I can’t be away at Whitsun, crew can’t sail after; neither of us could wait until July, so it’s the last week in May. Little did we know on that cold February afternoon that we were to have such a long winter.

The hospitality of Christchurch Sailing Club was as warm as ever but the northerly wind kept the air wintry; between the showers we launched and parked the trailer, had a meal and coracled back across the river to find a bar to toast the start of our cruise. We have learned not to make too many plans, but between Portsmouth and Lulworth we have completed every manoeuvre except sail the south side of Wight and enter Keyhaven; so we aimed simply to fill in those two blanks. Our first morning was grey, cold but dry and just enough west of north to help us gently across Christchurch Bay. The port for the night was to be decided off the Needles; if the wind became southerly we would use Yarmouth but if it remained northerly we would use Freshwater. We were cautious about Freshwater not only because the pilot says “not in a southerly” but because we have met no one who has stayed there. As we approached the Needles channel the wind dropped and we seemed in danger of obstructing the shipping lane, in the mist the shape of a liner was clear from the Solent entrance so we started the outboard, kept out of the way, and set course for Freshwater.

Half way across the bay a pigeon approached low across the water and settled on the side deck. It refused food and drink, put its head to wind, puffed up its plumage to twice its normal size and slept. Later, agreeing with its shipmates that the northerly was cold the pigeon left the side deck and continued its snooze on the floor. When feeling a little recovered it decided to go for a walk and eventually disappeared under a buoyancy bag in the stern. We now had a stowaway who was not entirely welcome because the thought of it reappearing at midnight did not appeal to either of us. Tennyson’s monument was now high on our beam and we started searching the white cliff for Freshwater. The wind had dropped and to avoid a foul tide we motored the last half mile into this delightful and empty bay. The only sign of life was a few people around the hotel in the west corner; so being anti-social, we dropped the hook in the east corner. For the first time the sun shone and after completing the ritual of afternoon tea we dug out our feathered friend and gave it an assisted launching. It made one circuit and returned to the ship! Feeling justified in refusing it accommodation while a few yards from shore we returned it to the air and this time it resettled on Wight.

The setting sun did little to improve the temperature but it did brighten the scene, a miniature Lulworth Cove. We enjoyed the second dinner of this cruise and wondered how far we were stretching our luck in a bay so exposed to the south-west. Before the coffee was brewed a slight shift of wind had produced an uncomfortable swell and it was decided to move to the west side. There are many rocks on this side and we had never seen the bay at low water; the safest plan seemed to be a few yards from the hotel balcony so we decided to become sociable and there we anchored. Little did we know the re-positioning of our cruiser for the night was to have such an important effect on the evening.

With the efficiency that only practice can produce, the awning was rigged, sleeping bags shaken out and towel at the ready for four wet feet that would reappear sometime after closing time. A few good strokes of the coracle’s tiny oars and we were on the shingle. The approved procedure is to carry one’s shoes and go over the side in a foot of water and I remember there was some joke about me attempting a “dry feet” landing. Neither of us was conscious of damaging the coracle. With the oars tucked inside, the delicate plywood box was carried above the tide mark and we enjoyed a walk, phoned home, and returned to the hotel bar. It seemed dark when we emerged but in a few minutes we could see all we needed to set a course for our floating tent. It was crew’s turn to row and having got him afloat I placed the water bottle in the coracle then crouched myself into the stern half and continued the sort of nonsensical conversation that so often follows a few drinks. This conversation sobered rapidly as, halfway between ship and shore, we realised we were taking water at an alarming rate. Now on a bright sunny day in a shirt and shorts this could be a joke; or near home with a chance to dry out, but living in fourteen feet, no chance of any hot sun, and wearing every pullover in the kit, the prospect of a swim was not welcome. It was too dark to see where the water was entering, and too urgent for an investigation; so the order of that desperate moment was ROW.

