A weekend cruise in a Sunspot 15 — a bilge keeler with small cabin

Fresh to strong northerlies were going to blow throughout the weekend according to the Met people, and I thought this would be an excellent opportunity to get to know my new boat a little better. For our first year together, I had been relatively cautious, largely because climbing out onto the small, pitching foredeck to change the headsail up or down had filled me with terror at times. But now, after fitting a Plastimo furler, giving me the luxury of controlling it from the cockpit, I was anxious to go further in less settled conditions. However, I still didn’t want to be too adventurous and the relative shelter of a weather shore on this trip would still be welcome.

I found Genie charging round her mooring, thumped this way and that in the gusts. If it got any fresher, I reflected, they’d be measuring it on the Richter Scale rather than the Beaufort. But I soon realised that the wind was being squeezed through the narrow north facing creeks, accounting for its unusual ferocity. I set out trusting that it would be easier outside, but to get there, the little 2 hp Evinrude had to work very hard indeed. When we finally cleared the narrows and the congested moorings, I hoisted the full main and unrolled a little jib. Before long though, this was obviously too much and I wound the first reef in the main. We tacked northwards, until we could clear the Pye Sands, crossed over and bore away through confused seas to reach Walton Pier at 1030, where we picked up the first of the friendly flood.

From Walton, Genie really seemed to take off. In a quartering breeze and sheltered a little by the shore, she reached Clacton pier by 1130 — an hour to cover those 6 miles. And when we brought the wind more abeam after Clacton, she covered the next 4¾ miles to Colne Point in 40 minutes — a little over 7 kts.

The Colne itself looked like hell only in white, in these wind-over-tide conditions, and I gladly passed it by on my way up the Blackwater. Further on, off Mersea Island, the breeze became even stronger and I had to roll the second reef in the main to make Genie comfortable. After that, she bustled on, to reach Heybridge Basin, averaging 6 knots up the Blackwater, despite carrying rather less sail than a Mirror dinghy.

At Heybridge, I turned and hugged the northern shore to cross the Stumble — a roadway connecting Osea Island and the mainland — to tack up to Goldhanger. We’ve held a couple of rallies here and the pub at the head of the creek serves a good meal, so I thought I’d make a return visit.

There was only just enough water to get in as the tide hadn’t fully made. Stinker started first pull but ran out of juice about two jumps short of the beach. I refilled and tried again, but it stalled once more for no reason I could see. Drifting out whilst I held a prayer meeting and continued to pull the cord, I caught hold of a substantial looking mooring buoy, but when it started to come along with us (!) I let go, unrolled some jib, sailed outside, and finally anchored in a couple of metres. Once comfortably settled, and with an unwilling engine, I decided to stay and eat aboard instead. A modern day Aesop would have rewritten the Fox and Grapes fable!

The day had started cloudy and grey, but some blue had come along in the middle and finally I was able to sit out in the cockpit to enjoy the evening sunshine before going below to get the meal. The night was cold however — no occasion for the ‘Full Monty’ — quite the reverse in fact, with everything on! The morning forecast said more northerlies, 5 or 6, but it was a little less when I looked out. The wind inshore always seems a late riser. Yesterday’s sun was gone and the dull grey was back when I raised anchor at 0730.

In these somewhat lighter winds, I finally wound my way up to Maldon, tacking easily over the ebb. However, there was little water left by then, so we had no alternative but to return. The breeze gradually woke up and started flexing its muscles, and I became increasingly worried by a split that had opened in the jib. So, off Osea Pier; I anchored to replace it with a spare. We got underway again at about low water, still double reefed and needing it by this time. The flood started as we close fetched towards Thirslet and then we came hard on the wind towards Bradwell, where the seas always seem to be heavier. In these lumpy conditions, she put in two or three tacks to clear the cooling dam at the power station, each without hesitation, repetition or deviation, as they say.

Whatever else she is, no one could claim Genie is a dry boat in big seas. She pushed her nose into them and shovelled them back on board filling the air with spray. I put my notebook below before it became as soggy as yesterday’s uneaten cornflakes. But the time taken between two points that I remembered, meant that she’d made 2¼ knots, despite being close hauled, heavily reefed and butting the flood — albeit in the slackest part I could find.

