Or were we foolish?

The fun probably started when Brian first crewed a dinghy for me at the age of three. About a dozen years and a few thousand dinghy miles later, we took our Albacore round the Wight from Chichester; but this was not enough to cure the fever. After many more miles in other boats, dinghies and cruisers, my sons owned their second Javelin dinghy.

Now genuine cruising people are not likely to know this boat, so let me describe her — 17’‑7” long, 5’-6” beam, weighs about 250 lbs stripped, carries 170 sq ft of working sail and 340 with spinnaker set. She has very little freeboard for her length, but this does not matter at all, as the seas come in over her bow so fast that there is not room for them all in the cockpit at once, so they have to hustle out through her transom!

One day, about 25 years after the fever first started, Brian said:- “Dad, Pat and I are thinking of taking the Javelin round the island at the weekend, would you like to come?” — well, what would you say?

We left Itchenor at 9am with a light north-easterly wind — how lucky can you get? — and set the spinnaker immediately. The spring tides round the island were all wrong for our trip that weekend, but the Javelin is very fast and it was the only one available, so we were off.

To counteract possible criticism at this stage let me say that we carried 6 flares, large and small torches, two built-in compasses, chart, extra bailer, two paddles, anchor and warp, spare clothes, food and hot drinks and a spare Firefly mainsail. This latter we knew from experience was ideal in F7-8, and we all had life jackets and bad weather gear. On top of this my sons normally reckon to carry full sail, including spinnaker, in F7 when racing, so the boat is not just a fair-weather butterfly.

Outside Chichester the wind was easterly and the previous long spell of fine weather looked like breaking: there was a grey murk building up which could have foretold anything, including thunderstorms. With spinnaker still set we were doing 5-6 knots, so we decided to aim for Bembridge ledge and to choose whether to go inside or outside the island first when nearer to it.

At the selected decision point, about 1½ hrs later, the wind had increased slightly to give us about 7 knots and the sky had darkened, but uniformly. There were no obvious storm centres forming, therefore we decided to go round the outside of the island first, so that we should be safely inside the Wight if the weather deteriorated later.

There was a messy sea on our way past Princessa shoal, due to the strong, foul weather going tide. I was looking after the spinnaker and several times had to ease the sheet as she slid down the front of a sea. Brian told me afterwards that I overdid it, but I still can’t get used to seeing green water over the foredeck on a run, especially with a spinnaker chute swallowing it!

Unfortunately the wind gradually died and the tide was still foul, so progress became slower and slower, until eventually we spotted some boats beating along the shore near Sandown. Their ground speed was so slow we decided that they must be in a foul eddy, which would be a fair one for us, so we joined them.

The combination of a fair stream and dying wind rendered the sails useless, so we stowed the spinnaker and I started paddling gently along the coast, giving the boat about ½ kt through the water, which was soon increased to a useful speed over the ground by the first of the ebb. I did the initial, easy paddling, as I remembered that on our previous Albacore trip we had had to paddle about 7 miles, much of it against a foul tide. If there was any serious paddling to do this time it would probably fall to Brian, so I had to at least pretend to do my share!

We took advantage of the calm to have a peaceful lunch and reached St Catherine’s easily; there, right in front of us, was a line of broken water stretching half a mile or so from the shore. Studying it confirmed that the seas were obviously nothing compared with what the Javelin had coped with safely innumerable times in the past. The race was where the strongest, now favourable tide was, so we allowed ourselves to be carried into it. Brian and I swapping tiller and paddle so that he could provide more steerage way in the broken water.

Shortly after entering the breakers we noticed that the bilge water was getting deeper very quickly. A check on the self bailers confirmed that they were closed, virtually no water was coming in over the side, so why? We suddenly realised that every time her bow rose to a short sea her stern buried in the one behind. Now in our Javelin only the bottom half of the transom ports are covered by flaps — cuts down windage on a beat, you know — so with each wave water poured in over the tops of the flaps. This doesn’t happen when she is sailing, but we now know that it does when she is becalmed, bows on to the seas in a tide race! Brain promptly placed her beam on to the seas to stop this lark and some hard bailing re-established a more sensible situation.

