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.

Don't stop me now...

From January to August 2015 I was working on a project, let's call it "Netty Betty" or perhaps more fittingly it should be called my "nête noire" 

It was a project of such magnitude that I cleared the dining table.

It's perfectly reasonable to practice the end of the project before it actually ends right?

Release the hounds

Disco Barbie here, newest character aboard Boogie Nights reporting in for duty.

This is my first blog post so please forgive me if I ramble on a bit.

I'm expected to blog about boat life shenanigans when there's more than one person on board or when Jayne is feeling like talking in third person like a rock star.

I was brought on board in May. Though I wasn't immediately aware of my new elevated status in life when I arrived. 

Champagne Sailing

I've been stuck inside working on a project, which means I have been viewing the world through a small vertical window. 

I play games, like spot the mast and guess the motorboat by the sights through my skyward facing hatch and the sounds that permeate through the water and reverberate inside Boogie Nights.

thus: I have become a dab hand at recognising boats by their masts, spreaders and the tone of their engine.

One set of spreaders looks like this:

pic courtesy, Paul Brant of http://ninjod.org/

Size Matters

Size anxiety

It's a thing.

Big Daddy. As a kid in the 80's he was a BIG thing.

It's very easy to become obsessive about space saving, weight saving and generally keeping a small living space uncluttered. Especially if you are trying to keep that space as light as possible with a view to being competitive during the odd race offshore.
It's also easy to accumulate larger things because of the extra added value perceived to be given by buying in bulk.

"Part of this obsession manifests in size anxiety."

When the HP sauce ran low recently, a very well meaning friend popped out and bought a new bottle. The new bottle resembled a WW2 Sherman Tank

"Sherman Tank WW2". Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons

My natural reaction of holding out the offending bloated sized bottle enquiring "what is this?" sent the dog scurrying for his bed. He'd heard that disapproving phrase before when he'd left me a brown present in the doorway. Anyone would have thought my poor guest had done the same. I had to very carefully explain why the original sauce bottle was so small in the first place.

It was the kind of terse conversation that ends with "fine, I'll get another one then"

HP sauce. Massive bottle. They make a picnic sized one don't you know?

But it doesn't stop with sauce bottles.

Everything is carefully calculated to fit into a very particular space. Every nook and cranny of this Dehler 36 has a specific shape, perfectly suited for a tupperware or a space saving method of containment.

The cocktail cabinet, after its repeated public inspection, followed by gasps of "how much?" (and subsequent assisted lightening of its load at the end of the Triangle Race 2014), has been gradually replenished, but instead of glass bottles, now everything has a designated plastic bottle which has been carefully labelled. All new liquids are decanted on arrival. (weight saving: 15kg of glass)

Each cupboard has been methodically inspected and contents removed on a twice yearly basis. The contents are inspected, audited, reinstalled or removed. 

Over the years I have collected a few DVDs and CDs. The CD's have been removed from their plastic boxes, copied to MP3 on a memory stick and then the originals stashed away in a wallet in the "shed". The DVDs haven't been copied to a hard drive but they are kept neatly and space savingly in a wallet.
No plastic cases remain. Because they're massive and pointlessly use up space.

When a friend hopped onboard with a collection of 10 DVDs, pristine and still in their original cases, my first thought was, where the f'ck do you think you're putting them?  Don't you realise you're displacing air with that lot? 

Air displacement

I've started choosing who I invite onboard because they are slightly smaller.

It's not just friends that trigger my size anxiety by bringing oversized things onboard, I do it to myself too. Constantly making lists of clothes, how big they are, what they weigh.

Is there an optimum amount of pants and socks?
This list states the ideal numbers of clothes. 7 t-shirts. 5 shirts. 5 pairs of trousers. 3 pairs of shorts and so on.
The ideal number is always one or two less than what I have in reality. Making me look again at what I actually have and do I really really need it?

For the love of my fucking sanity, have you seen the size of the plastic packaging around those samosas? 

