Laser: season's end

Final race of the Wednesday evening season is next week; the evenings are drawing in fast now. Last night was a pleasant evening on the water though. On a good day, the lowering light is so pretty this time of the year.

Freefall: Saturday nights

A sequence of three stills from a video taken on Saturday night at our gig at The Lamb in Eastcombe, Stroud. The drummer is behind me, and the bassist typically stood behind my left shoulder. So with the way my guitar sits and with my attention typically focused on the crowd out front, I'm typically aware of the guitarist out of the corner of my eye to my left, but these two are pretty much invisible to me whilst we're playing.

On drums is the amazingly talented Leah, who stands in for our regular drummer, Bean, so often that she's pretty much an honourary member of the band these days. I think this was her fourteenth gig with us in the last year. On bass is my brother, Jay.

The sequence, midway through the Stereophonics song "Dakota" just made me smile, so I thought I'd leave it here. In Leah's words, ". . . took us three goes but finally nailed those stabs (you might be able to tell)" 

Better still, they dropped neither a note nor a beat through their little celebration.

weather permitting

We progress. Contracts exchanged, deposit paid, date for completion confirmed as this coming Sunday 3rd. Weather permitting, and at the moment it's looking a bit marginal, we might actually move her around to Brixham Marina on Sunday morning, where her new berth has already been allocated; the previous owners to be have kindly offered to sail her around with us.

Hardly essential, but very welcome. And it does feel like a fitting way to hand a boat over.

Laser: upstart yoof

There are two races left in the Wednesday evening Hotdog series before the season finishes.

However, as of last Wednesday, the conclusion is now foregone.

Two seconds of corrected time is all that was in it. That gives the youngster in the Laser Radial ahead of me eight clear wins, and doesn't leave me with enough room to catch him as I'd need to discard three races, but only have two remaining.

So I'd best start polishing my trophy ready to surrender it in a couple of weeks time.

On a more serious note, it's been a great series this year, with the Laser fleet in particular enjoying a very welcome revival. It's been particularly gratifying to see so many youngsters out with the fleet, even if one of them is going to end up beating me very fair and square.

Brixham bound

I don't think I've ever had so much trouble trying to spend so much money. 

Our new boat to be is secure upon her current trot mooring in the River Dart until the end of March next year. At which point the mooring, which is non transferrable, reverts to the harbour authority. There is a waiting list for moorings on the Dart that requires a deposit of £150 just to get your name added.

Which is fair enough, and I wouldn't begrudge. But the more I think of it, the more I think we need the new boat in a marina. It's a three hour drive to the boat, so I want to be able to park securely, leave the car, walk on the boat and walk back off whenever I want.

Arriving in Kingswear, finding somewhere to park, inflating a tender, paddling out across the river to the mooring, quite likely in the dark, is an adventure I'm not particularly concerned about for my own part, but it doesn't seem reasonable to impose the same burden on Dad or my wife. Or my dog, for that matter.

Made enquiries with the marinas in the Dart. The one was exceptionally friendly and helpful, but the one space they had was too narrow for the beam of the new boat. They couldn't make any promises, but suggested I call back in late January once they'd dealt with next year's renewals. The other told me they had a 5 to 7 year waiting list and they couldn't even give me any certainty of a winter berth from October till February. There's a waiting list for that too, but to get on it I needed to email them next week once they were done with the Dartmouth Regatta.

Similar story with Sutton Harbour in Plymouth. No near decade long waiting list, lovely lady to took the call, really keen to help but I'd really have to take my chances and call back late January. Everywhere, at this time of year at least, is fully subscribed. It doesn't help that the boat is 11m length overall and 3.8m beam.

I really don't like uncertainty. It bothers me leaving things hanging and undecided.

Then I had a call from a guy called Mike at Brixham Marina this morning. They've just had a boat previously berthed with them and confirmed as sold and moving on. The space it leaves is a perfect fit for us. They can take us any time from the beginning of September. 

So the deposit is paid. I'll pay the balance once we've taken possession of the boat, which is planned for Sunday 3rd September. We shall leave her on her trot mooring for a couple of weeks (annoyingly, I'm fully booked the weekend following) and then, weather permitting, move her around Berry Head and into Brixham Marina on Saturday 16th. At which point, Brixham will become our new home port.

