Lowly Worm III, Ness Yawl, Sail and Oar — February 3rd/4th

February is always the worst month of the sailing year. The last sails of the previous year are already far distant, and unlike March, February is not yet astir with the promise of the new. Any mild weather is therefore to be seized upon for a ‘fix’ by getting down to the sea. The real beauty of a trailer-sailer is that one only has to hitch up and go. There is no lengthy fitting-out and craning-in as with a keeled yacht. Tuesday the 2nd February was a mild sunny day in Oxford and as I looked at the snowdrops I heard seagulls. So it was, therefore, that Wednesday saw Lowly Worm, fully rigged and camping gear stowed, afloat off the deserted town hard at Hamble-Le-Rice. It was pleasant enough to picnic on a bench prior to departure, the full spring tide gently lapping the top of the slipway.

The wind was Force 3 from the west in the river as I left under full main and mizzen at 1315, just after high water. The tide was ideal for a passage to Newtown Harbour on the Isle of Wight. The wind freshened to force four out of the lee of the Hamble and the yawl made good speed on the starboard tack passing Calshot spit 40 minutes later. There was 100% cloud cover, no sun, and the sea as a consequence had only the faintest green tinge to its otherwise grey water. There were only three other sails in sight and a few small commercial craft. However one of the advantages of winter sailing was not apparent in the Hamble and Solent. This was the absence of moored yachts. At Chichester for example, there is altogether more water and space apparent in the winter, as the channels are devoid of moored craft. A great disadvantage of winter sailing on the other hand is the length of the night. Spending 16 hours of darkness and cold on a small dinghy in a remote spot is not much fun. This is the ideal time to get near a pub for an evening meal and a warm place to read or chat.

Around 1500 the temperature dropped several degrees and I hove-to in order to put on a second sweater, oilskins and gloves. I also decided that, as I was not sure if I could land at Newtown at low water (to get to the pub), it would be prudent on such a cold night to head back to the Folly Inn on the Medina, where there is both jetty and hard. The tide was now entering the third and fastest hour of its ebb and pushing me quite quickly away from Cowes. However the wind was even more forceful and Lowly broad-reached quite effortlessly over the tide to pass through a peaceful Cowes and an even quieter river. I was mooring to the pontoon at the Folly at 1600 when a dinghy came off the sole occupied yacht in the centre of the river, and rowed over. The occupant introduced himself as ‘Don’ and invited me to join him and his wife, Helen, for coffee and a tot of rum on board their Fisher 25. The motor-sailor was very cosy below. The owners were liveaboards and enjoyed a solid fuel stove, oil lamps and coloured television. Folding bicycles were strapped to the guard-rails on deck. With the temperature falling further and night drawing in, Helen took a raincheck on an offer try camping DCA style, but we did eat and pass the evening together in the warmth of the ancient riverside pub.

The wind got up in the hour before dawn and rattled the tent canvas. I was totally warm in my bag but growing apprehensive about the return trip as the wind rose. By dawn however it eased considerably as I prepared to leave. As low water was at 0700 I needed to get down the river before the flood tide gained strength. I rowed off the lee berth. With a double reefed main Lowly departed at a comfortable pace. However as the buildings and land of West Cowes were reached the hull moved more and more slowly against the strengthening tide. Don and Helen motored past providing the spur to shake out the reefs and give chase. They were returning to their mooring at Bursledon on the upper Hamble. Once clear of Cowes it was a one reef wind, a cold heavy four from the west, with occasional stronger gusts. Eschewing the task of re-reefing I spilled wind in the strongest gusts, and veritably flew across the Solent and up Southampton Water. It was cold. In truth it was not the most enjoyable sailing, but it was fast and it was certainly providing the sought after ‘fix’ to get me through the next few weeks until the sailing season proper began. I was on port tack all the way to the Hamble, only freeing the sheets to enter the river. Closing the town hard I saw my new found friends’ motor-sailer moored against the pontoon. They had arrived only 20 minutes ahead of me but had already shopped for milk and had the kettle boiling. “You must be cold.” “Tea or coffee?” “With a little something?”