Grounded

 

The storm had left me without self-steering and with a compromised sail. We approached the entrance to the Fal at night in high winds, rain, and low visibility. Tired after hours on the helm in the storm, I would motor in, anchor till morning, and sort the boat out tomorrow. I switched on the electronic navigation, a great solution on Android tablet from VisitMyHarbour and highly recommended. After a short time the boat appeared on the map with its position, speed, and direction.

The position of the boat could take a while to update. For belt and braces I switched on the depth sounder. It is possible to navigate reasonably well with little more than a depth sounder, the tides, and a good chart. The chart indicates the depth of the water and how it changes.  All things being equal near a smooth sandy shore when the depth is increasing the boat is moving away from the land. When the depth is decreasing with a smooth sloping bottom the boat is approaching land. Extend this idea and the depths and contours on the chart are a guide to where the boat is and how it is moving. With poor visibility, I entered the Fal with computer navigation, GPS, and a check using the depth gauge.

Everything seemed fine. I knew the river and where to anchor the boat. Then the electronics started giving silly outputs. The depth gauge said I was in 20+ feet of water but could hear the surf a little closer than felt comfortable. The computer updated and placed the boat onshore and moving inland. Through the mist and rain I could just about make out a line of boats moored ahead. I veered the boat away from the shore and moved parallel with the moored boats. The gale was blowing towards the shore so I let out all 125 feet of anchor chain. That should hold it. My depth gauge had never caused an issue before and was still reporting about 20 feet deep. I could see nothing near the boat but the were few lights, a heavy mist, and spray from the wind.

The sound of waves braking on the shore somewhere nearby was still a little loud for comfort. Updating the computer navigation put me in the shallows. But the depth gauge consistently told me 20 feet. Unfortunately, I trusted the depth gauge more. Nonetheless, I would wake up every 30 minutes through the night to check on the boat. Slowly as the night progressed and visibility improved a short cliff with trees on the top came into view. They seemed a reasonable distance away but the sound of the waves seemed closer. Gradually, a rocky foreshore came into view. It was close – too close for comfort.

The depth gauge kept telling me the water was 20+ feet. Something was wrong here. Still, the boat was secure and safe for the moment. Somehow, I would need to manoeuvre Newlyn Maid out of this predicament and back out to sea. With the strong onshore wind my main concern was that she needed some neat and careful positioning to avoid the obstacles. Close manoeuvring is one thing I can’t do and it makes me feel nervous even at the thought. This felt as scary as being in a harbour.

As daylight arrived I fastened up the loose bolts and screws on the self-steering and checked all the parts. It seemed OK after the storm. Everything on the self-steering that I could see or reach from the safety of the cockpit was checked and rather a lot of the nuts needed tightening. It appeared to be back to working order. The sliding hatch would need reattaching and the gallows for the junk sail was not usable. I would get these repaired in Plymouth. I went forward and retied and tensioned the ropes on the sail. The batten that had come lose was given close attention and the others checked and given extra cord. The boat was ready to sail on and I was giving some thought on how to sail away from the shore.

That Was Unexpected

The self-steering worked when tested briefly in Mounts Bay under engine power and I could use that to keep the boat pointing the right way when lifting the anchor. I set the self-steering to maintain the direction of the boat into the wind. The motor was adjusted to move the boat slowly forward on the anchor, into the wind, and away from the shore. I moved forward and gradually pulled up the anchor chain keeping pace with the boat’s forward movement. My muscles are not really used to such strenuous work and I struggled through the pain but kept up. The boat crept further out into the river as the anchor chain was taken up. Taking in the chain moved her out another 100 feet or more away from the shore.

Feeling the anchor on the bottom meant I had only a few feet of chain to lift. I would pull up the anchor, dash back to the cockpit, disengage the self-steering, and grab the tiller. It would take perhaps 15 seconds in total from starting to take in the anchor, to grabbing the tiller. I had run through the process in my head several times and thought about what might go wrong. Of course, I did not foresee the actual events.

