Bob's Sailing Stories.
CAP’N ART THA’ SLEEPIN’ THAR BELOW?
LOG OF THE GOOD SHIP ‘BRYAN’S BREEZE’ A BAVARIA 37 FROM CHICHESTER HARBOUR
Extracted from the log of Bryan’s Breeze (Helga). October 2003.
Later renamed Tsunami and then Kittiwake after the tsunami.
Two week-ends aboard Bryan’s Breeze during Ray’s efforts to attain the rank of Day Skipper.
Captain - Ray
Bob- Number One
Pete – Number Two – for the first week-end.
Julian – Number Two - for the second week end
Frank – The Ancient Mariner - RYA Examiner
NB. Bryan’s Breeze was renamed Tsunami and then renamed Kittiwake after the tsunami. The writer has named the yacht Helga for this story. October 2003
Crunch, crunch---------crunch, -----------crunch, crunch------------------crunch---- was the sound reaching Number One’s ear as he lay in his cabin on board Bryan’s Breeze swinging lazily at anchor in the moonlight just off Itchenor on the first night of a five day exercise in the Solent.
The crunch of the wavelets slapping the bow was a sound which Number One had heard before in a similar (but very much more uncomfortable) situation way back in the late 50’s when he was seconded to help refloat, on a cold February night, a friends converted lifeboat which had gone aground in mysterious circumstances off Thorney Island (just round the corner) when under the command of a very experienced skipper.
The memory faded as he dropped off into a fitful sleep interrupted now and again by the calls of the midnight curlews, crows and gulls vying for the last morsel. The distant buzz of a 2hp outboard at full throttle at about 3am grew into an ear piercing grind as a local pirate headed out for the morning spoils at Chichester Bar followed by a wake that rocked Bryan’s Breeze alarmingly and shook the stars violently above Number One’s head.
Bryan’s Breeze was a beamy 36 footer from the Bavaria Yacht stable who had, up until recently, been treated somewhat firmly by a sailing school and as such had endured a few harsh years at the hands of many kind but unknowing hands. She now was looking forward to a few gentler years in the hands of her new owners a Captain Raymond and his wife. She was a fine looking craft (i.e. Bryans Breeze!) despite her upbringing and the recent season spent jostling on her moorings amongst her sisters, most of whom did not get out much, and had left her a touch barnacled up in some very sensitive places. She was also hoping that being a lady her new owner might consider that her name could at least be changed to Wendy’s Breeze after the Captain’s wife or maybe even her favourite, Heidelberg Helga as a reminder of her birthplace. In any case she was more than pleased to be once more heading for the open sea in the hands of a captain and crew who would, she hoped, be a little more sensitive and knowing about which pit to push and which pit to pull.
The past year or so on the marina in Chichester had left a few cobwebs to be blown off and she was pleased that a particularly painful barnacle in her log region had already been removed by a very gentle Ancient Mariner with kind hands. She knew he was an Ancient Mariner with very experienced hands as he had the words emblazoned on his tee shirt and she had heard him talking of his previous life as a Urinary Surgeon – life definitely was on the up for Helga.
Helga’s excitement had been on the increase over the past few weeks as her new owners had scrubbed her decks enjoyed a glass or two in her cabin, treated her to a new cushion or two and provisioned her for what she hoped would be a lively trip. She was keen to show off to Captain Raymond and his wife that she was capable of great things and that maybe even fulfil their dreams of arriving at foreign ports such as Puerto Banus, Monte Carlo or St Tropez in great style.
The arriving crew on the Friday afternoon however did not bode well, the Number One wearing what seamed to be an apology for an Aussie cowhand’s hat with a feather sticking out wrestled with the water hose and got soaked in the process as he tried to insert the exploding end into the fresh water filler hole, at least thought Helga ‘he hasn’t stuffed into my diesel filler spout’. Number Two arrived laden with packs of fine German Bier – ah! thought Helga a man to be reckoned with, Number Two had had many months experience at sea in a somewhat larger vessel in the Southern Ocean and lent a certain air of experience to the crew, Number Two’s sense of humour would also prove to be a great asset, his habit of lighting up downwind of the gas cylinder was considered a risk worth taking.
Following lengthy safety checks, engine checks, head (toilet) checks, emergency flare checks, instrument checks, rigging, radio and first aid checks, donning life belts, rigging and checking safety harnesses which required all crew to don their wet gear in order to get a tight fit, Captain Raymond hastily tucked the label of his brand new Douglas Gill sailing jacket out of site before Number Two made some derogatory comment. Helga by now was getting somewhat familiar with her crew, the Ancient Mariner known as Frank was an experienced RYA examiner who was on board at the request of Captain Raymond to check out his ability for skippering Helga on her future voyages.
Number One was known as Bob who also at the request of Captain Raymond was invited to join the crew, Captain Raymond had heard say of Bob’s previous sailing experience (which was not inconsiderable) but Captain Raymond had had no first hand experience of Bob’s ability except a trip or two around Chichester Harbour in his 12 foot dinghy - hardly reason for a great deal of confidence but at least he would be a useful crew member when it came to the washing up.
Number Two, known as Pete, had many experiences to bring to the trip, none of which Captain Raymond had first hand experience of except a hole in the first at the fifth or was it a hole in five at the first, anyhow a present of fine Belgian Chocolate for the victual locker was enough to convince Captain Raymond that he had under his command a fine body of men.
Wives and girlfriends had said their goodbyes and had left the pontoon earlier that afternoon considering that time would be better spent on anything rather than witnessing their loved ones set sail for unknown ports, knowing in their heart of hearts that they would be weeping uncontrollably at the quayside and didn’t wish to be seen in this condition.
Following another lengthy questioning of Captain Raymond by the Ancient Mariner about tides, routes and weather prospects, Frank considered that the first leg of a few hundred yards to a mooring off Itchenor could be undertaken with no more than a quick look around and a wet finger in the wind, this done Captain Raymond fired up the diesel, Numbers One and Two slipped the mooring lines and Helga sighed as her bows began to cleave the murky waters of Chichester Marina. Chichester Marina is reached from the open sea by lock gates which fortunately were permanently open for Helga’s exit, a condition called free-flow, enabling Captain Raymond at the helm to motor proudly through waving to the lock keeper with the other hand as he went. A skilful negotiation of the buoyed channel in the gathering dusk by Captain Raymond brought Helga to a suitable mooring buoy which the crew considered fair game for a free night at anchor provided the owner of the mooring didn’t turn up in his MTB. A deft swish or two by Numbers One and Two with the boathook at the mooring line enabled Frank to secure the mooring for the night, any wrong moves with the knots would mean our hero’s waking up in the morning washed up in the mud off Thorney Island or drifting helplessly south of the Scillies, a prospect not worth considering?
Captain Raymond spent the first evening poring over the charts under the steady gaze of the Ancient Mariner, the prospect of a quick swim or dinghy ride for a pint of Pride in The Kings Head, which was beckoning a few hundred yards away in Itchenor gradually faded as his pilotage calculations for the next day’s manoeuvres took precedence. Numbers One and Two busied themselves at the galley preparing a fine spaghetti bolognaise, which had been donated by the Captain’s wife, followed (and preceded) by beer, wine, cheese and biscuits and chocolates, Bob and Pete commented endlessly on the plight of their captain unable to enjoy the evening until his homework was done.
Homework done, Frank decided that a game of cards would be a fitting end to a pleasant meal and proceeded to produce a bunch of cards displaying a myriad of red, green and white splodges on a black background which Bob and Ray were expected to recognize as vessels under various states of manoeuvre at night. Fortunately Ray had been tested by his wife on that very subject sitting up in bed the previous morning, so he was able to score well. Bob was also keen to impress as he was also under scrutiny from Frank for the highly prized Competent Crew ticket at the end of the trip, he knew that a cheerful disposition towards the washing up duties would also earn some points. Frank held up a final card which displayed a green splodge on the left hand side of the card, a red splodge on the right hand side and two white splodges in the middle, he described this card as ‘the brown trouser card’ as he explained ‘it is a vessel longer than 50 metres heading straight towards you, and something that you never will want to see’, Helga and her crew were blissfully unaware that before too long they were destined to experience the brown trouser card.
