Friday

I telephoned the harbourmaster at Kirkcudbright in the morning to ask his advice where best to launch my West Wight Potter. He advised the town slip, conveniently right next to a large free car park. Steve, my crew, and I arrived separately, just after 9pm, and examined the slip. At high water, launching would be easy, but it is quite steep, and missing the top of the tide would, I imagine, make things more difficult. We rigged the boat and made ready for an early departure, high water was at 0400 BST. It was nearly midnight before we had a meal, on board on the trailer. Afterwards we stretched out, fully dressed, for a couple of hours’ sleep.

Saturday & Sunday

Up at 0330 and breakfast of cornflakes only as we intended dropping the hook later and cooking a proper breakfast — a big mistake as it turned out. We launched easily, and I parked my car in the nearby car park stern out so the DCA badge could be seen, just in case other members turned up later and had a look round. All was still and misty as we rowed out into the channel before starting the outboard. Chugging out on the ebb was a delight; we could have crossed the shallows but preferred to stick to the buoyed channel. Past the sawmill slip to starboard to Fish Pool, buoy 13, where we changed course, taking the channel between Milton Sands and Manxman’s Lake to the Lifeboat House, now disused. Time now 0620. Here the buoyed channel ends, and we set course on 217° mag. for 15 minutes before changing to 195° to clear Little Ross Island with its lighthouse and beacon. (The beacon, when in line with the lighthouse, gave the deep water line for large transatlantic ships at one time). With Little Ross bearing 217° mag. at 0700 we hoisted sails and stopped the engine. Change of course to 274° mag. Wind ENE-NE f3 and freshening.

The plan was to clear Meikle Ross then run across Wigtown Bay to Garlieston, some 10 nautical miles away and with the land barely visible. Alas for plans, with a cooked breakfast a non-event. Approximately 3 miles out from Meikle Ross the sea became very lumpy indeed with wind now f4 up to f5. I decided not to chance it but to try and return to Kirkcudbright Bay. We went about and tried to beat back. Dead beat to windward with a steep sea against us. Water Mouse dipped and pitched, spray flying, but the boat as dry as a bone. I had fitted the harness and closed the cabin door just in case. Some battering time later we were getting nowhere, so I started the engine to help. By this time we were pitching so much that the prop was lifting out of the water and the engine was constantly being swamped, and eventually packed up altogether. We hove to and put a reef in the main. The WWP is undercanvassed for its weight and I am normally reluctant to reef due to the loss of drive; under the circumstances we had no choice. We were driving her like a dinghy with Steve and myself sitting out, terrific stuff even with chicken me spilling wind like mad. Then came the time to tack again and even with the jib backed she would not go about; we paid off picked up speed and tried again. No good, the big seas just pushed her back. Next time crafty plan in operation. I posted Steve amidships with oar at the ready. As she came round, jib aback, Steve paddled like mad, and round she came. We shot off again, flying and crashing with mouths bone dry. Steve thought it great fun: he must think it’s always like this.

After two hours or so of this it was clear that the skipper would have to come up with another crafty plan, and quickly. The wind had now shifted more to the north, and it was cold. Waves now 6 to 8 feet with breaking crests and the thought at the back of my mind that we could be in deep trouble with only two other boats in sight and a long way away. We tacked north looking for shelter under the cliffs. The seas eased slightly but the scend was right off the shore. We then had an exhilarating sail along the coast NW and about half a mile out, past Kirkandrews Bay, no chance getting in there, and on to the Islands of Fleet. Here there appeared to be slight shelter. A junk-rigged Corribee we had seen earlier was anchored here, and as we flew past its skipper called us to come alongside. We promptly went about and did just that. Within minutes we were tied up alongside and drinking coffee on Meg Merrilees.

The Corribee’s skipper was Ralph Yates, an ex-DCA member now sailing with the Solway Yacht Club. His Hob Nobs tasted delicious. His boat, although only 21 feet long, seemed enormous. He told us that he had been given a fright earlier when he had been knocked down off Little Ross. Time 1545. Steve and I had already been on the go for 12 hours. We all deliberated on what to do next. We were dragging so had to do something. Ralph advised running across the bay to Garlieston. Low water was 1838 so we did not have much time. Off we went with Ralph soon leaving us well behind. Course 248° mag. and with no need to allow for leeway. Distance only 5 miles but it looked much further in the misty light. Difficult to focus binoculars, the boat was pitching so much. The thought of an accidental gybe stopped me putting the mainsail up so we ran across under jib and mizzen only. (I have fitted a mizzen mast outside the transom and so far it works a treat).

