of the boat through the wind, as it passed, the line was dumped off the boat, I recovered it fast and ran along to the hammerhead to heave it to the approaching boat.

So dear reader, we eventually got away after a great deal of faffing. Then we beat around to the east in a F7  and in driving snow and poor visibility! Christ it was cold, and then the hail started! We had intended to practice deploying a sea anchor, recovering it, and then deploying a drogue off the stern. That all meant getting wet and cold so we binned that idea and sailed under the orange storm sails down to the Cumbrae Gap, beat through it, and turned south for Ardrossan. Just as we were approaching, the wind had one last blast at 44 knots true and our oilies went white with the driving snow.

I am begining to understand the attractions of sailing in Turkey.

STORMBOUND!

Stormbound. Funny expression. It suggests that you are going there. You know, saying I'm Caribbean bound or I'm Baltic bound. But - as we all know, stormbound really means confined, detained, isolated, cut-off. Vom Sturm aufgehalten. Now, I've been stormbound a fair few times in diverse places from Croatia to Iceland and I know that there is a big difference between hiding from storm conditions as a matter of survival and hiding merely from wind and rain because its uncomfortable.

Last week I was sailing in Lochaber with Marion, and Tim made up the third member of the charter. We had taken a boat from Ballachulish and we tacked down Loch Linnhe on a blustery day before finishing at Oban. The forecast was not for great weather, so I delayed the following morning to see how things developed and we went for a walk on Kerrera instead. By mid-afternoon things looked better so I headed over to the sound of Mull and onto the new pontoons at Loch Aline. A very sheltered and sleepy location, sitting there in the late afternoon sunshine with a can of Guinness.

There were about six boats in all and we all got talking to each other, as you do, managing to pump each other up about the dire forecast for the following day. Morning dawned with an ominous howling and swooping noise in the rigging. We gazed out to the Sound and could see rows of white horses surging southwards. One boat slipped his lines and we watched him raise reefed sails and go out of the Loch. We could see him as he came out of the shelter of the land and bang, the wind hit him! He was well heeled and bouncing around like anything. He was followed out by a training boat which had been at anchor. The same thing happened to him: toe rail under water and smashing up and down with spray flying back to drench the crew and the helm. He would have hours and hours of this to look forward to before reaching Tobermory.

Not us though. The rest of us boats sat drinking our coffee in the morning sunshine and came up with various arguments to convince ourselves that we were stormbound. Together with the skipper and crew of another boat we sauntered into the village and round to the old jetty where we could look directly NW up the sound. It was blowing strongly in our faces. Certainly a Force 7 and perhaps a Force 8. Dark blue sea, peppered with white horses. Dark scudding clouds. Not warm.

Back at the pontoons it was sunny and sheltered and it was difficult to think of ourselves as stormbound. We were sheltered because we had quite rightly chosen a sheltered place to be. We were under no compulsion to move so we stayed put to avoid the discomfort and, yes, of course there would have been an element of risk to the gear and the crew to sail out and tack into that wind. You don't set out into a gale!

The following day the wind had abated and we had a sparkling sail in a F4/5 up to Tobermory and onto the pontoons there. A couple of the boats from Loch Aline had got there before us but once again the forecast for tomorrow was dire.

The following morning broke to persistent rain, poor visibility and strong winds in the Sound. I stood around in the saloon, racked by indecision, looking out of steamed up windows, and going over options endlessly and coming up with the same conclusions. "There passed a weary time". Every weather forecast on the radio was eagerly anticipated, carefully noted down and caused a new round of discussions. The rain beat down persistently and even nipping up to the Co-op for a newspaper meant a soaking and the problem of how to manage wet gear being brought back into the boat.

BOREDOM!

Eventually, in the  gloom of the afternoon I gave into the inevitable and said that we were staying put. There was distinct relief that the decision had been finally made. The poor visibility, strong winds and persistent rain continued. By 2100 hrs we went to the pub with one of the other crews and we returned by 2300 hrs and got into our bunks to listen to the rain lashing the boat and the fenders groaning and squeaking.

There were a lot of boats that had ended up here stormbound, but we were the first away in the early morning. A lovely quiet still soft morning. We motored down the Sound and put sails up at the SE end before enjoying a long gentle sail back to Loch Leven. The tide was just right for the bridge as I arrived and we swept under it and through before motoring into our berth two miles further east.

