JOG to Alderney

A quick JOG race to Alderney was planned in June. It just so happened to be the first weekend after a milestone birthday for the Captain.

The boat came out for a scrub and antifoul and then came out again a few days later to skim the rudder bearing (again) there will be another post about that when I can be arsed

There was a terse verbal exchange during a poorly executed mooring by the crew, who we will call 118, who had asked if he could have a go at mooring up, when I suggested it was "obvious you've been sailing a long keel far more than a fin keel recently" he responded by calling the captain a "cunt", then told her to "shut it shrimpy" and promptly fekked off down below leaving captain calamity here to struggle to tie her own badly moored boat up.

Bravo for not putting a breadknife between his shoulder blades I say. Restraint of fairly high order.

Neptune and his gift

King Neptune and his horses

It has to be said that sailing has its ups and downs. 

continued from blog post: Don't stop me now... and the slightly sweary addendum, a word of advice.  

Sometimes things happen in quick succession that takes us from the deepest low to the highest high.

An open letter to Mattel: Paws for thought.

 

massive feet

 

Dear Mattel, 

You may recall me from our brief correspondence during the summer, when I wrote to your fine company, requesting assistance to address an issue I had with my Beach Barbie. You may also recall she lost her shell themed headware after an encounter with a particularly aggressive French wave during her intrepid duty as figure head on a yacht taking part in an offshore race.

Well, after that brief discussion where you failed to display any sense of humour, ability or desire to assist me with Barbie sized headware. I solved that issue myself, thankfully, and she now sports a rather hefty but entirely practical crown of cable ties.
However, I was thankful for your speedy, though ineffectual response, so I thought I might try again.

Now, I am writing to you this time not to ask for help with headware but to clarify an issue I have with Beach Barbie's leg ends. 

What would Thora do?

Imagine you've had a really stressful week.  (we all do at some point, that's normal)

You've worked almost round the clock for several days. The sun has been shining and you've just had to work part of your weekend as well.

There's more work still to be done with planning and reading for 9am on Monday. 

Right now, it's 5pm on Saturday. You've just arrived home. Hungry. Carrying an unexpected surprise bunch of lovely flowers which had been delivered to the marina office.
You live on a boat.

Boats don't generally have vases.

What do you do?
What would Thora Hird do?

Ask Thora for advice.

Han Solo - Wey to go

Part 3 of 3, a guide to being a loser

Going for a personal best - chapter one

Woken a few moments after sunrise by the sound of the Poole harbour mooring buoy rubbing against the bow of the boat I poked my bleary head out of the companionway, not quite ready to face the world. 

This required a hot serving of freshly made pancakes before any colour would venture into my zombie like complexion.

With a face still wearing the pillow crease marks of last nights deep sleep, I faced the first task of the day. On the table sat a small (Standard Horizon) chart plotter.

It started taking on worrying signs of Poltergeist activity the evening before as I waved goodbye to my best friend at Poole town quay.
The fuzzy screen started blinking with furrowed horizontal lines, deep reds and no contrast were a tell tale worrying sign that I might need to call in an expert in the super natural. It was switching itself on and off of its own accord. I wasn't sure if some sort of other worldly portal might open up through which I could throw tennis balls, which might reappear, steaming and covered in goo, elsewhere on the boat. Most likely at the bottom of the companionway knowing my luck, where I'd slip on them and go arse over tit.

They're here

I unplugged it, half expecting the screen to stay on and emanate a sinister possessed voice, at which point I was prepared to drop kick it overboard. Thankfully it fell silent and black. Once stripped down I found the problem straight away. A small pin hole has burned through the display screen ribbon from where water got in and caused a minor short. So it's temporarily bugger'ood until I can replace the ribbon cable. No Poltergeist in sight.

Curses to the electrical water gremlins on this trip.

Shmokin' Gremlin

First the phone which doubles as mini gps and chartplotter was fried in less than an inch of salt water. Now the proper chart plotter with the AIS overlay is pooped.