At 1800 over the ebb, and with just enough water, we rounded the harbour wall into shelter, and with Ralph shouting to us from the quayside to tie up to Meg Merrilees. Pleased as punch, and cocky with it, to be manoeuvring under sail, we came to an ignominious dead stop when my prop — the engine cannot be tilted — fouled an underwater line. Sails flapping, we freed ourselves, and drifted downwind. Willing hands ashore took our lines, and we were soon once again tied up to Meg Merrilees and drinking Ralph’s coffee. Fourteen hours since departure, and we were, if you will pardon me, knackered.

The wind still blew strongly from the NE and the forecast was not good. This should have been the end of the story, with the intrepid mariners comfortably confined to a snug harbour and with the pub just down the road. Alas again, more trouble was on its way. The harbour dried and we settled on the bottom. We enjoyed our dinner, cooked on board, and at 2230 were just about to collapse gratefully on to our bunks. We noticed more water than usual in the bilge to the side of the centreplate housing in the cabin. We had settled on a rock which had cracked the timber bottom. The tide was now on the flood, so we rapidly emptied everything out of the boat, across Meg Merrilees and up on to the deck of a fishing boat lying against the wall. Then I put my waders on and, as the harbour filled, I floated Water Mouse down to the slip.

Sunday

Steve and I then spent the rest of the night taking turns about of 10 minutes floating the boat up the slip. In was bitterly cold in the wind, and we wrapped sleeping bags round our shoulders to try and keep warm. At high water we could relax; at least Water Mouse was safe, but our weekend was over. We sat on the quay brewing up and making bacon sandwiches before reloading our kit back into the boat. We walked into the village, rang up for a taxi and drove to Kirkcudbright to collect our cars. We pulled Water Mouse out on the trailer at high tide that evening.

Steve departed for home. The wind and sea moderated considerably, and Ralph, who was concerned about getting back to Kipford, decided to leave in what might have been a weather slot. I watched him head off into the haze and spent the night on board, on the trailer before heading for home, in fine weather, early Monday morning.

The Hole is repairable.

My thanks to Steve, who has never crewed a small boat at sea before and took it all in his stride, and to Ralph Yates for his coffee, his Hob Nobs, his local knowledge and cheerful friendship.

My Boat

West Wight Potter, vintage unknown, but timber built and with P3 stamped at foot of mast on keel. I have owned her for fourteen years. I have fitted her with a bowsprit and an outer jib, which I did not use on this trip. I have also fitted a mizzen mast, using my old storm jib as a mizzen sail. This is experimental and fitted with temporary nylon shrouds. At one stage on Saturday the port shroud was stretched beyond its elastic limit and the mast collapsed to starboard. As Steve took over the tiller I managed to lift the mast and re-lash the shroud. It survived the rest of the trip.

Charts

Admiralty 1344 Kirkcudbright Bay Imray C 62 Irish Sea Macmillan & Silk Cut Almanac

Conclusion

I have never experienced wind and sea like this in a small boat before. Except for difficulty in tacking, about which I would welcome members’ comments, the boat handled like a dream. She was at all times stable and safe. With the exception of spray we took no water aboard.

The first lesson learned was the obvious one we all knew about anyway but I ignored. If you go to sea take a hot flask and ready made up sandwiches with you. We managed on cartons of fruit juice, Mars bars and fruit. The second lesson was that I shall fit a lifting engine bracket and put a cover on in an attempt to stop total flooding of the engine in rough water.

Altogether a terrific sail, and if any other DCA members were there then I’m sorry I missed you. Incidentally, Garlieston is a friendly little place, excellent new concrete slip, not steep, and ample parking room.

Technical advisor comments on the difficulty of tacking:- There are possibly three elements here - too large a jib set in relation to the reefed mainsail, also the windage of the mizzen and the permanently immersed propeller. Both the latter inhibit the performance of the boat at a time when it is needed most to supply the momentum to swing the boat from one tack to the other. A mizzen in a dinghy rigged as a yawl is a useful thing when reaching and running and also for heaving to and correcting the balance of the sails. However, even when expertly cut it adds little power in going to windward because of the high proportion of windage to drive in such a small boat, as it has to be cut flat (see the article ‘Set of your Sails’, Bulletin 129 page 21). If the boat had got in irons then the mizzen would have been wholly to blame, holding the boat head to wind; as it was the boat returned to the same tack and the size of the jib is suspect or the drag of the propeller to one side . One assumes that the crew kept the jib drawing until the last possible moment when coming about. It would also have helped to ease the mizzen sheet. A temporary reef in a jib can be made by a stopping round the head of the sail but is obviously not as efficient as a smaller jib designed for the strength of wind in which it is to be used. A simple way to check on the jib is to see if the boat comes lee or neutral helm when reefed instead of the usual weather helm. As Brian has found out, nylon is a most unsuitable material for shrouds, even temporary ones. I have since had a chat with him and it appears his o/b is a standard shaft Seagull. A long shaft hooded design would be far less likely to become swamped.