By then we were nearly through the race and a new westerly wind, with rain and poor visibility, was coming in. In a matter of minutes we had three on the gun’l and were beating into the murk for the Needles. We debated which was the best tack; it seemed quite possible that the wind might back to SW, but I was keen to use the fast stream along the island shore and Brian though it best to lay as near the Needles as possible, so we stayed on port tack. Soon Atherfield appeared and we made a short seaward leg in the fast stream over the ledge and then went back onto port.

As we approached Freshwater Bay the wind veered to NW and strengthened, with heavy rain and even worse visibility. Conditions were getting foul, so we took it in turns to sail the boat and to don more wet weather gear and then settled down on starboard tack, thankful that we had not made that long leg out to sea.

As we came up to the Needles, the wind was a the top end of 4 and we could see the ebb, now at half tide, streaming out to form overfalls on the Bridge. We therefore short tacked right up to the Needles in the slack water on the south side, put in a short starboard tack and then went back to port quickly to try to clear the rocks. With three on the gun’l and the sheets slightly eased, the Javelin must have been doing at least 5 knots and yet at times she stood still. I would not have believed that the stream could be so fast just there. However, we gradually inched our way past the rocks and as we crept across Alum Bay the tide eased to allow us better progress. Even so it was a real fight to reach the Hurst Narrows, as much of the time we could not lay them and daren’t tack. Of course when we got there the wind went light and headed us more, so that it took a long time, to get past Yarmouth!

We again took advantage of the quiet conditions to have a meal. But in the middle of our supper our good luck really started. The wind backed to NW once more and strengthened considerably, and we took off. We went up the Solent with the first of the flood on a continuous plane at an estimated 9 knots over the water (over, not through!). Brian and I were on the gun’l, with Pat still on the centre thwart dishing out food. Whenever the spray became particularly heavy she clasped the sandwiches into her life jacket in a vain attempt to keep them dry, but at least it saved something for us. This was one of the best parts of the trip; we were inside the Wight with plenty of shelter around us if we should need it, so easing the tension, and we were homeward bound at about 11 knots over the ground!

Just before reaching Cowes we were overtaken by a small naval vessel. Some premonition warned us about this ship and as it was getting dark we got the large Pifco lamp handy and furled the low cut jib, so as to give us a better view. We watched her disappear into Cowes safely, but no… out she came again stern first and then swung straight towards us. I shone the lamp on her bridge for a time and then onto our sails, which had the desired effect. We thankfully watched her turn towards Southampton, but then, round she came, straight at us again. This produced a repeat of the lamp drill and a few rude thoughts, particularly as her stern light was very dim!

Pat had the best eyesight in the crew, so, going through Cowes roads, we made her responsible for spotting any more horrors coming out of Cowes. Brain and I concentrated on avoiding unlit buoys, particularly as we must have been doing 7 knots over the ground, even without the jib.

From Cowes we edged our way across the channel towards Lee-on-Solent, away from any big shipping. Incidentally, what would you make of a large, lit up ship with a riding light, but also carrying a red light low down abaft amidships? You’ve guessed, of course — an anchored tanker with a harbour launch alongside! But how, if you were in a strong tide, could you be sure she really was anchored and not moving ahead very slowly?

By now the wind had dropped somewhat and the visibility had improved noticeably, although it was still overcast. We were doing about 3½ knots under mainsail only, with phosphorescence in our wake and life seemed good, if a trifle damp. Crossing Portsmouth entrance we put Pat on ‘horror watch’ again, while Brian and I concentrated on unlit nasties and picking up the flash of the Dolphin beacons. All went well until some way past the beacons, when Brian suddenly yelled “gybo” and took us out to sea rapidly. He had spotted the unlit wreck buoy off Langstone right in front of us against the glow of shore lights. Luckily he knew it was there and had been keeping a good look out. This wreck, in shallow water is about on the line from Chichester entrance to the Dolphins. Admittedly this is not a course used by commercial shipping, but it is just where many yachts pass. It seems a little hard that there is not a glimmer of a light on it even during the summer months.