Eventually the gentle rocking of Helga, the meal, the wine, the star studded moonlit night not to mention the physical and mental strain took its toll and the crew retired into their respective cabins. Pete was too tired to complain when he realised that his bunk was to be the bench he was sitting on. Saturday dawned, the forecast was flat calm, which was a disappointment for Helga as she ached to unfurl her sails, and show her crew what she was made of and take off into the unknown, she needn’t have worried as she wouldn’t have to wait long. A concern for Raymond was that due to a long spell of under use the main battery was all but kn****ed, the prospect of no lights, instruments, radio or worse fridge to cool the wine meant that a chandler in Cowes (the destination for the day) would have to be contacted and have a battery ready for fitting, fortunately the second battery which is required only to start the engine was in good order.
Concern receded as the long passage using the engine slowly charged the battery, which alleviated worries about the wine. Egg and bacon butties tea and toiletries behind them Helga and her crew quietly slipped their mooring and headed down the channel towards East Head and Chichester Bar. A westerly breeze began to ruffle the waves and at last all hands helped Helga into her element. Following many fumblings the mains’l was hoisted, the headsail unfurled, the engine ceased and at last Helga was free and itching to please.
Bearings were taken from various points; Captain Raymond issued orders for compass headings and a course was set to the narrow gap in the submarine barrier which stretches from the shore, the barrier not surprisingly was built to protect Portsmouth from submarine attack also attack from the Gunners, (Pompey having regained their rightful place in the Premiership). All eyes strained into the distance to identify the gap in the barrier as captain and crew did not relish the idea of being de-keeled by the barrier.
The wind was by this time not too helpful and a combination of orders, skills and uncertainty prompted the Ancient Mariner to suggest that the course would be better between the Forts as quite rightly he considered that aiming for a narrow gap was a touch demanding for a captain on his first venture, the gap between the Forts was large enough for two aircraft carriers to pass port to port and as such presented a slightly larger target for Captain and crew – Helga was pleased. Nearly missing the gap between the Forts, Helga pressed on eagerly to Cowes but as time went on it was clear that Cowes would be unattainable before nightfall in the present tidal conditions, reluctantly orders were issued to change course for Portsmouth which meant that Captain Raymond had to recalculate his pilotage plan, take unto consideration the new tidal streams, try to miss the ferries, battleships, container ships, hovercraft not to mention the red and green cans, cardinal points, shallow water, yachts on starboard tacks, motor boats with drivers who don’t know or couldn’t care a toss for the rules, dredgers with limited manoeuvrability, anchored vessels, vessels constrained by draft, driftwood and seaweed.
This done a course was set for Southsea Funfair and the entrance to Portsmouth Harbour which beckoned, to the North. Helga proudly entered Portsmouth Harbour under motor staying well clear of the passing hulks she quickly dismissed a fleeting thought of how proud her Grandad and Great Grandad would be if they could see her now.
Before tying up for the night the Ancient Mariner had ideas of a few exercises in Portsmouth Harbour to test Captain Raymond’s ability to manoeuvre and retrieve a man overboard. These had to be curtailed as space was limited. A few sail handling exercises were called for, which were successfully completed without Helga tangling her rigging with adjacent moored battleships, before calling the Marina to book a berth for the night. Captain Raymond tuned the radio to channel 80, pressed the transmit button and said 'Gosport Marina, Gosport Marina, Gosport Marina this is Bryans Breeze, Bryans Breeze, Bryans Breeze over' (as per standard procedure). 'Bryans Breeze, Bryans Breeze, Bryans Breeze this is Gosport Marina, go ahead, over' came the reply. 'Gosport Marina this is Bryans Breeze, request a mooring for the night, we are 36 feet long. Over'. 'Bryans Breeze, you’ll have to raft –crackle - up take India – crackle - 47 starboard – crackle - side, over', Captain Raymond appeared at the cockpit looking somewhat confused and requested the Ancient Mariners help. Following a few more radio exchanges the Ancient Mariner managed to book a berth at the nearby Camper Nicholson Marina for the night. Captain and crew received praise for their first berthing of Helga, managing to complete the task without hitting anything, any of the crew ending up in the water or getting unhelpful comments from adjacent onlookers, fortunately the conditions were favourable. The prospect of a hot meal in the Castle Tavern nearby was the spur the crew needed in order to complete the tedious tasks of tidying decks, flaking and covering the mainsail and replenishing water supplies
With Helga tucked up for the night and a refreshing shower in the marina facilities captain and crew strode into the Castle Tavern feeling like old sea dogs and ordered food and drinks, Number One was unable to see what the others had ordered as he couldn’t see over his beef steak pudding, carrots, greens and 5 lbs of boiled potatoes he failed miserably to clean his plate.
Suitably replenished all were looking forward to the following day’s manoeuvres. On the way back to Helga through the forest of masts and swaying craft, Number One spotted a yacht called Make My Day his comment about what it would sound like listening to this yacht putting out a Mayday (Mayday – Mayday – Mayday – this is yacht Make My Day, Make My Day, Make My Day – Mayday this is Make My Day etc) was ignored.
The night passed peacefully interrupted only by a baked bean tin which had been stored on it’s side rolling continuously back and forth, two 5 am ferries leaving for Le Havre which sent Helga up and down like a lift and slapping halyards on the masts of a thousand yachts in an increasing wind. Sunday dawned bright and cold with a strong wind from the north Helga jostled on her moorings vigorously which prompted the Ancient Mariner to question captain and crew ‘what will happen when the mooring lines are slipped?’ following many answers which included ‘stern seeks the wind’, ‘forward reverse forward’, ‘reverse forward reverse’, ‘swing on a spring’ and ‘lets stay another night’ it was decided that Number Two, who was considered to be the most agile, ‘walk the boat’ and leap for the gunwales as she left. The plan of action was successfully completed following another fine breakfast of eggs and bacon, further engine checks, bilge checks and checks for rats and stowaways.
With Captain Raymond at the helm, Helga headed out into Portsmouth Harbour, the wind was now nudging force 5 and whipped the tops of the wavelets, the Ancient Mariner directed Raymond to approach a half submerged mooring pontoon in order to test his mooring skills in dangerous conditions. Numbers One and Two prepared the mooring lines stepped over the guard rail coil of rope in hand and prepared to leap onto the lurching pontoon, Raymond desperately tried to gauge the effect of tide, wind and orders from the Ancient Mariner on Helga and failed to spot the large red sign nailed to the pontoon which read ‘NO MOORING AT ANY TIME’. Number Two hanging on with one arm looped round the shrouds, coil of rope in the other hand, wind and spray in his face expertly managed to light another fag thinking that this might be his last, CRUNCH, GRAUNCH, SCRAPE, Helga neatly took out the NO MOORING sign, the portion with ‘AT ANY TIME’ on floated briskly away. Yet another attempt or two, this time from port side instead of starboard, satisfied the Ancient Mariner that Captain and crew had performed well enough and proceeded to issue orders for mains’l to be hoisted in order to be ready for emergency action should the engine fail in the busy shipping channel exiting Portsmouth Harbour.
Helga and her crew motored proudly out once more into the Solent heading for Stokes Bay which was an area the Ancient Mariner considered would be suitable for Man Overboard drill. The wind by now was nudging force 6 (a yachtsman’s gale), the Ancient Mariner prepared the poor soul for dispatch (a bucket tied to a fender) threw him overboard and shouted ‘MAN OVERBOARD’ Raymond desperately tried to recall the sequence of events that he should have committed to memory, was it ‘heave to’, ‘turn down wind’, ‘jibe the main’, ‘launch the life belt and dan-buoy’, ‘start the motor’, ‘furl the gib’, ‘order a crew member to point at the drowning man’, ‘put out a Mayday’ or was there something else. ‘POINT’ shouts the captain to Number Two, by this time Number Two had lost sight of the bobbing white fender in amongst a million white horses, ‘sod’ cried the Ancient Mariner ‘I’ve never lost a man overboard yet’, there’s a first time for everything thought Raymond. Helga went round in circles all eyes desperate to spot the captains fender, after some minutes Number Two spotted the fender a couple of hundred yards away and pointed, Raymond furled his jib, jibed the main and once more bore down on his bucket.
After many attempts fender and bucket were finally brought alongside and hauled on board – but alas too late. Tea, coffee and biscuits were served and greatly appreciated by all as Helga now clawed her way back against wind and tide.
Her new course was 080 degrees (compass) once more towards the gap in the submarine barrier, Chichester and her homeport. Raymond invited Number One to take the helm, which he did with relish muttering ‘err to windward ‘and ‘money in the bank Frank’, and other such phrases that he thought might earn a few more points. Helga responded with an immediate broach to remind the new helmsman who was in charge. Having successfully negotiated the narrow gap through the submarine barrier, Captain Raymond issued a new course to Chichester Bar Beacon, which was now just visible on the horizon. Helga closed in on the Beacon converging with another similar craft crewed by waving sailors, Helga’s crew returned the wave, Helga sensed a distinct impending rivalry between the crews as they both rounded the Beacon almost together.