With the rowlocks on the water line and the oars bending like bows, crew, in a desperate effort, reached our stern just as water reached over our knees. Crew was nearest the boat and got a good hold, all I could reach was the bumkin which was not designed to carry me, but I am happy to say, did. For a full minute we clung, logs awash, thanking our luck for moving across the bay and speculating upon how this had happened. Having recovered, we made the waterlogged coracle fast and agreed to hold the inquiry in daylight. On reflection I am sure we should also have been grateful for the dark, for standing on the stern deck wringing out our trousers we would have made a spectacle for those less fortunate people who spend their holidays in the comfort of the Freshwater Hotel!

A pre-breakfast inspection revealed a gaping crack in the coracle bottom, obviously made by the heel of some fool’s foot. I should have chosen that word with more care for that fool may well have been me. In my defence I can only say I have heard that frightening sound of yielding timber before, and I was not conscious of any such noise when I attempted that fruitless dry landing on the previous evening. Also there is always the possibility that a child, in its innocence, climbed into our very tender little tender while she was lying on the beach.

A little west in the slight northerly wind enabled us to sail off our anchorage straight towards St. Catherine’s Point, a handful of holiday makers waiting aimlessly for their morning coffee watched us slip out of Freshwater Bay and head up channel along a coast new to both of us, and with a visibility of only about five miles. To get the best of the tide we had to round the point at the height of the flood and remembering the hash we made of St. Alban’s last year, we decided to pass well outside the race. It was lunch time when we arrived, but the sea was so uncomfortable that sandwiches were delayed until Ventnor. How many years I must play this game before I know what to expect I can’t tell, but this was quite different from St. Alban’s; there on the ebb we had met long regular seas, here on the flood the water was turbulent and completely irregular. We were also surprised to find these conditions for several miles east of the point.

In the light air the going was slow, but it began to blow more westerly so we were in luck. As we approached Bembridge Point it was blowing quite strong and as the sheets were tightened to approach Bembridge harbour we had to sail hard for the first time on this cruise. We had been under way for nearly five hours and it was past our “cup of tea” time yet we were reluctant to call the Seagull, instead we tacked time and time again to try to cross those banks of sand that block the entrance to Bembridge. Eventually, when the plate was so high that progress to windward was impossible, we motored in, picked up a mooring outside the sailing club, and ate. We had sailed the south side of Wight and completed the longest haul so far attempted.

On the fourth day our plan was to start back to Christchurch through the Solent, shopping was the excuse for not starting early, so the most favourable tide was 1800 hours, and that suggested a day of rest. Crew, bless him, agreed to shop while I cleared the breakfast, polished the brass and made a few adjustments to the rigging. The sun made one of its first real efforts of the year, and I was fool enough to swim. Someone had told me the night before that if I should go overboard I would only remain conscious for thirty minutes; I had poo-pooed the idea, but after two strokes I changed my mind. The third and fourth strokes found me back alongside and within seconds I was flat on the floorboards away from the north wind and enjoying the sun. There was a ripe piece of gorgonzola which I ate in small helpings with a spoon, between sips from a can of Bass as I waited in the sun to dry my back. There are many ways to cruise in a dinghy, that morning I enjoyed that way!

After a leisurely lunch and a quiet afternoon we set sail for Wootton Creek. The evening was bright and from the harbour there seemed to be some wind, so with maximum caution we sailed briskly out with one reef. Half way to the fort off Seaview we set full sail, and as the sun lowered so did the wind. Once round the fort we faced a N.W. wind so light that Wootton was a long way away. The sky filled with colour, but the northerly wind grew cold, every pullover in the kit was now on and the only extra insulation we could get was from the flask. Just how many swigs we had before Wootton I did not count; but arriving too late to visit the local that night still seemed a shame! Determined to make up for this injustice we opened a couple of cans while the supper simmered and before coffee we had finished half a bottle of Burgundy. By bedtime the weakest joke brought the loudest of laughs and a sound night was had by all!