I pushed Genie on into the Colne this time, to see how she would behave and also to find an anchorage for the night. We weaved our way north until the smooth water of Ray Creek beckoned. In she went and I let go for a rather late lunch. But I soon found the anchor dragged so had to make sail again, promptly going aground on the way out. There was time for that second cup of tea, whilst the flood made!

Once she was off, I set her further north into the tumult and then finally entered the Pyfleet which runs round the north side of Mersea Island. In the smooth water she tacked effortlessly up, almost as far as the roadway that brings the island and the mainland together, then without enough water to go further, turned back to anchor in a couple of meters. Once again the sun came out and gave us a nice end to the day, although the wind remained up and my barometer stayed down — lower than yesterdays. Consequently I was a little apprehensive about the return trip tomorrow in case it blew harder.

The evening forecast had been for more northerlies in the 5-6 range, but the 0535 next morning was better. Still northerly, they said, and 5 at first, but becoming 3-4 later and backing north-west or west. I poked my head outside the cabin and gave a whoop of delight when I saw the breeze already coming from the north-west out of a clear blue sky and, at that time, little more than a 2. I hastily dressed, stuffed gear away, then unwound both reefs in the main, heaved up the anchor, bore away and goose-winged the full jib. Down the Pyfleet we ambled, making under 2 kts over the last of the flood — the slowest she’d travelled so far that weekend. I steered with my knees, standing astride the tiller, whilst stuffing down a bowl of muesli and swigging tea.

We made Colne Point by high water and caught the first of the NE-going ebb. However, instead of the reach I anticipated, the wind flew round into the north and continued to veer. Despite this, she made a good speed over the ground until approaching Walton pier, the breeze veered still further and finally died altogether near the Medusa Buoy. Being becalmed suggests peace and silence, but this wasn’t what we got. Genie rolled in the swell, swinging the boom to and fro and cracking the sails like a ringmaster’s whip. The racket was horrible and I decided eventually that the one thing I liked just marginally less than the noise of the calm, was the noise of the infernal combustion engine! Stinker must have felt the same as he responded without even a short prayer meeting, and we turned northwards towards home.

For some years I’ve added things to my Sod’s Law list. This time, no sooner had Stinker got into his stride and the choke was fully home than the catspaws of a nice little southerly started. That’s the way it goes — if it hadn’t started, there would have been no breeze, I’m sure! I stopped the engine, boomed the main out and slowly drew homewards in the quiet once more. The calm had lasted only about an hour, but it seemed longer. Much longer!

Eventually, we bore up, headed across the sands to pick up the buoyed channel, tacked south with the new flood under us, and finally reached the entrance to Foundry Creek. It was still narrow, with no room to tack, so I downed sails and stinkered those last few hundred yards to pick up her mooring.

Mileage covered over the weekend was 82, of which about 2 were under power and I was well chuffed. I had never thought of Genie as a flyer and had given her that name simply because she seemed small enough to have come out of a bottle! The original builder’s blurb said that she was designed for the dinghy sailor moving up to small cabin boats, and that the performance wouldn’t disappoint. I can see what they meant. Throughout the weekend she responded positively and at no time did I feel in anyway insecure. That’s as it should be of course in a boat that weighs 900 lbs. 400 of which are ballast. I have increased the sail area to 110 sq ft by using an old Skipper jib and whilst even that doesn’t seem a lot, given the weight of the hull, she does sail well. The 2 hp engine appears sufficient — provided it works of course — and this seems to indicate that the Sunspot has a very easily driven hull, for the same engine seemed to make much harder work of pushing my slightly heavier Skipper.

My greatest anxiety when I first sailed her was that the fixed draft of her small bilge keels meant once you went aground, you were likely to stay there. But, to put this in perspective, she is only 7’ deeper than my Skipper with the plates up. Furthermore, on the credit side, the underwater profile of the boat doesn’t change as it does when you raise boards and rudder blade in a centreboarder, making her, oddly enough, rather easier to sail in shallow water. I have now learned to be adventurous when conditions are right or when it doesn’t matter. And as a result, the ‘Ugly Duckling’, as Charles Proudfoot had once described her, has taken on more swan-like characteristics to my mind.