Sails were eased as Helga settled into a comfortable broad reach on the first leg up the narrow channel, there was a suggestion from the Ancient Mariner that an option would be to motor in as the leg up the narrowest part of the channel would be against the strong northerly wind and that slick tacking and sail handling would be required and might be beyond his rookey crew, Helga was having none of it and with Number One on the helm, Number Two on the jib starboard sheet, the captain on the port jib sheet and the Ancient Mariner manipulating the main Helga bristled with anticipation.
Battle commenced. Helga had already made ground on her rival with her first few tacks but she was still too close for comfort and may well lose ground on the next tack. Number One’s shouts of ‘ready about’ ‘lee- ho’ was met with quick reactions, the sound of spinning winches a healthy but firm couple of flaps of the jib as she was tightened up on the opposite tack, ‘tack on your depth’ came the order from the Ancient Mariner as Helga continued to gain ground on her rival, Number One had had experience of similar situations on his dinghy on the Norfolk Broads (which included overhanging trees) but charging at a wall of shingle with a ten ton boat, fisherman not yards away waiting to pick up the pieces and say ‘I told you so’ was a challenge he couldn’t ignore. Helga’s rival tried hard but failed to match the skill of a well-honed crew, the beaten yacht put in another tack before she needed to as if to say ‘I wasn’t racing anyway’ and faded into the distance.
The Ancient Mariner congratulated his crew on showing a clean pair of heels to the challenger but warned against over confidence and ‘WATCH YOUR DEPTH’. The passage up through the Itchenor channel was made without further incident, the helmsman managing to miss the red and green cans on the way. Thoughts now turned to starting the motor, furling the jib and bagging the main. The first two went without a hitch but some difficulty was experienced when bagging the main as this had to be done head to wind in a narrow channel which meant turning Helga through 180 degrees and motoring slowly with the tide, not an easy manoeuvre to achieve at the best of times but Helga was pleased that Number One on the helm didn’t act on all the orders that came his way.
With sails made shipshape, ropes and lines stored neatly Helga and her crew returned triumphant up the final approach to Chichester Marina lock gates. Wives and girlfriends were waving excitedly from the quayside as Helga approached the lock, their men folk now weather-beaten and looking confident making their women folk feel how proud and fortunate they were. Their pride waned somewhat as Helga and her crew got caught up in the traffic jam to the lock, 4pm on a Sunday afternoon was not a good time to return and required the utmost patience and skill from the Captain as he wrestled with the controls trying to keep Helga stationary in a queue of gin palaces with bow thrusters. After an hour or so Helga squeezed into the lock pleased that her crew had managed to fend off threatening sharp bits on other boats. It was sad for Helga that Number Two, although by now she liked to think of him as Pete, would be unable to be part of the crew for the following weekend to complete the exercise. However she was sure that her captain would replace him with another experienced pair of hands
ONE WEEK LATER
Ray and Bob arrived once more at Chichester Marina on the following Friday afternoon this time with Julian who was to be the new Number Two, Julian had said goodbye to his wife and young children earlier and although looking forward to the trip very much wondered if he would ever see his family again.
The sight of Helga dispelled any fears Julian may have had as he felt that she would take care of him even if his shipmates let him down. While Bob proceeded to carry out a bit of carpentry on the quayside in order to make a more comfortable bunk in the saloon, Ray hoisted the red ensign (Captain aboard signal) and was sat down at the chart table by the Ancient Mariner and was questioned about weather, tides and departure procedure. ‘Let me check your homework Ray’ said the Ancient Mariner ‘I usually tell somebody else to do the dirty work’ replied Ray but nevertheless knuckled down and tried to come up with a few answers. Helga was disappointed that the tides for that day meant that departure would be delayed until the following morning, she was upset to see her crew disappear off to the Pub at Dell Quay but became excited on their return when she heard Number One suggest a departure on the midnight tide, only to be outvoted by the Ancient Mariners casting vote as he considered that a well rested crew was essential for the exercises he had in mind for the coming days. All crew members quietly wondered what he meant but said nothing.
Saturday dawned and fellow mariners emerged from various boats and shuttled back and forth to the palatial shower facilities. The weather was crisp but the forecast was a northerly breeze of force 2 or 3 at best also the tide meant that Helga could not get out of the lock until 10.30am, Raymond was pleased that his calculations had coincided with the Ancient Mariners feelings. Chichester Marina, Chichester Marina, Chichester Marina this is Bryans Breeze, Bryans Breeze, Bryans Breeze, over. Bryans Breeze, Bryans Breeze, Bryans Breeze, Chichester Marina, go ahead, over. Chichester Marina, Bryans Breeze, request lock slot over. Bryans Breeze, you are number 32, currently locking numbers 10 through 12 over. Chichester Marina, Bryans Breeze, understand number 32, out. Bollocks thought Raymond, should have called earlier, I’ll know next time. It was 11.30 before Helga and her crew finally cleared the lock and started out on a two hour motor to the open sea. The destination was once again to be Cowes, which meant Helga was unable to sail. The crew busied themselves with identification of various waypoints, identifying birds and drinking copious amounts of tea, coffee and biscuits as they steadily made their way across the main shipping lanes.
On arrival off Cowes orders were issued to drop the main which was achieved with little difficulty although other craft in the immediate vicinity were very obliging and went hard to port or starboard or astern in order to avoid Helga’s gyrations. A few more exercises at going alongside, mooring and casting off at various pontoons along the Medina River were achieved without difficulty, the new Number Two now getting used to the indecisions and merging well with the rest of the crew. Next on the Ancient Mariners list was a test on finding and negotiating the entrance to the Beaulieu River, once again Captain Raymond pored over the charts and produced compass bearings and a list of hazards to look out for, Helga motored at an easy pace towards the estimated position of the Beaulieu River entrance. Helga and her crew were somewhat disappointed that the day had been spent without any wind but there were by now a few ruffles on the surface and the prospects looked reasonable for a sail up the River as one or two sails could be seen in the distance.
The entrance to the River is a double dogleg with shallows all around so close attention was required to hit the marks and stick to the transits, Number One on the helm heard many shouts of ‘left a bit’ ‘right a bit’ but couldn’t quite get it right, fortunately a close eye on the depth gauge got him through. Having reached the River proper a zephyr sprang up from the stern and filled the sails which by now were full main and full genoa, the engine was stopped and once again Helga bristled, this time she was keen to show what she could do in light airs against the tide. The Ancient Mariner delicately adjusted the main, Number One at the helm once again called on his experience on the Norfolk Broads and slowly, ever so gracefully Helga pulled her way up the river using gentle tacks and gibing the jib. All crew members reflected as the late afternoon sun gently dropped toward the horizon, the nearby squabble of various sea birds and waders jostling for their supper, the gentle lap of Helga’s bow cleaving the river and the prospect of a well earned pint at the Master Builders Arms which was a mile or two up river at Bucklers Hard was a prospect indeed.
250 years previously Nelson had negotiated this very river in the Victory, which had been built at Bucklers Hard, Helga and her crew felt that they were in good company.
The mooring at Bucklers Hard was to be quite a different kettle of fish to what the crew were used to. It required mooring stern (or bow on) to a large pile (vertical log) in the river and gently easing the other end to another large pile the other end and so restraining Helga fore and aft along the flow of the narrow river. The Ancient Mariner took time to explain the moves necessary as he knew that his previous charges had cocked it up completely and ended up cart wheeling down river taking out many other moored craft. However by this time Captain and crew were ready for more challenges. With Captain Raymond at the helm Helga ever so slowly approached the upwind pile, Number One calmly slipped a line through the mooring ring, the Captain eased the throttle, Helga gently was eased back to the stern pile on the bow line and bingo – home and dry first time. The Ancient Mariner was aghast at the skill he had just witnessed but stopped short of offering to buy the drinks.
Helga was wondering how on earth are her heroes going to get from a boat moored in the middle of the river in darkness for that well earned pint.
