Megaohm’s maiden voyage
Robert Gibson recalls a 400-mile delivery trip in his newly-bought Trapper 500
A reader’s 400-mile delivery trip in a newly-bought Trapper 500
LEG 1
Ihad been looking for my second boat for some time when a Trapper 500 caught my eye. With the insurance survey complete, I agreed a price and completed the deal. The initial euphoria faded fast as I entered the ownership (or paying out) phase: this involved commissioning the local boatyard to fit a new gas line and standing rigging, split the rudder, dry it out and rebuild it, as well as fitting a new forestay tang.
All work was programmed to finish on a Thursday evening, two weeks after tasking the yard: a challenging deadline, but with approximately 400 miles to sail from Gosport to my home port of Bristol and time off work at a premium, I was keen to get going as soon as possible. The work was actually finished on the Friday afternoon, but I had only lost 1∕10th of the time I had allocated to the delivery trip – and it was a small price to pay for having a sound ship.
Many of my first-choice crew were either unavailable or put off by the time and distance involved, and only one man came forward. Luckily Mark is an experienced sailor and was always on my preferred crew list, so I was more than happy that we were up to the task in hand. We motored up the Solent in beautiful sunshine towards Yarmouth, with a gentle Force 3/4 on the nose. Thinking we wouldn't be able to refuel at such a late hour, we intended to stop over and make an early start on Saturday morning. However, with fuel available we changed our plan, and with a full tank headed straight out of Hurst Narrows, bound for Plymouth.
As we headed into the channel, a south-westerly Force 3 on the nose meant that motoring was the only sensible option. Shortly before we approached St Alban’s Head, the wind freshened from the north-west and we started to sail. I put one reef in as it was getting dark and wind speed was building. I didn’t want to push too hard on our first sail, and in anticipation of one of us getting some sleep I was prepared to sacrifice a little speed to avoid reefing later on.
Fifteen miles due south of St Alban’s Head, we received a Force 8 gale warning for Plymouth, Portland and the western Solent. By this time visibility to the south had dropped to less than 5 miles, and a large black wall of thunder and lightning was advancing upon us. The wind had veered to the south and built to a steady Force 5, gusting 6, with speeds in the mid-to-late 20s, so I turned directly north and ran for Poole Harbour.
For the next three hours we just about
out-sailed the wall of black cloud and thunder while lightning flashed all around us. We made the Poole channel and slowly crept up against the tide until we reached the chain ferry. From this point, a chart plotter would have been handy: paper charts and a handheld GPS are fine if it’s not raining and you have the time and inclination to enter waypoints for every possible port of refuge. Sadly, I had not. I wasn’t prepared to ruin a decent chart, so using only a high-powered torch and some distant memories, we navigated ourselves to the marina entrance. By this time wind speed was gusting over 30 knots and waves were breaking over the wharf opposite the marina entrance. I stopped navigating and took over the helm. Fortunately there was an empty berth just inside the marina, so we came alongside and tied up.
The next morning dawned bright and sunny: I paid the marina fee, and we set off: but unfortunately, the engine stopped 50m outside the marina entrance. With little time before we drifted into the harbour wall, I gave up trying to get her restarted and concentrated on avoiding an expensive collision. Luckily, I managed to hail a passing motorboat and secured a tow back into the marina, gliding to a stop alongside the fuel berth. To the man in the speedboat: thank you, whoever you were.
Broken fuel pump
Half a day later, Mark had diagnosed the problem as a broken fuel pump. Many phone calls later, we had changed the primary and secondary fuel filters and ordered a new fuel pump from the Beta factory on next-day delivery. (Thanks go to Clive, the Beta agent at Cobbs Quay Marina, for arranging this and handdelivering the new pump.)
Day three started on a high note as the pump arrived at the allotted time and worked perfectly. At midday, with full tanks and a sweet-running engine, we set off again in sunshine for the channel. South of St Alban’s Head, almost exactly where we had turned and ran two days previously, the wind slowly built to Force 4 from the north-west and we achieved 5 knots SOG by gently motor-sailing along the coast.
Once clear of land, we had planned to take turns grabbing a few hours’ sleep. Mark took the first watch, and was enjoying himself too much to sleep: he held the helm for four hours, letting me drift away in the land of nod. When I woke we were two hours out of Plymouth and he was beyond sleep. Luckily Plymouth had been his home port for years, so we made short work of sailing into Plymouth Yacht Haven where we tied up and slept for six hours straight.
By now, it was obvious that we needed an additional crew member to share the load. A quick trawl through my contacts list came up negative, so I did what all 47-year-olds do and rang my parents. At 70 my dad is slowing down a little, but just as Mark and I still consider ourselves to be as fit as we were in our 20s, he has pitched his age and ability somewhere in his mid-40s. Three self-deluding old men on a yacht: what could possibly go wrong?
