The day begin rather inauspiciously at 3 a.m. when I woke my crew David, in the back of his estate car parked beside Warsash hard one day in late October, and told him I had left the sails at home 80 miles away. We soon decided not to make another double trip to fetch them and formulated a plan which proved successful thanks entirely being due to several members of the Warsash Sailing Club who turned uncomplainingly out of bed at an early hour to help us.

By ten o’clock we were afloat in the Mayfly only two hours behind schedule. David pointed out that in the event of a disaster our next of kin would never be informed because we were sailing under a false number. The forecast force 3-4 northerly, possibly 6 later, and the target the furthest westing we could make before the favourable tide turned. With David at the helm we broad reached down Southampton Water, sheering off towards Calshott Bell buoy while the liner Rotterdam passed close by, a little apprehensive about her wash but it never seemed to reach us. Too lazy to set the spinnaker after we had gybed for the run down the Solent, I fiddled about doing some rather unnecessary navigation and noting the time we passed each buoy — Thorn Knoll, East Lepe, Solent Banks — all names long studied on the chart and subsequently to show us that we were averaging seven knots over the ground at that stage of the journey.

I took over at 12 and presently found that I was aiming at Albert Fort in Hurst Narrows, having by-passed Yarmouth in the increasing wind and sea. The Mayfly was now surfing splendidly and it was with regret that we stayed round and headed back for Yarmouth harbour. Failing to find a satisfactory landing place after a high speed circuit we tied up alongside an aged black toned ketch, dropped sail and brewed up coffee.

Against a background of whistling rigging we put six rolls in the mainsail and prepared for a wet beat home. David’s pneumatic life-jacket which had been a limp sack all morning was now a fair imitation of the Michelin man advertisement, which seemed to indicate some lack of confidence. On the first leg across to Lymington the car ferry came by to windward and some of her wash slopped aboard. Unfortunately we now found it advisable to avoid the best of the helpful flood tide as the head wind kicked up a very short uncomfortable sea and it was growing late when we passed close by the Calshott light vessel and shook out the reefs for the last leg up towards the Hamble. Having failed to memorise the leading lights for the Hamble River or to bring the torch to study the chart, we fumbled in the dark from one bank to the other sounding with the centreboard before landing at 6 p.m.

So far as we could retrace, our tacks on the chart show 36 miles for the day allowing for help from the tide. We were disappointed not have reached The Needles but pleased to have found on our first visit to the Solent that it was such a pleasant stretch of water and a delightful contrast to our home gravel pit.