Answer - Competent Crew compulsory test number nine. i.e Number One finds and extracts from the locker the inflatable dinghy blows it up (with a foot pump) launches it, jumps in, assists all other crew members on board, rows ashore and ties up, pays for the drinks, finds the dinghy in total darkness, rows back and makes safe the dinghy. After much struggling the dinghy was found, inflated and assembled with thwart and transom, rowlocks and oars, all seemed to be in a serviceable condition except that a few spots of dust needed to be cleaned off where the crew would be sitting this was efficiently dealt with by Raymond and his duster. The dinghy was finally launched from the fore deck and brought round to Helga’s bathing platform below the transom, Number One duly leaped in thinking that he would be required to row the other crew members one at a time. The Ancient Mariner with his vast experience of travelling in such style knew that the dinghy was capable of carrying at least another football team and promptly ordered all crew members to jump in. Sure enough much to the rest of the crews surprise the dinghy stayed afloat. Number One rowed vigorously in the direction of the Master Builders, so vigorously that a rowlock failed which meant that the Captain and Number Two who were perched on the back of the dinghy had to take an oar each. Number Two was stronger and fitter than the Captain so the dinghy proceeded round in circles much to the amusement of fellow sailors on nearby yachts.
Raymond had had another hard day at the chart table and the strain showed; nevertheless he managed to summon reserves of strength, which propelled the foursome onto the waiting pontoon.
Following pints of shandy, ale, Guinness and another fine meal at the Master Builders, phone calls were made to loved ones in distant lands in order to alleviate the concerns that their worried womenfolk were obviously experiencing. They needn’t have bothered. Ken’s daughter (Coronation Street) was doing it with Roy, Martin had been caught with his pants down, Deirdre and Emily were drunk and were soliciting at the end of The Street.
‘We’re alive for Christ sake’. ‘Yes dear call me back when you’re sober’. Click.
Helga waited patiently in the moonlight for her crew. Despite the current balmy evening she had a feeling in her water that the next 24 hours would be perhaps the most exciting she had experienced in her short life. Splash----splash-----splash the sound of approaching paddles in the darkness were indeed her crew returning, all clambered aboard somewhat pooped from an energetic day and a fine meal at the Pub, all were looking forward to a good nights rest, not so (yet) for Raymond, he once again was required to produce pilotage plans and tide calculations for the exit from the Beaulieu River and compass courses and way points for Southampton which was to be the destination for the following evening prior to the night sail a term which the crew imagined to be the ultimate test of endurance. All slept so well that nobody caught the 5.30am weather forecast, which predicted a drop in pressure in the Solent area and winds of force 6 or greater for a short time.
Once again Raymond produced eggs and bacon for his appreciative crew, the first fried egg yoke broke as he flipped it hardover instead of easyover, the captain shovelled into the bin in full view of three pairs of hungry eyes waiting patiently with their toast buttered, Number two commented that it would have been perfectly acceptable, Raymond wouldn’t dream of presenting any of his crew with a runny egg to start the day. Hatches battened down for sea, engine checks, sails made ready and Helga once more eased away from her mooring, and after a brief stop for water replenishment at Bucklers Hard headed down river in a strengthening wind.
Emerging from the river mouth the wind increased further from the east, the Ancient Mariner ordered a reef in the main in gusty conditions, the manoeuvre was completed with only slight hitches with the topping lift and leech line which had to be cut away in order not to snag the main. Raymond thought briefly about the cost of replacing yet another piece of string. Thoughts of coffee and biscuits were shelved as Helga started to dig her bows in to the increasing walls of water heading her way.
Taking turns at the helm the Captain , Numbers One and Two did what they could to smooth out the effect of wind and waves but horizontal spray from Helga’s bow was now beginning to be felt for the first time by the crew in her cockpit. ‘Watch your depth’ came the cries from the Ancient Mariner as he was concerned that a two-metre swell in a depth of three metres would be critical for a boat with a 2 metre draft.
A bounce on the Ocean floor was the last thing that Helga or her crew needed following eggs and bacon. The Ancient Mariner tried to explain the finer points of sailing a boat like Helga in these conditions, most of his words were lost in the wind and spray except the comment that Number One heard ‘the rudder has no effect to windward’ which was news but painfully obvious to Number One.
Slowly but surely Helga clawed her way past Cowes around Calshot Point and into Southampton water and headed up past Fawley refinery, close attention was paid to the many buoys and cardinals marking the passage, any false move here would have meant being run down by the flying hydrofoils or lumbering ferries. With headsail furled Helga motored towards Town Quay in a stiff breeze, the mooring would require the utmost concentration on Helga’s movements if she was to avoid receiving a sharp object through the side from a parked craft, Number One was not too happy on the helm as he knew that his captain would not be too pleased if he dented Helga’s fine lines.
The double dogleg entrance to Town Quay was successfully negotiated and then some confusion broke out as to where to park. The wind was unhelpful and continuous shouts of hard aport, hard to starboard, midships, no the other way, no not that way, where’s the roving fender, left a bit, right a bit, more throttle, no not that much, I said forward not reverse, we’ll try another berth, resulted in the Ancient Mariner apologising profusely to the captain of a moored craft, the actual words of the Ancient Mariner were ‘I am extremely sorry Sir’ he swallowed his next remarks ‘Sir, I have the misfortune to be surrounded by a bunch of idiots’, ‘No worries mate, we all do it sometime’ was the unhelpful reply.
Helga breathed a sigh of relief as the final bowline was tied. Raymond went off up the pontoon to check with security if it would be alright to stay awhile, ‘not so’ was the response ‘not even for a cup of tea?’ asked Raymond ‘well OK but no more than 10 minutes’, inconsiderate bastard thought the captain, doesn’t he realise what we’ve been through to get to his rotten quay, as he returned to his yacht. Sod em’, tea and biscuits all round was the collective defiant mood, 10 minutes later ‘Oi - you - move’ was the shout from across the water ‘alright, keep your socks on’ we’re just going, you miserable sod’ but the comment was lost in the wind.
Following another 20 minute discussion about which line to release first, as by now Helga was straining on all lines due to the wind, it was decided that Number Two should perform the running jump, Raymond should reverse out, continue reversing until reaching a large enough space to spin Helga on her centreline. Fenders were only required once as Helga headed out of Town Quay for Ocean Village marina around the corner in the hope of finding a more welcoming berth for a few hours. Efficiently tied up, berthing fees handed over, ablutions completed, dinner on the way (once again donated by the captain’s wife), Raymond was once more sat down by the Ancient Mariner at the chart table and proceeded to pore over his charts and tide tables in order to be ready for any eventuality during the impending night sail.
The night sail required a night passage of a minimum of four hours which could also be achieved under power if necessary, all crew were somewhat relieved as the Ancient Mariner declared that the conditions were not suitable for sailing and that all hands (and eyes) would be needed to concentrate on spotting the dangers. A mandatory requirement for any night passage on a yacht is that all crew, at all times, wear life jackets and safety lines that are attached to a ‘hard point’ when the wearer is anywhere except safely in the bowels of the vessel. The procedure for achieving this was explained in great detail by the Ancient Mariner, as he didn’t want to blemish his record of losing a man overboard just yet.
A stiff breeze greeted Helga as she nudged her way out of Ocean Village and headed down the River Itchen towards Southampton Water with Number Two (Julian) at the helm. Number Two’s quiet and devoted disposition to duty over the past days had earned him many points for his logbook, his failure to tie a bowline when under extreme pressure had been forgotten as he tried to stop Helga drifting from the course set by the Captain. Number Two’s determination and helmsmanship were soon to be put to the test.
Red, green and white lights, nearby container ships decks awash with light and a hazy moon punctured the darkness as Helga emerged from the river into Southampton Water her steaming light and navigation lights shining proudly as if to say ‘here I am please don’t run me over’.
Southampton Water greeted Helga and her crew as if she was a 747 approaching runway 27R at Heathrow at night, the waterway blazed with light along its length culminating in Blackpool illuminations (Fawley Refinery) in the distance off the starboard bow.
The Ancient Mariner repeatedly requesting all crew members to identify all adjacent vessels, channel markers and unlit floating objects from the pin cushion of lights, Number Two’s steady hands responding accurately to all commands. ‘What’s that white light flashing 6 and a long one’ asked the Ancient Mariner, all eyes peered into the distance ahead, Raymond armed with binoculars, paper, pencil and torch identified correctly a South Cardinal some three miles ahead. Helga’s diesel throbbed reassuringly below as it slowly but surely propelled her crew down Southampton Water past Netley and the Hamble River, a transit line marking the entrance to the Hamble was easily picked up by all crew members as their night vision was now improving.
