This is a truncated account of the first part of my single-handed cruise aboard the engine-less, 19ft sloop, Zeta. It was my ambition to sail her to the Azores and back. I had built her from a basic kit supplied by the UK firm of Hunter Marine at Rochford, Essex.
In the summer of 1978, during the long school holidays, I wanted to realize my dream. Whilst undertaking the voyage, I hoped I would be totally preoccupied, so that I would forget the year of traumas from which I had escaped. My remedy for recuperation was to enjoy the therapeutic activity of an extensive cruise in my beautiful yacht.
These few paragraphs are a summary of the first thirteen days of my abortive attempt to reach the Azores. I had little concept of what would really be involved in such an undertaking. Apart from my wife, no other person knew of my dream.
The single-handed cruise was over a period of thirty seven days. From Burnham-on-Crouch, my little boat took me across the English Channel four times and to Falmouth. Altogether, we put into twenty four different ports or anchorages, but we also revisited others, to a total of eight.
The Cruise
On Friday afternoon, 21st July, I cast off Zeta's Hullbridge mooring and headed down the River Crouch towards the open sea. A cool west wind was like an elixir. It caressed and cooled my bare back, which was soaked with perspiration due to the exertions of loading the remaining gear and hoisting sail. The tiny yacht was well down on her marks. She carried three months supplies of food and enough water for the planned, but unrealistic, four day 'voyage' to the Scilly Islands.
While passing through the many moorings of the famous east coast sailing resort of Burnham-on-Crouch, I noticed that the gudgeons on the transom, which held the rudder in place, were loose! Somehow, they had become loosened during my trial sailing. This situation needed immediate attention, but the two knot ebb was pushing the boat uncontrollably towards a moored yacht. The wind at that time was non-existent, which meant I had to propel Zeta vigorously by the only other means of locomotion - a single bladed paddle. Eventually, I was able to grab a mooring, which was adjacent to the Royal Burnham Yacht Club. There I tightened the loose fittings.
After a misty dawn on Saturday, 22nd July, at 0800, Zeta headed for the open sea. She followed a zig-zag course between various sand and rock banks of the Thames estuary. These hazards were hidden from view by the fast flowing, muddy water. I paid sharp attention to navigation and plotted courses from buoy to buoy. It was the only sure way of knowing where the boat was. A light, south easterly wind did little more than allow steerage way. The ebb took us* towards North Foreland. Eventually we ghosted into Ramsgate harbour; the last hundred yards or so, I paddled to the anchorage, which was in shallow water at the northern end of the basin.
On the morning of Sunday, 23rd July, the forecast was not at all promising. A south westerly gale was expected at Dover. Seeing I would be in the shelter of the east Kent coast, I decided to sail. I fully reefed Zeta, and made my way out into the choppy seas. A mile or so to the east were the infamous Goodwin Sands, that graveyard of several unfortunate ships. It proved to be a very bumpy and wet trip. There was much exertion while carrying out many sail changes.
Because of adverse wind, tide, and sea conditions, Dover was as far as I could go. There, I was grateful to be met by the harbour safety launch, which I followed to a mooring in the outer harbour. Although conditions were uncomfortable, due to excessive rolling, I managed to practise using the sextant, but accuracy was out of the question, since I could only guess at the sea's horizon, which was hidden behind the harbour wall.
The morning of 24th July, brought weather conditions which looked unfavourable, but by 1040, the wind had decreased, and I sailed the little boat out of Dover harbour's western exit, to head for Boulogne. We were close-hauled all the way to the South East Varne Buoy, and kept this course across the Channel, until arriving at the French port. While entering the harbour I suffered a frightening experience. It came about because one of the cross channel ferries nearly ran Zeta down.
I was the one to blame - My approach to the harbour had not been on the leading marks. As the wind was failing, I decided to sail up-wind and up-tide, to ensure gaining the entrance. The breakwater was high and therefore I was not able to see the harbour signal lights, neither could I observe the dredged channel down which the ferry was speeding. When Zeta swung closely around the end of the breakwater, we were blanketed from the wind. Thus we were motionless in the path of the fast approaching vessel. Being low down under her bows, we were invisible to those on her bridge deck. Fortunately, a few quick stokes of the paddle were sufficient to give space between my tiny boat and that gargantuan!