Firstly, the rudder might not bite and steer the boat as she was moving forward slowly. The strong wind might add to this and swing the boat around. However, I only needed to boat to stay in the general direction away from the land. Veering off at right angles or more would be fine. To cause a problem the boat would need to turn almost completely round and do a 180. Even if the boat turned around and headed directly towards the land it should be easy to turn back once I was on the tiller and engine controls. If turning away from the shore did not work then putting the motor into reverse would resolve the issue. Yes, it should work.

The boat did turn round 180 degrees and point towards the land. It was moving slowly and as anticipated not responding to the rudder quickly enough for me to change direction in time. I put the motor into reverse and it sounded as if the engine was breaking up. A loud grinding noise was emitted. I looked at the shore and then back at the engine. The motor was new. It shouldn’t be doing this. It had been running in neutral and moving forward without problem. I seemingly had a choice: risk damaging the engine or be grounded. I chose to risk the motor but the noise just increased and the engine cut out.

Looking down at the motor I saw the self-steering rudder in the water. It had been shaken about in the storm.  The loose rudder fell off as soon as it was asked to do any work. As a safety feature the rudder design disengaged and came off if a force was applied. It was tied with a line to the boat so it could not get lost. Unfortunately this meant going in reverse sent it straight into the prop.

 

I watched the boat drift languidly towards the shore with insufficient speed for the rudder to steer. Grabbing the boat hook I tried to gain time by pushing on the bottom only to break the wooden handle. There was the slight bump and Newlyn Maid was resting on the bottom. To top it all the depth gauge now happily displayed that there was 10 feet of water rather than the inches that the boat hook submerged before hitting the bottom. Looking down I could see a series of flat rocks just below the surface. On balance, I thought the boat hook was more accurate and we were in rather less than 10 feet of water.

I pulled the self-steering rudder back onto the boat looking at it with astonishment. It appeared to have been bitten by a small shark where the propeller had hit. Not only that but even the holding jubilee clips were loose and all the ball bearings were gone. The storm had got to them. These rudder fastenings were difficult to check as they were not fully visible from the cockpit.

A young man asked if I would like to be pulled off the shore and Newlyn Maid was moored up at a nearby buoy. I phoned the shore crew to let them know the self-steering had collapsed, the motor might be damaged, and I would not be at the start of the Jester Challenge. I would meet them the following morning in Mylor marina and we should go to watch the other Jester boats set off.

Perhaps we could make repairs and start late? Ewen the non-organiser of the Jester’s stringently applied non-rules agreed. Of course, the Jester non-rules were clear you could start whenever and finish whenever.

The End of the Self-steering

Ewen said I could start from Newlyn after making repairs but he would dock 2 days off my passage time. When he realised I had bought a copy of his book on Blondie Hasler he jokingly said he had changed his mind and I could have the 2 days back.

In the event the spectator boat for start of the Jester was cancelled because of the bad weather. Ewen fired the starting gun with the competitors looking on. The bad weather had continued and the Jester boats delayed their start waiting until it was sensible to leave. It was strange firing a gun to start a race with no-one at the starting line and the competitors watching and cheering. But hey its the Jester – what do you expect?

Tony Examining Damage to the Self-steering Rudder

Tony and I returned to Mylor thinking we could fix and modify the self-steering. We would ask Mousehole Mick to reduce the height of the system so it could be safely set in bad weather. Additionally, we would repair the rudder and tie it securely to the system so it could not come off. Then we would add a control bar and ropes so the direction could be set from inside the cabin. Finally, all the nuts and bolts would be replaced by locking nuts and the critical ones super-glued in position. For background info the plastic parts of the Y&B self-steering had all stood up well in the storm. The system’s use of plastic had often been related to me as potentially weak. There seemed to be no problems with the materials but the system needed to be modified again if it was going to be used in foul weather. We could ruggedise the system and start the Jester late.

