Did You Get The Name of That Boat?

A staggering side swipe by a passing boat while rafted alongside the channel at Cowes was only one of the many surprising experiences we had in England. Unlike this misadventure, all the rest were delightfully positive.

A few days earlier, burdened with gear for cool, damp weather we converged upon Port Hamble Marina, where the sun was shining and the temperature was in the seventies. We soon found out that the definition of “bareboat” in Britain is very literal. Each skipper was handed a shopping bag with one dish towel, a bottle of dish soap, and a small roll of paper towels. While both vessels had adequate pots, pans, dishes, and flatware, it turned out that the bedding we had thought would be available to borrow was not. We had misread an email from our contact at Fairview Sailing.

With updated shopping lists in hands, most of both crews loaded into right-hand drive rental cars and headed for Tesco Express. Since this is comparable to Walmart, we found very cheap comforters along with all the food and supplies we needed

As Wight Orca approached their marina Mia discovered that the ship’s radio could transmit on the local marina channel (80), and she could hear other boats talking to the marinas, but she could not hear any of the marinas talking back. Fortunately, Le Jouannet had arrived first and was tied up alongside the marina’s outer pontoon. Linda brought Orca in alongside for a cozy raft-up. No sooner had Mia returned from the office and stopped in Le Jouannet’s cockpit, than a massive shudder shook both boats, the floating pontoon, and the boat tied up on the other side of it.

Out in the busy channel, the master of the sloop Walk of Life had just handed the helm over to a crew when a passing boat’s wake caused her to lose control. The helm spun and the boat was suddenly pointed right at Wight Orca. Walk of Life’s skipper grabbed the wheel and managed to turn his craft enough so that the blow was side to side and not a t-bone. Walk of Life scraped along Wight Orca’s side, with Wight Orca getting revenge by tearing apart Walk of Life’s Styrofoam life ring as her stern swung close to Orca’s bow.

Walk of Life’s skipper circled in the channel and as they passed by again he looked at the damage and shouted, “I’ll call Fairview.” And then they were gone. Orca’s crew quickly determined that the damage was cosmetic, but Orca’s entire port side was streaked.
With nothing to be done about the incident, a shore party took off to explore the streets of Cowes and look for a spot for dinner. They returned with Cowes Race Week hats and reservations. Dinner at The Coast included mussels in cream sauce, seafood linguini, and grilled sea bass. Who said food in England is bad?
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On Monday the fleet departed the excitement of Cowes for the village of Yarmouth about eight miles west. The Club fleet shadowed competitors in what appeared to be a distance race going the same way. Outside Yarmouth, Mia was able to speak to the marina because they use a different channel. Our pre-paid berths were quickly confirmed and we received instructions to proceed ahead slowly.

In the Yarmouth harbor master’s office Mia solved a minor Orca mystery: The odd disks with a rib across them found in their navigation desk were tokens for the showers here. A bit later everyone hopped aboard the Needles Breezer, a double-decker tour bus. It groaned along the narrow country lanes, while a recorded narration described the sites on either side, including the only thatched roof church on the island, and a monument to Alfred Lord Tennyson up on a hill. The objective of the tour was the extreme western end of the island where The Needles, a group of steep rocks, poke up out of the sea, with an old gun battery on the bluffs above. Disembarking the bus, we found ourselves traipsing down a series of steps and slanted walkways toward the western point, several hearty sailors dreading the return tromp back up. In the battery we descended a tight spiral staircase and walked further downhill through a tunnel to a tiny chamber that looked right out on The Needles and their stark lighthouse. What a photo opportunity!

Most were glad to learn that the bus would pick us up somewhat closer than where we’d been dropped off. The next stop was at Alum Bay, site of The Needles recreation area. This is a carnival zone with souvenir shops, restaurants and snack stands, and rides. A chairlift carries visitors down to the beach far below. Alum Bay is known for its multi-colored sand, formed from the variety of minerals in the beautiful cliff face above.

Lingering the next morning to walk through town, crews enjoyed the family atmosphere in the marina. The boat next to Orca loaded on five or six small children to go for a sail. Up the dock a small sloop was home to at least six more. Kids sat on the docks fishing for mullet and crabs, and left buckets of water and bait fish standing near the bows of their family boats. A double stroller was cleated near the bow of one, sleeping child nestled inside. Sailing may be an elite sport, but in this part of England it’s as common as a barbeque in the park.

