Maiden Voyage, leg 2: Weymouth to Dartmouth
DecaDance's Web Diary
Chris White and Jeanna Coleman
Sun 3 Oct 2010 22:50
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GPS
Position: 50:21.04N 003:34.36W - Dartmouth Visitors Pontoon
Weather: F8-9 and pelting it down, calming to warm, dry and still - what's going on?! Sunday the 3rd October
"We're not going anywhere in this," mumbled Chris as we woke
to a F8-9 off Weymouth and heavy rain battering the boat. How
relieved was I? We'd been woken a couple of hours earlier by the crew of
Blue Fin chasing its wildly flapping genoa all over the foredeck, they must have
copied some of my knots...
It was forecast to ease in the afternoon and the Condor, a
huge catamaran passenger ferry, was predicted to be running by 1pm, so we
decided to depart mid-afternoon and night-sail into Dartmouth. We devoured
a full English at the Corner Cafe and then returned to the boat to allow Blue
Fin to leave after a guided tour of each of our boats. "Go now," they
urged, "she'll take it." DecaDance might, but I'm not sure I would!
We plugged into shore power when they left and took full advantage of the
harbour office showers - well, you've got to try and get your money's worth out
of the £34.50 mooring fee!
We left as planned at 3pm and by then the sun was shining with
about 12-15 knots of wind. Chris got DecaDance up to 9.7 knots through the
water under sail and then I took the helm on our course out to an East
cardinal. The sailing conditions were perfect, the only downside was that
we were on a starboard tack which plays havoc with my hair. It blows the
opposite way to my parting and all flops forward and I look like one of The
Beatles. More importantly, I can't see a thing - not good when you're
keeping your eye out for lobster pots - so I decided there and then it's a Dame
Ellen cut when I get home (sorry Gill).
Once past the East cardinal we set course across Lyme Bay
which put the wind directly on our nose. No choice but to drop sails and
motor (or get to Dartmouth a week next Tuesday). The sea was very lumpy
and, after spending too much time plotting our position, I felt decidedly
green. I lay down in our forepeak cabin (there's less movement in the aft
cabins, but I can't be doing with the noise of the engine) and immediately felt
better. I found the rocking motion rather soothing but the boat was
slamming - where it leaves the crest of one wave and belly flops onto the next -
and a 15 tonne lady belly-flopping doesn't half make a bang, followed by some
very disconcerting creaks from the boat.
When I emerged into the cockpit it was dark and the boys told
me I'd missed a beautiful sunset (although I doubt I'd have seen much hanging
over the guard-rail). I felt well enough for a cup-a-soup and sandwich and
the boys slurped pot noodles. We've got a kettle but no pans as we
were limited to what we could physically carry on the train (further limited by
Chris's three broken ribs from where Chezzy gave him a bear hug at the Dartmouth
Regatta).
Chris was shattered so he went for a kip, the seas were calmer
and we were no longer slamming so he managed to actually sleep. Andy and I
took turns keeping watch, filling in the log and playing with the cockpit
chartplotter. The skies cleared as we continued our journey and a
blanket of stars gradually filled the sky. A huge ship with a
red flashing light (hazardous cargo?) crossed fairly close in front of
us, spied by Andy just in time as its lights were
lost amongst the shore lights of Torquay (don't worry it wasn't that
close).
We woke Chris when we saw the 2 south cardinals near the
entrance of Dartmouth twinkling in the distance. Andy suggested I took her
into the harbour and then Chris took over just on the turn to the Bayards Cove
leading light. We struggled to find space on the visitors' pontoon as the
tallship The Lord Nelson was hogging half of it. We ended up rafting in an
extremely tight spot against one of Geoff's boats, Bold Explorer, a manoeuvre
consisting of brilliant boat handling by Chris and a bit of panicked
shouting from me - not good at 1am.
It was incredibly still and warm so we cracked open a bottle
of vino in the cockpit and toasted our return home under the streaming deck
lights of the Lord Nelson. Our discussions returned to the contentious
subject of how much water to put in the kettle (conservation of limited bottled
gas v time spent down below filling the kettle on a rolly sea), and all I will
say about the incident - now known as Kettlegate - is that if Andy ever tires of
IT he'd make a very good marriage guidance counsellor!
Chris and I kissed and made up before we all retired at silly
o'clock. |