This leaves me with one android tablet based electronic chart plotter, an emergency handheld gps in the grab bag and my trusty paper charts.

With an audible sigh I pulled out the charts and started laying in proper waypoints, a passage plan with tidal adjustments and everything. I've become lazy in my electronics induced semi-coma.

Gremlin on a post: my work here is done.

This level of concentration would require further pancake based fueling.

"Is seven pancakes greedy? No? How about nine then?" 

(that should hold me for a while)

Passage plan notes with hand bearing points of navigable interest and anything else of note taken from the almanac jotted down on my scrappy looking recycled note pad (complete with rusty staple) and it looked like the tides were right for a mid day kickoff to blast round from Poole to Weymouth.
I've never been to Weymouth before other than by ferry. (once, 19 years ago)
With the timing it looked like I might arrive at dusk. Reality check, plan to arrive in the dark.
The passage went perfectly. Save for nearly being decapitated and slung overboard.

following a gaff rigger called Duet out of Poole

It took them a while to get their sails set, but when they got it sorted,
it took off and pulled away from me in the direction of France

boat under tow under a moody sky

 

The wind built up to 25knots which meant I had to reef (for non-yotties this means to reduce the size of the main sail by pulling it downwards) a wildly swinging loop of loose line hanging from the rapidly oscillating boom decided to tangle around my neck.

I swore at it, it let go. So I thanked it for "not killing me today."

The part that I hadn't factored into my passage plan was the minefield of lobster pots around the Weymouth bay area.
Now that darkness had descended it was impossible to see more than a few short metres ahead of the boat so it's a bit of a lottery whether you hit one or not.
The other thing I hadn't factored in was very large inflatable race markers.

While Barbie was left in charge of steering, I nipped down below to check the chart and pilot book for exactly what leading lights I was looking for to guide me into the narrow entrance of Weymouth as I was still at least two miles off.
It was only when I popped back up into the cockpit I heard a noise, like the noise of the bow wave being reflected off of something. I peered into the gloom while my eyes tried to adjust back to night vision.
Before I could react, a large orange inflatable buoy, suddenly illuminated by my red navigation light skimmed the full length of the boat, just centimeters away.
It was so tall that I could have looked it in the eye from the cockpit. If it had eyes that is.

recreation of the event. possibly not quite to scale.

Soon after, I was lining up the lights on the harbour entrance as I made my way in, in increasingly windy conditions.

artist impression of night approach to Weymouth

unusually no red markers outside of the harbour entrance, only green leading lights
with a white flashing light marking the end of the harbour protection wall

This is the book info, however it doesn't show the MAHOOSIVE tower installed for the 2012 Olympics as my book is from 1995 and a hand me down from my parents. Nothing much changes except marina layouts and the odd buoy here and there. So it's fairly common to use older books, alongside my new paper and electronic charts it's easy to spot changes and amend the book. 

So fast forward...

• Arrive at lift bridge, wait until morning when bridge opens

• Go into marina, find a spot.
• It's tight. Very tight.
• Spend a day in Weymouth. Friend who was supposed to meet, cried off with work. 
• Jayney-no-mates.
• Plan to leave the next morning. 
• Plan the perfect exit maneuver.
• Execute it badly.

• Barbie gave it her best. Note new battle scar. #hardcorebarbie #glasgeekiss

• Accidentally shorten the flag pole. (it was too long anyway)

• Smile nicely and say good morning to the motorboat owner, whose protruding anchor assisted with flag pole shortening. 
• Remark quietly to self how quickly a fat person can move when they think their boat might be damaged. (it wasn't)
• Exit Weymouth entrance. 
• Eyes forward. 

This could be a fast one - chapter two

With one reef left in the main sail and wind "just-so" Boogie Nights was absolutely flying.  

Rarely seeing the speed drop below 9knots the steady 20kt breeze just kept on keeping on.

The boat was going like this.

The wind was a bit like this.