SICILY TO SPAIN ON A CATAMARAN

So.  It was early in May and the Kangaroo asked me if I was up for sailing a catamaran on a delivery from Sicily to the Solent. I told him that I could only take a maximum of three weeks leave from work. He said that was OK and he would drop me off somewhere along the way. Gibraltar he said, or Lisbon maybe. The other crew member would be a guy called Tam the Cat who was apparently a great expert on sailing these things. So the Kangaroo assured me that we'd all be fine. The whole proposal sounded a bit dodgy and there were many unanswered questions so naturally I said I was up for it. Only then did he tell me that the boat was only thirty feet long and although it had no engine it did have an outboard..................

TRAVELLING TO THE BOAT

I met the guys at Manchester Airport and then we had an interesting series of debates with the airport staff which started "Is that a gas bottle in your luggage Sir?" and finished with my jar of Wensleydale Rhubarb and Ginger Jam being confiscated by a clinically obese and depressed looking man who wouldn't accept it from me as a present but insisted that it would be taken away and crushed. It was then revealed that Tam the Cat had a worryingly large stock of analgesics in his hand luggage and the airport staff wanted to know why he was carrying this much. They wanted to know why? - I wanted to know why! The Kangaroo gazed intently into the middle distance and said nothing.

Nonetheless, the flight went smoothly and I sat beside Tam and we talked. Well, mainly Tam talked. About multihulls and apparent wind, and screechers and barber haulers and drifters and some more about apparent wind and then some more about apparent wind angles. I ended up quite dazed by all this and I wondered about asking him for an analgesic. Maybe he carries them because he finds there is a demand?

It was beautifully clear coming down from the Alps. I could see the Gulf of Genova, Elba, Capri. As we moved into evening everything blurred into a rose and grey haze. The sea was flat with ships crawling on it leaving snail trails behind them. Suddenly we were banking and coming over the Island of Ustica. It was getting dark quickly now and we landed on Sicily in the last of the glowing dusk on a narrow piece of land between rocky mountains and the sea.

When we stopped, a great cheer and clapping of hands erupted from the passengers. The pilot responded by playing bugle calls over his tannoy. They all seemed so happy and delighted to have arrived that |I wondered if they had not expected to land properly.

Heat and humidity hit us immediately. The Kangaroo negotiated a taxi and we were soon speeding down the Autostrada. Despite the dark, the driver was wearing mirrored shades, and kept muttering and making hand gestures at other drivers as he slewed around the dirty closed-up urban sprawl of Palermo. Scary. Rubbish was abundant everywhere and there was a sinister lack of people.

We pulled up at a steel lifting barrier stretching across the rough concrete slope going down into the Marina Villa Igea. We dropped out bags among the scrubby weeds beside the road. The Kangaroo paid the taxi driver. A sullen and stupid looking night watchman was demanding to know our business. The Kangaroo fancied that he could speak italian because of his experience ordering in the Leeds branch of  La Strada. We were getting nowhere so I interrupted Luigi in clear loud English and when I mentioned the name of the boat the watchman became very animated indeeed because it appeared that a considerable heap of spondooliks was owed in berthing fees. We made it plain that we were not sailing that night and the owner would be here tomorrow to foot the bill. Thus aussaged, he waved his arms to tell us where the boat was and scuttled off to telephone his mafia superiors.

She was lying bow-to in a canyon formed by an enormous catamaran on one side and a huge monohull on the other. first impressions were tht whe was quite sleek looking and not as old and knackered as I had dreaded.

The Kangaroo as skipper and Tam the Cat as mate exercised their prerogatives as my Masters Under God and claimed the only two bunks. As I was Rodger the Cabin Boy I knew my place and lowered the saloon table before spreading my sleeping bag on top. Both companionways and all hatches were left open due to the suffocating heat. Even so, it was late, it had been a long day and I was out like a light.




CLEANING AND REPAIRING

Wonderful morning; already hot with promise of a scorcher to come. We had coffee and set to work sorting out the boat and checking the inventory. We put up sails and took them down, climbed up the mast and down it again, fetched, carried and laboured away until we could not see for sweat in our eyes.

