by E.G. Coleman

Aurora II is a gunter rigged cruising dinghy, ¾ decked, 13’ 6” x 5’ 6” with a 2½ h.p. inboard engine. The prospect of sailing from Chichester to Maldon (I work at Chelmsford) was envisaged when she was built in 1950 but having started sailing in 1947, it was not until 1956 that I felt experienced enough to make the trip, most of which would be single handed.

Needless to say, at the beginning of my fortnight’s holiday in August, a rapid succession of depressions started to pass over the country so that the winds, though favourable in direction, were force 6 or more. At the beginning of the first week I left Itchenor and enjoyed some hard sailing in Chichester harbour and then, on the Tuesday, anchored in Mengham Rythe near the entrance of the harbour so that, should the weather ease, I would be able to leave without delay. However, the rough conditions had resulted in my shipping much water and some had penetrated my radio even though it was mounted well under the foredeck. On Wednesday I sailed back to Itchenor and took the radio home to Bognor Regis to make it more waterproof. On Friday it was still blowing hard so I gave the boat a scrub and renewed the antifouling. During the weekend, I laboriously beat back to Mengham Rythe but was dismayed to find that another fault had developed in the radio, which though home made had given trouble free service for some years. On Monday I ran back yet again and, landing at Bosham, made my way to Chichester to get a quick repair. The radio dealer said that the job would take two or three days so I asked if I could do it myself in their workshop. They sportingly agreed so I temporarily joined their staff and set to work. After an hour’s work the afternoon tea was brought round and I saw the senior engineer grinning to himself as I dithered in some embarrassment when a cup was offered to me. I finished shortly after and as it was “rather an unusual case” they charged me 5/-. Tuesday saw me again at Mengham Rythe and by Wednesday evening the forecast was westerly force 5 so I resolved to start at 7.30 a.m. the following morning.

My plans were now sadly behind schedule so, as a ridge of high pressure was crossing the country, I decided to make the most of it and try to get within reach of the East Coast in one trip. Once past Dungeness, I would be sheltered from the prevailing winds and could complete my cruise in weekend hops.

Leaving the harbour at 7.45 a.m. to a light N.W. breeze, the forecast was west force 4-5. Setting the spinnaker I headed for the Looe channel off Selsey Bill but the breeze died and I found myself being carried a little too far south. There was adequate depth over the Boulder Bank but the choppy water shook all the wind out of the sails and I came out the other side stern first feeling rather foolish as some local fishermen were watching. The next forecast alarmed me by saying that another depression was approaching the country at 30 knots and shortly it was blowing fresh from the west. I was now racing a depression so hung on to full sail, Aurora sailing very steadily though driven hard. It was a glorious and exciting run of 20 miles or so with sometimes the roaring bow wave moving aft as the seas broke and she surged forward on the surf. The wind settling to W.S.W. I occasionally had to haul on the tiller as waves lifted the starboard quarter and tried to throw her off course. What a relief from my enforced stay at Chichester! Overhead, the sun was shining from a blue sky but to the west, thunderstorms were borne by the wind each one coming a little nearer, the rain blotting out Selsey Bill and the coast to the north west. The wind died down during the evening as I was approaching Newhaven leaving a popple which shook the wind out of the sails. The yard jaws became detached from the mast due to a slack boom downhaul and as I climbed on to the foredeck to replace them, I had to cling tightly to the mast to avoid being thrown overboard. At about 7.30 p.m. a small coaster overtook me and arms, heads etc. popped out as they waved enthusiastically at me. It give me a wonderful warm feeling and I must have been feeling a bit lonely. 9.30 p.m. saw me passing Newhaven but progress was slow. As darkness closed down, a string of lights appeared about five miles south of me, the shipping lane. One cross-channel steamer was coming straight for me so I took out a powerful torch and tested it. By pressing it hard against my eye I could detect a faint glimmer, which is just the way of things, it had never let me down before. Fortunately I had a cycle torch which worked but did not require it as the ship passed about 100 yds. in front of my bows. A little later I saw another boat cut between me and Beachy Head heading for Newhaven and I was heartily relieved when I had left this busy area. 12 p.m. I was tacking off Beachy Head, the wind being light N.E. The chill of the night penetrated my clothing after a while but it kept me awake and I was reluctant to lose ground whilst changing to warmer gear. There was always the thought that I had a thermos of hot coffee but strangely enough I forgot that there was also a bottle of brandy aboard. Gradually the tide turned in my favour and the lights of Eastbourne promenade began to slide past. At 5 a.m. the wind was N.W. force 1 but, with a fair tide, some progress was being made. As the day dawned I decided to celebrate with a lovely cup of coffee. Dragging forth, with great ceremony, the thermos I poured it out. This was the moment I had been thinking about all night. A few seconds later I was pouring it all overboard, the milk had curdled. It was not long before the sun provided some warmth and the wind became N.E. force 1, there being considerable haze so that I sailed near the shore in order to view a short stretch of it.

