Destination Yarmouth

Although this must be the closest OCSC meet I have attended, the last time I had visited the New Forest I was about 5 years old and on a disastrous pony trekking week with my horse obsessed sister who could only of been 9 herself, I remember being terrified when my pony reared up on its hind legs at something that spooked it and me clinging on to its neck for dear life. The holiday ended abruptly with my sister running away from the pony trekking centre terribly homesick after only a couple of days or so to a nearby phone box to beg for my parents to come and take us home!

 It was not homesickness but pressure of work which meant I could only spend a similar amount of time at this meet organised by Gavin, recently returned home from his round Britain odyssey. I arrived very early on Saturday almost everyone else was still in bed however I bumped into Graham and after gaining the codes to unlock the various gates unloaded my canoe and trundled it into the fabulous Bucklers Hard Museum site. Here is a perfectly preserved Georgian village, a pre industrial era shipyard situated with chocolate box perfection between its raw materials, the mighty oaks of the New Forest and its market The English Channel, the centre of the super power rivalry between England and Napoleonic France. What excited my imagination most about the site was not so much the Georgian buildings, but the remnants of the slipways; V shaped grooves cut into the banks where ships of the line were built and launched. 

Launching from the original slipways

Returning to the campsite there was now more activity as people breakfasted and got ready for a 9am briefing from Gavin. Our destination for the day was Yarmouth on the North West coast of The Isle of Wight. An ebbing tide would pull us down the Beaulieu river out into the Solent were the tide would push us toward our destination. The OCSG fleet launched under clear blue skies and sheltered westerly winds. We ran down the river, as the forest closed in, the winds became lighter and we relied on the ebbing tide to takes us along until the forest receded and the coast was reached.

The Commodore expects every man to.... hurry up.

The fleet beats west .

 The wind picked up strongly as we headed out of the mouth of the river running before it. We were able to cut across the Beaulieu spit thanks to the height of the tide and start beating our way westward along the Hampshire shore, keeping well north of the marked channel to avoid any larger vessels and close to the shoreline while we assessed the conditions. The fleet of 9 canoes  was in three groups I was with Graham, Andy and Geoff and Eleen, Gavin sailed with John onboard his  in company with Chris. Keith was with the Bloor twins. 

The wind was F4 with stronger gusts on occasion the tide was assisting us at around two knots. In the briefing Gavin had given lots of information and detailed maps of Yarmouth with the warning to avoid being swept past and out to the English Channel proper. The best way I found to identify Yarmouth was to look out for the big white sided ferries that endlessly made the crossing between it and Lymington on the mainland. After an hour or so of beating upwind it was deemed time to make the crossing. 

Crossing the Solent

Everyone was sailing with outriggers on, I had being messing about with my jib during the downwind sail on the Beaulieu but had dropped it for the beat up the Solent, it remained down for the crossing but my main sail was fully unfurled and pulling maximum power with the full draft left in. As we made our way across the channel a careful eye was needed on the numerous sailing craft coming from seemingly all directions. The further towards the middle of the Solent the stronger the wind became; there was wind over tide and the narrowing channel combined to create a confused sea with short sharp peaks. The bow of the canoe started to take occasional  water over the top of my experimental bow deck, this is short in length and without a wave deflector, my Atwood pump was great in keeping the water level down. However the further I went on crossing the channel the worse the sea conditions became, not really helped by the passing very close of a massive speed boat on the plane and the accompanying wake. At this point I think I went into what I call “tunnel vision” mode, it was obvious the water was breaking into the canoe more often, and the pump was now not keeping up with the ingress. I was starting to feel uncomfortable, a little frightened even.

 It should have been clear the canoe was been driven with  too much power into the waves, hoving to, reefing in a turn or two and depowering the sail by flatting it was the obvious solution with hindsight. However all I wanted to do was get across the channel and closer to the perceived safety of the Isle of Wight shoreline. Like I said; tunnel vision. For a minute or two it got progressively worse, I realised that I was in danger of sailing my canoe under the waves. The rest of my party were now some way in front of me, however glancing behind to watch for shipping I saw Gavin was just behind me; reassurance that another canoe was close by, and, to be honest, embarrassment that I was in danger of sailing myself into a situation in front of one of the most experienced members of the club snapped me out of my stasis. I hove to, reefed and flattened the sail. Crisis? What crisis? The waves stopped breaking over the bow, the pump started to get the better of the bilge water, aided by my scoop bailer. Of course the sea still demanded its prize or part of it; at that point my hat blew off! It seemed a small price to pay then what might have been. The entrance to Yarmouth harbour drew closer, I had been heading to a point up-tide of it. There was a pier on the left hand, up-tide side of the harbour mouth, and directly next to that just inside was the ferry dock. I wasn’t keen to enter the harbour by cutting across in front of the ferry in case it started to depart, so I aimed my canoe to the right hand side of the harbour entrance, which is pretty small really, for a few worrying moments I was concerned the tide would sweep me past the entrance, but I made it in without too much problem. The sail was duly fully furled and I paddled the short distance to the slipway, I jumped into the water at waist height to make land only to make a terrible discovery. My dry suit fly zip was wide open, freezing cold water poured in where it should only pour out! Soon the fleet was all ashore, either landed the harbour or on a beach just west of it. Being lovely and sunny I took the opportunity to strip out of my dry suit ,turn it inside out and walk around trying to dry off my thermal underwear while eating my sandwiches. Sorry about that Isle of Wight! 

Yarmouth Harbour

Once everyone had assembled the next obvious destination was of course the Pub! I took the opportunity to visit Yarmouth chandlers to purchase a new hat. Returning to the canoes and looking outside the harbour we could see that the tide had changed, the white horses of the troubled water earlier had smoothed out with as the wind and tide travelled in the same direction. Although the conditions were improved I departed the harbour with a reef in but the conditions didn’t merit it and once out in the middle of the channel it was necessary to unfurl the sail to remain in contact with the rest of the group. 

Geoff & Eleen

Once on the Northern shore we ran with the wind and tide back toward the mouth of the Beaulieu , the tide height was lower the when we departed so it was necessary to run some way down the Solent parallel to the mouth of the river before we could find enough draught to cross the spit safely. In doing so we turned 180 degrees into the wind and needed to beat our way up the river mouth. 

Heading back to the mainland

Somewhere along here I lost my VHF radio. As I entered the river mouth I had radioed the rest of the group and then clipped  my VHF back onto my buoyancy aid. It was also tied on with a foot or so of lanyard, or so I thought. While beating to wind I was hiking out quite a lot in the calmer waters of the Beaulieu I can only think that it fell from my jacket (it was clipped under my arm) and into the water the force of which pulled free my most likely shabbily tied knot. I only realised later on further up the river when the wind died off, once again sheltered by the trees of the forest, a serene mile or so of sail paddling ensued in the evening gloom, a gentle and tranquil contrast to the exciting conditions earlier in the day. After coming ashore and after a quick change the group reassembled in the pub for food and a few pints. It had been a long day so I didn’t hang around too long before I headed to bed

All in all there was a lot packed into one days sailing; some heart ache at my equipment losses, some scary bits, some important lessons learnt and experience gained, but mostly a great days sailing in beautiful surrounding and super company. I hope the club plans to return to the New Forest again next year, unlike my last visit I didn’t get homesick once and although I might of got a little frightened the old adage that if you fall off a horse its best to get straight back in the saddle proved true.