(the photos above were from our last trip with Calstar to Brixham and Dartmouth back in August 2020)

Calstar: 1981 Westerly Griffon Mk1 for sale

And suddenly, it feels all so real.

One much loved, generously appointed and meticulously maintained (mostly by Dad, I should add!) Westerly Griffon for sale, lying Portishead, Bristol Channel.

https://www.boatpoint.co.uk/boats/9004647

Our next boat is currently with her present owners off on their last adventure together, a couple of weeks cruising the south west. I think they were anchored last night in Plymouth Sound, to watch the Plymouth Fireworks Championships (yes, such a thing exists).

Our planned day for the handover is Sunday 3rd September.

all change

We had planned to be away sailing this week; provisionally thought Portishead to Minehead, to Ilfracombe, to Swansea, to Cardiff then home to Portishead.

In part the weather has flummoxed us.

In other parts, bookending my week off work with Saturday gigs was not the smartest of ideas. 

And then, instead of heading directly down to Calstar and sailing after the gig on Saturday, we headed down to Dartmouth to meet up with some friends and have a look at a 1979 Moody 36CC.

She's quite lovely. And I've just had an offer accepted for her.

I won't jinx it with any more details until I have the keys actually in my hand (figuratively, at least) and the deal is done. But it seems I'm now in the unfortunate position of owning two boats.

So does anybody want to buy a beautifully kept, appointed and maintained Westerly Griffon?

I can't say that I didn't feel a huge twinge of regret the moment I confirmed instructions to the broker to put Calstar on the market. She's been very good to us.

Laser: thunderclouds

Had a good evening's racing last night with the Laser at South Cerney. Black skies and patchy sun over dark waters. The rain set in for around twenty minutes at the start; thick, heavy drops of icy water. But it eased off as the evening progressed and when the sun occasionally broke back through, it was actually quite pleasant. 

A little bit of thunder and distant lightning about half way through, but didn't amount to anything more than a couple of threatening peals. The wind was supposed to be gusting up to 20 knots, but, on that count at least, failed to deliver. Instead, we got a shifty, temperamental north-westerly of around 10 knots. Perfect for a certain featherweight youngster with his Radial, who stole an early lead off the start-line and turned it in to a convincing win, beating me into an ungracious second place.

I'd rigged my old Rooster sail; I've bought a new Holt class replica sail for the Laser, but if I'm honest, I'm not getting on with it. The boat feels sluggish, the leach of the sail seems overly hooked and the luff seems too long. I'm tempted to eBay it and get a new Rooster replica instead to replace the old one. Then again, I should probably be a little less spendthrift at the moment. We're seriously considering selling Calstar and getting something a little bigger.

It's been a consideration for a while, but not something I was planning to do within the next couple of years, except a potential opportunity has presented itself. Calstar is a lovely little boat, but a little bit tight for space or privacy when there's more than a couple of us aboard, which discourages Nikki somewhat, I think.

forecasting

So tomorrow I predict another Radial day on the Lake. On the brightside, the boat is already set up for it, which saves all of about 10 minutes of rigging. And on the even brighter side, it's a "Club Trophy" race so not part of a larger series. Which means I can sign in and race under the Radial's actual handicap.

All I have to do is get up in the morning, which might not be that easy as tonight's gig is a ninety minute drive away in a village called Midsomer Norton on the other side of Bath, so I'm not likely to be home tonight much before 0300.

It's a tough life, never growing up.

Laser: Wednesday rinse and repeat

This Wednesday was another "couldn't decide which rig to use" evening at the Lake, but this time at least I remembered to take all my sailing kit with me. The forecast was only around 13 knots, and dropping as the evening wore on, but gusts were predicted up into the early 20's. 

photo: william gardiner

As I was getting the boat out to rig, the "gusts" seemed pretty much continuous, serried rows of little white capped wavelets dancing down the fetch of the lake to where I was looking out from the lee shore. I rigged the Radial again.

photo: william gardiner

It was the right choice. The lulls between the gusts were more the exception than the rule.

