Sitting in Gijon.

We've been sat here in Gijon for a very long time now. Far longer than anywhere else so far.

 

Longer than when I had to replace a rotten stem and fix a hole in one of the bows.

 

Longer than when I had to replace the engine mounts (and, of course, wait for them to be delivered).

 

Longer than when we had to wait for an exhaust part so we could stop ourselves from (technically) sinking every time we ran the port engine. Okay, it would have taken us a very long time to sink at the rate the water was squirting in (weeks maybe) but we would end the day with more water inside the boat than we started with - that's sinking.

 

I digress (of course)...

 

Gijon has been good to us - it's safe and comfortable as a marina and we have been made very welcome here. We are still on the edge of the Bay of Biscay, and plan to remain so for some time as we move towards the Basque coast and then up the side of France.

 

It is very important around here to keep a close eye on the predicted weather and, as ever, we will almost definitely be moving outside of the recognised season for such things, which will increase the need for caution. We also have children aboard. It's an old boat, even if it doesn't start sinking (again - I must stress - very slowly, glacial slowly, continental drift slowly) every  time we start the engines.

 

So we won't move until the weather is right. A bit warmer wouldn't hurt either.

 

When we do go it will be a bit more of an adventure because, for a while at least, we'll be sailing where few cruising sailors go and trying to squeeze our fat old catamaran into harbours which are a little less visited. I would say that I'm looking forward to seeing the Guggenheim in Bilbao, and the village where they have to turn the bus on a turntable so it can get back out again. I am getting a little superstitious about saying I want to see somewhere but these are places we'll have to pass - so maybe...

 

The French coastline between the Spanish border and Bordeaux is meant to have noting to recommend it for the cruising sailor, but we're boat gypsies really so we'll probably find something. Watch this space or, more likely, the facebook page facebook.com/tarquilla and I'm sure we'll let you know.,

Communication

Isaac Asimov wrote of a society which had become so isolated from itself that the only people who had direct physical contact with each other were married couples. All interactions were performed by ‘viewing’, a holographic projection of the participators in a conversation being present giving the illusion of a real presence.

This sort of thing has appeared in all sorts of science fiction for years, but as with so many of these ‘inventions’ it was Asimov and others among his peers who first came up with the idea. It wasn’t so much the technology, though, as the social implications and the language surrounding the technology that he wrote about, understood even, with the most precision and detail.

The reason I mention this is because of the use of Skype, which enables me to regularly ‘see’ and talk with my parents in Somerset, or Sarah’s father in Portishead, in an almost natural way, much as if we were sat in the same room. It feels very much like meeting up and conversations run in a much more natural way than they would on a long distance phone call, involving everyone present with sometimes chaotic results. The boys, in particular, have taken well to the concept but have also injected a generous amount of anarchy into the proceedings.

Hanging up is particularly difficult, and no-one really likes pressing the button to close the conversation, and this brings me neatly back to the point. Asimov wrote about a society in which the inhabitants of a single planet were limited to very low numbers living on huge estates spread over vast distances necessitating the form of communication mentioned. The vocabulary which was used was a familiar one which was adapted, so that they spoke, for example, of seeing each other although actual physical presence was not involved.

I just wrote of ‘hanging up’, a phrase which is beginning to lose it’s meaning with telephones in general and has absolutely no meaning at all if you consider either Skype or even a mobile phone. I also used the term ‘pressing the button’ and we use this constantly with computers when we are using a mouse to click on an icon, which is often even shaded to look like a 3D button, to perform an action. These changes in the use of language are interesting in themselves, or they are to me anyway, but the one to which I alluded earlier is more than just a question of language. The fact is that I can see my parents, have them in the same room as me, and have a conversation which involves everyone in the room(s) with all that entails even down to the chaos. This is a change brought by the evolution of technology which affects so much more than just language.

When we say ‘see you soon’ in normal conversation we have always meant more than just seeing someone, we imply the physical presence of the person. This is because the language involved has developed over time and until very recently the possibility of seeing someone without their being with you did not exist. Now when I say ‘speak soon’ to my parents, because that was what are used to saying on the phone I mean ‘see you soon’ because that is how it feels. It’s still not quite the same as being in the same room, but it’s so much closer.

