In Len Wingfield’s report of the Hurst rally in the last Bulletin (168), he mentioned the educational experience Simon Harper and I had on our return journey.

Since joining the DCA, I have read the Bulletins avidly. Len’s comment has now prompted me to add my ha’porth, by describing how we found that trip so educational.

I am a born-again dinghy man, having sailed and raced a lot as a schoolboy in Norfolk, mostly in Education Authority Wayfarers. Now 48, I came back to dinghies a few years ago after owning the 25 ft Gravesend bawley, Vivid, for several years. I have a Whilly Boat and a Mk 1 Wayfarer with alloy plate, Hecate, purchased in excellent condition for its age, from DCA member, Bob Buttle.

I would describe myself as generally proficient, while lacking dinghy cruising experience and also general fluency across a range of conditions. My crew, Simon Harper, is still a novice, but had been with me on a previous rally to the Medina.

On the Saturday, we sailed in Hecate from my home club, Lock SC on Langstone Harbour, with the forecast of rising winds and rain through the weekend. The distance to Hurst Spit is 24 miles, with Cowes conveniently half way. We stopped there for brunch after a generally light wind leg, belying the 15 - 20 knot forecast, while we waited for the tide to turn to the west for the second leg.

Weather forecasts delivered by Short Text Message to a mobile phone are extremely convenient, and at 11.30 am the forecast for the Solent from 12.00-18.00 was 20 - 25 knots winds from the SW, the direction we were heading. In Cowes Marina, where we were moored, the wind still did not seem that strong, but I put in one reef and we headed out at 14.30 to use an alongshore, west-going eddy marked on the tidal charts for the two hours before the tide turned. We passed close by a yacht coming into Cowes and the helmsman shouted that it was pretty windy out there. I nodded and pointed to my reefed sail.

As we came out of the lee of Cowes, we were hit by several squalls, and several times in quick succession I had to spill wind from the mainsail. The wind forecast was clearly now accurate! Gradually, I got my act together, re-learning that feathering into the wind is a more effective method of meeting gusts than playing the mainsheet. I was using a ratchet block as recommended in a Bulletin and found this very helpful on the arms as we were travelling to windward all day. Simon was on notice to whip the jib sheet out of its jam cleat if necessary.

We short-tacked along the island shore, becoming more co-ordinated with practice and making good progress. After a couple of hours we tacked across to the other side and used more width for our tacks as we worked our way past Lymington with the tide now in our favour. Simon was a model of quiet fortitude, particularly commendable as he was constantly taking large dollops of spray into his face and body, while I, nicely tucked in his lee, experimented with the angle at which we hit the waves, which were much higher in mid-Solent. He did, however, voice concern about the growing volume of water in the bilges. With the boat heeled, this was collecting in the turn of the bilge rather than by the self-bailer next to the centreboard. Again, thanks to Bulletin recommendations, I had a portable plunger pump on board, with a longish, flexible, outlet hose. With me feathering more into the wind to compensate for him moving inboard, Simon was able to sit amidships with the pump poked into the lee bilge and the outlet pipe flopped across the side deck and clear a large amount of the water back into the Solent. We did this two or three times on the trip.

By the time we got to Hurst Spit and met Len and the others, we were managing pretty well, benefiting from the 3 or so hours of practice in the strong winds and the short steep waves produced by the wind-over-tide conditions. We would, no doubt, have been more comfortable, and perhaps as fast, with a second reef in. However, as Len mentioned, we are fairly heavyweight crew thanks to me, and we were able to power along with just one reef. With the ability to feather into the wind and, in extremis, let go of the sheets, I felt reasonably in control. Here, I agree with a sentiment I have read in Frank Dye’s writings, that making better progress and getting into port quicker, with more sail area, may be preferable to going slower with less sail set. Obviously strength and stamina are also factors in the equation, and I was certainly pleased to get in. The next day was somewhat different. We had wanted to leave about 5.30 am to catch the east-going tide for the 24 miles back to Langstone (on the previous year’s trip to Hurst Spit, I had covered the distance in 3 hours, with a good breeze). I looked out from the Sailing Club veranda I was sleeping on, at about 4.30 am, saw clouds scudding across the sky, listened to the moaning wind and driving rain and went back to bed, turning off the alarm. Simon emerged from the boat at about 6.30 am and accused me of sleeping in, but Len concurred that the conditions had been impossible.

