A warm, sunny September afternoon saw my arrival at Itchenor Hard with my motorbike loaded down with equipment for a week's cruising in my Mayfly dinghy. For the first three days I would have company, than I would be on my own. Half an hour later my two crew members arrived carrying, to my dismay, huge framed rucksacks; however, with much pushing and pulling and rearranging we eventually managed to stow all the year.

As my crew were inexperienced I wasn't planning anything too ambitious while they were with me, and as 'Black Swan,' is too small to sleep 3, I had to make sure of finding somewhere we could get ashore to camp.

At last we were ready and set off with the flood tide and a light wind up the Chichester Channel. Once through the hundreds of moored yachts in Itchenor Reach and past the two yacht basins, there were surprisingly few people about. As we glided past Dell Quay we could see the spire of Chichester Cathedral, and the Downs behind, reflecting the evening sun. And so nearly to Fishbourne, where lack of water prevented further progress and we turned back. A perfect campsite was found where a small promontory with a shelving beach made it possible to get ashore without getting muddy, and there was a nice dry patch of grass on which to pitch our tents. After a moonlit walk into Bosham and a drink at the pub, we returned and were lulled to sleep by curlews, and owls hooting in the wood behind our tents.

Next morning the wind was stronger but we started off with full sail. I found in the stronger wind that three on board was a hindrance rather than help because we were getting in each other's way. With the wind in our teeth and constantly having to tack to avoid both mobile and moored yachts, it took a surprisingly long time to get back to Itchenor where we stopped for water and to reef. I had planned to go to East Head, but off the entrance to Bosham Creek I was constantly spilling wind and when another boat capsized and broke a mast, and knowing that one of my crew was a non swimmer, even though he was wearing a life-jacket, I decided to call it a day. We lowered the main and sped under jib only up to Bosham.

That night, after returning from a walk to Cobnor Point and back, we camped discreetly in the corner of a field. Monday morning there was no doubt - it was blowing a gale, so we climbed Stoke Down instead, and looking back could see the whole of Chichester Harbour spread out like a map below us. After seeing my crew off on the train for London, I spent the night at Arundel Youth Hostel.

Tuesday brought perfect sailing weather, but British Rail nearly spoiled my day by making the 10 mile train ride back to Bosham take three hours. As I had left 'Black Swan' near the high tide line I expected to find her high and dry when I eventually arrived at 1 p.m. but luckily with the advent of Springs, she was still - just - afloat. I pushed her out into deeper water, hoisted sail and was sailing again at last. This time I did get to East Head where I stopped for a late lunch and liked it there so much I stayed all afternoon.

In the evening I sailed round the corner into Snowhill Creek to camp for the night and when the picnickers had gone home I had the place to myself. For the first time I erected my hastily acquired tent - a nylon flysheet from Millets. It fitted very well but left an opening at each end. I had a couple of pieces of groundsheet to close these gaps but tonight was warm and dry so I didn't bother; I like to be able to watch the sun set and the moon rise, if there is one, and when in my sleeping bag I can see the stars.

On Wednesday I needed a Bank so sailed to Emsworth, looking into many of the creeks on the Hayling Island side of the channel on the way. Emsworth was new to me, at least from the water, and as I ran between the lines of moored yachts, with my chart on my knee, wondering where to tie up, I felt as apprehensive as if I was approaching a foreign port! By the time I had cashed my cheque and eaten lunch the tide had gone out, so I walked along the shore for a reconnaissance of Hayling Bridge and my first glimpse of Langstone Harbour. I thought Langstone village a pretty little place; what a pity the main road is so close. There is an attractive looking pub right by the water's edge, but closed of course at 4 p.m. As it was early closing day and I needed a chandler and also a gas cylinder, I decided to stay in Emsworth overnight so I could shop first thing in the morning.

When I left Emsworth it was very hot and with hardly any wind. I drifted slowly up to Hayling Bridge, my plan being to row through and explore Langstone Harbour. But just before reaching the bridge the wind suddenly piped up. I thought, 'I don't want to waste this breeze messing about taking down the mast', so tacked round and beat back towards the harbour mouth, keeping company for a while with a C-Fly, 'Black Swan's' big sister. Thursday night was spent in Mengham Rythe; what a contrast after Emsworth, just mud, birds and tranquility. Not that Emsworth was particularly noisy, but I could feel myself being watched and discussed by strollers on the quay.