So thank you Skype, for making the conversations possible, and thank you Isaac Asimov for giving me the vocabulary to think about this and helping me to not take it for granted.

It's interesting - to me it is anyway - but the selection of a sailing boat to see the world from was based on logic. No fuel, most places are connected by the sea, there is unlimited freedom of movement, it may have been twisted logic but that was it. Sarah suggested a motor-home but the discussion was not too long, if you restrict yourself to a continent and have the cash for the fuel then fine, any strong dislike or fear of the sea would probably seal the deal too.

The thing is though, that from the first time I raised the sails then cut the outboard engine on Kate I have been hooked. I don't think I'll start racing any time soon, but the moment when the engines stop and the sucksqueezebangblow rumbling behind or below you gives way to the rush of the water, the occasional creak of the rigging and flap of the ensign is describable but inexplicable. It is a magical moment filled with romance and possibilities, especially if you are master of your own vessel. People will spend their every last spare penny chasing this dragon, the true yachties supermarket isn't Waitrose, it's LIDL.

I never meant to let the sea into my blood , but I think I have.


It may well have been quoted so often it hurts, but it would appear that ratty was right when he said:




"There is nothing- absolutely nothing-
half so much worth doing
as simply messing about in boats."

Crossing the Channel

As ever leaving the harbour was one of the harder parts of the day and as you haven't really left the Solent until the Isle of Wight's firmly behind you this took even longer than usual.

I tried to sail for a while but must admit to failure because we had light winds mostly dead astern and I wanted to get to Cherbourg with enough light to 1) find the way in and 2) moor without too many dramas. This certainly won't be the last time this happens.

So, for the day, we were reduced to the status of a big slow motorboat, which is expensive on the diesel but otherwise no big problem.

We tried the autopilot for a bit but it's compass keeps changing by about 2 degrees either side of an average bearing which means that when it's steering it keeps correcting itself and then magnifies it's errors because it's fluctuating around its correction which was made for it's original error which was... Needless to say I disconnected the thing before it took us to Norway via the Canaries and/or my head exploded chasing the logic of it's actions. I have since been told it will work better taking it’s directions from the GPS, so we’ll give that a go soon.

The areas which are dead in line between the Traffic Separation Schemes (TSS) either end of the channel were predictably busy but safe, we came close to one ship who replied to my admittedly nervous call, saying that we were fine where we were. I throttled back a little bit anyway because I'm a bit chicken when I have my entire family floating out of sight of land on a 40 foot piece of plywood. With less visibility, more traffic or a little more paranoia I can imagine it being a little more hairy.

Being out of sight of land was also less dramatic than I'd expected, yes it was strange at first. It was a good type of strange with a strong feeling of freedom.

One small surprise was what the strength of the tides outside Cherbourg did to the boat speed and direction. It was only a small surprise because you prepare for these things in your plan but when theory becomes practice it is a whole other ballgame. In this case the concept of travelling at 12 knots at an angle to where you're actually pointed. 

Arrival in Cherbourg couldn't have been simpler and it was days before customs visited us. When they did come round the French customs couldn't have been nicer they seemed most interested in the boat, it's equipment and crew. I was asked if I had more than 50,000 euros in cash and also if I had anything to declare but it was almost nice to be acknowledged by this point, we were beginning to feel like illegal immigrants or fugitives from the law.

As I write this we have sailed across Lyme Bay/around Portland Bill, crossed the English Channel and "gone foreign", braved the tidal streams around Cap de l'Hague, entered a port after crossing what is (at low tide) half a mile of occasionally rocky beach, locked into a port, braved the rocks outside St Malo in force 6 winds and never once gone into the same port twice. We said the other day when we sailed most of the way to Carteret that we felt like proper sailors, and I think we are genuinely getting there. We spent a couple of years driving to Weymouth and sailing in and out of Weymouth harbour (very infrequently) and learnt more than we admit about boats doing that but what we've done since has taken that a lot further.