Things were looking better by mid-morning, and people got ready to leave. Len left well reefed, but I, again, was misled by our sheltered position at Keyhaven. Influenced also by the distance we had to travel and the fact that the tide would be against us for the first few hours, I decided to start off under full sail (I had jiffy reefing), reefing later if the wind got up.

As with the Saturday, as soon as we got out of the lee of the land, the wind turned out to be much stronger than I had anticipated. The crucial difference this time, as we discovered, was that on a run we could not depower the wind by feathering into it. Due to wind against tide, the waves were again pretty big and we were being launched off the top of one, racing down its slope and driving into and often over, the next. Sometimes this wild, involuntary ride continued for several waves, in a welter of foam. It was like being in an open-top sports car with the accelerator to the floor and no brakes!

I was very impressed by the Wayfarer in these conditions: she was buoyant enough forward never to feel in danger of driving under as we dived down a wave front, and very stable, though she would sometimes try to broach as a wave passed under her. This I was able to correct through hefty use of the tiller, but it was a bit hairy and I did not feel enough in control. I thought at some point we might well broach or gybe, and I was not confident we would recover the situation if we did. Interestingly, as we started to broach, the genoa jib, which had been blanketed by the main, caught the wind and assisted in pulling her back.

I clearly needed to reef, but, without experience of heaving-to or reefing in these wind and wave conditions, and with Simon a relative newcomer to sailing, I felt going on had more to recommend it than trying to turn into the wind and reef in the middle of the Solent. Nobody else was about — we had earlier spotted what we thought was Len’s dinghy keeping close to the mainland beyond Lymington, but had lost sight of it (probably when he reduced to just jib).

I was acutely aware that with dinghy cruising, the first objective is to avoid capsize, and was berating myself for not having been more cautious at the outset. Simon, too, sensed that things were a bit dicey, and we discussed the situation in the interludes between our involuntary joyrides. I said I would try to slant across until we got into the bay by Newtown Creek. There, we could get a bit of a lee and reef down more safely. Doing this, however, put us on a broad reach, with the seas on our quarter, accentuating the tendency to broach. The cure was in danger of being worse than the disease!

However, as with the day before, the practice I was getting helming in these conditions was improving my technique. With a rescue boat on hand, we could have had an exhilarating time, developing our capabilities, since the boat itself was behaving very well and we were not taking any water aboard. Having the jib able to assist in bringing the head back round from a near broach was also a real plus. We made it across to the bay, rounded the headland and sailed to the windward shore, where Simon jumped out and held her (he gets all the best jobs), while I put in both reefs, and gave thanks that my earlier poor judgement had not proved catastrophic.

Under two reefs, we continued our passage, still planing quite frequently, but now in control. Even a gybe would not have been catastrophic, I thought. With double-reefed main, goose-winging the genoa produced a better balance and an appreciable increase in sail area, with the added benefit that you can instantly depower that amount by letting go the sheet or moving it behind the main again.

Off Portsmouth, an Inshore Lifeboat RIB came past and we waved to them, happy that we now appeared model seafarers, in no likelihood of needing their services! Back at Lock SC, in a passage time of 3 hours 40 minutes, we found that a cruiser weekend to the island had been cancelled due to the bad weather, so we felt pretty good as we recovered our boat.

In conclusion, we were lucky to get away with being so overcanvassed. The major lesson: when in the relative calm of a harbour, do not underestimate the wind strength out in the open, particularly if you have a forecast of strong winds.

This is more important on downwind legs due to the inability to depower the rig — unless you have unstayed masts — and the perceived difficulty of taking in a reef in strong winds and significant waves, particularly with an inexperienced crew (both of us in this situation). Here it would be interesting to hear from more experienced members as to how difficult this actually is, and the best ways of doing it.

Secondly, with practise one can improve one’s technique and handle difficult conditions with a growing assurance. Sailing in strong winds with a racing fleet, such as at Lock SC, could provide this practice, with the rescue boat on hand if you come unstuck. Training on the job, as we did, is not to be recommended, though great fun if you survive.