Sea Journeys

Whitby to Southwold

Following an excellent fish and chip supper at The Magpie, right next to the fish market, we went to bed for an early start.

0500 Monday morning and 6 bleary-eyed sailors slipped the harbour at Whitby, with me as the skipper for the day. I was not too popular- but everyone bowed to the inevitable, as this was the best time to leave with the tide. I then practised close quarter manoeuvres (good job it wasn't as busy as last night!) for ten minutes waiting for the man who opens the bridge to get out of bed.

Another 15 minutes doing close quarter manoeuvring in the outer harbour, as the port navigation light wasn't working. Much cursing and swearing from Paul.. the wiring connections were corroded. Good job we carried some spares! A new nav. light fitted, we set off out of the calm harbour waters and turned south for a long passage towards Southwold, looking forward to a good passage with predicted Force 4 winds. With the wind behind us, and sails up we were set for a run straight down (well, discounting the odd gas platform, numerous shoals and banks, and the good bit of navigation practice in the inner channel off lowestoft) to Southwold, 164 miles and expected to be 27 hours. Martin said “shall we put the auto-helm on?”, and was lept on by Bob and Paul who said “you must be mad, this is what sailing is all about”!.

We decided to goose-wing the sails - Paul showing us how to use the spinnaker pole to set out the genoa safely. Needless to say we had our first casualty of this leg when the pole fell on Kerenza’s foot. She was remarkably restrained considering the weight of the pole and it was probably only her writhing around on the foredeck that made the other crew members eventually to take pity on her.

FInally the sails were goose-winged and we settled into the routine of changing over helm, completing the log,eating, drinking, tea… completing the log, eating, drinking tea etc… The weather forecasters, as seemed usual, didn't get it quite right. The wind started to creep up to F6 , at which point my plan to anchor and wait for three hours at Filey to ensure a good passage with tides round the top of Norfolk became unstuck (whoever wrote in Reeds that this was good shelter got it wrong, as the wind was howling across the bay with little respite from the headland). We carried on - little other option, now just under the foresail. The wind crept up further to F6-7, and the sea had a pretty vicious corkscrew motion with 4m waves following us and turning us across the beam. It was not long before our second casualty and Martin became seasick. He took to his bunk and the long journey continued.

The wind eased a little in the early part of the night (much to Martin's relief, as he was on watch) and little traffic was around with the only excitement being two RAF jets being in-flight refuelled by a tanker high above us in the stars, and wondering about the intentions of gas rig support boats. Frangi flew down across the wash with the following wind, and of course this meant we arrived near to the North Norfolk coast with the tide against us.. classic wind over tide situation. By the second watch the wind was also back up to well above 30 knots with gusts above 40 knots, resulting in a very "interesting"  sea state: 4-6m waves with a vicious short wavelength. Whoever said Norfolk was flat obviously hadn't been sailing off the coast in a F7! This was made even more interesting by busy shipping... being tossed about whilst trying to work out lights and bearings of large tankers is a skill we are all learning very quickly (may come in useful for our channel crossing later this week).

Taking over at 4am, the wind was still up above 30 knots, but the tide had turned and the waves were large but much more comfortable,  so Bob and I "enjoyed" the weather conditions (we both like helming) but were pleased when the wind dropped as we approached the relatively narrow channel down past Great Yarmouth with numerous lights and bouys. A good chance to practice pilotage. Occasional squeals were heard from the deck as Bob worked out that the little bouy at a distance was actually about 10 feet away.

By 7.30m we were approaching Southwold- about an hour too early for a trouble-free entry (according to my calculations, and unable to check with the harbour master without disturbing his sleep). Gung-ho Paul got out his tide calculating software, and decided he "didn't need no harbour master"..with the benefit of many prior visits he guessed where the shoaling banks would be, and we slowly pulled into the tiny harbour entrance (I decided that this bore a very strong resemblance  to part of a woman’s anatomy.. must have been the lack of sleep or something),  with only 0.3m to spare under Frangi's keel and set off up the river to moor.

No space directly on the pontoon so we decided we would have to raft up alongside a large boat with two exhibitionist Dutchmen on board. They were so excited to see us (not!) that they came on deck wearing not a lot, to give us a display (of what we are not sure).  Paul wasn't very happy with parading Dutchmen next to his "women" and so proceeded to see if he could persuade another smaller dutch boat to move to give us space on the pontoon. What a palaver! Seems like the single- handed skipper wasn't very au fait with UK mooring techniques. The harbour master, Paul, Kerenza and the skipper fadded about for ages sorting out how to move the boat (albeit in very strong edd tide coming down the river), and Kerenza ended up on the Dutch boat being an impromptu crew.