The owner appeared at noon and immediately the marina manager popped up from nowhere. These two had a wee altercation which finished by the extortion of  1000 Euros from the owner. Or else..........

I reconnoitred the facilities in this expensive marina. The showers were unbelievable. Filthy and loathsome beyond imagining. You breathed through a handkerchief just looking. And then the toilets. No doors, streaked with shit and alive with flies. Missing bricks, plaster and stagnant puddles. In the blinding sun outside, a feral pack of mongrel dogs were running around the anaemic vegatation and dirt, barking at everything for no reason at all. At the foot of the crane girders, and old woman was fishing and a stray cat was sitting behind her waiting on the result. In a patch of shade I sat on the ground to watch the kids diving into the marina and swimming among the boats. Dark bodies shining with water and leaving wet footprints along the pontoons.

My experience of Italian marinas is that they contain a large number of shining polished boats which are owned by seriously wealthy people and crewed by full time flunkies. You know - 60 foot stinkpots, mirrored windows, white leather furniture, carpets, showers (plural) and freshwater flushing toilets. So no marina facilities for someone who understands sailing as a mooring up the Gareloch with the smell of the seaweed and the cawing of the gulls.  

Its an Italian racket. One day it will all fall down.

MORE PREPARATIONS FOR SEA - DAY TWO

Up early and put on the same clothes I had worn since I left Manchester and got to work before it got too hot. Tam and me hauled the Kangaroo up the mast to replace the navigation lights and fit a radar reflector. Then me and Tam hired a car and went to vittle the boat. There seems to be no rules for driving in Palermo other than to shout at everyone else in the hot mad traffic . We found a large hypermarket called Auchan situated on the edge of the city and bought everything we needed.

The boat continued to have serious faults and some items which needed to be updated. at 30 feet it is on the small side for a 2500 mile passgae and the accommodation is limited. The sails were heavily damaged by UV and the engine is only a small outboard with limited spare petrol capacity. The weather forecasts were poor and with these issues in the background it was easy to justify any delay in setting off. However, we also needed to get away from this run down marina with the insufferable heat, dust and general squalor. The Kangaroo puts on his Conrad expression and says in his comical accent that  its not the sea that destroys men but its ships and harbours that rots them.

The owner put off onto the pontoon and headed away for his flight home. We were all tired and slightly disillusioned about the boat and the weather. We needed to get going.

The marina manager was passing in his car and he called me over. He made a lot of threatening noises. The 100 Euro fee for tonight has not been paid. I told him we were not staying overnight but were going as soon as it got dark. He roared off making aggressive gestures. His flunkey arrived and shouted at us. We ignored him. I slept badly. The packs of wild dogs which live on the marina waste ground were barking and the guys on a South African boat were having a loud booze session. Everything stagnating in heat and dust.

FIRST DAY AT SEA

We rose at 0445, swiftly converted the warps into slips and dropped the slime line. Gone by 0600 leaving nothing but a 100 euro space on the pontoon. We motored over to the next marina in the Golfo Di Palermo to check it out as this was to be our bad weather bolthole. We had pretty much burned our bridges at Villa Igea.

I came on watch at 0800 just after we had put up the main. We fired up Eric the tiller pilot and set him onto 287 true while we washed the dust off the boat. There were dolphins off Capo Gallo and we had to negotiate the tuna nets extending far out to sea. The mountains of Baia di Carini some ten miles away were hazy blue and hurt the eyes.

By 1600 there was a long flat gelatinous swell and a threatening dark haze to the north. We watched tuna boats laying out long lines of buoys, regularly rolling off the stern like depth charges in some old movie. In the distance I could see the Egadi Islands dropping away. Off Capo Vito we were joined by a pod of six dolphins. The Kangaroo and me lay on the trampoline to watch them racing away below us and between the bows. They went as the sun went down and whe I looked astern there was just one left leaping in valediction and suddenly he went and the dark came down.

