Calstar: motorboating

It's been a fallow couple of months or so for this journal, it seems. It's explicitly not a "sailing blog" but simply an online diary where I can muse above the events in my life that have interested me. But I think I'm more inspired to write when sailing is involved, and there hasn't been that much so far this year.

I could say it's been a combination of being very busy with family and the band, and the weather being generally uncooperative. But that does feel somewhat like I'm just making excuses. Although we did have seven gigs in March and have had three family so far birthdays in April (my own, my wife's and Lottie's) so the excuse isn't entirely without substance.

But, finally, opportunity and weather chanced to collide at last; Dad and I snuck off to the boat this weekend just gone, and took Calstar over to Cardiff and back.

A bit more wind would've been nice, but it wasn't too cold, and the rain we had coming back on Sunday was relatively light and brief.

Saturday was a neap tide, so conscious that our mast lights (which include the steaming light) aren't working at the moment, we left just before dawn on the morning tide (attaching a temporary steaming light to the spinnaker loop on the front of the mast), locking out of Portishead at 0530 in the company of another Westerly yacht who told us they were bound for Swansea.

The only wind we had was our own apparent dead on the nose, so we didn't trouble with the sails, instead giving the engine a good run. The almost cloudless sky made for a pretty quality of light as dawn approached but a not terribly inspiring sunrise as Portishead fell away astern.

I like being on the water in any form, but compared to sailing, "motorboating" is a little dull. When the wind is blowing and the sails are up, you are constantly aware of the situation and continuously making decisions that affect the passage and safety of the boat.

With the engine running for the 17 miles to Cardiff, aside from deciding when to put the kettle on, I think I made three: alter course 10° to port to avoid the Welsh Hook cardinal buoy, alter course 10° to starboard to avoid the South Middle Grounds lateral buoy, and finally, deciding when to put the fenders out and set the lines in preparation for arriving at Cardiff.

Which isn't to suggest for a moment that I was bored. There is something magical about standing in the cockpit of a boat at sea, mug of steaming tea in hand, watching the sun rise over the receding land.

The passage back to Portishead on Sunday was a far more relaxed start. A very good full English (okay, I guess, technically, Welsh) breakfast at a marina-side café called "The Galley" in Penarth, followed by an 1130 cast off to make the 1200 lock-out through the Barrage.

We shared the lock down with a gorgeous Bristol Channel Pilot Cutter called "Peggy" and a very confused swan that had followed us both into the lock. I fed him a few Ritz crackers by way of consolation. Not exactly health food for the guy, but then the bacon and black pudding I'd had for my breakfast fry-up hadn't been for me. It doesn't hurt to indulge a guilty pleasure every once in a while.

Out into the Wrack Channel and heading for open water, the little wind there was was right on our nose, so I took the chance to raise the mainsail. But out in to open water, as expected, there wasn't enough to use, so the first ninety minutes of our passage home saw us motor-sailing under the main.

The sky was overcast and leaden, threatening rain, and the sea almost mirror flat.

Once across the channel and approaching the Bristol Deep off of Clevedon town, I noticed the wind finally move off our nose and onto our starboard bow. We unfurled the genoa, cut the engine, and, finally, we began to sail. 

It doesn't seem to matter whether it's a drift or a full-throated blow, but that moment of silence as the engine goes still and the sails fill is always an intoxicating blend of the exhilarating and sublime. 

Turning to run along the Somerset coast and up the Kings Road on the final stretch towards Portishead, the wind moved further back onto our aft shoulder, so we rolled the genoa away, rigged some lines and launched the cruising chute for another very pleasant forty minutes or so. The threatened rain did set in with the slight increase in wind, but, already wearing my waterproofs for their warmth, it was easy enough to ignore.

Arrival back at Portishead was uneventful, other than some frantic shouting, waving and dancing from an angler on the breakwater's head who had his fishing line cast out across our approach. It was both calm and a neap tide, so with not much force in the flow of water, taking a wider than usual angle on our approach to avoid him was simple enough. There was plenty of water and a rising tide over the mudbank at the entrance, so it wasn't in anyway a problem. But when conditions aren't quite so benign, it often can be.

I generally like to coexist with a live and let live approach, although I suppose I am secretly on the side of the fish (I just can't help rooting for the underdog in most circumstances, although I have no scruples against eating them) but I sometimes find it very hard to not get frustrated when tide and weather give us very narrow margins of approach to our safe harbour and somebody decides to obstruct it with a fishing line.

So 35.5 nautical miles covered from Portishead to Penarth in Cardiff Bay and back over the weekend, just shy of eight hours underway, with about ninety minutes of actual sailing. It was very good to be back aboard Calstar with Dad and out on the Bristol Channel again.