Shortly after our arrival, ‘Aristocat 1', a large catamaran, moored to the pontoon. She had sailed, that day, from the River Swale in Kent. During conversation with her owner, I discovered he had been watching our manoeuvres, and was relieved that we were not at the bottom of the sea!
Next morning, Tuesday, 25th July, our departure was delayed until 0800. This was due to contrary harbour signal lights. Progress to the west was slow, because what little wind there was came from that direction, but we were blessed with a cloudless sky and excellent visibility.
To the south, I was able to see wonderful extensive beaches of golden sand. To the north, east and west, my eye was gladdened by the azure of the sea and a pale cobalt sky. The flood tide began to sweep Zeta back over the track we had so painfully gained to windward. Determined not to lose ground, I dropped anchor. Because of the depth of the water, I used all the warp and chain at my disposal. I was thankful to see ripples form at the bow and to note that transits on the land were stationary. For the next four hours I relaxed in the cockpit while reading the Channel Pilot and I sunbathed for part of the time.
The night of Wednesday, 26th, found us sailing to the west, into strong contrary winds. Having listened to the forecast of a southerly gale, I decided to press on for Fecamp, but, by mid-day conditions were too bad for entry. I opted to spend the night in the middle of the Channel. It was my plan to stay between the two shipping lanes: one on the French side going east and the other on the English side going west. There was no sleep, but great anxiety. Zeta was battened down and rode the gale without sail. With the tiller lashed to leeward, she lay almost broadside on to the waves and forereached slowly.
On the morning of the 27th, I established our drift had taken us toward Selsey Bill, which is a low lying peninsula to the east of the Isle of Wight. At 0530 I was able to plot our position. The waves were lively, since they were formed as a result of the night's gale and a force four wind from the south west.
After a boisterous sail we anchored in the quiet protection of the picturesque and wooded Wooton Creek. This delightful anchorage is on the north eastern side of the Isle of Wight.
It was a time to take stock and tidy the boat. I bailed some water from the bilge; hung out clothes to dry and had a refreshing strip wash. Up until that time, I had not been ashore, except to make Zeta fast to the pontoon at Boulogne. Since we had been sailing in foreign waters, I flew the yellow quarantine flag, but the authorities were not in the least interested in my diminutive craft.
While luxuriating in the peace and quiet of this superb location, it dawned on me that I would not be able to achieve my objective of reaching the Azores - because time was fast running out.
Legally, it was necessary to clear customs before continuing my cruise. Therefore, the next day, Friday, 28th July, I called into Cowes, England's most famous yachting venue. 'Sacred' Cowes and the Solent have witnessed many great yachtsmen race their expensive toys, including Sir Thomas Lipton, who made his fortune from processing and purveying tea.
During my visit, the Duke of Edinburgh and the Prince of Wales, raced their unpretentious Flying Fifteen, which had been a gift from the designer, Uffa Fox. They and the Queen were guests of honour at the Cowes Week races and festivities. They were based aboard the Royal Yacht, Britannia, which was anchored a few hundred yards to the north of the Royal Yacht Squadron's impressive headquarters.
That area of the Solent was crammed with visiting yachts and it wasn't until Thursday, 3rd August that I managed to sail clear of the Needles, a peninsula of chalk cliffs, which are at the extreme western end of the Isle of Wight.
My five day sojourn in the Solent was memorable because of the bad weather, but that transpired to make each day have its challenges, with corresponding rewards. I determined to sail every day, irrespective of conditions and the result brought many moments of excitement which were my delight. Within the comparative protection of those waters I visited Wooton, Cowes, Yarmouth, Newton, and Lymington, but I am sorry to say the accounts of them must be left to your imagination. Here, I am running out of space for a simple Web page.
Postscript
I hope this cruise and record of it will qualify me for membership of 'The Oar Club', to which this article is dedicated.
For your information, a requisite of membership of The Oar Club, is for one to have cruised 100 nautical miles in a boat without an engine; using sail, oar, or both. During the cruise one must put into at least four ports for overnight rest. Finally, one must submit an account of the cruise for publication in TOC paper, whereupon membership is granted.
Details of this honourable sailing/rowing club can be found by visiting: http://www.oarclub.org
* ‘us' always refers to Zeta and myself, since we were a team, and I accredit to my faithful boat a real soul and much fine character. She never let me down, and if there was any failure, it was on my part.
Bill Serjeant.