This was our first night and we still had no real idea of the boat or of moving around her in the dark, so rather  than power her up we had put a reef into the main as a first night security measure on our solo watches. Being on watch alone on a catamaran really freaked me out. I had no experience of them and was anxious about stability and the need to understand the amount of sail carried in a more precise and critical way than you need on a monohull. I was full of preconception and misinformation and expected the thing to flip up at any moment and invert itself. After all it was just as stable either way. I had asked about the hatches on the cabin floors and Tam had explained that they were escape hatches and advised me to carry my knife at all times. Thanks Tam, I felt better for that.

The boat became wet with condensation and we motorsailed on into the black night. there was no moon, but Venus and the stars were loud and clear. There was some traffic and I kept a careful eye on it, until the Kangaroo came up at midnight and refilled the outboard tank by siphoning petrol from a gerry can. Since he did this by sucking on a rubber tube he took several mouthfuls of petrol. Given his constant habit of smoking roll ups I was a little concerned by this. Despite these ruminations, I slept like a log until 0630.

SECOND DAY AT SEA

On watch 0800 until 1200. We have 17 knots of apparent wind at 10 degrees off the starboard bow. Deep blue sea all around under a deep blue sky. We are now 100 miles from the nearest land.

Put the screecher up but the wind always seems to head us, so we took it down again and continued under main and outboard. We are making much slower progress than we anticipated and we are at that interesting point where there is not enough fuel to reach Sardinia or to get back to Sicily. So basically we are stuffed and need to do some sailing however slow and frustrating. It is very hot, we are off the shipping lanes and there is an edge to our mood as a result of the slow progress.

Suddenly a bird landed on the edge of the cockpit. It looked tired and disinterested. We tried to give it crumbs and water but it would not take them, instead moving to grip onto the wooden slats of the cockpit seat. Perhaps it derived some comfort from feeling wood under its claws. The bird - a turtle dove I think -  went just as quickly as it came. I wished it well and hoped it got to land and survived the Italian 'hunting' massacre.

The seas got bigger and we were going down into the holes and seas were coming over the bows. The sun is falling down in a clear sky as we steer for Cape Carbonara. The boat is banging, creaking and groaning and the engine is surging as the waves pass up and below it. Venus rose soft and high in the west and the Milky Way dominated the sky as I stood on watch in the condensation and damp of the cockpit. I stared until I started to confuse sea and sky in the misty blur of the darkness. I began to see the loom of a lighthouse and woke the Kangaroo as he had slept in for his own watch. We stood and spoke together quietly until 0130 before I went down to sleep.

CAGLIARI - SARDINIA

I came up into the warm sunshine. Dolphins were leaping off to port and Cagliari was dead ahead. We had been at sea now for over 50 hours and I was keen to get a shower and a beer. We came round the breakwater and tied up onto the pontoon of the marina just after 0900 hrs. Cagliari rose above us, clustered on its hill and I was excited to explore. DH Lawrence had been here and described it as strange and rather wonderful - not a bit like Italy.

The Kangaroo had gone off to an internet cafe and returned with a weather forecast. It wasn't good so he decided to stay here until tomorrow, and let the Mistrali blow over. The other two had been up most of the night so wanted to catch up on sleep. I had a shower and went off to look at Cagliari. It's a warren of silent hot alleyways, built on a hillside and at the top of the hill there are open spaces with palm trees and people sitting underneath eating ice cream, drinking coffee, and beer in long stemmed glasses. Very little road traffic and the sounds of quiet conversation and birds singing are what I remember.

Back in the marina there were a lot of live-aboards swept here from the various corners of Europe, but mostly English. Their boats were covered in all sorts of junk and paraphanalia. I get the sense that many of them have not been to sea in a long time and were a bit hard up. They were meeting up in the afternoon for a beer in a building we christened the Pagoda and I met my first ever Rasta sailor, complete with dreadlocks. He lived with a spaced out Essex Girl on a cement boat which was up on the hard. The Kangaroo was basking in  being called Il Capitano, whereas me and Tam were termed merely "I due yotii" Just as evening fell, flights of flamingoes came in low overhead. There are lots of them living here and many mosquitoes in the surrounding marshes.

STORMBOUND - MONDAY

The weather forecast was still for a mistral and we were certainly feeling a stiff breeze in the shelter of the marina. We spent our day wandering around the town in boredom and getting pissed in the Pagoda.