Sorry to all visitors, both current and future, in advance for all the times I will be utterly inconsolable about oversized packaging, large bags, dvd cases, sauce bottles or anything at all remotely larger than expected.

space invaders. small entertainment

confessional

things I have obsessed over recently:

cooking oil: a regular 1ltr bottle of cooking oil. It fits NOWHERE but the fridge. It took 1.5 years to get through the last 1ltr bottle, which had been slowly decanted into a smaller 30ml bottle that fits in the cupboard easily. The day I finally finished that vat of oil I celebrated. The following day, a well meaning friend bought ANOTHER 1ltr bottle. I now have a 1ltr bottle in the fridge again.

Plain flour: I have a clear plastic tub that will take 500g bags of flour no problem. Whatever you do, don't bring a 1.5kg bag of flour onboard, no matter how good value it is. It doesn't fit. Oh what's that? They only sold 1.5kg bags of flour. Oh. bugger. We'll be eating pancakes then.

croissant packaging: Why do they package 4 croissants in a gift box the size of an articulated truck?

Indian snacks: those massive plastic cases that samosas and onion baajis come in from the fresh counter at the supermarket? No, please no. 
They serve no purpose other than to perform badly at protecting their contents and then are placed immediately in the bin as the snacks are repackaged immediately in order to fit in the boat fridge.

The size of the new cordless drill case. Massive. There's enough space in that thing for two drills. and chargers. I've only got one. I feel cheated.

The pan handles. Someone make pans without handles please. Oh what's that? Tefal make some? Right, I'm having a look at that. (edit 2017: I got pans without handles, they're utterly fabulous)

Motorbike kit: it does not belong on a boat. Why have I got my motorbike kit on the boat? Why? What appears reasonably sized when worn takes on a different dimension when brought inside a boat. Suddenly the air is displaced by a mass of armour and creaking leather. I. Can't. Breath.

DVD cases: See above

Brown sauce bottles: See above

Upon hearing someone would like to invite a friend to visit: er, how big are they?

Let the dog see the rabbit

 Rabbits? Did someone say rabbits?

The marina is slowly waking up again and those boats that have lain patiently, empty and cold all winter are starting to see the return of their owners and masters. 

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.

the F word

Flags.

signal flags, looks like someones phone number

Those flapping appendages so loved by the maritime community can be confusing at first and can continue to be confusing even when we've been "at it" for years.

So I have devised this serious guide to understanding what flags mean and when they should be flown and how to comport oneself in civilised company.For those unaquainted with sarcasm and wit, please apply your sarcasm and wit cream now. For thou shalt need lubricating to read this.

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

Homing Beacon

Part 2 of 3, a guide to being a loser  

Without a flashy sex bombe wide arsed raceboat to distract me this time, I stuck to a revised passage plan and continued west out of Yarmouth Isle of Wight.

The new rendezvous plan for my friends was simply to watch the AIS signal via marine traffic and then home in. 

Without a mobile phone or any other method of verbal communication I left it down to them to come and find me, homing pigeon style.

I headed out of Yarmouth, pointing south west. Full sails, still minus a top batten but with a new sail slide, full speed toward a much closer and quicker to reach Poole harbour.

It was an absolutely fantastic and generally rapid journey out of the needles channel and round to Poole harbour. Only one or two tacks to find myself in the channel heading into the sheltered and generally pretty looking natural harbour for the first time.
Finally out of the clutches of the Solent I gave a small whoop and congratulated the wheel by patting it.

A fast and fun solo trip from Yarmouth to Poole.

Pshhh, we're outta there! I pointed my thumb behind me at the white chalky cliff face of the Isle of Wight. 

Without a phone I couldn't phone ahead to check marina availability so I picked the Town Quay and just went for it. Hoping to get lucky.
I had a little look, circled around and then chose a spot that looked likely to be available, possibly.  On a bank holiday weekend, chances are a lot of places will be pre booked.
On arrival a friendly chap who worked there helped take a line. I only had one rigged as that's all I use single handing (one line to the centre cleat). I sort the other lines out once I've stopped and got myself secured. He seemed confused as I darted backward and forward adding lines once I was securely alongside.
You're on your own? he asked
Yeah, I've got friends, they're coming later I replied, reassuring myelf more than him that I do indeed have friends. Somewhere.

Once we established that I hadn't pre booked, he said it was my lucky day as the spot I had chosen was the only available slot.

Bingo.