The kind wind had gone to N.E. by morning and although it was light, westward through the Solent proved easy. Osborne Bay put up a little sea but after Egypt’s point sailing was very comfortable. Lunch was taken while awaiting the forecast, which to our surprise, threatened wind! Our objective was Keyhaven but we had time to spare and not knowing what shelter Keyhaven offered, we decided to use Lymington town where we knew a night’s sleep could be had wind or calm. With a freshening wind on the starboard beam Jady Lane roared up the river until it runs easterly when we had to call on the Seagull because the tide was low and tacking restricted. Scraping the bottom, we motored up to the town quay where we found the posts marked “visitors only” surrounded by unoccupied boats. The prospects of a good mooring looked poor, but it’s surprising where you can tuck a fourteen footer and we found a little space and enjoyed the afternoon sun and a brew of tea before going ashore to shop.

This evening we were back to the old routine, supper at a respectable hour and ashore for a pint. For a moment when we returned we thought we had had too much to drink, for lying alongside was a five ton yacht! Who would tie that up to a cruising dinghy? As the alcohol cleared the boat was recognised as the one moored upstream, she had broken her bow line and swung around. We went aboard and got her back into position — for a moment I found myself wishing she were mine, everything about her seemed so big and powerful after my dinghy, but beggars can’t be choosers and I went to bed selling myself the “smaller the boat the better the sport” theory.

So sheltered was our mooring that when we woke we had no idea if the threatened wind had blown that night. The plan was Keyhaven, only next door, and apparently down wind. With no foresail or mizzen and a reefed main we sailed down the river and enjoyed a comfortable run to the Keyhaven entrance on a grey cold morning. Once inside the canvas was increased and we tacked between the moorings against the ebb until we reached the sailing club. This was new ground for us and we picked up a vacant buoy and prepared to go ashore and seek permission. I don’t know if the water usually leaves Keyhaven so quickly but before we got the coracle assembled we were aground and since this meant the owner would not want the mooring for some hours, we did as all good cruising men do: ate, drank, and went to sleep.

Late that afternoon a fisherman and his dog walked out over the shingle to ask if he could have his mooring back when the river filled, to add to this kindness he suggested a more sheltered position where we could lie for the night. By 1800 hours we were all buttoned up and decided to stretch our legs towards the pub before supper, we rowed round to the club landing stage in the coracle and making a landing I lost one sandal in some six feet of muddy water. Within minutes of my hopping into the local, the landlady had produced a pair of her husbands boat shoes for me to borrow until next morning. I don’t know if it was her kindness or her beer that lured us back to that pub after supper; all I remember is taking great care as I climbed down a ladder of the harbour wall and boarded the coracle!

Low water was about five next morning, that was my chance for my sandal, and to my surprise I woke. It was a delightful red morning but very cold; in the stillness of this early hour I fished with a boat-hook in a few inches of water but alas no sandal, determined I paddled for a while but gave up when my feet froze, disappointed with my effort I ran back to my sleeping bag but not until breakfast did my feet return to normal.

This was our last day to sail, tomorrow we must trail home and the trailer and tug was at Christchurch. We slipped out around Hurst Point in company with many other week-end sailors and headed across the bay. All the others were sailing the Needles Channel except a cruising cat which we stayed with halfway to Christchurch but when she tacked towards Swanage we were alone. The wind increased from the west and we had to make several tacks before we reached the entrance. The water was low and anyone who has attempted to enter at this state will know the shingle is difficult. Already there was one boat aground, we gave her a clear berth and tried to motor in but we quickly became the second boat to hit bottom, we manoeuvred out of the channel, put down the hook and brewed tea. A cat, which had got into trouble outside the entrance was the third to attempt the entry, she got further than we did but then they also stuck. Before the water returned there were several boats queuing for the harbour. We were the luckiest, we were a cruiser with all mod. cons. for crew’s comfort during a couple of hours’ wait. It was a cold journey up through the harbour but the sailing club welcome was as warm as ever and we enjoyed our supper then took a walk.

When we stopped for lunch on the way home the sun shone hot for the first time in the year, it was the first of a fortnight of perfect weather and, in fact, the best of the summer. We had missed the weather by one week, it had been cold but dry, with no severe winds. We had sailed every day, completed the island circuit, visited Keyhaven and got back to our base.

It was our best cruise so far.