However, on releasing the top of the self-steering’s pushrod it disappeared below the water with a plop. Huh? I had been going to tie the top of the pushrod to the boat before releasing it from the drive axle at the bottom. Gremlins were on overtime, the drive axle had gone, lost in the storm.  The boat needed some serious TLC and most likely would not be going on the Jester this year.

Propeller-head Thinks He’s a Shark

 

When we arrived in Plymouth, only 5 boats had made the start of the Jester Challenge out of nearly 50 potential entries. It is folk law that getting to the start of the “race” is far more difficult than taking part. I like to think this is the case as my attempt at starting the Jester was being somewhat less than easy. In the event, only 2 boats Ella Trout 3rd (Roger Fitzgerald in a Dehler 29) and Independence 2nd of Charlsian (Paul Mead in a She 31) actually completed the journey to Newport. The Jester is well named – a challenge.

Paul’s Independence First to Newport

 

Roger and Ella

Two more boats nearly made it across the Atlantic but turned back through bad weather and equipment failure. Notably, Basil Panakis in his boat Jaba (Contest 25) turned back because of an irreparable self-steering failure amongst other equipment failures in mid-Atlantic. Fortunately, Newlyn Maid’s self-steering problems occurred in bad weather on the way to the start rather than in the middle of the ocean. But it didn’t feel lucky at the time.

Jaba Showing the Original Hasler Self-steering

I waited a few days for the weather to calm and had a gentle sail back around the Lizard to Newlyn. Before leaving, I asked a local boat builder to check the main rudder. There was a slight play in the tiller and I didn’t want yet another equipment problem and particularly not with the main rudder.

On the way back I set up the standby bungy-cord self steering and tried it out. In the moderate sea it worked fine I could even go below for a minute without going too far off course. I sailed around Mounts Bay for several hours waiting for the tide and Tony and Jo to come down to help put the boat on the pontoons in Newlyn harbour. Sailing around the bay in reasonable weather I wondered if everything would have been different if the sea trials and setting up the boat in St Ives bay had not been derailed by the local lifeboat. Que Sera Sera.

My really bizarre experience was about to start when sailing Newlyn Maid back around Lands End.

Round to Newlyn

I had bought the boat and prepared for my first solo trials sailing the river Fal. The idea was to stay on the boat gaining experience sailing up and down the river waiting for near perfect conditions to take the boat round to Newlyn harbour. I had planned to remain on the boat in the river for perhaps a week or two. As it transpired I had a little more fun than expected.

I had spent the previous weeks collecting safety gear and studying the route to Newlyn. Every reasonable eventuality was covered and some that were unreasonable. What to do in the case of engine failure. Key points on the journey where a decision to abort would be taken and the nearest port of safety. I carried three GPS receivers and full electronic navigation. The course was also plotted on paper maps. I would never be out of mobile phone range, and arranged to give locations and updates during the journey. The tides and weather forecasts were considered. I carried a hand held VHF and an emergency GPS locator. I was always fastened on to the boat and wore a flotation suit. And so on… I told people that everything was covered. The only thing that concerned me was the harbour. This produced some quizzicle looks. Hard to explain that the problems of being at sea can be planned for but harbours have their own set of challenges. It was a pyrrhic reward later when people told me how right I had been.

Deciding to go

I stayed the first night on the boat and slept reasonably well listening to BBC Radio 4. The time and conditions needed to be right for the trip to Newlyn, and I had allowed up to two weeks waiting time which would be extended if necessary. Waking at about 5am, I noticed that the wind had dropped as the forecast had suggested. The river’s surface was like glass. Every so often a fish would break the surface. It was a perfect morning. I decided to motor from Penryn past the Inner Harbour at Falmouth to the Carrick Roads and check the conditions again.