Sometimes it was flat almost deserted land punctuated with Martello Towers, at other times I passed groups of houses. Each time I tried to estimate from the chart which town I was actually passing. At this time I found it most difficult to concentrate on holding the best course whilst tacking against the very light breeze. Several times I dozed off and each time I awoke found the boat well off course. At length some buildings appeared out of the haze together with what looked like a jetty. I saw a fishing boat heading in towards this so assumed I had reached Rye. Anchoring, I stowed sails and halyards, had a few sandwiches and a small beer then started to row towards the “harbour”. The haze, by now, was clearing somewhat and I suddenly realised that the “jetty” was a pier and that there were far too many houses for Rye. It was, of course, St. Leonards and if I did not get to Rye soon, the ebb would start and I might not be able to get in. The bar dries out and I might have to anchor off the entrance a good part of the night, not a pleasant thought with that depression charging along. Hoisting sail again, I started the engine, a ruthless technique but effective and to hell with the finer points of sailing! The wind was S.E. still light but I was just able to avoid tacking although being forced gradually nearer the shore. With the tide under me, I was doing a fair number of knots. By the time I was off Hook Ledge I was only just clear of the rocks and just at this moment the conditions changed completely and I was caught napping. The wind suddenly shifted to the south as thunderclouds formed overhead and the wind increased to force 4 with rain. I switched off the engine, threw a cover over it, threw charts etc. under the foredeck and struggled hurriedly into oilskins. No time to reef so drove the boat hard to get further offshore, spilling the wind when necessary. I soon achieved a safe offing and then the wind eased as it simply teemed down. In about half an hour it was blowing offshore from the north west so I closed the coast again in order to see something of it and followed the shoreline about 100 yds off so as to be sure of not missing Rye Harbour. Soon the rain eased and, feeling very refreshed, I had quite a pleasant sail until the harbour showed up. Entering at 5 p.m. I was directed by the harbour master to a comfortable berth alongside another boat. After drying the boat out and setting the awning, I had a huge meal. Lounging in the stern afterwards having a quiet smoke I felt really tired so turned in, setting the alarm for midnight. The forecast gave news of the depression which had now reached the country and increasing winds meant that I would have a nice lie in the following morning after which I left for home, leaving the boat on the west bank of the channel.

During the week I contacted a friend of mine who wanted a sail in my boat so we arranged to travel down the following Friday evening. Meeting as planned, we arrived at Rye at about 11.30 p.m. We did not plan to leave until 1.30 a.m. so crept under the awning and dozed and chatted until 12.30 a.m. Getting up we groped around and rigged the boat but did not set sail or use the engine as it was very dark, there being no moon. We got under weigh with me at the oars and crept out of the harbour like a couple of escaping convicts. The wind being west force 3 and therefore onshore, I had to keep rowing to get an offing. Outside the entrance we encountered what appeared to be an enormous swell. One moment I would be looking up at Tony and the next he would be gazing down at me. Somewhat alarmed by this he took the tiller to ensure that we met each wave head on although we both realised that the darkness made things appear worse than they were. We soon reached calmer water so hoisted sail and headed south in order to be sure of clearing Dungeness. Tony could see the shore quite easily but all I could see was blackness. We were in the green sector of Dungeness lighthouse at first, passed through red and reached white at which point we changed course to east. Tony kipped down on the bottom boards using the awning as a mattress. At 5 a.m. I kipped down as we were approaching Dungeness. After a short while, Tony woke me up and whispered, “We’re on a collision course!” Peering blearily over the gun’l in the half light of dawn, I could make out a cargo vessel approaching, we were right out in the shipping lane. We hurriedly gybed so that the ship passed to the north of us and then closed the land. After passing Dungeness with a light westerly wind, Tony announced that he wanted a hot breakfast so out came the primus and I was able to appreciate one advantage of having a crew of two. We arrived at Folkestone at 12 noon and tied up precariously across one corner of the harbour. The forecast for Sunday was not too good and being uncertain of the conditions off Dover I decided to leave the boat there.

