(Open dayboat, without cuddy, 21’ x 6½’ x 1’, GRP hull, rigged as gunter yawl).

Rather than have the sailing school’s new day sailer delivered by road to Newhaven, Peter Rhodes and Peter Roach had chosen to sail her up the English Channel from Dartmouth.

Part 1

Galmpton Creek was fast asleep as dawn crept slowly over Torbay on Saturday, 14th April. We dropped the moorings in the creek and, to the accompaniment of the dawn chorus, motored down the river to Dartmouth and the open sea beyond. This was our first voyage in the Drascombe Longboat and also the first leg of the sail up the Channel to Newhaven.

A light wind blew from the north. The log was set and the sails trimmed as we passed inside Mew Stone and Eastern Black Rock, and set course across Lyme Bay for Portland Bill, some 45 miles away. Berry Head lighthouse was still flashing over to port as the Longboat cleared the mainland.

Pete and I had decided on watches of 2 hours on, 2 hours off. It was cold at this hour in the morning and, except for a fishing boat and a few seagulls, there was little else to be seen. The sea was calm, however, and we soon fell into the old routine forgotten since last summer. The big difference was that this new boat of ours was without a cabin and half the size. About 0900 the clouds slowly drew away to the south leaving a warming sun. There was sufficient room to be able to stretch out in the bottom and soak up the sun’s weak rays.

At the end of every watch, a note was made of the log and compass course, and a plot put on the chart of our estimated position. After a packed lunch, we lost the sun again behind a high bank of clouds, and the wind dropped as well. I did not relish the idea of being off Portland Bill in a small open boat at this time of the year during the hours of darkness, so we started motoring.

The Seagull pushed us steadily along at 4 knots for the rest of the afternoon. The sea was very calm. An occasional coaster passed, a couple of early swallows flew overhead, but there was nothing to indicate our forward progress except the little crosses on the chart. It was a pleasant pastime, lying in the bows peering over the gunwale at one’s reflection in the glassy sea, watching it being distorted as in a hall of mirrors. Just before 1700 the definite outline of a coast was visible on the hazy horizon. It was more to port than anticipated, but within half an hour we confirmed it as the Bill. By 1900 we were entering the famous race, and soon we were engulfed in a mass of heaving and surging waters. It would have been highly dangerous on anything but a calm day, and even now the seas produced some sizeable waves. As the Longboat came into the lee of the land, the wind kindly backed and picked up to give a helping push towards Weymouth over the contrary tide.

One by one the lights came on along the coast. The vessels in the Naval dockyard were brilliantly lit. An RAF vessel anchored off looked more like a liner than a supply ship. The entrance to Weymouth was invisible as we approached from the south. A full moon conveniently appeared at the appropriate moment and clearly illuminated the scene and various unlit buoys in that area. We handed the log, furled the sails, and motored alongside the Weymouth Bell pleasure launch for our overnight stay.

Pete and I had decided to spend the night wrapped up in the sails in the bottom of the boat in order to facilitate an early start on the morrow. It was essential to catch the tides off St. Albans Head and Anvil Point. Sleep was a long time in coming. I heard 1, 2, 3 and 4 o’clock strike on the harbour clock. The moon was up there in a clear starry sky. It was freezing. However, I eventually slipped into a fitful doze, and awoke to Pete muttering that it was already 0700.

A weak northerly wind was blowing as we cleared the quay. The early sun shone upon the Dorset cliffs highlighting the beautiful coast. For some extraordinary reason, it seemed as though the wind fell upon the sea in great strength across a band about 200 yards wide, 1 mile offshore. If we went inside the band or further out, the strength dropped dramatically. I have a feeling it was due to an eddy effect of the northerly wind dropping off the hills. This phenomenon stayed with us right until St. Albans Head.

From seaward, Lulworth Cove was difficult to pick out. The limestone ridge, which runs parallel to the shore, shows the destroying action of the waves, but the softer chalk just inside this harder strata wears quickly and produces these coves and bays so characteristic of this stretch of the Dorset coast. We kept very close to St. Albans Head as we rounded it, trying to avoid the worst of the tide. We were just half an hour too late, and would have to fight it off all the headlands for the rest of the way. With the rocks only 10 yards away at times, the fronds of kelp on the seabed below were clearly visible through the water. Masses of seabirds thronged the ledges, and every available nesting spot was already occupied. It was a delight to watch them from such close quarters. The guillemots were of particular interest. They appeared from their horizontal grooves in the cliff face with a penguin waddle one after another, before leaping off and completing a very fast circuit out to sea and back for no apparent reason at all. Black backed gulls glided menacingly to and fro, while cormorants and shags sat on rocks, keenly eyeing everyone from the water’s edge. Between St. Albans Head and Anvil Point, the cliffs drop sheer into the sea with numerous caves and shallow holes eroded in them. Not a place to get washed ashore.

There were plenty of lobster pot floats tugging at their ropes, a constant reminder of the strong tidal sweep now pushing westwards. The sun shone brilliantly from a windless sky, and Anvil Point remained on our port beam for far too long. Fast motor boats roared past, adding to the frustrations, but at last we swung into weaker flows before one final push over the Peveril Point race and into Swanage Bay.