My experience with sunburn when last on the river was not to be repeated. I covered my face with children’s waterproof hypo-allergenic factor 50. The sun was not getting through that. This was ultimately a big mistake but I did not know it yet. Suffice it to say at this point that hypo-allergenic was not all it claimed.

The outboard motor was new and needed running in. With the engine ticking over the boat slowly moved down the river. The conditions were perfect. The sail went up outside the main Falmouth harbour and I decided to move out to the river entrance and check the sea state. It was a beautiful Cornish sunrise. The sea was glassy with the sun glistening on tiny wavelets. So I cut the motor and sailed out to the south west past Falmouth Bay, knowing I could dash in to the Helford River if needed.

After an hour or two of ghosting along under sail alone I decided to motor-sail down past the Manacles. The name of these rocks was more than a little off putting and I stayed well away. Sea conditions were so gentle it seemed silly not to push on towards the Lizard. On that incredibly clear day, the shoreline was striking as it came down to meet the sea. I had the tide and what little wind was present in my favour. The forecast was for an offshore headwind in Mounts Bay on the other side of the Lizard but Mounts Bay is normally sheltered and the wind would not have a long stretch to build up the waves. I was more concerned about the tidal race of the Lizard itself. Gradually I increased the distance between the boat and the land to remain in calm waters.

Then sitting on the water just inshore of the boat was a puffin. I had never seen one in real life before. Only strange comical birds on TV wildlife programs. So my next text message read simply “Puffin!” Rounding the Lizard the waves gained a little in height and the wind increased. There was a slight indication of disturbed water warning of what the tidal race might become in rough weather. This moderate sea was pleasant and a little more interesting than a flat calm. I was puzzling about the sail which had not been responding in the way I expected. It did not swing out across the boat. Later I realised that the rigging was not well set up. The boat had sailed fine on the river but that was because the junk rig was so forgiving. In the increasing wind and the waves something was not quite right. It would take a little familiarity with the working of the sail and a thorough reading of Blondie Hasler’s book (co-author J.K McLeod) on the junk rig before the situation was clarified.

Everything was proceeding calmly. I was drinking coffee and eating a snack. Then it hit.

Mounts Bay

The wind suddenly increased pushing the boat back round to the south and more onto its side. This is more like it, I thought. Immediately reefing the sail, lowering it by one batten. Then another gust and the boat veered over and away again. I lowered the sail completely, but one of the upper battens caught at the front in the supporting ropes (lazy jacks). The result of the sail becoming caught in the forward rigging was a small residual sail not unlike a storm sail. I could go forward and free it but it was doing no harm and was helping stabilise the boat. I could clear the problem more safely in the harbour. The flat calm had gradually given way to a moderate sea and wind; then suddenly I was pushing my way against a force 5 or 6 through steep waves with a short wavelength. To prevent each wave bringing the boat to a complete stop we climbed each wave at an angle. The boat bouncing over each wave in turn. The morning had been gentle and smooth. The afternoon was going to test my sea-legs.

There was no real concern, I wondered if the wobbly sea might help me find my susceptibility to sea-sickness but the boat was unperturbed. It was just a useful exercise helping me find out how the boat responded. My main issue was an almost complete inability to drink anything out of a cup. I proceeded to cover myself with a shower of coffee. Then I turned to a bottle of water and got a similar soaking. Fortunately, I’d brought some water bottles with sports caps. Grasping the cap in my mouth I could drink on what seemed like a roller coaster ride. I looked around and there were three tankers anchored ahead. I estimated that they might be about 1-2 miles away. Two hours later when the boat had covered only half that distance, I realised this trip would take somewhat longer than anticipated. I considered increasing the engine revs but decided to keep them to a minimum as part of running in the motor. We would get to Newlyn eventually.