We still had the flood helping us and reached Chichester entrance at 11pm, where the wind again strengthened. Back in home waters we reset the jib and roared through the entrance, which is now much better lit than a few years ago. Turning sharply at Hayling Island SC we kept carefully to the middle of the channel, as, in spite of the new lights, there are still quite a few unlit posts and buoys waiting for the unwary and by now it was very dark with most of the shore lights extinguished. In fact we know that we passed quite close to some unlit marks without seeing them.

Approaching Itchenor, with the jib furled, we realised that we were still doing about 4 knots over the ground, with no hope of seeing moored boats in time to avoid them. We therefore dropped the mainsail and completed the trip sedately but safely under bare pole, landing at midnight after a very varied but enjoyable sail.

Appendix

I would imagine that quite a few people would condemn our trip as being foolhardy; but was it really? Consider the following facts:-

1. Because of her movable ballast a big dinghy is normally still thrashing to windward well, with full sail up when the average pocket cruiser is reefed and wallowing, perhaps barely able to reach her destination under sail if it is to windward.

2. Because of the high average speed of a big dinghy she usually has a good chance of making a short passage before the weather has time to turn really unpleasant.

3. If the weather looks like turning nasty after she has started, she can probably reach shelter quickly. For example, the Javelin has done the five miles from the Dolphin to Chichester sailing against a foul tide in 27 minutes. This was in a NW wind of force 6 gusting 7, measured with an anemometer in a yacht on the same course, and the Javelin crew of two were carrying full working sail, but no spinnaker. In the Solent area shelter would normally be within 5 miles.

4. A modern dinghy with adequate buoyancy, self bailers, transom ports, etc, normally empties herself as fast as the seas come in, provided that she is kept sailing. She is therefore unlikely to be swamped, unless her crew takes her into very bad conditions. Whether she capsizes or not depends on the vigilance and skill of her crew.

Considering the circumstances of our particular trip:

5. Except for the 22 mile stretch from Sandown to the Needles, we were never very far away from some funk hole. Even on this stretch there are Freshwater Bay and Puckaster Cove, for those who know them.

6. We knew the boat well, had built her ourselves and made the gear extra strong, as a result of experience with earlier boats; although we obviously need to do something about those transom flaps before the next trip.

7. Two of us knew the area quite well and had gradually acquired a fair experience of handling small boats in less sheltered water. I had been doing long trips in dinghies since before the war and Brian and a friend had already sailed the Albacore from Chichester to Helford River and back, sleeping in the boat each night and covering well over 400 miles in under four weeks.

I hope that we know the limitations of ourselves and the boat well enough to recognise a dangerous situation developing in time to get out of it safely. Although, of course, anyone who goes to sea is liable to meet real trouble sometimes. I would argue that our trip was not particularly foolish.

I would not advocate this sort of sailing along an ironbound coast, such as the Bristol Channel, but I believe that it is not necessarily foolhardy along some stretches of the south and east coasts and it can be a lot of fun.

It is easy to produce a case for the prosecution. The most obvious point is that a cruiser looks after her crew, while in a dinghy the reverse has to happen. A dinghy is therefore safe only so long as her crew are competent to handle her in the light of the prevailing conditions, their ability and their own physical state. I would admit therefore, that this dependence on the crew’s ability is potentially dangerous, in fact I would underline the point myself. But is not the same true for a yacht with a poor navigator among the Channel Islands in bad visibility?!

Provided that the crew always leave themselves a comfortable margin to cater for an increase in the strength of the wind, the sea state, or their own tiredness by the end of the trip, then I do not believe that sailing coastal passages in a dinghy is any more dangerous than many other sports. After all, is not the essence of any sport worthy of the name that one is pitting oneself against natural forces, whether it is upon the sea or among mountains.

I sometimes wonder, in these expensive times, whether there is not room for a modern version of Uffa Fox’s Jollyboat, fitted with extra lockers on top of her buoyancy and a tent over the boom. In such a boat the energetic but impecunious could learn that there is more to sailing and seamanship than racing around buoys. I know that there are already excellent dinghies available which can be used for cruising, but usually these are rather heavy and comparatively slow. A long, light fast boat might be more attractive and interesting to sail, providing an opportunity for the enthusiastic but hard-up to try a little cruising at a fraction of the normal cost of buying and running a cruiser.