I hadn't said anything to the ships dog, but he knew instinctively that today was a day he might want to tuck himself below in the confines and comfort of the back cabin where he curled up in a deep nest of king-size duvet and pillows. He left me to it. He didn't emerge for another ten hours.

But what a ten hours that would be.

 

I was mostly like this

I was faced with a choice after a while, do I turn up to go through the needles channel or do I go around the back of the island. The tides and wind decided I would go around the back of the island where I would have plenty of sea room and boat speed when it turned sporty later.

A beautiful day to set a new personal best

Once I reached the corner where I needed to turn more northerly, the wind started picking up.
A blanket of cloud descended rapidly over the island and shrouded the anchored ships ahead of me. The wind increased from a steady 24 knots to 30 and started showing 30+ at which point I had to physically tell myself out-loud, to "get that second reef in home girl". While running with the wind behind me, it feels easy. But the moment of turning into the wind suddenly that shit gets real.
Waves I had been surfing down with ease were now breaking over the boat.

"Cascades of water run down the gunnels and fly off the back as spray.
The bow points at the sky then at the bottom of a wave, then back at the sky.
I hang on with my toes as I use both hands to pull and winch as fast as I can whilst gripping the wheel with any other spare part of my body"

It's bouncy alright.
Reefing is essential but also tricky when you're solo. The autopilot on Boogie Nights doesn't have the capacity to adapt while I haul on lines and change the motion of the boat, so it overcompensates or under-compensates. Either way, it doesn't really point the boat particularly well which can slow down the actual job of reefing.
Determined not to get lassoed around the neck again with stray lines I pulled hard and winched fast and everything seemed to go like clockwork. More or less. Though the brief stoppage hit my average speed quite hard and knocked it down to 8knots.

Turning back downwind as the wind was howling around 32knots and gusting more, Mr Gibbins the civilised self tacking jib can't handle being dead downwind so had to be rolled away. This meant the boat would be slightly unbalanced and again, the autopilot wouldn't be able to handle it. With the wind behind me, there was a high risk of crash gybing so I resigned myself to hand steering while Boogie Nights surfed at 13 knots down the waves.

It was at this point my MP3 player decided it was going to play me the entire series of Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. 

Unable to leave the helm to run below to kick it back to playing music, I listened to the calm voice of Peter Jones as he narrated his way through three entire episodes.
Understandably initially I was vexed at not having music on while I concentrated on not crash gybing and catching waves to surf down. But then gradually the calm voice became oddly reassuring.
Hearing once again the importance of the humble towel for hitch hikers as well as Marvin's sunny disposition as he casually parks spaceships at the restaurant at the end of the universe was actually pretty good at whiling away the time.
Before I knew it, the sun was shining again and I was pointing toward the Spinnaker Tower of Portsmouth with tunes blasting the cockpit and a huge grin on my face.

The route recorded on Marinetraffic.com You can follow Boogie Nights journey progress on here.

The Spinnaker tower can be seen for miles. It's another reassuring sign that "home" is within sight.

And just in case you thought the title of this post had nothing to do with Star Wars

Wet Shave

It's just three weeks since we popped our racing cherry in the Yachting Monthly Triangle Race and added another 1000 miles to the log book.
The antifoul that I put on in December was originally meant for the weedy needy River Crouch where practically the moment you put the boat in the water are the various weeds and cunning water creatures working out who is having which bit of this new surface area territory that has landed in their world.

The south coast is a slightly different kettle of fishiness. My soft easy wearing East Coast antifouling has picked up weed, then been blasted off and then the weed decided to have another go, this time sticking itself to the epoxy hull where the antifoul paint has worn away. Where the sun hits the boat the most on the current mooring is right up at the bow (pointy bit) and the boat has developed a green goatee. (or a Billy)

A green goatee

This means I either get the boat lifted, jet washed off and a quick top up with antifoul more suitable to the South Coast, which will cost me around £170 for the lift plus a can of antifoul. Or find a scrubbing post and attempt to balance the boat alongside so I can jet wash and touch up antifoul that way, which is a cheaper method. Or, even cheaper than that, I don my wetsuit, go for a swim and get scrubbing and give Boogie Nights a wet shave to knock back the goatee and buy me some more time between lift outs and more importantly, save me some money.