Helga, now heading into the Solent proper started to rise and fall somewhat alarmingly on increasing waves as wind and tide slowed her to no more than two knots over the ground. Ryde church spire, illuminated off the starboard quarter came into view and was to remain there for at least, it seemed the next two hours. An illuminated wedge shaped object also came into view dead ahead, which was also to remain there for at least, it seemed the next three hours.
Helga began to pitch more and more as her bows lifted out of the water and slammed down the other side of the wave delivering gallons of spray into the cockpit. The continuous slamming lulled certain crew members into silence and a deep trance, Number Two gripped the wheel tighter and tighter as Helga’s bow launched once more skyward only to return, prop spinning in fresh air, down into the next trough. The Ancient Mariner looked at his crew one by one in the darkness and asked them in turn if they were feeling OK, fine, smashin’, great, super was the response but descended again into silence.
The Ancient Mariner was wondering if his crew were ready for his next thoughts but decided to air them anyway ‘It’ll probably be worse rounding Gilkicker Point’ he said but he needn’t have worried, some of the crew by now were thinking that they had had a good life anyway.
Sure enough the ride reached Alton Towers proportions but despite the winds worst efforts Number Two’s firm grip on the wheel seemed to have all options under control. The Ancient Mariner knew that Helga’s brave attempt at coping with such conditions were fine while heading into wind and waves but rounding Gilkicker Point and making the entrance to Portsmouth Harbour would mean that she would have to go beam on to the weather and he wasn’t hopeful of Helga remaining upright, he was of course consoled by the fact that a boat such as Helga would roll over gracefully and come up the other side – provided the hatch was closed – the hatch was open.
Rounding Gilkicker Point the Ancient Mariner called for 5 degrees to port, sure enough Helga’s motions were now aggravated by a cork screwing effect which now required an additional delicate counter action by the helmsman’, ‘another 5 degrees to port’ came the order from the Ancient Mariner, the corkscrewing action remained controllable ‘another 5 degrees to port’, Helga rolled but held her balance, ‘another 5 degrees to port’, slowly but surely Helga’s position came under slight protection from the howling easterly by Southsea Castle Point and the entrance to Portsmouth Harbour.
All hands were grateful that the worst (they thought) was over and the entrance to Portsmouth Harbour at just gone midnight would be child’s play. The track made by Helga due to her delicate manoeuvres into Portsmouth Harbour meant that she had missed the small boat transit channel to the harbour entrance and that entry by the main ferry channel was her only option.
No worries thought the Ancient Mariner as the midnight ferry from Brittany eased past ahead of Helga, the only problem might come if we’re unlucky enough to converge with the midnight car ferry from Fishbourne but even then he was confident that Helga’s radar reflector will alert the ferry crew to impending collision. Number Two continued correctly to keep the red cans marking the main channel close to his port side. For a few precious minutes thoughts of a night safely at anchor began to relax the crew.
Shit, said the Ancient Mariner under his breath, here comes the Isle of Wight ferry (the brown trouser card), ‘not to worry she’ll pass safely on our starboard side, she’s bound to be aware of our position’ he said confidently. Helga and her crew had implicit faith in the Ancient Mariner and that his prediction would turn out to be correct as they continued motoring into Portsmouth Number One being the passenger on this voyage watched on Helga’s stern quarter in some disbelief as ‘the brown trouser card’ approached. ‘Do you really think that the ferry captain is aware of our position and intentions’ he enquired to the Ancient Mariner, silence was the reply.
‘Christ, there’s a bloody yacht dead ahead’ came the cry from the ferry helmsman, the ferry was travelling at her customary 22 knots into the harbour and entering a four wheel slide to kill her speed as was her usual manoeuvre at this time of night, not expecting to encounter any crazy yacht skipper to be out on such a night. ‘Engines hard astern’ ‘ bow thrusters hard a’port’ ‘anchors away’ ‘full reverse thrust’ ‘fingers crossed’ 'eyes shut' came the desperate cries as the ferry responded slowly and disappeared in a cloud of spray only to reappear towering over Helga in a cold sweat.
The odd passenger appeared on deck and stared down at Helga wondering what all the commotion was about. Helga and her crew now knew exactly what the iceberg felt like the night it sunk the Titanic. The ferry came to a halt alongside Helga, allowed her to move ahead and gracefully and politely slid behind her and took up her correct position on Helga’s starboard side.
Excitement over for the night (they thought) Helga’s crew motored safely into Portsmouth Harbour on the look out for a suitable buoy on which to hook up for the night, sure enough a number of spare ‘Admiralty Buoy’s’ appeared from the darkness off the port bow, the Ancient Mariner confirmed that one would be ‘fair game’ for the night.
Captain Raymond, once more at the helm, made pass after pass at the chosen buoy as Numbers One and Two lying in prone position on the fore deck waved the boat hook at the buoy in the vain hope of hooking the ring. After the fourth attempt Raymond issued a firm order ‘Jesus, if we don’t get it next time round, we’re going into the marina, sod the expense’, after three more attempts Number One aided by Number Two managed to get the slippery serpent aboard and tied up.
Another night swinging safely at anchor was the reward for Helga and her crew as they retired to their cabins following a well-deserved coffee, cheese, biscuits, bananas, ham, spam and jam sandwiches.
THE FINAL DAY
The Ancient Mariner emerged from his cabin the following morning announcing that he had sat on his glasses and he would not be able to participate in the final day’s events, the news was received by Helga and her crew with a mixture of concern and relief. Concern that they wouldn’t find their way back to Chichester and relief that the Ancient Mariner might not spot any cock-ups. Number One’s suggestion that one option would be to catch the bus was received with the contempt it deserved.
The final day for Helga and her crew surely could not be as adventurous as the first four, and so it proved to be. A yachtsman’s gale had been forecast but did not materialise which allowed Helga’s crew to shake out the reef they had put in that morning. Despite the Ancient Mariner’s limited visibility he nevertheless put the crew through a few final ‘man overboard’ drills which were completed with only a few errors of judgement. Fortunately the Ancient Mariners record of not losing a man overboard remained in tact.
Helga tacked effortlessly against a gentle breeze towards Chichester Bar beacon almost losing sight of the shore on a number of tacks, but unerring bearings given by the Captain brought her back on track. The timing of the entrance to Chichester Harbour was critical unless Captain and crew wished to spend yet another night on a mooring. The plan for the afternoon included a final exercise to throw out the anchor (an exercise new to Raymond and his crew) at East Head and spend an hour enjoying lunch and a final debrief by the Ancient Mariner. The task of laying the anchor was completed after a short questioning of Raymond by the Ancient Mariner as to the sequence of measuring the length of chain necessary and the correct method of ‘setting’ the anchor.
During the laying of the anchor ceremony, Number One saw his chance to earn a few final points towards his certificate. He went below and in 10 minutes flat prepared beans a la chaud avec jambon, pain du beurre, fromage avec biscuit et café au lait, all laid out complete with china plates, knives, forks and spoons.
All hands came below and enjoyed the gourmet spread, Captain Raymond dreaming of the time when he could bring his golfing friends and their respective ladies to join him on a cruise to enjoy a glass or two and a swim off East Head.
The Ancient Mariner was more than pleased with his crew’s efforts and despite Raymond’s concern that he had not performed well enough was rewarded with the news that all had performed ‘way beyond the standard necessary’ and indeed could wear his Captain’s hat with pride. Helga’s final passage up to her berth in Chichester Marina was completed without further incident. She is to this day feeling very fortunate about her future as she heard Raymond remark that he was bringing his friends down one day to help scrub her bottom.
Extracted from the log of Bryan’s Breeze (Helga). October 2003.
29.11.2021. On reflection - how the hell we survived God only knows. Bob.
THE CROATIA EXPERIENCE
SPLIT 15th – 22nd May 2005
The crew:-
Bob J (or Bob the elder) – Skipper (apparent), Knickerbocker Glory lover.
Bob P (or Bob the younger – Skipper (non tidal) – homeless.
Mike – Organiser – Chief Helmsman – Chief Complainer and Asker of questions (fluent in Croatian second language)
Bill – Navigator – Local knowledge – Fellow Knickerbocker Glory lover and Bird Spotter.
‘Mustang Sally’ rang out across the Adriatic from the cockpit speakers aboard the yacht Lambarda as skipper and crew cracked open the bottles of beer pleased with their first efforts at trimming the sails – ‘this is what it’s all about’ they were thinking, this is really what it’s all about.