I made a mess of my start. I misread the line as having more port bias than it actually did, so chickened out of holding my position up by the committee boat early, sacrificing height and position to bear away to pick up speed down the line in the final seconds before the go, getting myself stuck out at the pin end. 

photo: william gardiner

Kean, the only sailor with a full Standard rigged Laser, punished me for it, stealing the lead off me and beating me easily around the windward mark. I kept nipping at his heels despite my smaller rig, but he kept his lead persistently over the next couple of laps, whilst I ducked variously between him and Gary who was being a friendly nuisance but clearly having fun in his RS200.

Monty, this season's junior nemesis in his own Laser Radial, seemed to have fallen safely behind, tangled with Ian and his Solo.

photo: william gardiner

It was a great course and fantastic sailing. A couple of challenging beats to split up the fleet, spaced by two exhilarating reaches and a potential dead  run along with a couple of gybe marks to spice up the entertainment. The little Laser screamed along, the log later showing we often touched just short of 11 knots, which is stupidly good fun when your boat only has about six inches of freeboard.

Still tangled up with a terribly persistent Gary, I rounded the final mark into the last lap just as a big gust came through, Kean was still just ahead, but Gary just astern to windward and bearing down on me, leaving me no room or option to tack despite the gust bringing an obvious header with it. 

photo: william gardiner

I held my course until Gary tacked and cleared, but could see the gust had brought the rest of the fleet down fast behind us, and the foremost of them had tacked directly after the mark, making the most of the lift we'd missed.

I tacked, still in heavy wind, and saw Kean ahead and to windward do the same, but get suddenly into some kind of trouble, stuck head to wind with his sail flogging. I hiked out hard and sped away, cackling gleefully to myself, with hardly the time to wonder if he'd had some sort of gear failure or had just got caught out by the gust mid-tack.

photo: william gardiner

And Monty appeared, crossing just astern of me on starboard, looking inanely pleased with himself for catching us up. It was there I should've tacked and covered him, but I pressed on. At this point it would've made little difference to my result as he was sailing on his proper handicap but I was still carrying the handicap for my Standard rig respite sailing with my Radial. 

But it might've saved me the indignity of being beat on the water by him again.

Tacking to lay the windward mark, my mistake was realised, and Monty charged in just ahead of me but clear on port. I spent the rest of the lap trying to chase him down and almost had him on the second beat, but failed to keep clear as we bore away around the windward mark, my mainsheet just tapping the bow of his boat to leeward.

By the time I'd completed my penalty turns, he'd stolen a safe lead on me, rounding the bottom mark and crossing the finish line a clear 24 seconds ahead, leaving me with an ignominious 2nd place finish in the Laser fleet and a 4th place overall in the general handicap.

But with a smile on my face. The sailing has been fantastic. Whilst everybody else sailed in to head to the bar, I stayed out for another ten minutes or so just for the sake of it, reaching back and forth in the last of the now fading gusts, playing on the water, looking out for the perfect angle for a fast plane.

I couldn't help but reflect how lucky I am to have this. A fresh breeze and clean, open water beneath a moody sky that glowered with storm-threatening clouds lit by the amber light of the sinking sun. It had been a good race, adrenaline fuelled and challenging from start to finish.

But sometimes it's nice just to sail.

Calstar: a Cardiff weekend

Last Friday was a strange serendipity. We'd had a gig booked the diary for months, yet after last Saturday's gig, Jay (my brother, our bassist) mentioned that Matt (our guitarist and adopted brother) had told him that he was away this weekend, had told me, so wasn't playing any Friday gig.

Which would've been the second diary catastrophe he's had this year. Unusual, out of character, but stupidly infuriating. I went to bed that Saturday night (well, early hours Sunday morning) angry, to say the least. Woke up Sunday morning, decided I'd go sailing before confronting him and dealing with the problem.

In between races, I had a text message from the Friday venue's contact, apologising profusely, but explaining he'd double booked us so they'd have to cancel. He promised he'd make it up to us with next year's bookings. Bemused at such a turn of luck, I gracefully accepted the cancellation, and perhaps failed to mention that he'd only just beaten me to the punch with the cancellation.