In preparation for our adventure I soaked up all the theory I could on all aspects of voyaging on a small sailing boat including the RYA syllabus on the longbow dvd - much recommended to anyone who doesn't have the time for a formal course or as a supplement to those who do. I have added the link to the right.

So what colour is your ensign? Blue, red, white, other?

There is much to say on the subject of UK ensigns, the flags which we fly on the stern of a boat to show the rest of the world who we are. Along with a few other countries the flag normally worn by our vessels is different to that of our national flag, the union flag. Among those few that fly different flags at sea to on land there are also those who have another subset – those who are allowed to fly a different ensign for one reason or another.

Let's muddy the waters a little and describe the situation in the UK as it stands, possibly one of the most complicated situations available. Firstly the Navy flies the White Ensign, as would the Royal Yacht should we still have one and the Royal Yacht Squadron. Next is the Red Ensign, the default ensign worn by all civilian UK registered vessels unless another ensign allowed, thirdly is the least senior (historically) the Blue Ensign. These date from the 19th century when the Royal Navy had three squadrons, the red, white and the blue.

To further complicate matters a small number of clubs has been granted the right to allow their members to fly defaced Red Ensigns, undefaced Blue Ensigns and defaced Blue Ensigns. A defaced ensign is one on which a symbol of some sort is added to (usually) the coloured part of the flag. An easy way to picture this is to understand that the national flag of New Zealand is in fact a Blue Ensign defaced by the addition of the southern cross to the blue sector, similarly the maritime flag of New Zealand is a Red Ensign defaced with the southern cross.

The right to fly such ensigns is generally contingent upon being a member of the club and fulfilling any other requirements, the granting of this honour upon the club is historical and finding out why each has been allowed what would represent a good deal of research not pertinent to my point right now.

Much is said in various fora regarding ensigns and who wears what and why. Class, Trafalgar, Dunkirk, both World Wars, competence and colour coordination are all usually raised in what can be absorbing and, sometimes, vicious discussions. Google the subject and you will soon find something to distract you from what you should really be doing.

Why mention this now? Well I am likely to be allowed to fly one of the few ensigns which do not conform to the norm because of my service in the Royal Air Force, and it is yet another colour again. Members of the Royal Air Force Sailing Association may fly the RAF ensign – pale blue defaced by the RAF roundel – further defaced by a crown above the eagle over the roundel. Since the RAF hasn't had motor launches for some years now this is likely to be the only pale blue UK ensign you'll ever see hanging off the back of any boat. My application is in the post.

I only spent six years in the RAF, but honouring the most junior of the British armed services on the sea is something I look forward to with unexpected pleasure. I particularly look forward to conversations and explanations along the way, but I think there will always be a Red Ensign tucked under the chart table should we find our way to somewhere a military based ensign is not appreciated.

Crossing Lyme Bay and rounding Portland Bill

Last Thursday we motored from Topsham to Exmouth in a dead calm. The hardest parts were the start and finish - as expected. First we had to almost dig ourselves out of the mud and eventually had to back out past Peter's very nice 55 foot ketch, a beautiful old girl with probably a few stories to tell. Anyway, his tender got bounced out of the way but his yacht survived.

Travelling down the Exe is like a complicated dot to dot writ large on the water, hopping from one bouy to the other, and trying not to snigger when you check off the one called "nob".  We didn't snigger, not through maturity but stress, this being our first time out unsupervised in this huge bus of a boat.

The entrance to the Exe deserves planning and respect - which I gave in spades, having been worrying about this since the moment I came in. You exit close enough to the beach to shout a hearty "good morning" to a dog walker, which I did. It was not horologic-ally correct by 6 minutes, but never mind. Once past the beach you turn South-ish and keep going until you reach Torbay.

Torquay town harbour is a nice place to go, Harbour master was helpful and the pontoon is easy to hit just as you go in. Shame that's what we did, but we confessed to our sins and I had a message from the harbour master the next day on my phone to say we were not going to be charged for our crass vandalism as they could just bend the post back again!

