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28-31 May 2010
(Jonathan Markowitz first time experience Cross Channel as Skipper)
“Ah, Monsieur Vincent?” asked the man behind the desk at Chantereyne Marina, looking up from his computer screen after I'd given him the name of our vessel, having arrived the evening before after my first Channel crossing as skipper. “No” I replied, “I’m M. Markovitz. M. Vincent was a previous owner. When was she last here?” (1999 apparently.) We paid for three nights, although in the event we only stayed for two, then my crew Brian and myself set off into Cherbourg town centre for a delicious fish salad and budget trawl through the local shops.
 All The Plans of Mice and Men
Our original plan was to board Seachord on Friday evening for a crossing the next day, however the various weather forecasts all agreed that Saturday would be characterised by a fairly serious warm front with strong southerlies. Everything was then brought forward 24 hours so we could cross in what promised to be fine weather westerlies on the Friday. In the event Brian got caught up in some dreadful traffic between the M25 and M27 so we missed the last of the afternoon tide for Yarmouth, our jumping off point, eating a late supper aboard on the club hammerhead instead.
Slipping at 2200 after the dishes were cleared and Brian given a condensed safety-briefing (and seeing me not making the little night pilotage mistakes out of the Hamble as I did on my Coastal Skipper course last year) 0040 Friday morning finally had us hanging off a buoy in Yarmouth Roads. We were to be up for a 0400 departure – but I couldn't get to sleep!
 Not Earning Brownie Points with Headquarters
Up at 0330 and fire up the mobile phone for an internet forecast: Wight (0015UTC) W or SW 3 or 4 incr 5 for a time. Sm or Sl. Fair. Gd. Good! Put on oilies, pull down a cup of tea, start the engine and call the Vice Commodore on his mobile to let him know we’d made it to Yarmouth to join the small flotilla of yachts (about half the boats registered on the rally) to catch the last of the early morning ebb through the Needles. The VC was not however up and about in Yarmouth as assumed but was, until I woke him, happily fast asleep at anchor in Sandown Bay with no tidal gate to worry about. Thank you Ian for being such a fine, equable and forgiving person!
 Traditional Navigation
0405 Log 0.0 Slipped buoy, mains'l up
0450 Log 2.9 Needles 2.5ca abeam, a/c 200 degrees
0505 Log 4.0 WSW4, Bridge Buoy astern, engine off, hoisted stays'l and unfurled Yankee (quick nip below to re-check CTS)
0540 Log 6.0 reset 0.0, departure fix on Anvil Pt, St Cath's and the Needles, speed 5.0kts
Having had no previous skippering experience offshore but wishing to practice everything I'd been taught, my navigation was to be entirely traditional, working up an EP every hour, but at the same time noting in the logbook (for safety and as a later check on my accuracy) the Lat-Long readout from the ship's GPS. As to windspeed and direction, possessing no onboard wind instruments, that was also always going to be a bit of an estimate, but the more we did it, the better we seemed to get.
 Mixing it with the US Navy
0740 Log 9.7 200 deg WSW3/4, 8 degrees leeway (probably an overestimate) EP on chart (50 26.9N 1 33.2W) Brian feeling dicky, autohelm steering, speed down to 4.5kts.
0830 Grey ship to starboard, approaching on constant bearing 245 degrees. Not equipped with AIS (or indeed a DSC radio), I reached for the VHF mike: “Grey ship in approximate position (lat-long from GPS given), this is yacht Seachord, are you receiving me? Over.”
Comes back a thoroughly professional female voice: “Vessel calling US Warship P339, we are receiving you. Over.”
“US Warship P339, ah yes... we are only a small sailing yacht fine on your bow, just checking that you have us in sight. Over.”
“Yes, we have a clear visual on you. We are altering course to port. Over.”
“US Warship, thank you so much! Seachord out.”
0840 Log 14.0 195 deg WSW3, speed down to 4.0kts, engine on.
 Sleep or Shipping?
Having once crewed cross-Channel in heavy fog on a yacht without radar or AIS, my main expense this year was to equip Seachord with radar. Now in the shipping lanes, although mainly using the handbearing compass to note the (thankfully) changing bearing of each ship, I also used the opportunity to nip below to practice marking each contact on the radar, then watching them drift comfortably off the electronic bearing line.
