By sail and oar in Lowly Worm III a Ness Yawl 19’2” x 5’3” — 5th to 9th August

Departure from Poole was a little after 2100, just after the second high water. The wind was force 3 variable from the north. The sun set spectacularly to the west as we ran south along the path of the moon. In the fading evening light the east side of Brownsea Island appeared black, the distant Dorset hills a soft grey, and the water blue-black. I fished the torch out of the camping box to illuminate the mainsail in the event of another boat approaching. The yawl slid along at 4 knots, water chuckling under the bow. I took a phone-call from Judith and then settled to the peace and beauty of being alone at sea. Passing through the harbour entrance we rounded up to the west and dropped anchor in Shell Bay — distance run 2.5 nautical miles. My plan was to cruise east for as long as the wind had some west in it, hoping to link up with a DCA rally at Chichester on Saturday, and possibly continuing on to Brighton.

Just after 0800 the sails filled and we ran away to the west. Astern the vista widened as the beach receded. Studland Bay appeared crowded with anchored yachts. In contrast Shell Bay had sheltered Lowly Worm alone. Old Harry’s Rocks, the Dorset Hills and eventually Swanage Bay opened up as we travelled west. Studland gleamed white in the sunlight whilst the Needles were dark in the shade. From Hook End Buoy I steered 170 degrees directly at the Needles. The boat moved smoothly and fast, the mizzen goose-winged with the main. I started to debate with myself, outside the Isle of Wight or inside (as was my original intention)? The sun burned hot behind the sail. I kept it there longer, to protect my eyes, by sitting well forward on the port side and gripping the tip of the tiller extension. There was an unmarked gap between the boat’s Admiralty chart of Poole Bay and Stamford chart of the Solent. As a result I wrongly guessed that the seas which now began to build were due to wind over tide as the Solent was closed. In fact they were due to the presence of the Shingles Bank. Small surf runs turned into rides of 50 metres or more. I had to pay attention to steering but the fair conditions and hull shape made for fun rather than alarm. With the roaring growing louder one last long surf ride spewed Lowly into calm sea. Astern, a white wall of water stretched right across the Solent approach. Shortly afterwards I hove-to a few hundred metres off the Needles Lighthouse to photograph the spectacular view of the limestone stacks — and then headed inside the island. The anchor splashed into Alum Bay 4 hours after leaving Poole, an average speed over the ground of 3.5 knots.

I took a chair lift ride up the cliffs to the tourist venue to buy more film. The view over the Solent was spectacular, but the crowded commercial trivia at the summit was in such marked contrast to the sea’s solitude that I returned quickly to the boat. As the beach shelves steeply here I had anchored so that merely a metre or two separated the boat’s stern from the lee shore. A stern line to a ground peg now enabled me to pull out the cantilever of the bow line and clamber aboard. In order to sail off the lee shore the rode was shortened until it was up and down and then the anchor sailed out, being recovered inboard when seaward of the moored yachts. Lowly then enjoyed a fast run up through the Hurst Narrows past Yarmouth and onto Newtown, a day’s run of 27.5 nautical miles. I anchored just outside the entrance, stowed the sails and waded ashore for a walk. The boat lay quietly in the lee of a high shingle bank, on a firm sand/mud bottom. Having erected the bow canopy section of the tent and stowed all gear to port of the centreboard case leaving the starboard floorboards clear for sleeping, I realised that the swell now bending around Hamstead Point would make cooking and sleeping uncomfortable. Towing the boat through the shallows I reanchored just past a popular picnic spot inside and to the west of the entrance. When I woke at 0515 the boat was still aground. I rezipped into my sleeping bag and dozed until 0600 when the radio gave a wind forecast of SW 2/3. The tide was then just reaching the stern enabling the tent to be dismantled and gear packed from outside the hull. The clear rising water was alive with scuttling crabs and small fry, whilst on shore curlew and oystercatchers were active early risers in this lovely National Trust harbour. Most of the yachts, however, still slept at their anchor warps. 0700 — away and heading for Gurnard Point — wind force 2 from the north-west and a favourable current streaming beneath the keel. This gave a hull speed of 2 knots plus an extra knot over the ground from the tide. The Solent was untypically peaceful without the noise pollution of motor boats. A hot day was forecast, but at this time there was 90% cloud cover. The wind increased to NW 3 before becoming variable and intermittently dying for periods throughout the rest of the day. However, I was off West Cowes by 0900 and able to cross the mouth of the Medina before the race crews were active, this being Cowes week. The wind died but the current continued to carry me past. Boat crews were waking slowly, wandering the deck with hands thrust deeply in pockets or wrapped around mugs of coffee. Launches began to come out from the town to begin race preparations. Ultra-sleek hulls sporting extraordinarily high masts, some requiring four or five sets of spreaders, lay quietly — before readying for battle. A large square rigger and a huge motor yacht were prominent amongst the many hospitality boats. On shore, flags, bunting, and marquees all testified to a great international race gathering. The Red Funnel hydrofoil roared in shattering the peace for miles around. Conventional ferries criss-crossed and bustled away.