Unfortunately we had to be up early next day for reasonable weather to cross Lyme Bay and round Portland Bill in safety so Torquay didn't get the attention it deserved.

Topsham to Torquay Album on Facebook

Leaving Torquay was a quieter affair than Topsham, and rather more straightforward. You head straight out of the harbour, keeping to starboard of course, until well clear of the harbour walls then head off from there. We took a left and headed west across Lyme Bay towards Portland Bill, and then around to the marina there. I selected Portland Marina based on the fact that we sailed from Weymouth previously and I was aware that (1) in Weymouth we would most likely be rafting, probably alongside smaller yachts than ourselves and (2) there was a strong possibility of a night-time approach, and I didn't fancy either possibility coming in after a long day and in light of the fact that we bashed Torquay on the way in.

Another decision you have to make on this passage is which way to get past Portland Bill, which is a nasty little bugger of a place with a well deserved reputation for it's nasty tidal races, overfalls, eddies and general bumpiness. I decided on the offshore route - in which you go further out, avoiding the worst of the nastiness.

In the event we had a short but significant sea coming in from the South West, hitting us from the starboard quarter and regularly slamming.

Slamming is when a larger wave in the series hits the bottom of the central bridge deck - the bit that is normally above the water - this causes the whole boat to shake and carried on intermittently for the best (or worst...) part of eight hours. The first time this happened it was terrifying but subsequently it settled down to merely scary and eventually tedious and wearing.

As we approached Portland we managed to phone the National Coastwatch point there and had a reassuring chat with the volunteers regarding our intentions and the state of the race. As the weather was not bad, the tides were on neaps, our timing was good and we were well offshore then we were apparently having a good day. I can only say that I'm glad we didn't choose a bad day. After a hour or more of being bounced around like a 4 year old on a sugar rush let loose on the trampoline we phoned again and were informed that we were doing great. This is true - we now knew what we hadn't secured properly and how well this boat of ours would look after us - we now only had another couple of miles to go and we could turn in.

If you hadn't heard about the National Coastwatch Institution should visit their website and specifically the Portland Bill website, if you use the sea at all for any reason or know someone who does then please make a donation if you can. More about the Coastwatch people at another time.

When we turned at the shambles east cardinal buoy we started going with the waves for a bit, which meant a bit of surfing - finally a bit of fun, and this relatively calm bit was when Richard was sick - he'd put up with everything else up till then, even when Andrew was sick in front of him. They were the only two casualties of the day barring George who constantly fell over due to his insistence on wandering around without holding onto anything.

As we made our way in it became obvious that we would indeed be navigating Portland Harbour in the dark, we phoned the marina office to make sure where we were going and wandered in. Portland Harbour is the second largest man-made harbour in the world so it takes quite some time to work your way in. This was only complicated when the red flashing light on the marina entrance started flashing rather more than it should, then took off! We can only be grateful that the coastguard helicopter was not taking off for us I suppose.

We did not bash anything and moored up quite well in the dark after an eleven and a half hour adventure - shaken, but not stirred. A search for fish and chips resulted in a Chinese takeaway and bed for everyone before midnight - just.


From the Shell Channel Pilot sixth edition, compiled by Tom Cunliffe:

Portland Race is the most dangerous extended area of broken water in the English Channel. Quite substantial vessels drawn into it have been known to disappear without trace... In bad weather there is confused and dangerous water as far as the eastern end of the Shambles.

This passage was not taken lightly, or without careful planning.

Lyme Bay Album on Facebook

Weather forecasts

I have the navtex connected and working. We kept it and vhf channel 16 on the other week while the tail of the hurricane passed us by. Both are useful for the weather forecast, but between times the navtex is a great wind monitor. Set to display voltage, if  the windmill sustains around 13.8v or more then you're in a gale. We just peaked at 13.2 from the north, and wind is meant to be 9mph from the west.

Weather forecasts? Hope the rest of the week is better, hopefully we're on our way soon, as long as we can get the starboard engine sorted - it's not happy.

Out of interest, if you're out there Martin, how does she handle close to on only one engine?