Breakfast at a lovely café on the quay and we are moored right outside the Harbour Inn with a fish stall 50 metres away – life is tough, so that’s tonight sorted! In the meantime, Kerenza is off searching for
Musto gear and I think the rest of us are sleeping.

Newcastle to Whitby

Saturday saw the end of leg two and hence goodbyes to Clive and David and hellos to Kerenza and Martin, joining Frangi for leg three. I guess they were wondering what they had let themselves in for when Paul, soon after introducing himself, murmured things about going up the mast. We are beginning to wonder whether mast climbing (or watching others do it) is one of Paul’s fetishes as it seems to happen very frequently. This time the excuse was that when we took Frangi’s main to the sailmaker (yes we had another small rip) he told us we needed to lubricate the slit … I will refrain from repeating the conversations that took place around this manoeuvre, but Bob had a jolly good time and Jane got showered in lubricant.

Paul and Bob indulged in yet more Musto gear whilst at the chandlery taking the sail to be mended. I am pleased to report that Paul and Jane now have matching trousers. Soon we will have an entire Musto boat.

Being changeover day., we all learned more about routine maintenance. Engine checks, greasing the steering, checking the batteries, cleaning the decks. Not to mention checking all the seacocks (or that’s what Paul and Jane said they were doing in the forepeak).

Sunday morning – off towards Whitby with Bob in command. Not very much wind, but we did manage a couple of hours with the cruising chute up. Kerenza started to teach us about Poi. We will report on progress later... suffice it to say various bits of anatomy and various bits of the boat were whacked by whirling balls.

Off Whitby the sea was littered with fishing boats scuttling about like beetles and many of them joined us entering the congested harbour waiting for the rotating bridge into the inner harbour and the marina. Both Martin and Paul were mightily relieved when Paul took over the helm during the whacky races that ensued as the bridge opened at around 4.30pm. We understood that there was supposed to be some sort of order of priority but the fishing boats seemed oblivious: nerves of steel required. We found out later that it was the last day of the champion cod fishing competition, and all catches had to be in by 5.00pm – adherence to “rules of the road” was abandoned by all in pursuit of Cod glory.

Paul did a masterly demonstration of how to back Frangi into a pontoon berth so that the crew didn’t have to change all the “balloons and string” (fenders and lines in non- Paul speak) from port to starboard. Not easy, as Frangi does not like going backwards.

Fish and chip supper calls… as does a 24 hour passage to Lowestoft, starting at 5.30am

Eyemouth to Newcastle

Our early morning arrival in Eyemouth left us a day to explore.. some the beach and a cliff walk, some the local hostelries and museums, some the delights of a bunk to catch up on sleep. We all got together for a fabulous supper- Jane treated us to her special Puy lentil dish (yes, it was green, and yes, Paul ATE it!) to go with a medley of seafood from the local smokery. Fresh lobster, crab claws and hot smoked salmon, with (much to Paul’s disgust) a salad.. a gourmet treat for our next to the last night on leg two.

After a good nights sleep, we woke to blue sky and bright sunshine, and the day only got better!

First thing, we tested Clive's hypothesis that navigating consists of no more than getting up just in time, setting off at 8.30am and turning right outside the port. Sadly for we would-be mariners, he has been proved largely right on this clockwise passage round Britain. Today we wound him up by setting to port, in the direction of Wick. However it was only for an “head to wind” to hoist the mainsail.

Skipper Dave completed an intentional gibe to get us back on course in the tracks of two yachts that had set off ~1hr before. Their masts were distant sticks on the horizon. We were bound for Lindisfarne and the Farne Islands!

A good 15knt westerly tempted  Paul to hoist the cruising chute. This extremely colourful rag is what Paul calls “the pretty sail”. It must have been very intimidating for the two yachts ahead of us to see the burst of colour. Naturally we were not intent on racing (or piracy), only cruising along in linear formation at different speeds!

As we rounded the  end of Lindisfarne to see Bamburgh castle on our prow, and  Lindisfarne castle on our starboard beam we came within hailing distance of the first boat, a ketch of uncertain provenance. Polite waves and acknowledgement on both sides as we nonchalantly sipped our brews with a self-satisfied smirk.

The lateral marks in the channel between Lindisfarne and the Farne Islands can be clearly seen from some way off and this allowed us to set a course to pass the Contessa before Longstone lighthouse was aft.

At this point we were buzzed by a Tornado GR3 bomber. It came in directly behind us at ~500ft with little or no noise to warn of its presence. The wings were swept back to provide a very startling experience as the sound wave hit us. The crew ducked and cheered!