We motored along close to the chalk cliffs, passing several weekend fishermen happily anchored and seemingly at peace with everything. Rounding Old Harry, I would have liked to have been able to say that we eased the sheets, but I am afraid the sails hung lifeless. Across Studland Bay we chugged, surrounded now by hundreds of small craft. The Sunday afternoon traffic was heavy in this stretch of the English Channel.

The last incident occurred less than half a mile outside Poole entrance, when our faithful Seagull died. It was my fault for not refuelling. Would it start again? I checked plug, filters and jet, but without success. Pete started rowing before a kind yachtsman offered us a tow to the East Dorset Sailing Club, where we picked up a mooring at 1530.

We were to leave the Longboat here before the next stage of the journey down the Channel.

Part 2

On Whitsun Sunday, five weeks after the first stage of the journey, Peter Rhodes and I were ready for the second half of the voyage to Newhaven. We had altered the location of the compass mounting from the mizzen mast to a bracket on each rowlock mounting. We had also added a thwart for the oarsman, but these were the only modifications.

An underwater garden had sprung up on the hull of the Longboat. Neptune must have been proud of it. I scrubbed off the worst at low tide, and made a note to antifoul her at Newhaven. We bundled in all our cruising gear, and as soon as there was enough water, rowed out into the main channel. A fresh wind blew from the south east. The motor helped us to tack against the tide to the Poole Bar Buoy, before we rounded it and set a course for Hurst Point. The time was now 1330. With the tide behind us for the next four hours, we might just be able to get into Yarmouth.

We made good progress towards Christchurch. With the approaching rain the wind picked up to f5, and I put a reef in the main. We creamed along with the lee rail just out of the water, but it was very short-lived, for the wind dropped considerably and backed 15º as the rain passed. Hurst was now dead to windward, and our four hours were up. Tacking against the tide was a slow and rather pointless exercise. We dropped the jib and motored on along the coast.

We arrived at Hurst Point about 1930, but there was too much strength in the tide to allow us through, certainly on this side of the channel.

We posed an interesting problem in relative velocity triangles, cutting across to the Isle of Wight, but it seemed a waste of fuel to press on, for we were not gaining a lot of ground. As there were only 3 gallons aboard, we decided to anchor at 21.00. Under the lee of the land and out of the main channel, we dropped the hook in 10 metres of water. Dusk fell quickly with more rain threatening. Pete huddled up in the sails and I took the first anchor watch. It rained heavily for the next couple of hours. Away over to Bournemouth lightning flashed, and distant claps of thunder rolled across a wet and lonely sea.

By 0100 the tide had turned. The wind was light and still in the SE. However, close hauled we were able to progress along our way. I slept to Egypt Point before taking over from Pete. It was still dark and damp. Cowes passed abeam at 0400. A pilot launch appeared out of the gloom at high speed and rather close on its way to some ship.

A weak dawn came from the east. Visibility was no more than 2 miles. 6 hours ago I had considered Portsmouth or Chichester as our next staging post, but we had cleared the Forts before the tide turned again. We motor-sailed tight on the wind towards Wittering for the next 3 hours, stemming the weak flows in the bay. Monday morning breakfast comprised a slice of buttered bread, a chunk of cheese, and two biscuits. Visibility had decreased, and a slight drizzle closed in on us. I had not bothered with the log, for there was no point, but the compass was a necessity. It looked as though there was going to be enough time to get to Littlehampton when the tide turned.

As the drizzle and mist increased, so the wind gradually veered and strengthened. By 1000 it had gone west of south. The boat picked up speed and began to make steadily against the tide. We passed several fishermen and numerous lines of floats. The buildings on Selsey Bill appeared out of the mist on the port bow. We were now in an area marked on the chart as being full of hazards and unsafe, but as we were no bigger than the fishing boats we pressed on, easing the sheets gradually as we rounded the Bill. Surely one of the great advantages of small boat cruising is in being able to navigate in waters out of bounds to bigger yachts.

By 1100 we were round the corner, and with the Owers foghorn moaning astern and our spirits raised we set course for Littlehampton. The wind was picking up beautifully and blowing the mist away. The Longboat was in her element. With the tide beneath us for the next 6 hours, we might even make Newhaven.

By 1330 we were 2 miles due south of Littlehampton and going like a train. 2 hours later we were off Shoreham harbour. The wind was blowing SW f4/5, and seas were slowly building up to surfing size. A fine old-timer, a gaff-rigged ketch, ploughed steadily through the seas closing with Shoreham — what a perfect picture she made.

The sun joined the wind on the starboard quarter, and for the last 12 miles we had the most exhilarating sail of the voyage. Down the Sussex coast we stormed; the Brighton Marina, showing its new western arm, passed quickly by. The chalk cliffs loomed up and, before we realised it, we were approaching the harbour at Newhaven. We rounded the breakwater at 1740, having averaged 6 knots over the last 42 miles.

By 1800 the Longboat was out of the water and we were packing our belongings in the boat park. Neither of us would have believed this possible, thinking back to the very early hours of that morning.

The 190 mile voyage from Devon had certainly given us an opportunity of checking out the boat, and ourselves. During those 55 hours afloat, the time had been split evenly between beating, running and motoring. Small boat cruising is very rewarding, and offers plenty of seamanship for those wanting to get afloat reasonably cheaply and with minimal overhead costs. However, I would add a word of warning: long voyages are not a pastime for beginners.