Since Tuesday’s sail was only five miles across The Solent to Lymington, the fleet decided to sail west first and get another look at The Needles. Out at the line between The Solent and The English Channel there was a clear difference between the relatively calm water and the choppy whitecaps. Both crews boldly steered out into the channel chop just to say that we had.

 
Later, while Henry steered Orca up Lymington’s narrow channel Mia tried once again to reach the marina on channel 80. And once again she could hear other vessels talking to Lymington Yacht Haven, but could not hear the marina answering. Finally, as Henry was approaching the entrance with a ferry on his stern and a fleet of racing dinghies all around Mia resorted to cell phone. “Oh yes,” the woman in the office said, “we heard you and are answering. You can’t hear us?” Fortunately, from her position looking out the window she could see both Orca and Le Jouannet, which had arrived a little earlier and was tied up. She provided very clear instruction to Mia, who relayed to Henry, who got out of the ferry’s way.

Tuesday was a layover day in Lymington. After a hearty breakfast, Mia and crew rented bicycles from the marina and rode into town. Bob’s crew walked into and around town, stopping for lunch in a restaurant where they were served by an American student. The cyclists headed out into the country to look at horses, cows, and sheep, and stop for lunch at the Chequered Inn. They ordered cold pints of cider (Mia and Henry), a pot of tea (Mary Ann and Linda), and tasty lunches. Once the food had arrived so did Dfur Dog (get it?), to sit next to the table in hope of a handout (which he got).

Still feeling adventurous, the ladies of Orca returned to the boat to change into swimsuits and ride over to the Lymington saltwater pool. This larger than Olympic size pool is filled with chlorinated, unheated, seawater. It’s also filled with inflated obstacle courses, kayaks, and stand-up paddle boards. The locals also fill it, with deck space at a premium. Paying only to swim, the Orca ladies found three unused plastic chairs to stow their belongings and then waded in to the dirty-looking water. People watching was as much fun as swimming, and the ladies enjoyed a couple of hours relaxing until the calls of gin and tonics could be heard from the boat a quarter mile away.
 

The next day’s sail was to be the longest of the trip: about twenty-five miles to Portsmouth and deep into the harbor to Port Solent Marina. The breeze would have been sufficient for sailing if it weren’t for the current, which at its peak was running nearly three knots on the nose. Poor Wight Orca, whose top speed under power was about six knots, slogged along watching the current-wakes on each buoy and race mark that we inched past. We stuck close to the shore of the Isle of Wight where the currents were weakest. After passing Cowes the current started to lessen and we made better progress.
 

The instructions for entering Portsmouth were extensive because of the large naval base and commercial shipping port. The sight of a high speed hovercraft zooming across the channel and right up onto the beach to disgorge passengers was enough to make Orca’s crew pay attention to the rules. Once again coming in behind Le Jouannet, Orca found her way into the side channel leading to Port Solent. Photos of the area showing boats moored on placid waters had been taken at high tide, but the tide was no almost low with a full moon in a couple of days. Feeling like we were back in the Chesapeake navigating into an anchorage, Linda watched the depth gauge while Mia watched the chart on her iPad for the deepest water.

“A couple of degrees to port. A little more. Now starboard. Perfect for a while.”

“Mia, the depth is .5 meters.”

“I know. Just be patient. Slow down…”
 

In this fashion Wight Orca inched along a seeming drainage ditch between rows of boats on moorings, their keels buried in exposed mud. At the point when the depth gauge read zero, Mia quietly reminded Linda that they’d checked its calibration back on the first day and found out it had about four feet (a meter and a third) of extra depth. After nearly hitting Mia for not mentioning this earlier Linda was able to relax.
At Red 78, per instructions, Mia radioed Port Solent Marina to request a lock-in. This was the reason for their making this arduous journey: Port Solent is guarded by a lock and both crews wanted to see what it was like.

Having solved her radio problem while in Lymington (the ship’s radio was on USA and she didn’t know how to change it, but she had managed to change her own hand held to International), the Port Solent harbormaster told her to come ahead but be prepared to wait because there were several boats ahead of her. Orca would have to tie up to the “waiting pontoon” outside the lock.
 

While Linda continued to putter up the channel the crew got out lines and fenders, adorning both sides of the boat to be prepared for any contingency (and because the instructions said so). The waiting pontoons came into view with a lot of Sunsail banners on the boats there. On the radio, the lock keeper radioed a boat and told him to come in. Mia watched a boat on the pontoon cast off its lines. So she called the lock keeper, said she was just coming up the channel, could she proceed. He said yes. Only after this did she realize that Le Jouannet was tied to the pontoon, crew preparing to release.