Now it was Friday and my holiday was running out. If I was going to do a longer cruise it would have to be today. Having on previous occasion tried to get to the Cowes D.C.A. Rally, and failed due to starting too late and missing the tide, I thought I would try again, just to prove to myself that it was possible. It was a warm, sunny morning and the wind was light, but I had to wait till 10.30 for the tide to float me off the mud. It was hard work beating out against a strong flood tide, but I eventually succeeded by making very short tacks close to the Hayling shore. Once outside, the tide was favourable but the wind was dead ahead and it was a hard beat every inch of the way.

Stooging up and down Spithead between Portsmouth and Cowes was a fairly large ship; I don't know what he was up to, but every time I tacked, there he was again, right in my way, and I had to bear away and lose all the ground I had worked so hard to cover. He was a blooming nuisance. At last, at 5 o'clock I watched with relief as he steamed back towards Southampton. By then I could see into Cowes, but the wind was dropping and the tide had turned against me, and it was another two hours before I got inside. I was tempted to go to Wootton Creek instead, but had set myself a target, and was determined to accomplish it on this occasion.

For the return trip I had wanted to make a very early start, but at 6 a.m. there was thick mist and no wind at all, so I cooked a good breakfast and then went ashore for shopping. The weather forecast was wind E, SE, 2-3 so instead of the fast run back I had hoped for, it would be beating again, and against the tide too. At first I tacked close in along the IOW shore enjoying the pleasant vistas of wooded hills sloping down to the water's edge - so much pleasanter than the rather bleak shingle banks and urban development around Portsmouth.

Then a long tack brought me to a certain pile of gravel in Stokes Bay. Another longish tack out to sea and on the next inshore tack I was dismayed to find I had dropped back a mile; the tide had turned and, what was more, Stokes Bay SC were coming out for their afternoon's racing. Try as I might, their boats were all much faster than mine and I could not keep out of their way. Remembering the motto, “If you can't beat 'em, join ‘em”, I mingled with the Mirror fleet popping in and out between the groynes to get out of the tide. The water was very high and the beach steeply shelving here and after a while even the big racing yachts were groyne hopping. Here I found I could progress, slowly but steadily, and soon had left the sailing club behind and was back at my old friend the gravel pile.

Quite suddenly the wind changed. The yachts which ten minutes ago had been groyne hopping along with me hoisted their spinnakers and shot away. The telegraph poles started slipping by at a much more satisfactory pace. Soon I was passing Portsmouth and had the pleasure of watching the 'Winston Churchill' going in, but unfortunately not under sail. The nephew of a friend of mine was on her that week, and I wondered if he was one of the lads I could see on her decks.

I decided to spend my last night in Langstone Harbour and just scraped over the West Winner by jumping out and heaving a bit; then, remembering a tip I had read in a D.C.A. Bulletin that with an ebb tide there was always a favourable eddy to the right of the channel, I glided easily through the narrow entrance and right up to Long Island, where I anchored for the night. When it got dark I seemed to be in a dark black bowl surrounded by, but totally isolated from, the bright lights of civilisation.

Next morning when the tide came in I went ashore on Long Island to have a look at it and to read a notice I had seen from the boat. The latter said 'LANDING PROHIBITED'. Too late - I was already there!

In order to prove I was where I thought I was, I decided to try and sail round North Binness Island. The conditions were favourable and the tide was flooding and if I grounded it would float me off again. I couldn't see any opening at all in the saltmarsh to the north of North Binness, but. kept going, and always a channel opened before me, albeit a narrow one. Between the island and Farlington Marshes necessitated some rowing as the channel was too narrow and too shallow to tack. Suddenly there was a vast expanse of water in front of me and I was through. Two men in a small dinghy congratulated me on my accomplishment and I felt quite proud.

Then it was down with the mast to row through the bridge back into Chichester Harbour, and the spring ebb shot me down to Sandhead in an incredibly short time. A following wind just enabled me to stem the current and get back to Itchenor, and thus ended a very enjoyable week's holiday.