The following weekend the forecast was south force 3 and then east force 5 so I was not too hopeful. On reaching the boat and finding that someone had swiped the sponge and a bar of chocolate, I sailed out of the harbour tacking against a moderate to fresh easterly. The conditions were pretty rough and, having heard much of the seas off Dover, I turned back.

Gales in S.E. England were forecast for the following weekend but, after reaching the boat Friday evening I listened to a more favourable forecast. I left Saturday at 9 a.m. but once outside the harbour, found I could not get the plate down. Back inside again I pulled alongside a fishing vessel and asked for help. Immediately a fisherman came aboard with a steel rod and a hammer and we banged away for an hour before it was free. He dismissed any thought of a tip, hoisted the jib for me and then I started off again. The time was now 11.50 a.m. so I had missed much of the tide. There being a light S.E. breeze, I had to tack occasionally on the way to Dover. As I altered course to north, the wind died and a haze prevented me from seeing the Goodwins. Keeping fairly close to the shore I started the engine in order to make some progress but after I had passed Deal a light N.W. breeze appeared so I was able to sail again and arrived at Ramsgate at 4.30 p.m. On entering the harbour I was asked where I came from. Wishing to replace my sponge I started to walk to town but a gentleman, presumably from the local club, offered me a lift in his Daimler so I travelled in style.

The next day I left at 7.45 a.m. wind light S.E. It looked as if I should be late on the tide at the North Foreland so ruthlessly used the engine again. After passing the North Foreland I navigated carefully through the channels although it was really a needless precaution as large fishing boats were passing over the banks. The wind gradually backed east then north east force 3-4 so I had a very enjoyable run past Whitstable and reached Oare Creek at 3.30 p.m. After seeing the local yard owner who was very hospitable, I tied up by the wharves alongside another boat.

By this time I was quite used to my weekend life and it is difficult to imagine a more satisfactory way of spending them. The fact that sometimes the weather prevented me from getting anywhere was all to the good. It would be soul destroying to have fair weather all the time.

Next weekend it was blowing hard from the north so I sailed down the creek and anchored to wait for the tide and to think things over. A large barge passed by and the skipper roared, “Where’re yer bound?” I said Havengore. “Not today yer won’t!” he bellowed in a voice of such utter conviction that I hurried back to the creek and scooted off home.

On reaching the boat the following Saturday I was dismayed to find that someone had been aboard. A lot of gear was strewn over the bottom and my knife, torch and some food and beer were stolen. It being rather late to leave for Havengore, I left Sunday morning at eight. The wind was light S.W. and after scraping past the eastern tip of the Isle of Sheppey, I set a compass course as the visibility was very poor. Progress was so slow that I would miss the tide at Havengore so decided to run the engine. However it would not start so leaving the sails up I lashed the helm and mainsheet. The boat sailed herself quite well whilst I worked on the engine, cleaning the carburettor and sparking plug. The wind then freshened to force 3-4 westerly and I began to see fantastic structures sticking out of the water but a study of the chart explained matters. On two occasions I saw the vague outlines of ships but that was all. The last leg was a tack of about three miles and, being in a hurry, I ran the engine to aid the sails. The vibration made the compass (placed on the bottom boards) slide all over the place so I was pleasantly surprised to find, half an hour later, the buoy I wanted dead ahead. Not trusting my navigation, I sailed right up to it and read its name although the presence of some measured mile posts was good confirmation of my position. I could not see the shore so switched off the engine and bore away on a new course for the entrance. In due course some posts showed up then the bridge. As I sailed round in circles waiting for the bride to open, the keeper came out and placed a traffic stop sign at one end then tearing along tried to place one at the other end. Unfortunately by then a car had already run onto the bridge so he had to rush back and pick up the first one. After a few attempts he managed to stop the traffic and crank up the bridge. Sailing down the backwaters I reached Eastend at 3 p.m. and left the boat there.

The next Saturday I started off at 8 a.m. in a fog, visibility being about 30-40 yards. At the entrance of the Crouch, visibility had improved to 1-2 miles. Passing through the Raysand Channel I had a pleasant sail with a light westerly breeze and, reaching the target area, followed the buoys until I sighted the Blackwater. Sailing up the St. Lawrence Bay which I reached at 4.30 p.m. I anchored there for the night.

The following day, after a leisurely breakfast I took the tide up to Heybridge in the afternoon and anchored the boat in shallow water near the Marconi Club where a light was burning to guide me in. As I stepped ashore the fog was quite thick again and the dusk added to my feeling of regret that an enjoyable cruise was at an end.