Then came a text from SWMBO “Where are you?” So I tried replying. By this time I’d realised that pushing against the oncoming wind and waves meant I could not get away from the tiller. Let go of the tiller and the boat was off happily in the wrong direction. The value of a self-steering system was now all too obvious.  So it was text with my left hand while bouncing up, down, and sideways in the waves and steering with the right. I hardly ever use a mobile phone and rarely text. So every character was a struggle. What to reply? I wanted a minimum number of characters and eventually settled on “Mounts Bay”. Back came the reply. “Yes, I know that. Where in Mounts Bay?” At least she was kind and left out the last word “stupid!”

So I look about for a point of reference that can be sent in as short a message as possible and eventually typed out “tankers”. That should do it. The response is “I thought you would be much further on. You rounded the Lizard ages ago!” I thought it best not to reply. So the hours past. The waves and wind gradually eased as the boat gained the shelter of the bay. Something else was wrong though. It was starting to get dark and St Michaels Mount did not look right. I was expecting the classic triangle with a small castle atop. This mound was the wrong shape. Perhaps my eyes were tired. I had been covered in a spray of salty water for hours no wonder my eyes itched. I rubbed them but that only made the issue worse. The itching grew and the Mount still looked odd.

I was now getting towards Penzance but it was obvious I would be entering Newlyn harbour after dark. Pity. I wanted to avoid that. Didn’t mind the wind and waves but harbours are just scary. I could see the lights in Penzance but they did not look right. They were blurred. I rubbed my sore eyes again and the little coloured twinkles became kaleidoscopic star-bursts. The blurred lights now looked liked a firework display. Each light spiking and blending into its neighbours. In other circumstances it might have been an interesting psychedelic like experience. But it wasn’t. My eyes stung – really itched. Oh dear. I was almost blind. This was new. I mused that I hadn’t taken account of the onset of sudden blindness when considering the risks. How remiss of me.

At first I retained my bearings. I was familiar with the Penzance seafront and thought I could orient myself. As I drew closer the more psychedelic were the lights and less certain I was. There was only one thing to do. I knew the bay so I would follow what seemed to be the promenade towards Newlyn harbour. I found the gear pole marking rocks pushing out into the bay and that gave me an approximate position. Then my mobile went again. Since I never use the thing and was using text for the journey I was not expecting a call. Almost no-one knew the number. I answered it but the voice was a stranger. I politely told him I was too busy to speak at the moment and hung up. Bugger, now where was I again? The phone rang again. This time I recognised the voice – SWMBO.

“You just hung up on Dave. He’s in charge of the harbour. Will you speak with him?”

“OK”, I said not really wanting to waste time in idle chit chat.

“Where are you?” said Dave.

“Outside the harbour. In the bay. I can’t tell you where exactly because I can’t see. I’m almost blind and don’t know why.”

“Can you see the gaps?” he asked.

“No I’m trying to locate the harbour,” I laughed. I had a fair idea I could identify the harbour wall when a little closer.

“Can you see the lighthouse?”

“No, all the lights are blurred, coloured sunbursts,” I tried to explain.

“Can you see it now?” Dave was shining his torch from the harbour wall onto the lighthouse.

I could not identify the lighthouse but I could see the movement of the torch, star-bursts or not.

“Got it.” I said. Dave’s moving torch told me where the harbour wall was, so I could find the gaps. The gaps is the name given to Newlyn harbour entrance.

As I entered through the gaps it felt as if a giant spider had enveloped me in its web. The more I struggled the tighter it gripped. Moving my arms was now awkward. I could feel the strong filaments but could not break then easily. It was becoming difficult to steer and I was finding any movement difficult. Something on the spider’s web was sharp and cut the skin on my hand. I had not considered the risk of being attacked by a giant spider when entering Newlyn harbour. Silly me. I should know better having watched lots of B-rated science fiction movies. Now someone was shouting and screaming obscenities like a crazy man on the harbour wall. As if I didn’t have enough problems, I had to deal with an irate lunatic. Cutting the engine I moved the boat over to the harbour wall to check what he wanted.