‘What the **** is wrong with the instruments’ asked the skipper, the RayMarine wind instruments gyrating steadily indicating that the wind was going through 360 degrees every 2 minutes – could it have been the local Pivo beer taking effect already – ‘nah’ says Bob P ‘all the instruments is shagged if you asked me’, ‘where’s the burgee backup’, ‘blown away in a Bora I expect’ says Bill, the GPS is buggered as well – impossible to get waypoints in, bloody good job I’ve got my handheld’
These were only the first of many shortcomings which captain and crew would have to contend with, the list of complaints were to grow during the week which gave Mike as the Chief Complainer much to look forward to in the weeks to come.
The trip had for months been eagerly anticipated by all, captain and crew assembled at the duty free shop at Gatwick eager to get going. Having purchased the initial essentials - vodka, bacardi and perfume flight BA 2888 accelerated down the runway, took off, punched a hole in the cloud and set course for Split.
Two BA hostesses proudly sporting their new uniform did their best to take passengers minds off the hot roll, cake and ice cream, purporting to be lunch. They failed.
Stepping off the aircraft in Split, Bob J’s vest, winter shirt, sweater and sailing jacket had their effect in the hot dry eastern Mediterranean atmosphere, his temperature rose another 20 degrees as the delightful Ivannah ushered him into her car for the drive to the marina (the others were ushered into Ivan’s taxi). Bob J was well aware of his age, condition and responsibilities but the sharp-featured Ivannah with the bronze thigh (he only spotted one through the split up her skirt) won him over in an instant as she told him about her yearning to be a doctor. Bob took his sweater off.
Lambarda waited patiently on the pontoon eager to be introduced to her new crew, she was a 5 year old Sun Odyssey 34.2, at first clapping a very reasonable example of the type thought the crew. Not only has she furling jib, furling main and an electric windlass but she also sported a fine blue flag on the shrouds.
Mike as Chief Complainer was not in the least impressed, he had specifically booked a different, younger yacht called Mika (which was moored nearby) he made his dissatisfaction clear to the Euroyacht representative Serena who assured him that Lambarda was Mika’s equal and would serve his needs very well. Mike unable to combat Serena’s sexy demeanour vowed to write a letter to someone. Euroyacht’s other swarthy representative, who looked more like a Croat builder than a yacht instructor, came aboard to give captain and crew a briefing, the briefing was very brief and he took the first opportunity to disappear to find a hand held compass which was missing from the inventory rather than answer the list of the captain’s questions.
Following a visit to the local store to stock up on provisions the crew re-assembled and set off to find something to eat as the BA breakfast had long since given up all it’s energy. The decision had been made to stay on the pontoon in Split for the first night as all crewmembers felt the need for a period of reflection and relaxation before planning their first voyage. A nearby restaurant supplied copious amounts of lasagne, red wine and even included a fine view across the bay, captain and crew chatted excitedly about what the coming week might bring.
On the return to Lambarda cabins were allocated with Bob J (like the captains wife Mabel) opting for the kitchen table.
The following morning after cereal and a cup of tea made with the saucepan, Bill settled down at the chart table and proceeded to spell out the options, Bill fortunately had visited many ports in the area on previous trips and was able to advise on the route to take, which was just as well as the others hadn’t a clue as to the meaning of Hvar, Brach, StariGrad, Trogir, Vis, Supetar or Korcula. ‘Sounds like a bunch of Chelsea footballers’ to me says Bob P ‘ I’ll settle for Meusli’.
Mike’s list of shortcomings grew:-
Sink plug for heads.
Cover for engine instruments.
Engine handbook.
Hand bearing compass.
Deviation card.
Fire blanket by cooker.
Dish cloth.
Tea towels.
Face towels.
Kettle.
Bedding.
Mike made yet another call to Serena, she promised to have the kettle delivered to the boat in 5 minutes, 30 minutes went by, ‘poke your kettle’ was the joint response and Bob P fired up the 27HP Yanmar the crew hauled in the mooring lines and Lambarda headed out of the marina minus one kettle.
After a short run on the engine on a heading of 220 degrees (compass) the wind sprang up from the south west, sails were hoisted, engine cut and a beat to windward was demanded of Lambarda, she didn’t disappoint, she clocked 9.2 knots in a moderate breeze, the conclusion was reached by all – shagged speedo as well – another for Mike’s list. Bill decided to go below and attempt some sustenance for the crew but complained bitterly to the helmsman ‘can’t you keep the bloody thing still’ he asked as he struggled with his salami sandwiches. The skipper threw her across the wind bringing Lambarda into a heave to position, she rocked gently beam on to the wind allowing Bill to complete the lunch.
Lambarda and crew drifted steadily westwards leaving little hope of tacking up the channel to StariGrad before nightfall, which was to be the port for the first night. The donkey was ordered back into harness.
Approaching Starigrad using the engine the crew made ready for their first mooring stern on to the town quay using the ‘lazy line’. The lazy line requires someone on the quay to hand a crew member a line, one end of which is attached to the quay and the other attached to a large concrete block sunk into the harbour. With Bob P on the helm a successful mooring was achieved without smashing into the quay, getting the lazy line hooked round the prop’ or anyone making a fool of themselves all under the watchful eyes of fellow mariners moored nearby. Mike was so pleased with his expertise that he offered his services to the crew of a yacht attempting to moor next to Lambarda, his offer was rejected much to his disappointment, ‘bloody Germans – ungrateful bastards the lot of them’ was hardly discernible through his teeth.
The town quay at Starigrad is a delightful mooring, stubby palm trees line the quay, a variety of ancient buildings including the town clock atop the disused swimming baths (previously the town hall) the pavement of well worn flagstones glistening in the afternoon sun all conspired to be a welcoming site.
Following £8 phone calls to loved ones in far off places, regulation stiff vodka’s, bacardi’s and beer aboard, a necessity on such occasions, ‘the plank’ was unlashed from the guard rail and ceremoniously laid from Lambarda’s stern to the quay, one by one the crew stepped ashore feeling like a bunch of ancient mariners on some far flung treasure island. The natives looked friendly enough although their dogs didn’t. Led by Bill the crew set off for a stroll around the narrow alleys leading in all directions from the quay. Notes for future reference were made as to the location of bars, restaurants, banks, supply shops and ice cream parlours. Bill was keen to visit a fish restaurant with no roof, which he remembered from a previous visit. The search up and down the alleys for the restaurant was successful and all crew members returned to their ship planning to visit later. On the way Mike spotted shoals of tiddlers in the water amongst the hundreds of small fishing boats, being a keen fisherman Mike decided that he would buy the necessary tackle in order to catch tomorrows evening meal.
The visit to the restaurant with no roof did not disappoint, Bill fell in love three times during the meal, once with the waitress and once with his guilt headed bream and once with the red wine made by the proprietor. A short stroll back to the quay via the ice cream parlour for coffee and ice cream rounded off a very satisfying day.
The night was not very satisfying, the wind picked up during the night and increased steadily to force 6 gusting force 7, Lambarda lurched from side to side on her moorings, loose halyards drummed on masts, palms thrashed to and fro and the town clock cavorted through port holes but remained steady on two minutes to eight. At three in the morning the skipper clambered up on deck and lashed his halyard, he was tempted to lash his neighbours halyard but considered that the Germans might not be best pleased with some English crawling all over his foredeck lashing his halyard.
In the morning the wind increased to force 8, rumours spread that the ‘Bora’ had arrived and could be in for 10 days putting pay to any hope of leaving the port. Thoughts turned to abandoning the boat and catching a ferry back to Split – if the ferries were running. The search for reliable weather information commenced. Before leaving Split the captain had been told that Channel 67 would give regular forecasts, Channel 67 was monitored all week - diddly squat - another complaint for Mike’s list.
The only downside of Starigrad is that having only a town quay and not a marina there are no shower or toilet facilities (yet), what appears to be this facility was under construction next to the fish market adjacent to a small stream, ablutions were completed on board and at various coffee shops.
After discussions between captain and crew it was evident that the forecast precluded sailing that day although conditions seemed not quite as bad as the forecast. Plan A for the day switched to plan B, which was to catch a bus to the island’s main town Hvar. Busses ran infrequently so Mike as Chief Asker of Questions did a deal with a taxi driver and for a mere 200 Kuna (or £20) the crew were transported over the hills to Hvar by the local Stirling Moss, the taxi remained glued to the road despite Stirling’s best efforts at driving it over the edge, Bob P being the youngest was not quite ready to die yet and clung on hoping that Juan Fangio was not coming the other way. On arrival in Hvar a search was made for the fishing tackle shop, Mike being fluent at asking questions nipped in and out of supermarkets, novelty shops, coffee bars and toyshops hoping to find a line and a hook. Finally they arrived at a tackle shop only to find it had closed 5 minutes ago. Undeterred and following a coffee on the quay Mike did another deal with another taxi driver and the crew were transported back to Starigrad, the search continued. Finally a tackle shop was located and after a couple of hours haggling Mike did yet another deal on a line, ledger, hooks and lures.
