An account of a delivery trip by sea of a Shearwater catamaran, from Margate to Bosham.

The first knowledge I had of this proposed trip was at a South Coast rally held towards the end of last season (1964). Slade Penoyre, having bought a Shearwater cat which was lying at Margate, needed a crew to help bring her to Bosham and evidently thought the rally a likely occasion to make this known. With a good number of D.C.A. members present, he counted on getting at least one volunteer, I jumped at the chance of such an adventure.

Slade, after having made two successful dinghy trips across Channel, once in a Mayfly and also in a Bosun, had decided to try a catamaran for future cruises. One of the reasons was that if swamped by a large sea, the boat being fully self draining, would remain seaworthy and providing the crew could hang on it would be easier than having to bail out a semi waterlogged dinghy. The trip was planned to be done in weekend hops along the coast, getting as far as the weather permitted.

The following weekend, 5th September, we arrived just before midday at the Minnis Bay S.C. to collect the Shearwater. After stowing most of our gear, sleeping bags, extra clothing etc., equally in the two hulls, we had our fill of sandwiches and tea then set about launching the boat. The Thames Estuary was very misty, but the light offshore breeze enabled us to sail straight for the North Foreland. We had decided to take one hour watches at the helm, as we were still settling down to sailing a cat for the first time. As we approached the Goodwins the wind freshened a little from a south-westerly direction and each leg of our tacking course led us conveniently from one lighted buoy on to the next. Darkness crept up on us while we were off Walmer so we headed in for the beach hoping to find a suitable landing place for the night. However, it was low tide and the shingle beach, hard to distinguish in the dusk, seemed to slope upwards at an alarming angle. No hope here. As it was only 8p.m. we decided to have a go for Dover.

On rounding the South Foreland we at last got a clear breeze from the sea and the catamaran really started to move. We had just settled down to enjoy our sail through the darkness when suddenly the cat came to a sudden halt, with the sea flooding the cockpit. A quick look at each other — yes, we were both still there, we had taken the precaution of rigging emergency lifelines as soon as darkness approached, the helmsman being tied to the end of the mainsheet and the crew tied to the painter, made fast to the for’ard beam connecting the two hulls. We had gone through a wave rather than over it. Perhaps it was due to the darkness that one was unable to see the extra large wave coming or that we could not judge the size of the waves either, but after that first initial shock the others that we went through occasionally, did not seem so bad. I can even remember being fascinated by the phosphorescence as the water drained off the bridge deck; little darts of light looking as though they were millions of tiny fish.

Approaching Dover the low outline of the breakwater was just distinguishable and dodging the cross channel ferry coming out, we slipped through the entrance just on 11 p.m.

After finding a suitable landing place for the cat, and having a cold supper of our remaining rations of soggy biscuits, cheese, chocolate and lemonade, we settled down for what was left of the night in one of the seafront shelters, several of which were occupied by a few mods and rockers. We both felt qualified to join them as anyone knowing of our trip would surely have said, “They are off their rockers.”

Next morning at six, as soon as daylight gave us a chance to see our surroundings, the first job was to inspect the boat for any signs of strain or damage, perhaps due to taking one or two large seas which we hadn’t been used to in ordinary dinghies. However, everything we checked was all right. After a good hot breakfast at a nearby cafe, we were ready to be off again.

The wind still south westerly although very light was causing a large swell outside the breakwater, but once clear of the entrance, things improved and course was set for Folkestone. Although only a further five miles on, Slade had previously phoned the Folkestone Sailing Club to enquire if they could accommodate the catamaran for a week. This they very kindly arranged and also made us very welcome to use their club facilities. After we had got the cat ashore and into the dinghy park, we had to turn our attention to the railway timetable once more, and return home in the luxury and comfort of British Railways, or so it seemed especially after the last twenty four hours.