“Hey dummy. Didn’t you see my line? You broke my fishing line!”

He was fishing across the harbour entrance and the boat had gone through snapping his fishing line. So the imaginary spider had a more down to earth explanation. I preferred the giant spider fantasy.

“What?” I asked incredulously.

“Didn’t you see my line? You broke it!”

There was only one possible response.

“See your fishing line, I couldn’t even see the bloody harbour!” I shouted.

Shaking my head I increased the revs on the motor and moved away. With a little effort I managed to locate the pontoon. Dave and, one of the people following my passage, Caroline Astin helped me untie the fishing line, which had rather a number of large hooks attached, and secure the boat. I told Dave about the idiot fisherman and he asked what side of the gaps he was on. The illegal side – so off Dave the Harbour ran to apprehend the offender.

The source of my vision loss was the sunblock being washed into my eyes. Cleaning it off at home restored a little vision and brought relief. It would be be a week before the irritation fully subsided.  Early the next afternoon I returned with SWMBO to check the boat was secure and met the guy who collects the mooring fees. This must be one of Dave’s co-workers, as it was about 12 hours since I tied the boat up. Taking the opportunity, I began to tell him how great Dave the Harbour had been and how helpful. I was laying it on thick.

“Do you know who this is?” asked SWMBO.

“One of the harbour staff.” I replied.

“This is Dave! Don’t you recognise him?”

I felt the embarrassment. I hated harbours even more.

“How could I? I’ve never seen him before! Remember?”

The Jester Challenge?

 

From Plymouth to Newport

Fun is a strange thing. When I read about the Jester Challenge it seemed like fun. When I told others about it, they thought it was crazy. For those who don’t know, the Jester is a single-handed crossing of the Atlantic in a small boat sailing against the prevailing winds. In other words, the Jester is a return to simple sailing adventure. The boats are small, between 20 and 30 feet, but they don’t even seem to like their own rules and happily make exceptions if your boat does not fit. The upper size limit of 30 feet reflects the minimum size for boats that can meet the OSTAR (Observer Single Handed Transatlantic Race) regulations. The OSTAR originated with Blondie Hasler and his boat Jester.

Jester was sailed by Blondie in the first OSTAR transatlantic race. Blondie modified a folkboat by removing the cockpit, fitting a Chinese junk rig, and a self-steering system of his own design. The end result, while immensely seaworthy, looked so ridiculous at the time he just had to name it Jester. However, over time the OSTAR organizers changed the rules effectively excluding small boats such as Blondie’s original 25 foot Jester! To be fair this is an overstatement but most Jester Challenge boats would not qualify.

The influence of money, technology, and regulations were established as the OSTAR became more popular. Rules on boat stability and design characteristics were introduced for the “safety” of the boats and competitors. A boat must comply, or get special dispensation if it is an unusual design. Such processes are common with our elf-and-safety society. Nevertheless, one of the reasons for the original transatlantic race seems to have been Blondie’s desire to test some of his design innovations in Jester. Typically, the Jester Challenge boats are modified from decades old cruisers normally found sailing river estuaries in fine summer weather. Importantly, some Jester Challenge boats seem far more seaworthy than many deemed fit for the open ocean (RCD Category A).

The Jester Challenge is a return to the philosophy of the original transatlantic race. Ewen Southby-Tailyour the founder of the Challenge explained how he wanted the skippers to take full responsibility for their actions and their vessels. There was to be no nannying rules and no entry fees.  It should be FUN and not taken too seriously as a “race”. The aim is to arrive safely. He set minimal rules. He described the challengers as Corinthian yachtsmen who should behave like gentlemen who play the game with a straight bat. The Jester Challenge should be simple, unpretentious, and without hype.

The Jester Challenge appeals to my sense of the absurd: anarchic single-handed sailors crossing an ocean in tiny old boats for fun, and with little or no concern about who “wins” the race. Even the name Jester Challenge seems to reflect the inherent silliness of the idea. I was interested in the idea of having fun – whatever that is.