STILL STORMBOUND - TUESDAY

Forecast was still poor. I was forming the impression that the local wind may be topographical and coming through the gap in the hills giving the impression of stronger winds than there really was. I wondered if we moved out and round the SW tip of Sardinia if it may not be as bad as we thought? Tam and me caught a bus and went on a bit of a mental trip to a place called Pula away round the Bay.,The bus was full of local colour and we passed many of the salt marshes (each called a "Stagno") which were full of flamingoes. Quite exotic. We visited the site of an ancient Phoenecian town and returned to the boat in the evening. I told the Kangaroo that I was bored and had been thinking of catching a flight home so he agreed to visit the internet cafe tomorrow and get a detailed forecast. Crew were about to jump ship!

MORE DELAY - WEDNESDAY

We got up and went to the cafe and had breakfast and although the forecast was still poor we thought we would give it a go in the morning. Stange how sometimes there is this reluctance to leave. To put it off at all costs. Hence the sad live-aboards stuck here. Just like it was in Palermo, we need to go. Now!

ANCHORED IN PULA

We slipped the lines at 0600 and sailed south in increasingly boisterous conditions.We were clsoing Cape Spartivento and were getting knocked about a bit and it was getting wet. The true wind was up to 35 knots and a fishing vessel running in from the open sea closed with us. Their guestures to us did not need an understanding of Italian. We took in another reef and with careful timing in the waves, gingerly turned the boat and ran back the way we had come. Two days ago me and Tam had done a recce of the bay at Pula and we decided to go there for anchorage. I lay face down on the trampoline to pilot us over the rocks in the sand and the Kangaroo helmed us in to anchor in 3 metres.

We had a long slow moody afternoon as we had now tried for 40 miles and failed to get around the headland. We would try again tomorrow. If this failed, we would return to Cagliari and fly home. Smoke rose from bonfires ashore and we caught the melancholy smell of woodsmoke.

CARLOFORTE - SARDINIA

All seemed calm at 0600 so we raised the anchor and were off. Although there was a big swell from yesterday, the sailing was sparkling. By 0830 we were off Cape Spartivento, and went on to pass Cape Teuleda which was big, barren and reminded me of Gibraltar. As we crossed the Golfo di Palmas we were heading into 17 knots apparent and wondered where was the forecast NW 7.

The Isola del Toro appeared away to port like an Italian version of Ailsa Craig and I had a sudden spurt of homesickness for my own sailing waters in Scotland. At the same time, the Isola la Vacca was on the starboard. We were fairly close to this island and could clearly see the spray splashing up on the cliff face and the way in which the prevailing weather had undercut the cliff leaving the other side of the island as a rounded lump.

We thought we would run up to Carloforte and check out the weather and top up the petrol cans. So we turned north round Capo Sperone and up past the Isola di Sant'Antocio. This all reminded me very much of Scotland with green hills sweeping down to the sea. Then in mid-afternoon we arrived at the island of San Pietro and turned into the harbour of Carloforte before tying up at a spare pontoon making the anglers move with much evil looks and muttering. It had been a good 54 mile sail since Pula.

Carloforte is a lovely calm town which is extended along the stone harbour frontage. The houses and shops stand behind the road which runs the length of the seafront add between sea and the road the promenade of palm trees and quaint street lights. Road traffic is minimal and pedestrians stroll everywhere. Cafes, restauruants and bars under canvas awnings are ubiquitous. There is the pleasant sound of quiet conversation and laughter and the smell of coffee, cigars and beer.  Small ferries come and go with their bow ramps clanking and banging as the unload their few cars and passengers. There are some pontoons with crews sitting in the cockpits of their bobbing yachts, cooling themselves in the evening breeze.

It was hot hot hot and the Kangeroo and me wandered along the seafront with an empty 20 litre Jerrycan. The town was busy and preparing for their annual Tuna Festival that evening. We found a filling station pump and filled the Jerrycan. I found a supermarket and got some provisions then we tried the harbourmaster's office for a forecast. They wanted us to return later as they were clearly absorbed in preparing to be important at the festival and were strutting around with their full dress uniforms with white topped caps and the mandatory mirrored shades. We returned to the boat, taking turns at carrying the full jerrycan and as I had felt so filthy, sweaty, sunburnt and ragged when I was in town I had a wash and change.

