HOW TO TACKLE LYME BAY
Sailing around Portland Bill towards Salcombe is the start of many coastal cruises, but Lyme Bay puts you well offshore, says Megan Clay
Megan Clay takes on two major south coast headlands and the bay that lies between
This article is from the series Rites of Passage, commissioned by Yachting Monthly, the RCC Pilotage Foundation and Imray, which will be available as a book in 2020. It collates some of the milestone passages through and around British waters that should be on every cruising sailor’s to-do list. So how many have you done?
It seems to be one of the unwritten rules of sailing that catching a tide always involves a deplorably early start. A bleary-eyed swinging of legs out of the bunk and the shock of warm toes on the chill cabin sole, which sends you stumbling to silence the offending alarm clock. Or perhaps it is just that my passage making is always shoehorned into borrowed hours, every fair weather window and tide taken advantage of to maximise time in the next cruising ground.
So it was that we had left our mooring in Chichester Harbour at dawn, played snakes and ladders against the tide off Hurst Castle, and then revelled in a sunny afternoon fetching and beating westward past Durlston and St Alban's Head. Finally, reluctantly, we stowed the sails and fired up the engine to nose into Lulworth Cove after the end of the breeze and with the last of the light.
The next morning the alarm once again hauls us from sleep and we drowsily make ready for sea. The engine seems embarrassingly loud in the crisp morning air as it pushes the bows through their own inky-blue reflections in search of the anchor.
Outside, the breeze slowly fills in from the southwest and we start to sail. Ahead of us lurks Portland Race where, for 10 of every 12 hours, strong south-bound streams down the Isle of Portland collide with the east- or west-going Channel tide and kick up over Portland Ledge. In strong winds it is not uncommon for the sea state to become very dangerous. Today the tides are neapy and the breeze is light. We want to carry a tide across Lyme Bay so we have timed our transit past Portland Bill at five hours after High Water Plymouth. We are hoping Portland Race will be easy-going but we've doublechecked the hatches are closed.
Deciding to take the inner passage, we sneak close inshore to ride the tide down the eastern side of Portland, short-tacking the final mile until we are under the lighthouse. We dodge the lobster
pots as we stand on as long as we dare, facing the warm glow of early morning sunshine on the cliffs.
We tack out again towards Portland Ledge and hit a bit of a chop, but happily nothing to justify our precautions. A final tack and we’re past Portland Bill and fetching well out into Lyme Bay. The kettle goes on again for a celebratory second breakfast of coffee with pain aux raisin. Our mood is clearly infectious – we had hoped we might see dolphins, and we are in luck. A pod joins us, playing under our bow. It is 55 miles to Salcombe from Portland Bill, so while the days are long and the tides favourable, it should be possible for us to make the passage during daylight hours. Our plan is to head straight across, pushing the last of the east-going tide off Start Point or, if our speed drops a little, enjoying slack water over the last few miles across Lannacombe Bay. If the wind dies, we’ll head to Brixham for some sleep.
The sail across Lyme Bay will put us out of sight of land for several hours and will feel truly offshore for almost as long as a Channel crossing. For this reason, and the two potential ferocious headlands at either end, it really is a rite of passage.
We make a respectable 5 knots through the water, close-hauled, as Portland Bill shrinks into the distance. The breeze backs and we think we might lay Start Point, so we relax into straight-line sailing against the gentle pull of the tiller. There isn't much out here to avoid, just the outline of the odd fishing boat in the distance. Beyond our horizon to the north, Lyme Regis passes with lunch. Exmouth also passes far to leeward.
Last time we were heading this way we stopped in for a night, but the wind and tides don’t always line up so nicely and this time we are pushing on. Start Point grows steadily bigger through the afternoon until we can make out Slapton Sands stretching away to the north. Our thoughts turn to April 1944 when Exercise Tiger, one of several rehearsals here for D-day, ended in catastrophe and the deaths of more than 700 Americans. Troops practising beach landings came under friendly fire and then, out in the bay, one of the rehearsing convoys came under attack
We stand on as long as we dare, facing the warm glow of early morning sunshine on the cliffs
from German E-boats. This afternoon, though, the Devon coastline is tranquil, and by tea time Start Point is a mile or so off. We steal tentatively inshore in search of the first of the southwest going tide, keeping an eye on the swell breaking gently on the rocks below the lighthouse. Sitting warm in the afternoon sun, I remember a rather different day last year when I ran the spectacular coastal path from Hallsands out to the point. An autumn gale had whipped up Portland Race and there were white horses stretching far offshore, gulls wheeling in the spray of the breaking waves.
As we leave Start Point behind us we begin to close the coastguard huts of Prawle Point with Salcombe harbour beyond. We aim to keep far enough south to avoid Rickham Rock, a few cables short of the bar. Once again the breeze is dying by the time we reach the entrance. We are now only a couple of hours before low tide, but there is plenty of water on the bar. We bear away off Starehole Bay and push slowly north on the leading line against the ebb, then gybe and ghost up towards Mill Bay, where it looks like it’s Merlin Week, with a host of dinghies on the beach and smoke rising from several BBQS. Sunny Cove is honouring its name and the forecast is good, so beyond the Blackstone we round up to starboard to drop anchor in the clear water.
All packed up, we cradle a glass of ale and enjoy the evening sun as it dips towards the trees on Moult Point. Tomorrow we might explore up river towards Kingsbridge, take the dinghy up one of the creeks, or just head into town in search of a cream tea. I certainly have no intention of being up at dawn...