Blondie Hasler aboard Jester – note the absence of a normal cockpit

Getting More details

I emailed Ewen just to ask about details for the 2014 event. Ewen’s reply was perfect including the sentence, “The list of those interested in the Jester Challenge 2014 (JC 2014) is beginning to grow and I have added your name to it.” So that was it; I must do the Jester in 2014. It was official! Thank you Ewen for making the decision for me.

One initial problem was I needed a boat. The fact that I’d never sailed before and didn’t know how seasick I might become were hardly of interest. Such things are mere trifles. The distance from Plymouth to Newport, Rhode Island would be about 5,000 miles of actual sailing. I could take the namby-pamby southern route and call in at the Azores if needed. Of course, I would also need to come back home, so make that a nominal distance of 10,000 miles. Ten thousand miles doesn’t seem far if you say it quickly.

I started thinking about suitable boats in a sensible (very low) price range. The boat needed to be small, less than about 25 feet to keep the harbour fees within reasonable limits. Three boats seemed to stand out. The Achilles 24 is a sleek, fast seaworthy boat well capable of sailing the Atlantic.  I liked the triple keel version. The Hurley 22 was also a possibility, a solid boat that has crossed the Atlantic.  Then there was the Corribee a neat boat just short of 21 feet long. Finding a boat and place to keep it was taking time. Just as time was running out for preparations, a 21 foot Newbridge Coromandel became available in Falmouth.

Coromandel awaiting refit to be relaunched as Newlyn Maid

The Coromandel is basically a junk rigged Corribee. A junk rig would be ideal as it is particularly easy to sail and can be controlled from the safety of the cockpit. The sail was made popular by Blondie who developed it for blue water single-handed sailing. The boat is similar to Roger Taylor’s well-known Ming-Ming a junk rigged Corribee in which he undertook an impressive set of single-handed ocean voyages.  Roger has moved up to Ming-Ming 2 a highly modified Achilles 24. He found the Corribee a little slow for his long passage making. Throughout this little adventure I have been making numerous assessments of feasibility and risk; reassuringly I found my choices simply followed those made earlier by Roger Taylor.

Buying the boat

Ben the boats previous owner offered to give me a test drive in the Coromandel. This was very welcome – a free training session. The day before Ben instructed me to wrap up well as there was a cold wind. I turned up for the sailing on the river Fal in thermals on what became the hottest day of the year so far. Rather than frostbite I ended the day with sunburn – my face bright red from the intense sun!

Ben suggested I take the tiller and steer while he demonstrated the sails and characteristics of the boat. He also took the time to explain the basic rules of inshore passage making. The boat used the right hand side of the channel. There were some confusing concepts. A boat on a starboard tack usually has right of way. But this description is a little misleading. Starboard is the right side of the boat when looking forward to the bow. However, on a starboard tack the wind comes from the right side of the boat which would thus be leaning towards the left or port side. A starboard tack was named from the direction of the wind rather than that of the boat. There was a new name for everything – sailing jargon abounds.

Ben’s ability to communicate his practical knowledge was impressive. He demonstrated anchoring the boat when we stopped for a snack. We went forward into position slowly using the motor. Then he cut the engine and went forward to work the anchor. He started lowering the anchor as the boat stopped moving forward, the momentum from the engine decayed, and the tide took over moving the boat backwards. Gradually the chain was let out along the riverbed halting occasionally to make sure the chain played out in a straight line and did not fall in a heap. The positioning of the boat was done relative to three other nearby boats that were also at anchor. Ben explained how he was checking the likely position of the other boats anchor chains and how the boats would swing around as the tide or wind changed. It was important to leave a good distance and make sure our anchor did not interfere with the anchor lines from the current boats. In addition he was taking into account the other boats might need space to turn, possibly under sail alone making sure we would not be in their way. This was all second nature to Ben. Nevertheless, the skill level was surprising, particularly to someone who was on their first sailing trip. I listened intently and realized my luck in finding such a great instructor.