After a sun-soaked passage along the Northumbrian coasts, we finally made Newcastle at 5.45 and refuelled at the basin next to Royal Quays marina lock. At the fuel pontoon we witnessed a jet-ski artiste get nicked by the river Police for speeding. The crew whooped and cheered.

We spent the evening at an unexpectedly expensive Indian restaurant in Newcastle and had chance to cross the Millennium bridge and back across the swing bridge, all the while taking in the Geordie nightlife around us. Those skirts really were short, and the tattoos astonishing in their variety and inventiveness.

Wick to Eyemouth

Jane’s carefully planned passage from Wick to Montrose was scuppered when, half way through the trip, we changed our minds and decided to forgo six hours in Montrose in favour of a longer sail – 160 miles- straight down to Eyemouth (was this anything to do with Paul’s planned liaison with the lifeboatmen here? We await developments). So essentially we have done the East coast of Scotland in two hops, and Jane drew the short straw in being skipper for the day on this long passage.

Leaving Wick we crossed the Moray Firth initially under Volvo assist. The sea was smooth and glassy and the wind light and variable, and peace only broken by the merry chirp of mobile phones as half way across the Firth connections were restored. Having done all the calls, crew morale was sinking with the prospect of another eight hours of motoring or slow bobbing before we even rounded the corner of Rattray Head when Paul decided that we needed to play with the “pretty sail” a.k.a. the cruising chute. YEH HA!! Paul and Jane disappeared onto the foredeck and came back almost an hour later swearing that their hot and sweaty state was all because the cruising chute was tangled up. We were polite enough not to ask any further questions, but to admire the sail which they had managed to erect.

Four hours of glorious sailing on a beam reach with the blue, white and red chute flying freely – made even better by a flypast by two tornado F3s, and a visit by two pilot whales, shortly followed by a pod of dolphins, busily swimming northwards. As the sun set we were also treated to a spectacular sky of the most peculiar colour- a violety/pink sea and clouds above, with a band at the horizon of turquoise blue. I was accused of lacing the spaghetti Bolognese with hallucinogenic substances.

Our night sail started with a completely smooth sea, but the wind gradually increased enough to sail. Jane was beavering away reworking her passage plan and drawing further pilotage plans of Eyemouth whilst the rest of us slept or were on watch. Periodically her watch bleeped, and a chorus of “log” piped up- now an automatic response from the crew.

Mid way through the night someone up there turned on a fan and the wind leapt from 12 to 24 knots in under a minute. Clive’s dreams turned from quiet pints of Guinness to being on a roller coaster, as Frangi leapt over the waves. A glorious sail as dawn broke and the wind blew us down to Eyemouth and also blew away all the clouds. We arrived here just after nine in warm sunshine- the first real sun we’ve seen for several days.

Alas- no orange signal again… as I write this, various crew members are planning ascents of hills – ostensibly to go for a walk, but we all know its to get better mobile phone reception.

Stromness to Wick

David writes

"Stromness is a splendid spot, redolent of St Ives but without the rich arty-farty gits clogging the streets. In fact, the short and stout Stromness women will linger in my fantasies for some time to come".

"We left the comely town at circa 8.30am after some winding up on departure times by Master (Paul) Bates & Seaman (Carol) Staines. We bravely set forth with an 8 knot tide against us, but relying on one of Paul’s multifarious mates “Inshore Eddy” to get us into Scapa Flow. Visions and memories of the Home Fleet met us as we contemplated the vista of calm water surrounded by the remains of flak towers, gun emplacements and anti-submarine net winches."

"With the flare on Flotta belching sulphurous fumes we reached SE then SW past the lighthouse on Muckle Skerry (source of many a PC password in years to come!). The tide race near Little Skerry almost drove us backward, giving plenty of time to look at t’wreck parked rusting on its beach. I wonder how those poor sods got off without help from Her Majesty’s Navy or a gaggle of Goblins to co-ordinate a rescue. And this was the safe route! Had we gone straight across Pentland Firth we would have danced with the Merry Men of Mey (as the vicious overfalls are called), and Carol - our skipper for the day - had expressly forbidden Merriment of that kind."

"All the while Bob had been helming, his face getting gradually as red as his Musto jacket (come on, let’s have some sponsorship Mr Musto!) in the F5 southerly. For the first time in living memory Frangi had to tack from port to starboard.. Sadly, the skill had not developed in Frangi’s somnolent crew and poor old Sailor Bob was made to hove-to. Effing and blinding worked a treat and we wore round the full 360 to get back on our heading. Bob was relieved by Jane at the helm in time for her to receive a call on her mobile at the wheel. The quality of one-handed helming was a joy to behold and we have photographs as evidence. Three more tacks and the intrepid crew mastered the “Aye-ready” to get into Wick without further adventure."