"Cost - nowt but a couple of hours swimming about."

 Banjo was unaware of my plans and looked on slightly worried as I wriggled and cursed, started sweating profusely,  wriggled and tugged whilst jumping up and down and cursed some more as I lithely slipped my old wetsuit on. (most recently worn a couple of years or so ago when I had to go in to clear the prop)

These things must shrink in the cupboard.
It was like a neoprene corset when I finally zipped it up. The label inside says SM, it should read BDSM.

A scrubbing brush and a crepe spatula - the perfect tools

I rummaged around in the lazarette and cutlery drawer finding practical tools for shaving a boat-goatee and discovered that my crépe spatula is just the job for giving Msr Weed the Gallic shrug.

Despite the hot weather, it's always a bit of a breath taking moment when we first lower ourselves down the bathing ladder. Good job my tight wetsuit rendered me incapable of breathing in much more which made the visiting neighbour boat occupant, who was watching me,  think that I'm much harder than I really am.

cleaning the rudder with my feet

The black part near the surface of the water is where weed sticks the most

It's trickier than you might imagine scrubbing and scraping a boat bottom whilst bobbing around, highly buoyant in a wetsuit. The technique I had to use was to swim toward the hull whilst going at it with the scrubbing brush or crepe spatula.

Handy hint:
I slung a strong line from the front of the boat, just hanging above the water and then tied off half way down the boat. This gave me something I could hang onto and use to brace against.
I also took a buoyancy jacket in with me. I wasn't wearing it, but used it as a float to lean on to keep my arm from getting tired while scrubbing.

A buoyancy aid makes a good low level assistance float

It's quite a sobering position to be in actually, (in the water) it's a good reminder that should I ever fall overboard, it would be impossible to get back on without help or a ladder. The sides of the boat loom over me. I can't imagine what it must be like trying to get back on in rough weather.

After nearly two hours of turning pruney I decided enough was enough. I've done my best. Sure there's still going to be some hairy bits here and there. But it's now looking much smoother around the water line. The goatee is gone.

smooth

The antifoul is almost all worn off at the bow

Since it was such a lovely warm day, it was a good opportunity for a team building exercise.
Banjo was unimpressed with his enforced swim.
"Come on it'll be good for you. Character building" I said.
His life jacket does a good job of floating him but ideally there should be some sort of chin flap to help keep his head/nose out of the water. I might have to modify it.

Reluctant team swimming

The reason for this flurry of scrubbing is because we've entered another race, this time, a quick one over to France.

Best get packing all my shit away again!

Vomit comet - A sprint north

Yachting Monthly Triangle Race: leg 3 - Treguier to Torquay

Welcome back for the third and final installment of the triangle story.

why did Barbie blush? Because the sea weed.

I’m back, it’s Beach Barbie reporting on behalf of Boogie Nights skippers Jayne and Hazel.

We all had a delightfully merry time in Treguier, France.

Well, I say all, they did, not me. I didn't get so much as a sip.

Those Brittanny folks treated us so well. Except for the French man who came and leant on me not realising I was even there, spinning me round on my cable tie, I was facing port for some time and I felt slightly queasy until Jayne came and set me straight again.

Gimballed Guinness Cake

Yachting Monthly Triangle Race: Leg 2 - Kinsale to Treguier

Jayne has issues with velcro

Hi there, Beach Barbie, figure head of Boogie Nights, reporting in from Treguier.

The two skippers are off enjoying themselves ashore so it falls to me again to bring you the 2nd leg report.

So before I get ahead of myself, the intrepid duo had a lovely little stop over in Kinsale.

