Her name was Phillida. She was a Torbay Class 2 Racer of ancient vintage, but graceful to my eyes. Sloop rigged and nineteen feet overall, she had a heavy steel drop-plate which passed through a stub ballast keel. This gave her enormous reserves of stability, although her sail area was large for racing purposes. Since she was three-quarter-decked, she remained dry - even in boisterous conditions of about Beaufort scale force six.
My intention from the start was to use her for cruising. To this end, I made a boom tent and a canvas cockpit cover to keep out spray when under way.
Beginners have to start at some time. Therefore I prepared Phillida for a cruise from Exmouth to Alderney. I had some previous experience of sailing with a friend in his sharpie and I had also owned a sailing canoe which I built in my teens. I wasn't really prepared for a solo cross-channel trip. I had taken a few lessons in coastal navigation, but I believed the best way to learn was to practise the thing to be mastered. My experience with Phillida proved that point when I went through a steep learning curve.
To cut a long story short, everything at the start was perfect. I had planned the trip to sail from late afternoon, then through the night, so as to arrive at Alderney by dawn, with the purpose of being able to spot the lighthouse at Braye. What I hadn't bargained for was that Alderney would be blanketed in fog! Using the Radio Direction Finder I received a strong signal from Braye and headed for it. As the fog lifted, to provide a day of wonderful sunshine, I saw a headland. When I sailed closer to identify it, I became very puzzled. The characteristics of a lighthouse did not match those of Braye according to the nautical almanac.
By then I had been sailing for many hours without sleep and I was feeling decidedly tired. I therefore purposed to anchor fairly close to some rocky outcrops, but as soon as the fisherman anchor took hold, Phillida's bow almost submerged, because of the pull on the warp by the enormously fast current. I was so frightened by the gyrating bow and bow wave, I cut the warp, which parted with a twang.
All of these things were being observed by people near the lighthouse. Shortly after cutting the warp I was visited by a huge official-looking French launch, the occupants of which enquired of my well-being. I assured them I was fine. Then it dawned on me that the watchers from the cliff had seen my predicament and had summoned help from the Authorities.
At that time I chanced to see on the horizon a small island which was obviously my original objective - Alderney. The ebb had slackened and I easily made my way to Braye by nightfall. But the learning curve was not completed. Grateful to have arrived at my destination, although extremely tired, I anchored with the spare Danforth. Then promptly fell into a deep sleep.
Early the next morning the wind increased. Its noise and the consequential jerky wave motion woke me. I was startled to see that the yacht was drifting rapidly toward a rocky patch, but fortunately I was able to grasp a mooring buoy en route. This buoy happened to belong to the Cruising Association Port Representative who saw I was a novice needing assistance. He kindly gave me permission to remain on his mooring for the next two days, during which period there was an easterly gale which prevented me from rowing to the shore in my tiny Prout folding dinghy.
From these episodes I learnt that DF bearings are not only forward but backward too! I had miraculously sailed in the fog past Alderney to arrive at Cap de la Hague! That is a place of notoriously strong tides. (Note: The UK marine radiobeacon service closed in February, 1999.)
Secondly, I had not put out sufficient warp at low water in Braye Harbour, where the range of tide is great. Therefore at high water the anchor was broken out, allowing me to drift into danger.
Becoming over-tired is a problem for the single-hander, leading to errors of judgement, which in turn could be fatal. Twelve hours at any one stretch is probably the maximum for most lone dinghy sailers.