0940 Log 19.1 205 deg WSW3, checking bearings and counting off westbound shipping.
1040 Log 24.2 200 deg WSW3, Brian unwell (due more to fatigue than mal de mer, but with not dissimilar effects).
1140 Log 29.3 200 deg WSW3, feeling very tired myself, monitoring eastbound ships.
1240 Log 34.3 200 deg WSW3, seem clear of shipping, so a 20 minute catnap in cockpit with Brian on watch.
1340 Log 39.3 200 deg WSW4, now being lifted to windward by the ebb, engine off.
 Earlier Than Expected
1510 Log 46.5 200 degrees, landfall, slightly earlier than expected, but comfortably uptide.
1525 Log 47.7 a/c 160 deg.
1620 Log 52.0 160 deg, fix on Fort de l'Oeust & Fairway buoy on chart.
1725 Log 56.7, Pilotage, Grande Rade, engine on.
1800 Log 58.1, total 64.1NM, 14hours underway, Chantereyne Marina, engine off, welcoming committee equipped with warm smiles and cold beers.
Et Retour
It was a pity to miss the big Rally Lunch at the Capitainerie on Sunday, but Monday's forecast was for light winds variable and from the north and (given our 27ft LOA and a 28 year old engine) I didn't fancy a 16hour slog under power only, so we made a late decision on Saturday evening to slip our lines and sail the next morning. Brian wisely went to sleep with two Stugeron, but buoyed by my experience crossing on the previous day I went to bed unadulterated by the pharmaceutical industry.
The plan was to leave via the Fort de l'Ouest, so if the wind and sea-state proved too much then we could use the flood to sweep us back in the eastern entrance. If it wasn't too rough, then I'd work out a CTS for the Needles, with the tide due to turn back to the flood from 1900 to carry us all the way up the Solent and home.
0500 Forecast: Wight mainly W veering NW 5-7 decr 4 at times. Sl or Mod. Sh. Mod or Gd.
0600 Meteo France (local waters): W5-6 veering WNW in pm. Mod or R. Var with sh. V Gd.
0815 Log 0.0 Slipped with two reefs in main, hoisted stays'l and beat up Grande Rade.
1000 Log 6.5 Reset 0.0 WNW5, steering 000 deg, dept fix on chart (used GPS, insufficient visibility on landmarks), 50% yankee, speed 4.5kts
Lumpy, Lumpy... and very nearly Bumpy!
1100 Log 3.8 000 deg WNW4 10 deg leeway, wind lighter offshore, increasingly lumpy sea slowing us, both reefs shaken out, full Yankee.
And soon we spot the first eastbound shipping...
1133 Ship 1 brng 315 deg (in distance)
1139 Ship 1 brng 315 deg (getting bigger; I'm now on Ch16, also Ch13, trying to raise the ship's bridge: “Red ship, Red ship in position etc” - but no response whatsoever)
1145 Ship 1 brng 315 deg (very big)
“Brian! That red ship's ignoring us, I can't believe it hasn't seen us! Its just ploughing on! Less than half a mile! [Expletive!] Bear away now! NOW! NO! MORE than that! Don't worry, just do it! I'll ease sheets.”
“Brian! [Expletive!] He's altering!” Full-tilt the monster is altering to starboard - it seems quite violent – the whole thing visibily listing as it turns, and then passes astern of us, maybe a quarter of a mile, maybe much less? I still can't easily judge distances at sea.
I'm shaking. Did we do that wrong? Did he have a more accurate CPA than I did? Was he aiming to pass just astern of us until we turned away from him and forced him to alter hard to starboard? Then I recalculate it. Like hell he did! He wasn't paying attention. He didn’t even have a CPA. He wasn't monitoring Ch16, probably alone on the bridge. Maybe he only saw us when we alterted away. Maybe Joburg picked up our transmissions and alerted him – could they have? I don't know. [Expletive!]
Feeling Dicky, Ships Plough On
1300 Log 12.8 350 deg WNW4, speed down to 4.0kn, engine on (dry-mouthed, sip water, eat sandwich to keep brain fuelled).
1332 Ship 5 brng 278 deg
1336 Ship 5 brng 280 deg - Ship 5 is a Blue Star Line vessel, also ignores my attempts to raise it on the VHF, so I make an early decision to gybe right around and clear out of its way, resuming our original course when its clear, losing 10 minutes in the process.
1400 Log 17.6 350 deg WNW4-5, wind now fresher (being lifted), roll away half Yankee, one reef back in main. 5.5kts.
1500 Log 22.8 350 deg W6 15deg leeway, swell worse, boat overpowered, second reef in main – after a/c to sbd to avoid early another ship on steady bearing.