Ben kindly spent about five hours sailing the Fal with me.  However, he was concerned as he came to realize that I needed to get the boat back to Newlyn. Newlyn was the other side of the Lizard and a demanding passage for even a reasonably competent sailor. He suggested I should take an experienced sailor who knew the local area and waters. When Ben realized that the ultimate destination was Hayle which involved sailing around both the Lizard and Lands End he seemed even more concerned. I decided not to tell him I wanted the boat for the Jester Challenge and that sailing round the Lizard was a good baby step to get started.

Taking proper care

The sea around Cornwall can be formidable and the coastline is cluttered with historic wrecks. In the 18th century a British Navy fleet ran into rocks off the Isles of Scilly and over 1,000 lives were lost. More recently the 1979 Fastnet Race in the Celtic Sea was perhaps the most dramatic recent boating tragedy. A little over 300 yachts were caught in a storm, 15 sailors died as five boats sank and about 75 boats were rolled over.

A few weeks earlier in Falmouth newly-wed Mary Unwin had been given a 31 foot boat Seagair as a present from her husband. They had been divorced for three years but had reconciled and remarried. Sixty five year-old Mary claimed to have substantial sailing experience from years before and, like me, had taken a trial run up the Fal to reacquaint herself. Her sailing instructor reported that she thought her intended trip to Bideford in North Devon was about 60 miles rather than the 150 nautical miles or so of reality. Perhaps she had misunderstood that she would be zigzagging around the coast of Cornwall rather than the more direct overland distance. The instructor told her to do the trip with an experienced crew and that he could arrange suitable support. Despite being asked not to go off sailing on her own she left Falmouth the following morning. Reportedly she told two fishermen, who also advised her not to attempt the trip, that sailing was just like driving a car.

The poor instructor was disturbed when at 7am he realized that Seagair had sailed. He thought it a silly and dangerous thing to do, risking her life like that and perhaps he would be one of the last people to see her alive.

What they were worried about – the Longships lighthouse off Lands End is somewhere in that lot.

The night before Mary appeared agitated that people were saying she should not make the trip alone: it was far too dangerous. So go she did, apparently lacking suitable maps, safety gear, or other preparations. About 40 miles into her journey Mary stopped at Mousehole Harbour seemingly to get some cigarettes. Here there were indications she could not control the boat fully while mooring up and twice hit another boat. Finbar Jones a local fisherman helped her tie the boat along the harbour wall. When he realized she intended sailing around Lands End in poor weather he thought she must be joking. Once again Mary was told it was far too dangerous and she should delay. Poor Finbar Jones was unable to persuade her. Mary had a nap and set off at about 6.30 pm. She was never seen again. Fragments of Seagair were later washed up ashore and it is thought the boat ran into the rocks off Lands End. An alarm was raised by her new husband  but the tragedy was over.

Ben thus had good reason to be concerned about a beginner setting off from Falmouth to round Lands End. Gradually we discussed the situation and slowly my explanations of my risk aversion, the safety gear I was using, and the several backup methods of navigation began to reassure him. I explained that as a physicist the navigation was not a concern, I understood about the tides, basically the situation was completely different from that of the ill-fated Mary Unwin and Seagair. Ben gradually increased in confidence and realized that I was not embarking on a suicide mission.

For the next three weeks while I prepared for the first leg of the trip, around the Lizard to Newlyn, like Mary I was told by many knowledgeable people of the difficulties and dangers of the journey. Unlike Mary, I considered carefully every comment and point that was made and minimized the risk. The plan was to stay on the boat on the Fal river gaining in sailing experience until the weather and tide window was near perfect for the first leg of my journey around the Lizard to Newlyn. Yes, this really could be fun.