In which Curlew sails on a brisk day from Newtown to Itchenor, encounters some heavy weather off Gurnard, discovers a new way of stabilising the boat and sets her new 'twins' to fly like a bird.

Poised on the west bank of the river Medina at Cowes entrance stands the Royal Yacht Squadron, and whenever I pass this way I visualise a gentleman resembling King Edward VII, complete with yachting cap, gazing out over the Solent whilst holding a glass of pink gin. An out-of-date image I am sure, but if he does exist perhaps he noticed (or not) the passage across his view of a very small sailing boat, rolling along under a tiny red jib. She is Curlew, my 30 year-old Mirror dinghy.

I had started my voyage at Newtown entrance that morning, planning to return to Itchenor after a most enjoyable DCA rally. My hopes for a good passage were to be more than fulfilled, the little sloop demonstrating once again her sea-keeping abilities and providing her skipper with the thrill of some fast rock-and-roll sailing. Departure at HW +2½ was a little early for the east-going stream to commence and my first hour of sailing, though fast over the water and very enjoyable, won me little distance over the ground. It was surprisingly choppy, with a lively wind of SW F3, perfect visibility, a blue sky and 'white clouds flying'. The boat was thrown around by an amazingly high and irregular chop, something for which the Solent is famous, and as a precaution against a rogue wave or a possible thunder squall, I set the mainsail reefed together with the jib. My course was a dead run, and to start with, I poled out the jib to starboard and held the mainsail against the port shrouds with a preventer. This rig usually works very well, but the irregular seaway caused the boat to roll and yaw around to an alarming degree, and the intense concentration required to avoid a gybe or a broach made me feel like a cat balancing on a high fence. I recalled the words of Tom Cunliffe in his recent Yachtmaster handbook, and remembered his advice to avoid a dead run but to tack downwind with the wind two points on the quarter. This steadied the boat greatly and took me across towards the Beaulieu River before returning to the Island side where, due to the foul tide, I seemed to be in almost the same place!

The morning wore on and progress seemed reasonable, the miles being gained by slow attrition, when I suddenly noticed a slight increase in the wind. Two possibilities came to mind. I was about half a mile off Gurnard Head, a place where the Solent narrows and might funnel the wind, and it was also a day where a thunder squall was possible. At once I dropped the reefed mainsail into its lazy jacks and continued under jib alone. But glancing astern I could see legions of big waves with sparkling white crests, and soon they were all around me. The wind peaked up to F6 or more, and the boat started to yaw violently. I was concerned about the huge loads on the rudder, and so changed course to run dead downwind towards NW, so the waves were behind me. The power of the wind was too great even under jib alone, so I rather frantically pulled it down using the downhaul and continued running off under bare pole. This took me towards Southampton Water at about 2 knots, but I expected that the conditions would moderate after a short time. The wind tugged at the mainsail, which was resting in its lazyjacks, and kept trying to pull the sail out of its bundle, creating one or two square feet of windage. Every time this happened I felt the boat lurch, an indication of a ferocious wind, and I seemed unable to get a tie around the mainsail one-handed, as I needed constantly to steer. On the square-riggers the helmsman was often prevented from looking astern by a shelter, as he might be intimidated by what he saw, and I similarly limited my glances astern to those necessary to ascertain the presence of any other vessels. I hoped there would not be coming up astern 'a prodigious sea with immense billows' (Boswell off the island of Coll). After five minutes a slight easing of the wind became noticeable, so I put the boat back on course for Cowes Entrance, still under bare pole, as I might want to seek shelter there. As the wind moderated a little more the boat slowed down, and to get it moving again I hoisted about 4 feet of jib as a sort of wind bag. Under its tiny rig, no bigger than that of a model yacht, the boat was making about 3 knots. Interestingly, the jib set as a proper sail in this configuration, the windward sheet being pulled fully home and the surplus cloth lying flat on the foredeck. It is something to try.

I began to enjoy this experience, my only anxiety being the conditions further ahead at Chichester entrance. Washed up on the Isle of Wight shore was a racing dinghy, with its two hapless crew no doubt wondering what to do now, but for me it was the time for experiment as I drove on down the waves. Next I tried the effect of lowering the outboard (without it running). Eureka! The boat steadied considerably, both in the amount of yawing and rolling. The speed dropped by about half a knot and we continued sedately with a good safety margin in these heavy conditions. By lowering the outboard it seems to act as a combination of a brake and a slight keel, and in conjunction with the jib it kept the boat pointing straight ahead. The action is perhaps similar to towing a drogue. I pressed on, past the gentleman at the Royal Yacht Squadron (perhaps), past two Wayfarers with frightened student sailors aboard, being towed clear of a lee shore and into the shelter of Osborne Bay, where I cast my anchor close inshore.