The following weekend the weathermen had forecast SW winds. However, on arrival at Folkestone station, much to our surprise we saw smoke from several chimneys blowing from an easterly direction. We hurried down to the sailing club, but upon reaching the harbour were amazed to see it almost dried out. The sailing club members assured us it would flood within 2-3 hours, which gave us comfortable time to prepare the boat and enjoy a good meal before setting off on the next leg of the trip.

We were eager to get started with such a favourable wind and managed to get afloat and clear the entrance by 2 p.m. With a good breeze about force 4 we set off for Dungeness, 15 miles away in the mist ahead. Soon the tall chimneys of Dungeness Power Station showed up through the haze away on the starboard bow. We drew level and passed the headland at 4p.m. The next big headland was Beachy Head, a slight alteration in the course but still a straight line across the chart. Looking shorewards we could just see one of the large towns which we took to be Hastings. The cat was sailing very fast, mostly on a broad reach all through the afternoon. As dusk came on about 8.p.m. we were somewhere off Eastbourne and had to decide our next move. The choice was between making for Pevensey Bay and a sailing club which had Shearwaters and possible assistance with launching facilities, or having a shot at Newhaven and rounding Beachy Head with the fair wind. The easterly wind made Pevensey a lee shore and to go in looking for a landing place in the dark, as it would be by the time we got there, may have put us in an awkward situation.

After the previous weekend experiences of night sailing and with the thoughts of a few more miles gained, we preferred Beachy Head in the dark to a lee shore, so the decision was made to push-on.

Of our approach to the famous headland, Slade has vivid recollections of going under again, the waves having become shorter and more confused as we neared the land. The only memory I have of Beachy Head is the glorious sunset. The evening sky was a deep red stretching across the horizon with the silhouette of the lighthouse standing at the base of the huge mass of cliff which towers above it. We passed the beam of light which seemed to be coming from out of the cliff face at 9 p.m. and changed course for Newhaven, which we entered at 10.30 p.m.

After negotiating the narrow harbour we found a vacant berth at the yacht marina to make fast the cat and also a place on the floating pontoon alongside in which to crawl into our sleeping bags, with once again a starry sky overhead, thankful it was a fine night.

The following morning, after a walk along the harbourside, we prepared ourselves and the boat for sea and cleared the entrance by 11am. The wind was still blowing steadily from the east, so we were again able to set a straight course across the chart, this time towards Selsey Bill, our third and final headland before entering Chichester Harbour.

All through this trip no set plan was arranged. We just put to sea in an attempt to make the best use of the prevailing conditions and get to Bosham as soon as possible. After about an hour’s sailing we were well clear of the shelter of the land and began to feel the full force of the breeze that had freshened up to force 5. The seas were quite large and we were soon surfing down several large ones.

It was not long before Slade’s theory was again put to the test. As the catamaran has such shallow draft and light displacement, hence very little resistance, it soon builds up speed in these conditions with her own speed plus the momentum of the wave carrying one along, the cat starts racing down the face of one wave at a speed that is too great to climb the next, and so ploughs into solid water, giving the crew rather an anxious time.

The afternoon was again misty, as on the previous day, the haze completely obscuring any landmarks shorewards. We had seemed to have been sailing for hours without seeing a thing, and beginning to wonder exactly where we were. It was just on 4p.m. We had been sailing for five hours. If we had been maintaining our good average of the day before, it was about time we saw something, or perhaps owing to our reduced sail area, we had not been knocking off the miles we had hoped and were still somewhere off Worthing or Littlehampton. However, shortly a buoy appeared through the haze and sailing close enough to read the name Heatherstone Ledge, we at last knew our position. Within the hour we had sailed close inshore to identify Selsey Bill and change our course for the last leg across Bracklesham Bay, with its relatively calm water which allowed full sail to be set once more.

Once inside Chichester Harbour the last few miles to our berth at Bosham were to windward, the first we had had that weekend and almost of the whole trip. In the dying evening breeze those five miles took nearly two hours, but at last time didn’t matter any more, we had made it.