In this publication8 photos · 2 videos
Day four. 11 July 2024. Up at seven. Toast and croissants. Weather and tide times entered in the log.
We removed the torn genoa for the sail loft. While awaiting a replacement, the instructor covered restricted visibility: types of fog, planning for it, sound signals and watches. Put a lookout on the bow, where it’s quieter. Only one: two start chatting. Change every twenty minutes: prolonged listening and staring lead to imagined sights and sounds. Then we moved on to heavy-weather techniques.
A knock on the hull: the sail had arrived. My quick bowline caused quite a stir while fitting it. We temporarily set the storm jib over it and discussed its use.
We practised coming alongside from a 90-degree bow-on approach. My turn coincided with peak tidal stream. Astonishingly different from Baltic berthing, like a strong wind.
Roland took us to Osborne Bay for tea. A pleasure sailing with a fresh sail. I dropped the anchor. We heard a Mayday — on the video — while a rainbow-coloured cloud, a rather rare phenomenon, passed overhead.
Clive demonstrated poling out the headsail. He told me to get us underway and head off the wind. We rigged the pole and a mainsail preventer while moving, sailed downwind, headed up onto a close course, then bore away again and took everything down. Jen fixed our position and planned back to Osborne Bay, allowing one metre under the keel at low tide.
Once she came up with her plan, I was tasked with a night passage to Ocean Village Marina in Southampton. With a break for pasta with tomato sauce and chorizo, I finished by nine. Lingering memories from my Day Skipper practical course helped. The sounder showed exactly a metre under the keel. I had Bramble Bank to cross in darkness. Almost all the way across the shoal, I mistakenly used a flashing building instead of the buoy. A spectacular failure. I realised only when the crew spotted the correct buoy abeam. Otherwise, a quiet passage. They applauded my perfect berthing: lovely and embarrassing. One in the morning.
Word of the day: slack — hanging without tension, of a mooring line
Twenty-two miles. Track here.
#training #boss #passage
We removed the torn genoa for the sail loft. While awaiting a replacement, the instructor covered restricted visibility: types of fog, planning for it, sound signals and watches. Put a lookout on the bow, where it’s quieter. Only one: two start chatting. Change every twenty minutes: prolonged listening and staring lead to imagined sights and sounds. Then we moved on to heavy-weather techniques.
A knock on the hull: the sail had arrived. My quick bowline caused quite a stir while fitting it. We temporarily set the storm jib over it and discussed its use.
We practised coming alongside from a 90-degree bow-on approach. My turn coincided with peak tidal stream. Astonishingly different from Baltic berthing, like a strong wind.
Roland took us to Osborne Bay for tea. A pleasure sailing with a fresh sail. I dropped the anchor. We heard a Mayday — on the video — while a rainbow-coloured cloud, a rather rare phenomenon, passed overhead.
Clive demonstrated poling out the headsail. He told me to get us underway and head off the wind. We rigged the pole and a mainsail preventer while moving, sailed downwind, headed up onto a close course, then bore away again and took everything down. Jen fixed our position and planned back to Osborne Bay, allowing one metre under the keel at low tide.
Once she came up with her plan, I was tasked with a night passage to Ocean Village Marina in Southampton. With a break for pasta with tomato sauce and chorizo, I finished by nine. Lingering memories from my Day Skipper practical course helped. The sounder showed exactly a metre under the keel. I had Bramble Bank to cross in darkness. Almost all the way across the shoal, I mistakenly used a flashing building instead of the buoy. A spectacular failure. I realised only when the crew spotted the correct buoy abeam. Otherwise, a quiet passage. They applauded my perfect berthing: lovely and embarrassing. One in the morning.
Word of the day: slack — hanging without tension, of a mooring line
Twenty-two miles. Track here.
#training #boss #passage
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