Lifejackets for all?
John Butler battles seasickness and rough seas in his first extended voyage while helping out a friend on a delivery trip
In the mid 1980s a pal of mine, Peter, had bought a second-hand 26ft Westerly Centaur, Springtime. Modest she might have been by today’s standards but to us relatively impecunious young mortgagees she was a wonderfully tempting yacht to go exploring the oceans blue.
Springtime had been afloat in Bristol’s floating harbour docks over the winter but Peter was keen to take her round to a berth in Weymouth as a convenient base to go summer cruising along the Dorset coast and Devon’s south coast. I was delighted when he invited me to join him on this exciting delivery trip from Bristol to Weymouth.
Our first port of call was to be Ilfracombe, a convenient place for Springtime to receive a coat of antifouling between tides. Apart from initially heading in a southwesterly direction along the north
Somerset and Devon coasts the route after Ilfracombe appeared to remain fluid depending on the weather we were to encounter.
My sailing experience at that time was minimal, having previously only ever been a passenger in my grandfather’s Morgan Giles when I was a child in the 1950s. University, marriage and two lovely children had made demands that allowed little time for me to enjoy the delights of sailing so I jumped at this opportunity which would add to the sailing experiences I’d left some 18 years or so before.
Peter and his first mate – another John – had been out on Springtime with their wives on many previous occasions so clearly they had a lot more knowledge and experience than me. A week or so after Peter’s phone call we met on board Springtime in Bristol docks with another old friend, Graham.
The fresh water in Bristol’s Floating Harbour, where Brunel built his screw
driven iron ship the SS Great Britain in 1843, is held behind lock gates under a large swing bridge carrying a major dual carriageway into Bristol. As a car driver I had previously been annoyed to be stuck in traffic jams for the simple convenience of a yacht to pass beneath into the lock but now the deck boot was on the other foot and it was our turn to hold up Bristol’s traffic for 15 minutes.
Tidal streams
From the lock we motored down the River Avon between the 250ft-high cliffs that form the spectacular Avon Gorge passing under Brunel’s Clifton Suspension Bridge.
A few miles further downstream we passed Avonmouth where the River Avon empties into the River Severn estuary, famed for having the second highest tidal range in the world. The Bay of Fundy in Nova Scotia holds the prize for having the highest, but that hardly detracts from the caution needed to navigate the Severn’s impressive tidal streams and sand banks.
When we exited the River Avon we were met with a wind on the nose gusting 42 knots against a tidal stream of 5 knots.
It was not unsurprising that it had kicked up a very uncomfortable, short steep sea. I was rarely seasick at that time of my life but I was prone to a queasy tummy in lumpy conditions so I had taken the precaution of starting a course of seasickness pills 24 hours before we embarked at Bristol docks.
On this occasion I was actually sick so clearly I’m not suited to the benefits of this remedy and I have never taken it since. Luckily, the Centaur’s 25hp engine was capable of punching Springtime’s bows through this nasty chop. In time the wind eased and we settled into our trip making reasonable progress towards Ilfracombe where we arrived later that afternoon.
Being unfamiliar with Ilfracombe, I asked Graham if he had been there before. Graham, not known for the best of linguistic skills in his mother tongue, simply likened the town to an unfavourable part of the human anatomy. Having visited this historic holiday resort since, I have to say that I have found it to be a charming place with a wide range of restaurants, pubs, parks and much more. Perhaps Graham was not the only one suffering from a queasy tummy.
We picked up a mooring in the inner harbour and adjourned to the yacht club for some grub and a beer or three before turning in.
After breakfast Springtime was standing high and dry on the sandy bottom on her bilge keels allowing us easy access
‘We found ourselves riding down waves the like of which I’d never seen before’
and plenty of time to apply a good thick coat of antifouling. I was pleased that Peter volunteered to crawl between the keels with his roller. He came up after completing the task with a pretty blue speckled effect on his yellow oilskins.
Unfavourable forecast
When the tide lifted Springtime off that afternoon we set sail to continue our adventure which amounted to little more than turning left after leaving the harbour.
I recall Peter and John discussing the weather forecast, which appeared to be causing them some concern. It was about Force 6 on the Beaufort scale but as it was from a north-easterly direction it and the tide would be behind us so they decided it would be OK to depart. I had total faith in our skipper’s and first mate’s decisions on all points nautical.
Soon after leaving Ilfracombe we found ourselves riding down waves the like of which I’d never seen before and have never seen since in over 30 years of sailing my own yacht across the English Channel to North and South Brittany, to the Channel Islands, to the Isles of Scilly and the Celtic Sea to Ireland.
The waves were not steep nor were they breaking but they had a wavelength of something nearing 100m and a height of at least 5m. Waves this size travel much faster than a cruising yacht and as they passed under Springtime she accelerated down each successive wave like a toboggan with polished runners on a snowy hillside.