Later on, finally talking to Matt, he explained that he'd got himself in a muddle talking to Jamie, and once he'd got home that night had checked his diary, realised that the gig had been written in for ages (in his wife's handwriting) so he wasn't going away for the rest of the weekend with his family until after the gig had been done.

I told him the gig had already been cancelled. And, despite the temptation to hold the details back, did eventually explain to him why, and that it wasn't his fault.

Somethings are meant to be. Somethings are clearly not.

All this is merely prelude, however. With the gig cancelled, I took a look at the forecast for the weekend. Friday was gorgeous: clear skies, wind F3 to 4 from south of south-east, temperature in the mid-20's. Saturday's forecast was squally rain and generally quite horrid. Sunday was grey, a little cooler but with Saturday's squalls blown through, leaving a light breeze still south of south-east, and the possibility of showers but not until the afternoon.

Friday 7th : Portishead to Cardiff
(18.8 nautical miles, 3 hours 55 minutes underway)

The Bristol Channel Cruising Association was holding a rally on Mermaid Quay in Cardiff over the weekend, alongside an "International Food and Drinks Festival" being held by the town on shore. Dad had mentioned an interest in going; the conditions looked so very tempting, so I booked Friday off work and Dad booked a 1300 lock that would take us down channel with the Friday afternoon ebb.

Friday morning was fraught and rushed, a dentist appointment at 0900 followed by an unexpected trip to the vet with Lottie for 1000, a critical visit but nothing serious. But all ran to the clock, and with dentist and vet done I was on the road with Dad and heading down to the marina for a little after 1100.

By 1250 we'd been aboard an hour already, the boat set up to depart, and were casting off for our 1300 lock. The sun was bright above, the day lovely and warm. Nudging out of the lock gates to join the falling tide at 1315, we found the estuary waters barely ruffled by a fresh breeze coming fine off the land. Within ten minutes, the engine was stilled and the sails up, the first reef in the main and a couple of conservative rolls left in the genoa.

We were heeled over, close hauled to port, Welsh Hook a little under a mile ahead of us, making 8.5 knots over the ground with the running tide. The breeze was a steady F4, peppered with the occasional gust that heeled us hard over and challenged the autohelm to stop the boat from rounding up into the wind in surrender.

By 1400, we were passing Clevedon, and slacked off onto a beam reach, laying a course for the Welsh shore. The wind had eased a little and, no longer close hauled, Calstar had stiffened up, so I eased the rolls out of the genoa, but left the reef in the main. Despite the lessening wind, we were still covering almost 8 knots over the ground. Except for a single sail far astern of us, perhaps coming down from Thornbury with the tide, the only other company was the dredger Arco Dart, holding stationary against the tide off English Welsh Grounds as she worked at keeping the shipping channel clear.

An hour later, approaching the spoil ground north of the sandbanks that marked the outside of the Cardiff and Penarth Roads, the wind failed completely. As the ground speed dropped to less than a couple of knots, we furled the headsail and started the engine, motor-sailing the last couple of miles under main.

Entering the Wrack Channel that leads up to the Barrage a little before 1600 on the still falling tide, we had less than half a meter of water left under our keels as we felt our way up the channel and into the outer harbour. Barrage Control cleared us in, directing us to lock 2 for 1615. We locked into the bay with the lock entirely to ourselves, and were putting to alongside Mermaid Quay amidst a flotilla of other yachts already moored up half an hour later, a little under 19 nautical miles behind us.

Saturday 8th : Mermaid Quay, Cardiff
(ashore)

Saturday was a pleasant harbour day, wandering about Mermaid Quay, browsing the stalls of the food festival, ducking into a lovely little café for a mug of tea and a still warm, Nutella filled doughnut they'd baked and filled fresh that morning. Dad had an Americano and an equally fresh cheese and onion pasty.

The name of the café on the wall above the shop window read "PORTUGUESE COFFEESHOP" but I can find no other trace of it anywhere on the Internet other than it's image on Google's Streetview. Which is almost as refreshing as that mug of tea in its own, odd way.

Afterwards, we tried to walk up into Cardiff City Centre, about 30 minutes or so from Mermaid Quay, but the afternoon rain set in with earnest intent and so, wet and bedraggled, we abandoned our efforts about half way there and headed back to the shelter of the boat.