"The log says we arrived alongside yet another EC-funded pontoon at circa 16.45hrs. After showers, a shore-party assembled to forage in the town. Meanwhile the local yoof congregated outside the marina gate to ogle the incomers. Various tricks were tried on your blogger to open the gate, but the wily seafarer resisted to a stream of Jockanese abuse. In the meantime the shore-party returned with six lots of fash & chups, wolfed down with lashings of mushy peas and cans of Grolsch."

"Wick is such an entertaining town that the crew elected to stay aboard and play cards. Clive showed us the full range of his talent with a masterclass of poker. Fearless in betting the ship’s matches, Paul won the game with a right nice pair."

(thanks David!)

Stornaway to Stromness

Reluctantly, we left Stornaway having said goodbye to David who has decided to return home. We bade him farewell with a lunch in the local hotel, and he helped us cast off the mooring lines and set sail for the most northerly part of our journey up past Cape Wrath to the Orkneys. It was very sad to see him standing on the quay as we motored out of the harbour, and we were all quite contemplative as we set sail.

It was a glorious sunny Sunday afternoon: absolutely still, the sun shining and warm, and great views of the coast of the Isle of Lewis and the ever present Shiant Islands<

Bob, our skipper for the day, was looking slightly glum at the prospect of having to motor all the way up to the Orkneys, but cheered up enormously as the wind started to rise and he could play with the sails. As the sun set we were sailing merrily along - again on a decent beam reach – and we were visited by dolphins just before darkness fell completely. All was well with the world.

By the time we reached Cape Wrath, near midnight, we were creaming along at 7-8 knots and apart from a very close encounter with a pleasure launch who decided to use us for target practice (and in return we practised our “Five flashes”, otherwise known as “what the Fuck are you doing?!!”) having a great sail – though slightly testing on the stomach as the waves and wind continued to rise. Bob and Jane were slightly unhappy with my excitement over the prospect of big waves – especially when my wish was partly realised in the early hours of the morning.

As the wind rose, Paul, having instructed us very carefully about reefing in anticipation of wind gusts, started to get a slightly manic grin on his face, standing at the helm yelling “let out more rag”. He’s in a dark room, and receiving therapy as we speak…

As a result of the roller coaster ride with a F6 wind, we approached the Orkneys almost three hours ahead of the planned time of arrival, bouncing along on big waves and with a following tide, making over 10 knots knots over the ground at times. We flew into Hoy sound , after ogling the old man of Hoy, at over 11 knots with the peak flow of the tide, and turned into Stromness where Bob moored Frangi up on “Barbie” pontoons- arguably the most flimsy pontoons in the world - certainly not designed well for 25 ton yachts, as we found out.

Black arm bands came out as Jane failed to get an orange connection on her mobile. A new service provider is being sought as we write this.

Mallaig to Stornaway

Jane and Dave volunteered to be the skippers for our longer passage up to the Outer Hebrides. It didn’t take them long to decide to go by the outer route through “The Minch”, having gone quite pale looking at the tidal streams through the Kyle of Lockalsh, but took them longer to decide how to avoid the nasty passages west of the Shiant Isles (or as they became known on the boat - The S**t Isles).

We set off at lunchtime and had a glorious sail up past the south west coast of the Isle of Skye – even if we couldn’t see much of the Cullins in the low cloud. The wind got up to a steady F5 from the west/southwest and as we turned ever northwards we were cracking along with Frangi doing what she loves best - beam reaches in at least 15- 20 knots of wind.

As is customary the usual band of things went awry; in particular the GPS deciding that all of a sudden we were in Belize which was disorientating to say the least. Paul’s old adage if force doesn’t work use more force didn’t seem to help at all so we took the long route and switched it off and on again. With the help of Paul’s magic fingers we managed to sort it out. Meanwhile on deck the auto helm had a nervous breakdown and spontaneously swung the boat into a gybe, rescued heroicly by Bob and Jane.

Coming in to Stornaway was another interesting moment as the harbour lights seemed to melt into the local nightclub lights. Lots of sector lights and a confused crew turning Frangi in circles until the route in became obvious. 03.30 saw us moored up next to a BT global challenge boat on the harbour wall, much to Paul's delight as he could tell us more stories of challenge exploits, vacuumed bottoms etc etc.

Stornaway was delightful - but closed. It was Sunday and we were in the Western Isles. Bob managed to sneak off whilst we were all still asleep and have a lovely breakfast of kippers, but when the rest of us tried to follow suit they were no longer serving. Nothing else was open and Clive was most put out when he was told that the sunday papers arrived on Monday.

David announced that he was going home ... a sad time for us having grown close over the three weeks together on Frangi. We will miss you, David!