Back aboard Lambarda Bob J was ambling around the deck checking on things and eyeing up the inflated dinghy which had been towed from Split, the crew had agreed to pay for an outboard which was clamped to the pushpit, Bob J couldn’t stop himself hopping into the dinghy, clamping on the outboard shipped the oars (just in case), fired up the engine and shot off under the bowsprit of a neighbouring yacht nearly decapitating himself. A small inflatable can be highly unstable and totally uncontrollable for anyone who has not had plenty of experience or anyone who has had experience but has had a glass of Pivo. Bob had a little experience and large glass of Pivo, the others by this time were watching the spectacle from the yacht. Bob was just getting the beast under control when the engine packed up, his decision to take along the oars saved the day. Bob P also decided to have a go and again following a near loop the loop managed to reach the far side of the harbour and return without mishap. The outboard had seen better days and most parts that should have moved didn’t, so, without further ado all crew members (being trained engineers!) set about fixing it. After much discussion as to the way forward the engine was laid out on the quay, taken apart and kicked, all the tools in Lambarda’s tool kit were rusty and useless (another for Mike’s list) and a friendly? German from a neighbouring yacht who by this time had taken an interest in the proceedings offered his gleaming tool kit. It was agreed that despite the new tools this particular outboard was another candidate for Mike’s list and unceremoniously clamped back onto the pushpit.
Friendly foreigners from another yacht advised the crew of a restaurant across the water that shouldn’t be missed. They were not wrong and apart from Mike being unable to explain that lemonade was not bitter lemon and a couple of owls trying to get in on the act a pleasant evening was enjoyed by all. Bill fell in love again.
The weather forecast for the following day was not a great deal better but a window was forecast for early afternoon. It was generally agreed that an attempt should be made to sail to Milna a port some 15 miles away. The conditions were decidedly choppy for most of the way but with gentle but firm handling Lambarda arrived at the marina in the early afternoon sun pleased with her performance. Milna looked from the harbour entrance to be a very pleasant small red roofed town nestling in the hills with the prospect of a variety of restaurants and bars to chose from. Not so, the search for a decent restaurant by the crew took them up cat-infested alleys and through building sites. At last they came upon a spanking new restaurant but following a couple of beers unease set in at the lack of ambience and the crew left without eating. The Palma restaurant back on the quay turned out to be the best of the bunch. Bill again fell in love with his octopus and the waitress in that order.
Next morning the crew were awakened by the nearby town clock striking 94 ‘o’ clock – a tradition in Croatia which takes place at sundown and sunset. The forecast was once more of a Bora, which is a wind of force 6 and above from the North East coming off the mountains, virtually unpredictable, coming straight down and scattering in all directions. The morning was one of warm sun, bright blue skies and no wind, yachts and gin palaces, some adorned with ladies with legs akimbo, started to leave port for far off places. One of the options for today’s journey put forward by Bill sat at the chart table was to sail to Trogir a much larger town nestling in a well protected harbour further north. The course was to be generally on a bearing of 315 degrees (compass), which took Lambarda right through Bora territory. Captain and crew by this time were confident that together with Lambarda they could handle anything that the weather could throw at them, Bora or no Bora.
Ships papers were collected from the office, fees paid, copies of the synoptic charts taken and lines made ready to be slipped, ‘I don’t wish to be a nuisance’ said Mike ‘but I think I’ve left my passport in Starigrad’, the initial reaction from the rest of the crew was ‘what a plonker’ but concern quickly replaced annoyance as suggestions as to what to do came thick and fast, return to Starigrad and waste two days, catch a ferry to Split and then another ferry to Starigrad and back, meet you in Trogir, hire a speed boat, phone the police, call the coastguard , phone the Embassy or look in the fridge. There are no prizes for guessing which of the options produced the passport.
Lines were finally slipped and Lambarda joined the other yachts leaving the harbour heading for Trogir. The donkey was soon put back in it’s stable sails hoisted and the heading required dialled in on the AutoHelm - a clever device which automatically steers Lambarda on any desired heading – it promptly fell apart – another for Mike’ list.
The wind slowly but surely increased from the north east (Bora direction) as Lambarda diced with the odd yacht and catamaran, crews exchanged waves (except the Germans) as competitions as to who was the best to windward came and went. The wind increased further, the order went out to reduce sail and don wets as white horses began to appear on top of the waves, Mike on the helm didn’t have time to don wets as Lambarda launched into the teeth of the Bora. Sails were further reefed and despite some confusion on board due to the now violent rocking and rolling, spray hurtling horizontally over Lambarda and crashing of plates below captain and crew finally got their charge under control. Other yachts nearby cavorted in all directions sails a’flapping, one skated by Lambarda’s stern on it’s beam ends, still under full sail, keel nearly out of the water, either the crew were caught with their pants down or they were showing off, just managing to avoid a broach the yacht popped up went into an involuntary gibe – obviously the former.
The strength of the wind was now a good force 6 gusting force 7 and more, Lambarda with a couple of pocket handkerchiefs for sails continued on course comparatively well balanced as many other yachts in the distance had obviously given up and were trying to motor through the swell, not a comfortable option. The wind direction despite its ferocity allowed Lambarda to make progress towards Trogir. Very gradually the wind eased as Lambarda tracked north west and allowed the crew to increase sail settle down and lunch was prepared below by those who were able to go below.
The final run into Trogir required a spot of delicate navigation by Bill dodging the rocks, at one point Bob J on the helm suddenly disobeyed the navigator’s orders and went beserk throwing Lambarda around in all directions ‘what the **** is going on’ Bob J, keeping a close watch on the depth gauge suddenly saw 53 metres disappear to 2.5 metres, Bob expected Lambarda’s keel to be ripped off any minute ‘depth gauge shagged’ Mike added another to his list. Lambarda rounded the green buoys and motored up the channel towards Trogir. Another successful stern on ‘lazy line’ mooring was completed by skipper and crew in the large marina.
The other side of the river the main town of Trogir beckoned. Trogir is a much larger port than those so far visited and seemed to have much to offer. The castle battlements opposite, the long town quay, the tall church spires all seemed to speak of a long history and vibrancy. The crew now fully ablutioned and Mike sporting his black, finely pressed three quarter length silk effect evening trousers set off across the bridge in search of a restaurant and maybe some entertainment. The myriad alleys produced a myriad of bars, parlours of one sort and the other, restaurants and designer gear shops. The crew settled down in one of the bars with contorted wooden furniture and waited to be served, and waited, and waited, and waited and walked out. A further venture into the alleys produced a market square, dirty postcard shops and more bars and restaurants. Skipper and crew settled down in another bar with no roof and ordered a carafe of the house red, ‘bloody disgusting’ says Bob P ‘crap’ says Mike ‘I’ll put it on the list’, ‘you do that’ says Bill, all four left without ordering anything to eat as the smell from a nearby sewer vent helped make the final decision.
Eventually a friendly waiter waiving his arms about up one of the alleys persuaded the crew that there was no finer place to eat, after a reasonable meal he was awarded 3 stars - he would have got 5 if he was a waitress. During the stroll back along the quayside Bob J spotted a yacht moored alongside the town quay adorned with flags from stem to stern, obviously a proud visitor from many foreign ports he thought, on closer inspection the ‘flags’ turned out to be a hundred pairs of brightly coloured knickers and thongs fluttering in the breeze, Bob and the crew were unable to guess at the meaning of this nautical message.
The following morning Mike and Bill struck up a relationship with the German skipper of ‘Paula’, a fine looking yacht moored next door. Horst invited the two aboard and proceeded to impress them with the finer detail of his pride and joy. The two Bob’s were more impressed with Helga spread-eagled in her white bikini on the yacht moored on the other side of Lambarda.