Being on the helm I was able to hold her straight down each wave while I had visible references ahead but as the waves increased in size the boat speed increased, 7 knots, 7.5 knots, 8 knots.
Springtime was fast exceeding her hull’s displacement speed and was becoming directionally unstable causing me to have to use more and more tiller movement to hold her in a straight line. I voiced my concerns to the skipper who not unsurprisingly was reluctant to go on deck in those conditions to reef the mainsail. As darkness fell I lost my visual references to hold her straight and her speed continued to rise, 8.5 knots, 9 knots, 9.5 knots.
This was getting serious and the point was eventually reached when no amount of tiller would hold her straight and she slew round to starboard and broached. All I could do was hang onto the tiller to save myself from being tipped out of the cockpit into the cold, dark sea. Luckily no-one went overboard.
This frightening event stirred John and Peter to go below and don lifejackets. Graham, who had been in his forepeak berth came up rubbing his head and muttering oaths about who was responsible for tipping him out of his berth and onto his side shelf.
Reduced sailpower
After Peter and John had reduced sail, sanity and stability were restored. On enquiring about lifejackets for Graham and me I was informed that there were only two on board and they were reserved for those venturing on deck. Oh well, at least I was going to be spared that dubious privilege. I don’t recall if anyone enquired the whereabouts of a liferaft but equally I don’t recall seeing one and luckily we didn’t need one.
I awoke next morning to a fresh, bright scene, the huge waves had been left behind and for the first time in my life we were out of sight of land. Peter and John had taken their night time watch and were fast asleep below but Graham was fresh and good humoured in the cockpit.
He informed me he had no idea where we were but he was keeping the heading John had given him. After breakfast John surfaced to do some navigating and promptly informed us that we should see Land’s End that afternoon.
Sure enough the Longships lighthouse off Land’s End eventually came into view as predicted. This was before GPS and we certainly didn’t have anything as sophisticated as Loran, or Decca – far too expensive in those days if indeed they had even existed. Clearly, John knew how to navigate the old fashioned way by dead reckoning.
Our next port of call was to be Newlyn. I asked Graham if he’d been to Newlyn and he described it in much the same way that he had so unfairly denigrated Ilfracombe.
I am happy to report that I have sailed into Newlyn many times since because it is such an interesting and busy fishing port with friendly and helpful working locals. You won’t find fresher fish and chips when tomorrow’s dinner is still swimming in the sea.
Newlyn now sports a small marina with finger berths which are primarily reserved for fishing vessels but there always seem to be a few berths available for private pleasure craft. This welcome facility did not exist in the 1980s so we had to berth alongside a large trawler with her nets hanging over the side.
The trawler’s crew had gone ashore with their catch leaving much of the unsaleable part left rotting in the nets. I was left with Hobson’s choice; close the hatches to keep out the smell of rotting star fish or open them to ventilate the odours of Graham’s ablutions. I jumped at the solution suggested by our skipper to make haste to a local pub which proffered good beer and fish and chips.
The next day saw us sailing across Mount’s Bay towards The Lizard then turning north-east towards Falmouth, taking care to round the Manacles
‘All I could do was hang onto the tiller to save myself from being tipped into the cold, dark sea’
cardinal buoy. That evening was spent in The Chain Locker pub on the quay by the visitors’ anchorage. I would have forgotten this uneventful stopover were it not for the fact that about 12 years later my wife and I had our own yacht and were in Falmouth in the very same pub.
Standing looking out of the public bar’s bay window over the tiny inner harbour I had this extraordinary experience of déjà vu. When had I been in this familiar bar? Of course it had been on that Springtime trip so many years before with Peter, John and Graham.
Taking shelter
Soon after we departed Falmouth for Plymouth the next day we received a coastguard warning of a gale due ‘soon’ in Plymouth sea area. We didn’t know it at the time but ‘soon’ in marine forecast parlance means between six and 12 hours from the time of issue. We took it rather more literally and although we had time to reach Plymouth we decided to duck into Fowey only three hours away. We motored up the river for a few miles to the quiet village of Golant. Readers will not be surprised to learn that we spent the evening in another excellent pub, The Fishermans Arms.
A small group of locals were enjoying their refreshments and were getting ever louder as the beer flowed about plans to sail to France. The next day when I saw the state of the yacht belonging to one of the loudest advocates for this adventurous trip I realised how lucky I’d been to have a better found yacht and a rather more responsible skipper and first mate.
Our journey ended when we took a taxi from Golant to catch a train back to my hometown, Bristol. Springtime would spend the next few weeks in Golant before being sailed by Peter, John and their wives to her permanent mooring in Weymouth. It was a memorable trip for me, not least because it was the longest I’d ever been at sea. Most of us intrepid sailors have to start with short journeys until we develop our skills and knowledge and become competent enough to tackle more ambitious trips. I had to wait until 1989 before my wife and I could buy our very own Kelt 8.50, Armorique, but that’s another story.