Dad arrived later that afternoon, and we set sail for Penzance around 1700. Yet again the wind was dead on the nose, so what followed was a night of motoring across a flat-calm sea under a clear sky. By 0600 we were tied up to a visitors’ buoy outside Penzance harbour, and we all grabbed a few hours’ kip before the harbour gate opened at 1100. After securing the boat, we packed and rushed to the train. Dad left us at Plymouth, and Mark and I continued our journey home, arriving in Bristol later that night. I left the boat in Penzance for the following two weeks and returned on August 15 with a new crew for leg two.
LEG 2
The calm weather had gone, the sunshine had been replaced with a more changeable outlook, and the route was altogether more challenging. Two new crew joined me for this leg: Scott, an experienced day skipper, and Andy, a complete novice. We arrived in Penzance by car at 0100 after a day’s work. As the local Tesco had 24-hour opening we decided to shop immediately rather than wait until morning and battle with the crowds.
We got around five hours sleep before locking out of the harbour and sitting on the visitors’ moorings to wait for the tide. I had done considerable research on the routes and timings for this leg, especially the passage plan to get around Land’s End. I last sailed this route 17 years ago and was keen not to fall foul of the tidal gates and rocks that lay ahead. In the end I defaulted to Reeds Almanac for sage, unemotional advice that proved spot-on.
We slipped Penzance at 1230 and headed west. A gusty Force 5 westerly taunted us along the coast, forcing us to motor-sail to maintain SOG and keep control. Megaohm crashed through 2m waves and never once missed a beat. Things improved as soon as we turned north-west to pass by Long Ships, and I raised a smile as we passed the Brisons at HW Dover, exactly as recommended by Reeds.
From the Brisons on we picked up a noticeable tidal lift and worked steadily up the coast in bright sunshine and a Force 5 westerly until we reached Trevose Head just after last light. Searching for the
entrance to the River Camel around the infamous Doom Bar, I made the classic error of running on without confirming our position on the chart. The result was an erratic 40 minutes during which we frantically sought to identify the leading port channel marker in the wrong bay.
Having come to my senses, I plotted a fix that revealed we had overshot the entrance. A quick bearing soon had us back on track, and we entered the channel dead downwind of a fading Force 4 and slight swell.
Much has been written about the entrance to Padstow and the Doom Bar, but we found the channel well-lit and easy to follow. By midnight we were safely moored alongside a Sadler 26 in the inner harbour.
Potentially serious issues
Sea and weather conditions apart, being inside the boat during the day had been almost impossible due to an overbearing diesel smell. Andy began investigating, and it didn’t take long to spot some potentially serious issues. The alternator belt was loose and had worn heavily where it had run all day: the fuel tap from the main tank was also leaking diesel into the bilges, and the engine was nearly out of oil. We replaced the alternator belt with an onboard spare and tightened the nut hard. Engine oil was sourced from the harbour master and the fuel spill cleaned up. Not surprisingly, the interior smelt much better on day two and we were able to use it all day.
The weather on day two proved to be much more settled. We left Padstow at midday and were soon bashing up the coast towards Ilfracombe under a steady westerly Force 5 and a slight chop. We headed the tide for the first three hours and made slow progress up the coast, taking forever to cover the 35 miles to waypoint three off Hartland Point. Once round this the wind started to gust Force 6 and veered slightly north as we headed for Mort Point, our final (minor) tidal gate of the day.
By the time we started our final approach into Ilfracombe the wind was consistently mid-20s and the chop had risen from
‘slightly uncomfortable’ to ‘becoming annoying’.
However, the leading lights were good and the entrance surprisingly easy even in those conditions, and we were soon approaching the harbour wall to tie up and dry out.
On the Sunday morning we bought yet more fuel before studying the weather forecast. Westerly Force 6 gusting 7 at times, with a large swell of up to 2m. I discussed the conditions with the harbour master and a couple of locals, and decided that it was all downhill for us and surely conditions would ease as we progressed up the channel. I tried not to be swayed by the fact that it was now Sunday, and my crew wanted to be home as soon as possible. Many disaster stories start with a time constraint influencing a bad decision to leave a safe harbour or depart in an unfit boat, but by now
I was confident to we could handle the conditions. We set off watched by a small crowd, some of whom I swear were crossing themselves and shaking their heads as we bounced across the swell to waypoint one, two miles offshore.
Having gained some sea room we turned right and stood a course almost directly for the Holms Islands, bearing away from land slightly to avoid the overfalls off Foreland Point. We surfed and near broached down the front of waves all day as we punched the tide towards Bristol. Progress for the first three hours was slow, but soon enough the Holms loomed into view through a heavy sky. We passed between the islands shortly before 1900 and picked out the first of the Bristol channel markers as a squall drenched us and reduced visibility to almost zero.
Five minutes later, with the squall behind us, the wind dropped to a comfortable Force 4 and the sea almost completely flattened out. The final half-mile was spent trying to identify the correct buoy outside of Portishead harbour. Once we had achieved this it was a clear run straight into the lock ready to be lifted into the marina.
The next day, we said goodbye to Andy as we dropped him off at the station. Scott and I returned to the marina to move Megaohm from Portishead to her permanent mooring at Pill.