The morning was bright but a cool wind had set in from the west, Bill once more at the chart table studied the options, which was getting increasingly difficult as the charts supplied with Lambarda had seen better days and were beginning to come apart at the seams – another for the list. After much indecision the decision was made to set sail for Drvenik a small island, which according to the chart had a small anchorage ‘sheltered from winds from all directions’ and then re-study the options. Mooring fee’s were paid, papers collected, good byes to Horst and Helga, lines slipped and Lambarda and crew motored down the channel to the loud voices of a thousand school children singing Croation folk tunes on the town quay opposite, a delightful send off!
The course required was slap bang into a breezy westerly which necessitated some slick tacking through the rock strewn channels but captain and crew were up to the challenge and saw off a number of attempts by other yachts to head them. Nosing around the final rocky headland the little port of Drvenik came into view, the decision was taken to drop the anchor in the inner harbour as the few moorings on the newly constructed breakwater were already taken. Lambarda was driven round and round in circles, like a dog before it settles, trying to find the right depth and position, finally the order was given to drop the hook, Mike was not at all happy with the situation as he thought that Lambarda wasn’t ‘swinging’ properly and the chain would be in the way of other yachts should they wish to anchor, the skipper felt fairly confident that the anchor was set and it was OK for all to relax and break out the lunch. Other yachts came, tried to anchor nearby in the increasing wind, gave up and disappeared. After no more than half an hour Lambarda had drifted uncomfortably close to the stone ferry quay, a hasty decision was made to up anchor and get the hell out of this exposed anchorage (a letter to the chart makers thought Mike). The next 20 minutes was a period of much frustration, with Bob J on the helm motoring around trying to hold Lambarda in the correct position for anchor retrieval, the rest of the crew fought with the windlass. Despite the best efforts of all, the 60 metre chain disappeared over the side placing the yacht into a difficult position, luckily the end was secured to Lambarda. Bob P being the youngest and fittest laboured at the manual winch for many minutes and with a fine effort managing to get all the chain including the anchor back on board.
The wind by this time was again gusting force 6 straight into the exit channel throwing up many white horses and an uncomfortable swell, the 27HP Yanmar did it’s best to propel Lambarda and her crew into the teeth of the near gale, Bill and Mike suggested that the best option would be to do a 180 and hide behind the breakwater rafted up until the wind dropped, the skipper having experienced far worse conditions at night off Gilkicker Point, The Lizard and also off the Ushant lighthouse considered that unless the donkey died the best option would be to motor around the headland into open water, and even if the donkey died he was confident of bringing Lambarda back into harbour under sail and kissing the quay – some hopes!
Out into open water with beam on to the swell Lambarda rolled and rocked for some time until clear of the rocks, with the wind now up the stern sails were hoisted, donkey killed and Lambarda surfed along at ? knots. The destination suggested by Bill was to be the marina in Marina which meant a zig-zag course around another headland and back into the wind, once again a long motor against a stiff breeze up the approach channel to Marina brought Lambarda and her crew on the approach to the pontoon. Expecting a stern on mooring as per usual, lines were rigged on the stern, a lesson was learnt here – always rig a bow line in case a side on mooring is requested at the last minute. A figure on the pontoon waved Lambarda into a side on mooring, the skipper gave credit to who ever it was rushed forward with a line and secured Lambarda on the quay in difficult conditions – especially when another German is in close proximity trying to do the same thing. The pontoon at Marina sports some nasty cleats which are made from scaffold poles and lie in wait for hulls to puncture if moored side on – so beware.
The figure on the quay introduced himself as Simon from Suffolk, a likeable lad who had sunk his life savings into his 50 foot yacht the Lazy Penelope and offered skippered cruises aboard including full chef and waiter services. Check him out on www.lazywinch.com (website disappeared) . Simon lives on his yacht and being familiar with the bars and restaurants offered to show the crew around later that evening.
Marina, being only a small community, has very little to offer compared with the previous ports, although there was evidence of a new roundabout going in alongside the quay. The shower facilities were reasonable but Bob J returning from the showers had to report that the showers weren’t connected to the hot water. Mike incensed at the cheek to charge the same as other marinas with hot showers decided to write a letter to someone.
Later that evening Simon ushered the crew around the quay to a small restaurant tucked away up an alley, at first sight not an unreasonable looking place. Simon obviously knew the Croation proprietors and alarm bells should have been ringing in the ears of the crew saying ‘ripoff’ ripoff’ unfair?. The red wine appeared which was hardly drinkable along with Myrko. Darting eyes Myrko was the local diver, terrorist (IRA trained), captain in the Croation Army at 17, mercenary, politically motivated and promised to kill anyone for a Kuna, he was also high on something, unease settled on the table as he sought bids to kill the President the Prime Minister or anybody else. Mike immediately threw up. Myrko was, he said, a reformed family man who no doubt had his business reputation to think of but Lambarda’s crew were happy to pay for his wine and Simon’s meal as a ransom. The crew enjoyed another knickerbocker glory and coffee on the way back to the boat.
The final days sailing dawned, the sky was crystal clear with a gentle breeze from the north west was just what the doctor ordered. Cold showers, breakfast, goodbyes to Simon and Myrko behind them Lambarda and crew with Mike on the helm slipped moorings and headed down the channel. The destination was back to Split and a debrief, Mike was well pleased with his ever growing list:-
Instruments- Wind, GPS, Log, Depth (shagged).
Outboard bracket useless (either side of bimini anchor point on the pushpit rail).
Mooring lines too big, caked with salt and frayed in the centre span.
Autohelm kept falling to pieces.
Charts, out of date and badly torn/worn from over use. (We had to purchase new ones)
Tools insufficient and rusty.
Flares a few years out of date.
Man over board Dan buoy and beacon tied such that it could never be activated in a hurry.
Lifejackets were from out of the arc.
Safety harnesses very old and difficult to see how they were worn.
Anchor chain jammed in slots of windlass making it impossible to raise the anchor without manual help to free the chain.
Somebody was in for it but all the shortcomings weren’t going to spoil the final day. Bill plotted the course back to Split via the Isolated Danger beacon. During the initial run Mike finally got his lure dangling over the stern in the hope of catching dinner, dinner tried to bite but the lead weight bouncing along the surface frightened dinner away and put pay to any chance of a bite.
There were far fewer yachts on the horizon that day as it was Saturday, which was changeover day at the marinas for most charter companies. The final long run into Split was mostly under ‘gull wing’ sail setting (jib one side, main the other) Mike on the helm expertly warding off the ever-present danger of the involuntary gibe. The rest of the crew enjoying the final hours under a warm sun doing their best to polish off the remaining 12 bottles of beer, bacardi and vodka – unfortunately they were still unable to make tea at sea without a kettle.
Half a dozen ferries decided to leave port as Lambarda approached the harbour entrance, Bob J tuned to Channel 16 on the radio expecting to get a few instructions - diddly squat - again. The final task before berthing was to top up the diesel at the fuel berth which was achieved without too much difficulty. Lessons were learned during mooring and leaving the fuel berth in the swell. Leave mooring lines slack.
The final mooring back at base with the ‘lazy line’ was expertly achieved with all crew members now a well oiled team. Satisfaction for a job well done was the overriding feeling before the pangs of hunger set in.
Refreshed by warm showers and clean socks the two Bob’s, Bill and Mike set off in search of another restaurant. They hiked a mile or so into the main town of Split along the harbour wall. Care was taken in choosing the right spot amongst the water front bars for a pre-dinner glass or two. The warm evening, the red wine together with the local talent parading on the Cannes like waterfront conspired to add to the intoxication. A stroll once more into the alleys of Split to find a restaurant initially proved fruitless. The four emerged onto a large square not unlike St Marks square in Venice (well sort of), in one corner of which was what appeared to be a restaurant on the terrace of an hotel. The place seemed full of locals so the crew thought that this must be the place. Following Mike’s enquiry to the waitress they were ushered to an empty table underneath the arches. A fine bottle of the local red was ordered and menu’s studied. It became apparent that the locals were all guests at a wedding feast which was going on inside. A trio of craggy faced Croation musicians dressed in traditional costume burst into jolly Croation rhythms. Mike as Chief Asker of Questions forgot to ask if he could take a picture of the proceedings and was politely asked to put his camera away. However the trio serenaded each table in turn and Mike got his pictures. The chef got 5 stars from the crew at this restaurant
The following morning as an apology from the charter company for all the shortcomings all crew members received 4 tins of sardines in a sack.
Lambarda waiting patiently in the hot sun for her new crew said her goodbyes to captain and crew and looked forward to their return.
Bill, Bob P, Mike and Bob J aboard Lambarda in Split Harbour.
More pictures to follow. Maybe.