On arrival, still salty faced and weary from our long passage they abandoned me with nary a thanks for my safe guidance and both hopped aboard a Sweden 42, where arrival drinks were drunk alongside fellow competitors into the night, the last few boats arrived, the sky started to turn from black to blue again and then they came home to their bunks.  The last dog watch was complete for a few days.

Returning the next morning, squeaky clean and fragrant from Kinsale yacht clubs facilities the two skippers reminded me why it’s good to be a non-sweating plastic doll.

I had suspected for a day or so that they had snagged the rotting carcase of some sort of marine mammal, turns out, you can get quite smelly, quite quickly, on a hot sailing passage. Who knew? Not I. I was quite worried.

During the stop over two jobs needed tackling, the VHF radio signal, or lack of, and the errant sail batten that was coiled up around Jaynes bunk, she slept with it for one night coiled like a spring over her head. 

It wouldn’t take long before it “would have someones eye out” she said, 

it wouldn’t be me of course, mine are painted on.

Hazel used the Electric power winch to propel Jayne toward the top of the big stick to check the aerial connection and whilst there took a good look around.

She could see the pub from there. 

A fellow competitor jumped onboard Boogie Nights with his multimeter, they worked out it was the plug end at the bottom of the mast that needed re-soldering.

Gas soldering iron on the job (the gift that keeps on giving thanks to Jaynes Dad) and Boogie Nights was transmitting Radio 4 levels of posh voice effects once again. Jayne has a fabulously posh radio voice that completely belies her northern potty-mouthed roughness.

Next task was the batten. The long flat fibreglass batten (that helps to give the main sail its beautiful wing shape) that had popped out of its sleeve at the start of leg 1.

As I’m perpetually facing forward, I’ve never actually seen the so called “main sail”

I have seen its shadow on the water though during certain times of the day and I’d say it looks more like a giant sun dial. I can tell the time by its shadow position on the water. I'm like the Crocodile Dundee of figure heads. #beargryllsbarbie

What was needed was a stitch, or three, in the end of the batten pocket. Hazel was very pragmatic about it. But Jayne, easily upset at the thought of having to put holes in her brand new main sail had to face facts that this was the only thing that was going to stop Boogie Nights spearing any closely following yachts with its lethal high powered sail javelin. And of course ideally it should be in the sail where it helps it to hold its shape and makes us go faster.

Yoda reports to me that he felt a shift in the force around the same time Jayne put the first stitch in. We’re a little worried about her. The dark force is strong with that one. Don't let the pink fool you.

 

Jayne has a sudden encounter with velcro

 And so to the leg 2, Kinsale to Treguier race start, I was soooo excited. I was like, totally yay about the fact we have some wind forecast. It meant I wouldn’t have to put up with their constant jabbering behind me. They might have to concentrate for a little while.

Jockeying around for the race start count down Jayne whinged that Hazel was tacking a lot and it was making her tired before they had even started.

For those non sailors reading this, this means Hazel gets to play with the big round thing that makes the boat turn left and right and Jayne has to pull lots of ropes and turn lots of clicky winch handle things. Every time Hazel turns Boogie Nights this way or that, Jayne has to do a lot of rope pulling and tensioning and re-tensioning then coiling to avoid them turning into a birds nest and then she has to do it all over again. Yoda sees all from his aft facing view, strapped to the mast support.

Jayne swore that she’d get Hazel back by swapping roles next time, and Jayne would tack and gybe twice as much as needed.

When I heard my two skippers discussing “really going for it” I wasn’t sure what to expect. 

heading out from Kinsale to race start

 

Mid fleet in the procession out to the starting mark

Juliette, a J105, heading out for the race start

Hazel, bang on the money for the start

Big Doris, A Dehler 39 is miffed that we got the jump on him.

Goodbye beautiful lush green Ireland. Thankyou Niall Power and his son for making it down to Kinsale to see us off. It was very much appreciated.

Free Spirit, a Sweden 42, the source of several welcome drinks in Kinsale. Two wonderfully hospitable Northern Chaps, Rob and Mike.