The Almanac Advises Against It
Not happy with the swell, which seems worse the closer we get to the English shore. In my keeness to sail in a good wind, I'd underestimated the likely sea-state, which was made worse by cross-seas due to today's wind having veered into the NNW from yesterday's Southerlies. We're not a strong, full, experienced crew in a fast boat, and increasingly our original plan of making for the Needles is looking a little dodgy. The Almanac advises against the Needles in any kind of swell and also notes that in strong Westerlies the seas still remain rough for the first hour or so of the new flood, plus we're effectively still on Springs.
My brain is foggy. Although on this return passage I'm noting GPS reading every hour rather than working out the EPs on the chart, I've clearly spent too much time below, and the swell has had a quite unpleasant effect. I read out the Almanac text aloud to Brian. We agree that, despite the still strong ebb, I need to work up a new CTS for Bembridge Ledge. We rig the preventer and alter to the north-east, 060 deg being the optimum, but 045 deg will have us closing land sooner, and is less uncomfortable and more sailable.
1700 Log 32.7 045 deg, swell awful, Brian okay on the helm, we have a cup of tea and a biscuit, pasties into the oven for later.
Treacherous Thoughts
About this time, feeling quite terrible, I have come to the decision that I'm not really a sailor. You know, need to do some hill-walking, spend more time with the family, etc. If people question me, I'll just shrug it off – say it was just my ‘sailing phase’ or something, that's all over now. Treacherous, disgraceful thoughts about selling the boat – someone will buy her, I can flog the other clobber on eBay...
1800 Log 37.3 045 deg, skipper thoroughly sick over the lee rail, but feels much better immediately afterwards.
1830 Landfall fix on chart, wind moderates, reefs out and full Yankee to help power our way through.
Twinkling Lights, Then a Powerful Searchlight Trained Right Onto Us
We sit for for what seems like hours watching St Catherine's light blinking every five seconds, getting closer bit by tiny bit. We eat our pasties which, although now only lukewarm, sustain us wonderfully. The swell seems at its worse just south of the Island, but we expect it to moderate once we’re in the lee of the land.
2110 Log 53.6, Sandown Bay, looks lovely in the now dark dusk; I’ve not been there but I imagine closed-up ice-cream parlours.
2145 West Princessa WCM, we're staying close inshore; I've never piloted here before, let alone in the dark.
I'm down below, the red cabin light on, when Brian calls down: “Jonathan, there's a large ferry slowly bearing down on us.” I scrabble for the 12volt spotlight to shine on our sails, but suddenly a powerful white beam is trained directly onto us from the ferry's bridge. The searchlight goes off a second or two later. “That's reassuring” I say to Brian, “They must have new procedures since that dreadful tragedy a few years ago.”
2215 Log 58.5 St Helen's Fort to port, sails furled.
Coming up to No Man's Land Fort, I'm down below studying the chart for the Eastern Solent and Portsmouth Entrance. We need to mark time for a bit as pilot boats scud around and large ships exit towards the Nab Tower. Its not easy making out the profusion of lights leading into Portsmouth harbour against the confusion of lights on land. We need to cross when its quiet and then avoid using the main channel. I'm monitoring QHM on Ch11, then we go for it, but just as we're half way across another ship (a ferry or a Naval support vessel?) comes out of Portsmouth. As it turns to starboard and therefore towards us, I reassure Brian that it has to turn with the channel, but will most likely then alter to the east to leave the Solent. Then everything is empty. We buoy-hop up into Portsmouth entrance, hang a weary left into Haslar and tie up – kindly assisted by some mature gentlemen from a large modern yacht who've only recently come in themselves from St Vaast.
Its midnight. All is quiet. After about 70 miles and nearly 16 hours underway, I turn off the log. We each down a pint of orange squash and eat a bowl of breakfast cereal, then sink quickly into our bunks.
 Doubts? Moi?
Bank holiday Monday morning sees our intrepid sailors reaching up a flat Solent in a lovely NNW3, all plain sail, all faith restored. Brian and I chant the refrain “Lovely, lovely sea!” (to the same tune as yesterday's “Lumpy, lumpy sea!”). We chat about sailing. I share with him my newfound view that cross-Channel should be seen really as a delivery-trip for a cruise around the Channel Islands or along the French coast, rather than a jolly in its own right.
Later, having a good late lunch of fish and chips at The Bugle, my thoughts turn towards a West Country cruise later this summer. |
