Late July 1996, school holidays were upon us, the weather was clear and settled and the boat was in fine shape. We already had the Isle of Wight and Solent trip behind us from May of that year, all we needed was some fuel in the tank and more fine weather...
"When we get to the fuel berth, try and grab us a bow rope, we can hang from that, the wind will hold us in place."
A light Southerly breeze up St Helier's main harbour made our approach easy. Rusalka Mist, our Vancouver 28, has a large diesel tank at 28 gallons (127 litres) compared to the 18hp engine at about 375cc. We are not averse to a bit of motorsailing when necessary but we still don't have to fill that tank every year!
It was no problem to top it up that sunny Monday morning, and it gives you a warm glow of preparedness when you do. The weather forecast was
A thundery low over Biscay will bring north-west air tomorrow. The next 24 hours:
- Wind: SE F3-4 then variable F2-3 tonight. NW becoming W by morning and increasing F4-5.
- Risk of sea and coastal fog patches.
We were on our way to Brixham in Devon on the South coast of England for a cruise toward the West, to take in some of the famous sailing 'Meccas' of England: Salcombe, Falmouth, Plymouth to name just a few. Cowes had been a bit of a disappointment in May. It had seemed a bit of a run-down dumping ground with very high prices. Maybe it picked up come the Summer... maybe they all did.
By midday we had rounded Corbière lighthouse on Jersey's Southwest corner and were making 5½ knots, goose-winged dead before 9 knots of south-easterly breeze. An easy life. What's for lunch?
I always rig a preventer on the main boom when running. Automatic steering is never good enough to trust your life to, and a crack on the head from an unexpectedly gybing boom can easily kill. Our preventers are rigged all the way from the tip of the boom to turning blocks at the bow then back to the cockpit. This minimises strains on line and gear, especially should the boom touch the sea or a wave break into the mainsail.
There was no chance of either of those eventualities today, only a very slight sea was following us towards open English Channel beyond Guernsey's SW tip.
By 14:00 the wind had shifted enough to put us unto a beam reach (90 degrees change). Our speed was down to 4.2 knots so we put the engine on to get back to over 5 knots. Three-quarters of an hour later the wind was back up to 9 knots again and the motor went off.
At 16:00, the wind died to 3 knots for quarter of an hour then came back again. At 17:00 we were clear of Guernsey and hardened the sheets to lay our final course for Brixham the next morning. We were now on a close reach and seeing a nice 13 knots over the deck.
It was not to last. As it got dark at about 22:00 the log records "Strange wind shifts!". Our speed was down to 2.5 knots, then it dropped to nothing. There was not a breath of wind from any direction and we were still in an eerie calm. We dropped sail and settled down to motorsail under main alone. This decision was partly out of exasperation with the flukes and shifts, but partly out of a respectful awareness of what it might do next.
I have sailed into a thunderstorm before. I recall this warm, gentle peace which was shattered by 30-knot gusts from every direction. The hailstones hurt my face and eyes so much that I dare not look up. But I had to see the sails which I was desperately trying to lower and control... The forecast had mentioned a thundery low.
It was not going to be like that. What we were treated to, for hours that night as we crossed the shipping-lanes, was a light show. Nature's light fantastic was in three acts for us.
The wind came back and peaked at 18 knots at about 3 a.m. The sun rose and ended our light-shows at about 05:00. We arrived and tied up in Brixham Marina at 11:00.