Now I had to tidy up the mess which rough conditions always bring about, and ate some long-awaited lunch. I decided to put on my drysuit just in case of capsize, as conditions might be worse further on. I shaped a course to take me through the gap in the submarine barrier, which extends from Southsea to Horse Sand Fort, and resolved to avoid proximity to both Horse Sand and Spit Sand Forts, as I have found them to create rough water, perhaps due to what I believe our canoeing friends call 'clapatis' - the reflection of waves back along their path causing rough water. I also chose to keep away from Portsmouth due to the traffic density and to provide sea room to allow the high speed ferries to avoid me. I got my anchor up, poled out the full jib alone, and we were off, sailing out amongst the 'catspaws' and into the sparkling waters of the Solent.

With the tide now in full flood eastbound, a wind of about F4 from W by S and choppy seas coming up astern, the little boat just ate up the miles. Wotton Creek was soon abeam, and Ryde Church grew visibly closer. I saw just one ship, overtaking me in the North Channel, together with the numerous Island ferries. Occasional yachts passed me, usually under genoa alone. As I brought Spit Sand Fort abeam, I headed slightly inshore to arrive at the gap in the submarine barrier, and as I did so I noticed two Drascombes close inshore sailing in company towards Chichester. It warmed my spirits greatly to see other small boats, and virtually dinghy cruisers at that. We had seen a fleet of Drascombes yesterday at Newtown, so they were probably going home. I hoped we could sail alongside and have a gam, but they drew ahead of me by the time I had passed through the barrier. In this area the seas were more gentle than in the Solent; they were possibly higher but more regular and not broken up by the wash of a hundred boats. At the same time, the wind took off slightly to about W F3 and created the most exciting sailing conditions. Now once again the time had come for experiment, and I decided to set my twins!

Sailors such as Dr Pye and Eric Hiscock had used twin jibs as trade wind running sails in the '50s. Such a rig can provide a degree of self-steering, sometimes enhanced by the sails being sheeted to the tiller. Tilman successfully used twins on, I think, Mischief - one of his succession of Bristol Pilot Cutters; he mentions that it made the boat roll abominably. Tom Cunliffe had little success with them, as the sail area was insufficient for his boat. My idea was to set a second jib flying alongside the normal one, both jibs being poled out on opposite sides with spinnaker poles. The second jib has a single sheet and is easily set and handed. In my case there is a gap of about 3 inches between the two sails, which may be important in avoiding instability.

As I hauled up the new sail it looked lovely alongside the jib, and I could feel it pulling hard. Once the sail was trimmed correctly I felt the boat steady down in its rolling and start to fly across the water. Whilst the Drascombes had the appearance of labouring a little as they progressed, my sloop spent its time surfing down the waves and truly felt like a flying bird. Whilst previously I had been working actively at the helm, the second jib created perfect balance, making the helmsman's job an easy one. I could even secure the tiller and leave the helm unattended for short periods. I am not sure if the rig was providing true self-steering as the course would slowly wander off, but the helm required just slow correction. Before long I came abeam the Drascombes and we communicated by waving, after which I drew well ahead. Approaching the West Pole (marking Chichester entrance), I handed the flying jib and as I rounded the beacon I gybed the main jib. A rescue boat raced up and signalled me to give the thumbs-up sign to confirm I was OK. It was now 6¼ hours' sailing time since departure from Newtown entrance, a distance of 20 nm to the West Pole and an average speed of 3.2 kt, three quarters of which was without using the mainsail. Conditions in Chichester entrance were better than expected, and I once more swigged up the reefed mainsail for a fast end to the cruise.

I think every yacht I saw during the day had waved to me, and indeed one French skipper had actually saluted! I felt I should have dipped the ensign had Curlew been wearing it at the time. This had been my longest passage and one in which, in addition to experiencing sheer enjoyment, I had made three good discoveries - the use of a 'stationary' outboard to steady the boat, the ability to set a partial jib and the success of downwind sailing under twins. Oh, and sailing under bare pole? Curlew seems to know how to do this already for some reason!