Hazel is tiny but mighty. This is Yodas view of all proceedings.

Oh. My. Gosh.

They were off the line like a greased racing snake. If there was an energy drink called “well oiled stunt monkey” it would be sponsoring this boat at that time.

I couldn’t see anyone ahead of us at all. And then we were leaning. A lot. And the waves came. Kind of long rolling ones that had gotten all big from being blown all the way across the north Atlantic toward Ireland

I was like, “whoa. I’m getting it right in the face here guys!”

And they were like, whatever.

And I was like, “Hey would you mind, it was fun at first, but c’mon, I can’t breath now. I’m spending more time under the water than over it.”

And they just didn’t care. I could cry if I had tear ducts. 

It did not stop.  For Hours. And Hours.

And then I was like “our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…. “

I honestly thought I was going to lose an arm or something. And my hair, I can’t even imagine what my hair must look like.  

The evil, Barbie bashing pair had agreed on taking one hour turns on helm, while the other snoozed nearby. They hand steered through the first night and into the next day.
Food this time took on a very minimalist approach as I heard the Stowaways emergency gourmet food being served. Jayne managed to balance a pan on the hob long enough to warm up a Coq au van and a Venison Caserole. Hazel once again congratulated Jayne on her ability to warm something up.

Deydreamer, which is another Dehler 36 like Boogie Nights was hot on our tail for a day before eventually passing us. There was very little either Hazel or Jayne could do about it, but it did make them more determined.
Hazel had very cunningly provisioned with pork chops in honey and mustard and a fabulous potato gratin from Kinsale. Once this rocket fuel had been expertly warmed up in the oven by Jayne and both had congratulated each other on ones ability to provision well and the others ability to stand up down below on ridiculous angles of heal and warm something up, I felt the boat start to accelerate. When Jayne asked Hazel if she could put music on, we seemed to go even faster and straighter.

Hazels bowl is always spotlessly clean when she's finished

Whilst Jayne was on a roll down below, she also decided to bake a cake. 

The chocolate and Guiness cake came out well, but has a slight gimballed effect to one side.

During the second evening Jayne was in her element, tweaking and re-tweaking the sails and lines, willing the boat along faster, eeking every last nth degree out of Boogie Nights as ordered by Hazel 

“make us go faster, we HAVE to catch them”

Jayne sat for hour after hour transfixed by the speed readout and GPS position. 
Watching the ais reported boat speeds of those ahead, 5.5kts, we maintained 6.5kts in an attempt to reach them before the finish line some 80 nautical miles away.

Hazel came up for a watch change and suggested Jayne look behind for a moment.

And then the night sky arrived bringing the milky way with it. Phosphorescence glittered out of the bow wave and trailed like little sparkles as Boogie Nights cut through the water.

Out of the darkness to our port side, a strange red object started to appear, sailing up over the horizon was a scarlet crescent, resembling the devils spinnaker bearing down on us. 

The moon rose and lit the way to France as Brittany lights started to appear to the south.

After hauling back most of the difference on the other Dehler, they were in sight of the finish line but it was too late to change any racing results. Another 6^th place for Boogie Nights. 
Considering that Boogie Nights is the only boat in the entire fleet where someone actually lives on board, this is no mean feat to even be vaguely competitive. Boogie  Nights is also the only boat in the fleet with a figure head. I was looking forward to meeting some of my cloned sisters, likewise cable tied to other boats, but it seems I am alone. This makes me sad. It's a dying art this figure head business.

Using my dolphinase skills, I summoned a special guide to show the Boogie Nights team the way in through the rocks.

Davide, or Dave, the Dolphin shows us the way in.

That’s all for now folks, one more leg to go, but before then, it’s time for a drink in the bar for my skippers. While they’re gone, I’m cleaning out the cake pan. 

Do I have something in my teeth?
Someone's got to clean the bowl right?

xxx Beach Barbie signing out