Then we wandered out to join the festival. First though, we got the weather forecast and although it was not particularly good, we thought the worst of it would be well to the north of our intended track so we decided to go now. Of couirse we were reluctant to leave because the festival was just taking off with Brazilian lady dancers and other delights. This was all very civilized and wholesome with hundreds of people wandering around. No drunken antics: just laughter and simple wholesome things. We bought some little home made cakes and sat down at a cafe table.We each had a cold Stella Artois and enjoyed the passing carnival before returning slowly to the boat and casting off quietly just after 2100.

SAILING WEST

I rose at 0600 after a poor sleep and went into the sunny morning in the cockpit to join Tam who was midway thorugh his watch. We were using a large scale chart of the Western Med and our plots showed a frustratingly small snail trail. The course was simple: follow the 39th parallel of latitude. No wind. Motoring across the abyssal plain in baking heat and long swell. The chart says the depth is 2800 metres. We set up and tried the Screecher several times as there is not enough fuel to motor the entire passage. Find us wind!

SUNDAY - WIND BUILDING

Watched the sun coming up at 0600. The seas were building and we were now in a fully developed F6. Eric the autohelm was groaning as we put three reefs in the main, eventually dumping it altogether at 1215. Flying along under jib alone under a blue sky and white streaked water. Good sailing this.

Just after I came on watch the seas became bigger and we were surfing at 12 knots. The Kangaroo was trying to slow the boat down and we eventually reduced sail and all we had up was the headsail with three reefs in it and we were still making 8 knots! Before nightfall, we prepared a couple of long warps to go over the stern if we needed them. It grew very dark and we were taking the odd wave in the cockpit.

There were now flashes of lightning to the south and all of a sudden within three minutes the fully developed F7 sea just abated. The wind completely disappeared and we were left bobbing around. The wind then boxed the compass and we were bemused and did not know what to do. The lightning and thunder grew nearer and we put our handheld radio, mobile phones and GPS into the oven, as a Faraday Cage in case we were struck. Big flashes zzzzzzinged and ripped left to right across the sky. I started the engine due to the lack of wind and although I came off my solo watch at midnight, I stayed talking to the Kangaroo until 0130 then sacked it.

HEAVY WEATHER - ALICANTE, SPAIN

When I went up at 0600 and saw that Tam and the boat were covered in wet red sand which had dumped on us during the night and had only become obvious with the light. It must have come from Africa some two hundred miles to the south of us. We filled the day in a variety of sailing tasks.

In the evening I went on watch. I had an anxious time trying to interpret the non-standard flashing lights on a fishing vessel and avoiding it. The wind increased and backed. I put out the foresail.. The wind increased some more and continued to back. We were now reaching in 20 knots true and I called The Kangaroo up to help me put a reef in. The wind increased and we took the main down. I went below to sleep at midnight but I was being bounced around and sleep was completely out of the question. Tam got up and then I got up. The wind was building into something and we all got our oilies and boots on. We filled the lower hatches into the companionways and got our lifelines sorted.

The only sail we had up was a scrap of foresail and the whole of the furled sail and forestay was rattling and shaking in a rhythm which was causing the entire boat to shake. A bit concerning. The waves were now as large as open Atlantic rollers according to the Kangaroo. The wind was now 40 knots and gusting higher. The depth was shelving from 2500 metres to 1000 metres: hence the seas. It was as black as hell and we were all three of us tethered on in the cockpit.

We were now bertween north and south TZ zones and we could see the lights of a continuous chain of ships going north. I was looking though the bins and Tam was sighting with the hand bearing compass. As we timed our crossing of the line some of the ships broke off and came behind us. One of them passed so close to us that I was able to dive below and plot a plot on the chart by using the ships lights as illumination. Not good. Too close.

The weather became even worse and the seas were massive. At around 0430 we approached the line of ships going south. We passed through with no problems, but the last of these ships was a passenger ship which took definite action to come round our stern. As we continued to watch warily it suddenly changed course and headed directly for us. We could see green and red lights at once! Tam had the tiller and turned us 90 degrees and we flashed our lights up and down the jib until he turned away and we could only see his port light. We were quite stressed by this incident and it had been quite scary.

