“Wight, winds NW to W force 4 to 5, dropping to 2 to 3...” This had been the midnight forecast so here I was sailing down Southampton Water on the ebb tide, one sunny May morning. Soon my tent on the C.S.S.A. site at Netley was lost to view and I began to check off the various buoys and landmarks as they appeared. Passing Netley Hospital with its conspicuous green domes I turned out into deeper water to avoid the Esso tanker pier, and to get my first view of the Hamble river. Half a mile away to my right were the silvery towers and stacks of Fawley Refinery. Last night, across the water, it’s many coloured lights and three high orange flames had seemed a fairyland, but by day most of its appeal had gone.

The wind which was moderate and from the north-west as predicted, filled Babette’s gunter mainsail and jib, pushing her quietly through the sunlit water. Suddenly a cloud of spray bore down from behind and roared past; a hovercraft making for Cowes, just visible in the hazy distance.

Calshot Point appeared ahead, with its constantly turning radar scanner and the huge hulls of two cocooned Princess flying boats. Soon I would have to turn across the deep water channel and enter the Solent. As when crossing the road, one must “Look both ways” for, although the big ships can’t chase you into shallower water, neither can they stop or turn quickly in the narrow confines of the channel. From Southampton Docks came the pounding of engines so I kept well to port of a big black bell-buoy until the Batory swept past and the channel was clear. Turning, I headed south-west, past the incongruously named “Black Jack” — a red port hand buoy. A crunch from below as the centreboard bit into the mud and shingle of Calshot Spit reminded me that some parts of the sea were too shallow, even for a dinghy as small as Babette. Raising it quickly I turned south again towards the Calshot light vessel until it seemed safe to head south-west once more beyond the spit.

The new course was very near to the wind but there were nearly three hours of ebb tide in my favour. Cowes, away to the left, fell, then more slowly the Beaulieu River and Newtown River crept by. The wind died completely and I seized the opportunity to open sandwiches and a Thermos of coffee.

Half an hour later the sail flapped gently and a patch raced across the water warning of the first little squall. Now, however, the wind was dead ahead, and soon I had to don waterproofs against the spray from the choppy sea. Two long tacks toward the mainland and back and I could see Yarmouth Pier ahead, but it took two more and nearly another hour before we slipped through to the peace and quiet of the harbour. In the last four hours we had covered perhaps some 16 miles — a very modest distance but every bit as satisfying as ten times as far by car.

There was an hour to go before low water so I went ashore, to explore the town and to buy a toothbrush, the ostensible reason for the trip. Yarmouth is a pleasant little port and it was with regret that I set sail once more for the mainland.

The weather was kind and I enjoyed a fast run back with the wind and tide in my favour. In two hours the sun was sinking behind me as I rounded Calshot Point and by seven Babette’s stem grounded gently on the shore at Netley. The “Beginner’s Cruise” was over.

(This article first appeared in the Y.H.A.S.G. magazine.)