Forty one pounds lighter and loaded with a gate code, shower code and a local guide to Poole, I sat and waited for my homing pigeon friends to come and find me courtesy of AIS and marinetraffic.com.

One by one they arrived, and soon there was four of us.
The crew consisted of

my best friend since early school days, Joanne.
A friend who is so severely motion sick that simply sitting on my mooring at Haslar can have her reaching for sea sickness remedies. But her sense of humour and ability to keep me from being a complete twat in front of two lovely chaps is priceless.



Lovely-chap 1) Jerry, who back in France in May during a qualifying passage for the triangle race, came knocking with a spare baguette for breakfast. I knew it was worth staying in touch with him, especially when he said he can cook!

Lovely-chap 2) Mario, a friend of Jerry who introduced him to sailing a while back. On arrival revealed a great taste in cameras and a keen photographic eye.

The dream team had assembled. Now, down to serious business of getting some "fun" in.

After an easy first night on the town quay and after everyone had used the facilities as much as possible to maximise the value for money, we headed off to pop Joannes' cherry.

In all the years I have known her (more than 30),  in all the times we went motor boating together and all the time I had my sailing dinghies, she had never once been sailing. The whole motion sickness thing had really put the brakes on that for many years. So now was the time to have a go.

let the motor take the strain. foot operated winch.

easy sail hoist

Joannes sailing cherry finally popped

A perfect day for mucking about on the water

One thing I've always enjoyed and rarely had the time or opportunity to do, is anchoring off a beach.
I'd made sure I brought the dinghy with me for "just in case" the opportunity presented itself.

I love rowing...

I love anchoring...

I love barbeq...
Ay up Doris, have you seen this sign?

No fun allowed so we broke all the rules.
But, being responsible adults we left nothing but our footprints behind.

Poole harbour

Boogie Nights on the left, one of just two boats anchored at this pretty spot

only one of the dream team dares to brave the water for a swim

Pirate juice

a barbeque on the beach with friends. This is living the dream

 Back at the boat, I attempted to set an anchor alarm. It didn't work. So I woke up several times to check our position as the tide changed (We drifted in the night and by morning we were just a boat length away from our neighbour.)

Before everyone went to bed I had a quick look at the engine to see what had gone wrong yet again, causing diesel to leak. It's been an ongoing issue for the past three years. One day I will get to the bottom of it. In the mean time, the engine has its nappy changed frequently.

Apart from the diesel leak the engine has been a dream.
That's an Asda own brand nappy in the engine tray.
Works a treat.

the ships dog, lit by disco lighting, kept Mario's knee warm

An English breakfast was the starter for Sunday, so before anyone was hoisting an anchor to move the boat away from our now very close neighbour, we made sure our bellies were full.

Mario doesn't do baked beans. They cause him a "problem with his tummy" he said.
Mega farts is what that translates as.

Whilst I have no such worries about beans. The egg is a rare thing on my plate.
Only because I'd been up in the night on anchor watch.

Always be yourself. Unless you can be a pirate. Then always be a pirate
Thanks to Garry Ashton-Coulton for the photoshoppery

Jerry tries to hide his excitement with the false look of worry as he is ordained as a pirate

It was discussed previously what it takes to be a pirate. Drinking rum for breakfast, or indeed at anytime before mid day will form a defining factor of pirateness.

And while Joanne and I sorted the boat out upstairs, Joanne on helm (ooh arrrrg) with me hauling up the anchor (ooh arrrrg), the lovely-chaps did galley slave duties and made Boogie Nights shipshape and Colombian fashion downstairs.

I could make some sort of joke about having two Colombians
sort my downstairs out.
But I wont.

Jerry can't seem to get enough of my galley.

Joanne steers us through the twin sails bridge as we head into Cobbs Quay

Tight fit. And a faded old facade.

One last effort to clean the salt water from the dead phone. It's dead.
Just accept it Jayne. It has ceased to be. It is an ex-phone.

And so after three splendid days of drinking, barbequeing, drinking, eating, walking and eating some more, I was left alone as my friends departed. Joanne helped cast me off from Town Quay and I trundled off into Poole harbour to pick up a mooring buoy for the night with the aim of heading to Weymouth solo the next day.

back to being solo again.
just me and the ships dog