The seas moderated a little as we came under the lee of the cape to the north and  dawn broke which made us all feel better. I made us all hot chocolate which was a great boost to the morale of three very tired blokes. Alicante came into view from about 12 miles offshore and we approached it gradually spotting where the marina was and we closed the land after this 440 mile passage from Carloforte.

The marina itself was one of these horrible places with huge stinkpots and poseurs with mirrored shades and straight mouths, busily polishing thier boats. There was a large number of toytown architecture shops, restaurants and other businesses whose aim is to extract money from you as efficiently as possible, while looking down their noses at you .

The thing was that it was a beautiful calm morning and people were staring at us wondering at the soaking wet state of us. We hung our oilie jackets over the boom to dry. The other two went below to sleep and I sat in the cockpit where in the heat of the marina, sleep overcame me sitting upright while still wearing my oilskin trousers and boots. I had been up now for 28 hours and was now dead to the world.

The following morning I said farewell to the Kangeroo and Tam and flew back to Newcastle where my wife collected me and drove me home. The other two took the boat down towards Gibraltar and then left the boat due to various equipment failures. I heard later that the boat was finally brought back to the south coast of England, but later on had an explosion and burnt down to the water line. A shame. It was a good sea boat. she looked after me and I was sorry to hear that. Even the Kangaroo was subdued after this trip. Bit of an adventure!

CAN YOU TIE A BOW? - AS WELL AS YOU CAN!

The fastest bloke I ever knew to tie a bowline was a fermer's loon I first met when we climbed Stuc a Chroin together one wet December afternoon. Chalky White, for such was his name, would fold his leg back so that the calf touched the back of his thigh, throw a line around the limb thus doubled, flick his wrist and a perfectly formed bowline would slide off his knee in three seconds flat. Every time. The only problem was that every bowline was the same size. It met his needs perfectly (this was something abtruse to do with baling hay) but it was no use at all for climbing or sailing. Believe me, you don't want to tie your doubled up leg to the clew of a foresail in a rising gale.

So he could do it with binder twine, but away from his farm it was completely useless.

In North Wales there is a type of traditional sailing craft with the rather unfortunate name of a Nobby. I once sailed out of Conwy on one of these Nobbies, and the owner of the boat was bemused at the slow and meticulous way I tied my knots. He too had a fast method of making a bowline with some rapid flicks of his wrist, but at least he did not need the assistance of his right leg. He showed me how to do this but I've long since forgotten and have reverted to incantations of up the rabbit hole, round the tree and back down the hole again. He did show me a fast way of making a figure of eight knot and this is still how I do it now.

There seems to be a never ending line of people prepared to scoff at the time I take to tie knots and they are always keen to show me a more rapid method. Not that I'm any slouch at this you understand. Everything is relative. But there always seems to be a relatively faster way.

Even the standard old sailing knots themselves come in for criticism. My son, who is a climbing instructor, constantly regards my hoary old knots with wry amusement. He taught me how to tie the Australian Bugaboo knot, but I'm almost ashamed to admit that I have forgotten it. Never let him onto your boat or he will re-rig it in a trice, so as to make it "safe". When I finally get round to buying my own boat, he will be useful for climbing the mast.

You get these skippers who become obssesive about their way being the right way. "On my boat you should never tie on the fenders with a round turn and two half hitches - always use a clove hitch". Then the next boat you go on, this becomes "Never use a clove hitch to tie on a fender - that's how they get lost"

When you place a warp round a pontoon cleat someone will yell "Always, ALWAYS put a final locking turn before you walk away!" The next skipper shouts "Never, never, NEVER put a locking turn on a cleat!"

You will not win.

On reflection I think this is insecurity. Skippers who are secure in themselves don't really care about this stuff. "Just tie it on so it won't fall off". All of the worst skippers I've encountered have an exact precise sort of knot to deploy for every permutation of circumstance and there are no alternative options which will be countenanced. What marks them out is not so much that they have a mental list of knots matched to tasks but it is rather the insistence that only their way is the correct way. Knots are thus a performance indicator of an inflexible skipper.

I hear you ask - "What do you do when you are skippering?" Well.......I let you tie your own knots "so long as it's tied on and won't fall off". Then, later, when you are not looking, I re-tie it properly.

My way.