A fickle wind continued all the way to Wootton Creek as I dozed in the hot sun. Here too ferries bustled backwards and forwards. Maybe the crews noticed a little red hulled Viking ship drifting as they departed Wootton, only to find it in the same spot upon returning from Portsmouth an hour later, and not much moved on the subsequent trip. I rowed into, and up to the navigable limit of Wootton Creek, a beautiful spot for a yachtsman to put down roots. Waterfront homes range from the grand to rickety old houseboats, and holiday cabins for children. A pub lunch at Wootton bridge and a novel whiled away two hours until slack water. A light wind arose blowing directly into the river so I took to the oars again and hoisted sail outside the harbour. The wind took me seaward of Ryde Pier and then died completely. I variously drifted, sailed, and rowed in a desultory fashion to Bembridge, entering the narrow channel exactly at low water. Lowly Worm hauled up on the sandy beach in front of the Bembridge Sailing Club, alongside three visiting bilge-keelers. Distance travelled from Newtown 16 nautical miles. It had been the hottest day of the year, a record which lasted all of 24 hours before being superseded. After cooking dinner, visiting the pub and stretching my legs I moored fore and aft with the bow anchor in the centre of the channel to allow of an early departure.

At 0600 from the door of my tent I watched a heron fishing amongst the many grounded dinghies. Clambering ashore to make use of the very convenient conveniences, I noticed heron footprints in the muddy sand right alongside the boat. Large mullet were ground feeding at the shoreline. The temperature and mild scene was more suggestive of France than England. I sat on the sea wall to eat a melon and then set off. It was an hour or two past low water and the tide was flooding strongly into the narrow approach channel. It was therefore an ideal time and place to tow the boat a half a mile to gain the open sea. The weather forecast was not promising — very light variable winds. I made a mental note to count the number of times I would set and lower the main during the day, fully expecting a long and hot row across to Chichester. I scrambled the main up at 0830 to catch a favourable breeze of force 1/2. To my surprise and delight the breeze steadied and strengthened and Lowly was soon romping along in perfect conditions. I jam-cleated the mainsheet, a rare occurrence due to the potential for a capsize. The sea sparkled. A ferry, outbound for St Malo, crossed ahead, the Nab Tower clearly visible to starboard. The sails were now drawing beautifully and drove the hull through the combined wash of the ferry and a hydrofoil, the bow rising and spray flying. The exhilaration was further enhanced as I had expected to be rowing. By 0930 we were well over and steering on the entrance to Chichester Harbour, again using the tiller extension to gain shade from the sun. In the whole five day cruise I rarely removed my sunglasses.

Approaching Chichester harbour the entrance stood very much nearer than the distant hills, indicating the huge expanse of sheltered water that lay between the two. Running powerfully up towards the Bar Beacon alongside me was an Essex Smack, gaff cutter rigged and carrying a topsail. A stream of yachts were leaving Chichester against the tide, but only one of them under sail, all the rest were motoring. At 1030 the bar was crossed with 2 hours of flood remaining to carry us to the rally at Fowley Island. The sea was lively in the entrance as it poured through the narrow gap. At the West Winner tide gauge a small boat, drift fishing the fast water, manoeuvred close alongside. Simultaneously one of the anglers hooked and then spectacularly played a large sea bass for my admiration and entertainment. Lowly Worm ran on up the Emsworth Channel. As there was no one yet at Fowley Island I continued to Emsworth Marina in order to buy a chart of the coast from Selsey Bill to Beachy Head.