That evening we had an early supper at an Italian restaurant, Signor Valentino, overlooking the bay.

Sunday 9th : Cardiff to Portishead
(18.9 nautical miles, 4 hours 35 minutes underway)

Low water Cardiff was at 0607 Sunday morning, so we cast off from Mermaid Quay a little after 0700 and took the 0730 lock out through the Barrage in the company of three other yachts and a charter boat full of keen anglers and their tangle of rods and reels.

Of the other yachts, one was a pretty, green cutter-rigged boat called "Niarbyl" that I recognised from Portishead and the other a single handed yacht who's skipper had cheerily informed us was out of Thornbury. I suspect he was the sail we'd seen astern of us coming down with the tide on Friday.

At 0745 the lock gates opened, disgorging us out into the outer harbour. We followed the Thornbury yacht out, the skipper of Niarbyl courteously inviting us to go ahead. 

In an orderly procession, the five of us made our way down the Wrack Channel and out into open water. the sea was calm, a light breeze blowing towards us from the North Somerset shore. The charter boat's engines roared as she set her course to clear Lavernock Point to the south, leaving the rest of us to raise our sails and set our own northerly course in relative peace and quiet.

We set full sail, and settled onto a close hauled course to starboard, tickling along with the flood tide, covering 4 or 5 knots over the ground, but not quite laying the eastern channel past the still distant sandbanks of the Middle Grounds. With everything so calm, Dad went below to sort out our breakfast; a very welcome mug of tea and a bacon roll. He makes an excellent galley slave.

To leeward, Thornbury held a similar course, slowly pulling ahead. Astern, Niarbyl had set her main, but had clearly elected to motor-sail in the light conditions, heading directly out towards mid-channel, perhaps hoping to find better tide and a kinder angle to ride it back to Portishead.

It was nice, easy sailing. A light but steady wind and a tide that lifted our course as we approached the banks of Middle Ground so that we stood easily clear of the shallows and made the channel of the Bristol Deep off Clevedon without any undue drama or even the need to tack.

The sky was grey with the occasional crease of blue behind the clouds, but not particularly cold and the rain, aside from the merest hint as we made the Kings Road past Clevedon, held off beautifully.

Thornbury pulled inexorably ahead and Niarbyl dropped gradually astern as we made our way up channel. The wind freshened a little with the threat of a shower, but eased shortly after, the threat unrealised.

By 1045 we were off Portishead, engine running and lowering our sails. We locked in at 1100, the lock to ourselves, and a short while after that, with a stop via the fuel berth to top up our tank, we were safely back in our berth, the weekend all but done.

Postscript: Niarbyl, Portishead

We found out later that Niarbyl ran into some drama when she made it back to Portishead herself, and locked in about an hour after us. 

From the Portishead RNLI site:

--
Just as the volunteers were tidying up and preparing My Lady Anne, your Atlantic 85 inshore lifeboat, for service again, a call came in to one of our crew from their daughter. She asked if we were still at the lifeboat station and knowing that the crew are trained in casualty care, she said that a person was laying in the Marina lock next to their sailing vessel and she was concerned for them. 

Just a couple of minutes away by foot, the crew grabbed medical equipment and blankets and made haste directly to the Marina. 

photo: RNLI, Portishead

An ambulance had already been called so the volunteers went through their assessments whilst waiting for them to arrive.  The RNLI volunteers called for support from Avon Fire & Rescue Service so that they could start planning the safest evacuation for the injured man.  The casualty was constantly being assessed and once the Ambulance Service arrived they were able to administer pain relief to help make the casualty more comfortable.  It was then agreed that the safest evacuation would be to use the Fire Service crane.  Once safely away from the lock the crew member was then taken to hospital for further treatment.
--

It transpired that the skipper's crewmate, whilst they were coming alongside in the lock, slipped and fell off the boat onto the concrete pontoon. Thankfully (all things being relative) what was initially suspected to be a back injury resolved into six broken ribs, some in multiple places.

An awful end to an otherwise fine weekend. I very much wish him a full and speedy recovery.