 
Orca was committed. Into the lock she went, taking the last spot. Standing on the stern lazarette, Mia watched the huge steel gates close with Le Jouannet standing just beyond. When the water inside the lock had risen she was relieved to see that Le Jouannet’s crew had secured their craft to the pontoon just outside. The lock opened the gates into the marina and Orca waited while the other vessels moved on. Presently the lock master came out of his office to Orca. He provided a map of the marina with her slip assignment, a code to turn on the power, and a key fob for the gate. With that, Orca was released into Port Solent Marina.

 
Soon Orca was secured bow-in amid a sea of other craft. During this process the lock was lowered and Le Jouannet admitted. Unfortunately, their slip assignment was nowhere near Wight Orca’s. As Mia and Steve conferred via radio about next steps for the evening, a loud thunk and shout was heard from up on Orca’s bow. While working with Mary Ann to deploy the power cord, Henry had stepped through the open forward hatch. No sooner did he disappear down it than he nearly bounced back out to sit on the bow.

 
Bob the EMT was anxious to see Henry. However, the two boats were so far apart that it took him ten minutes to get to Wight Orca. During that time Linda fetched water and Advil and made up an ice pack. Bob finally arrived and made a cursory examination. Henry had a sharp pain at his belt line when he moved. There was no indication of internal bleeding, and Henry could move his feet and toes. So the biggest problem was getting him off of the forward deck of the boat.

Using a cushion, lots of patience, and some gritted teeth, Henry slid along the side deck past the shrouds and finally down into the cockpit. After some discussion, Henry decided that he would tough it out on board. He did seem to be improving. Gingerly and with everyone ready to help, he lowered himself down the companionway steps and positioned himself at the dining table across from the television showing Olympic coverage.
Plans to check out the restaurants ashore were scuttled by both boats. The ladies of Orca opted to prepare a spaghetti dinner and care for their first mate. Over on Le Jouannet they were still waiting for information on the code to turn on the power, so they pretended to be at anchor.

For the first time on the trip, the sky opened up overnight. But the rain stopped by morning and hints that the sun would come through were there. When Bob went to the lock master’s office to pay for Le Jouannet he pointed out that they never did get the power code, and the gate code they’d been given didn’t work this morning. The lock master on duty was quite surprised and apologetic, and explained that the codes change at midnight on Wednesday, so of course it didn’t work this morning. He also did not charge Le Jouannet for the night. The fleet made it into the lock together. The outer doors opened on a different world out there – yesterday the depth read zero, today it read four or five meters. All those boats in the mud were now floating just like in the photos.

Back to The Solent our merry two-boat flotilla motored. While we were on a better schedule for the currents – a light one flowing with us – the winds were weak. Le Jouannet put up all sails and made the best of it. Henry, who had slept in the main salon and had climbed to the cockpit after breakfast, needed a smooth ride with no surprise movements, so Orca progressed under jib and iron jenny.

Several hours later Henry coached Linda in holding Orca in a position just off the fuel dock waiting our turn. She had at employed our usual “milling about smartly” technique, but two powerboats had jumped in ahead of her. When in Rome, or in this case Hamble, one queues like the locals. Deft use of forward and reverse idle as well as the bow thrusters allowed her to keep Orca just off the starboard quarter of the boat on the dock. When a space opened up ahead of it and the guy on the next boat up shouted, “it’s a lot of room,” Linda maneuvered Orca into the spot like a pro.

Berthed across a finger dock from one another, the two crews indulged in must-go appetizers and drinks, fitting in debriefings with the Fairview staff as well. When we described our encounter with Walk of Life back in Cowes, the Fairview staff said “Oh, so that’s what the guy who called was talking about. He said we had a boat with dark marks on it, but couldn’t find one. Now we know why!” So the other skipper had called, as promised. Fairview crew took a buffer to Orca’s side and removed the marks in a matter of minutes.

Our English adventure delivered far beyond expectations. The weather was unexpectedly fair – extraordinary, according to most of the locals we spoke to. Everywhere we went the people were friendly, kind, and patient with their American visitors. We were very impressed by the high level of seamanship skill exhibited by pretty much every boater we encountered. Maneuvering in tight quarters in strong currents and breezes is every day stuff to these people. There is something to be said for the Royal Yachting Association certification requirements. Marinas are operated by competent staff who answered questions like “which side will I be tying up on” before we asked, and the facilities went from good to great.

As so often happens, before we left we were already contemplating our next visit, for which our friends at Fairview recommend crossing the Channel to France!