Returning to the rally I found Len Wingfield with his Leader and eight West Wight Potters all drawn up in a line. The tide was dropping so the Potters got underway. A fine beat down the harbour followed. Cruising and racing boats were everywhere, whilst East Head was a veritable forest of masts and small sails, putting me in mind of the Southampton Boat Show. The beach too was crowded. I hauled up well inside the creek and joined the many children swimming in the sea. A wonderfully warm evening followed, cooking, drinking and yarning with fellow DCA members.

I left the creek at 0415 under mizzen and oars — only to be brought up short by the anchor rope of a yacht in the very fast ebbing stream. I apologised for waking the owner and then sat for 2 hours until slack water when I could free the rope from between the rudder and the transom. The tide was so strong this was impossible until that time. I snapped off the port rowlock in the collision and spent part of my sojourn binding it back into place. Meanwhile the shipping forecast gave winds of 3 from the east. Brighton was out. I rowed to the beach, sorted the boat’s gear, set sail and ran west up the Solent. I passed through the submarine barrier at 0830 and continued on to Gilkicker Point sailing very fast over a strong tide. The wind was blowing force four and the run continued hour after hour. The tide changed when I was off the Beaulieu River and began to ebb in my favour. This led to a confused sea in the Hurst Race, but I rounded the fort at 1600 and started to cross Christchurch Bay. On and on we ran, not stopping to waste any of the favourable wind. Turbulence was again encountered over the Christchurch Ledges as we ran on towards Poole. There I committed another error of judgement. I had been at the helm for 9 hours without a break and I was overly keen to fetch up in the lee of Brownsea. With hindsight I should have checked the tide carefully, and then rested outside for a few hours.

The problem was this. Poole Harbour was emptying its vast volume of high springs through its tiny entrance. A fast sluice was generated. it was tea-time on the hottest day of the year, an August Sunday to boot. Scores of boats were returning through the harbour entrance under motor, including very many power boats. I closed the entrance under sail moving fast through the water, but at the same time as thirty other boats including two lifeboats, one towing a sailing cruiser. The chain ferry was crossing at right angles. In addition motor boats were also leaving the harbour. The water was churned by all these engines as if by a giant food mixer. However I had good steerage way and was making good progress. In fact I was 200 metres past the chain ferry when the actions of two other boats caused me to lose control and face danger. A small merchant ship had come through the entrance moving quite fast. She had given several blasts on her horn and steamed straight ahead. The message was ‘I am coming through keep out of my way’. As she came through the entrance she must have turned to port a little, closer to my track. I was not aware of this as I was totally attentive to the motor boats and their wash on my port side. One large twin engine power boat motoring past me at a distance of 20 metres spotted a gap in the wall of boats ahead. I saw it too and knew what he was going to do almost as he did it. Without as much as a glance down to consider any near neighbours he opened both engines to full power. A wall of water rose up from his stern, hit me amidships, spilled the wind from the sails and threw me bodily to starboard. As I grabbed the gunnel for my own safety I saw the wall of the coaster 20 metres to my right moving fast ahead. For a moment it looked as though I could be pushed under its stern when its bow wave knocked me hard back in the opposite direction. Two men on the flying bridge were looking directly down at me. I dare say no one else noticed, so chaotic was that small area.

At 1645 I anchored close in to the west side of Brownsea. As other boats cast off and motored home peace and calm descended. I bailed out, cooked dinner, admired a spectacular sunset and then, exhausted, slept. I had sailed 42 nautical miles non-stop in 9.25 hours.

At 0600 Lowly Worm grounded and I went for a walk on the island. At 0815 I rowed the mile and a half to Baiter’s Slip. The air was still. There were no boat engines, a lovely conclusion to an enjoyable cruise.