Passage To Poole

First stop: Swanage Bay

In a comfy corner to windward of the wheel, I stretched and put the paws up. The perfect location to supervise André the owner, Bernard the RYA Instructor Magnificent*, and the Can Opener as he rocketed about as ‘Skipper-of-the-Day’. 

I’m a low key manager who likes to rule from behind by dint of a nuclear-radiating personality and the occasional swipe to the Achilles’ tendon. A kind of Chaircat of the Board, if you will.

Every minute you spend planning is repaid many times over. We knew this when we were doing the passage planning and chartwork the day before we set off to Poole. But seeing the plan executed really underlined Bernard’s message.

We were up bright and early, breakfasted and doing boat checks while the dew was still on the deck. Tidal calculations were checked and rechecked. The weather report noted and compared for continued compatibility with our plan. We were headed out the famous (and challenging) Needles Channel in a blow, so the plan had to be perfect. All was set to go. And so we went…

Through Needles, the sea state was ‘rough’. The Met Office defines this as about 8 to 12 foot waves. And this narrow channel is bordered on both sides by enormous pointy rocks rearing out of the sea to the east and jagged pointy rocks lurking below the surface forever to the west. 

Of course, you never think to take photos at the time (the Needles photo above is from another calmer day…). You’re riveted on the sailing.

 

The first night of the passage we picked up a mooring buoy in Swanage Bay (see leading photo at top) just south of our final destination. 

The second day, after skills drills allllllllllll day with Bernard, we pulled into the night-calm harbour at Poole. The glorious sunset made it all worthwhile.

 

Destination made: Pulling in to Poole

Could we have packed any more learning into our time with Bernard? I think not. 

Passage planning, berthing, anchoring and mooring practice, even some crew overboard work. It was a fantastic and very full training schedule. And much appreciated. 

The entire team has loads to think about and much to practice going forward.

 

–Captain Cat 

(transcribed by the Can Opener)

* Bernard Mitchell works with the Hamble School of Yachting. Ask for him by name. He’s in great demand. Plan ahead.

Spinnaker Drills – Racing vs Cruising

 

Spinnaker Drills – Cruising 

Last Friday I had the Can Opener doing spinnaker drills double time quick on the foredeck of our buddy Cap’n André’s boat. 

The three of us cruised over to Langstone Harbour for the day, put the assymetric up and joyfully tweeked the sail controls all the way to maximise our speed.

A truly fantastic day. Not one thing I’d change about it. No sir-ee.

In the past, the Can Opener’s been skipper more often than not. So finetuning his skills on the foredeck is one of the many priorities I have for him. He worked like a trooper and I must say I was tolerably pleased with his performance.

When we’re out alone, he’ll be the one attending to the sail changes so it’s critical he gets it right… right after he finishes sautéing my fresh-caught fish juuuuust the way I like it.

 

Spinnaker Drills – Cruising vs Racing Performance

 

The number 1 racing spinnaker

On Saturday and Sunday, the Can Opener and I relocated to an ocean racer – delightfully named Cougar – to do a Junior Offshore Group race from Hamble to Poole and back again.

Great to be with a new team of eight, all stalwart men and women with a nostalgia and passion for racing that matches our own. The Can Opener was once again assigned to the foredeck – fantastic! 

Saturday had whisper light winds; Sunday produced a steady 18 knot breeze. I was thrilled that he could get practice in on varying wind speeds and on different deck set ups.

Every time you get on a new boat, you find a different set up. Lines laid differently, winches and fittings configured in new and interesting ways. Lots of new stuff to consider and file away in the old mental recesses for when we are laying out our own deck.

What’s the difference between cruising spinnaker hoists and racing hoists? Speedy, baby, speed.

I videoed the Can Opener hoisting on our buddy André’s boat. When I reviewed the video earlier today, I couldn’t believe how leisurely we approached spinnaker work on André’s boat. 

I guess cruising is all about taking it easy… but everything has a balance. And we’re gonna make that cruising balance a little more racy going forward.

Why? Because cleanly executed sail changes and foredeck work could be critical while cruising in an unexpected blow. 

Might as well get your speed and skill up cruising now for when you (may) need it cruising tomorrow!

The number 2 light racing spinnaker

 

–Captain Cat 

(transcribed by the Can Opener)

Previously: Spinnaker Drill

 

Home Cruising Grounds

Views of the Solent…

Sooooooo good to be home…

–Captain Cat 

 (transcribed by the Can Opener)

Sea Sickness – The First Mate Succumbs

Photo by: Erik K Veyland

 
Mal de Mer

There we were last weekend, just setting out from Weymouth on the southern shores of England. We were repositioning an Arcona 37 so as to be well placed for the race start the following day. 

The Can Opener discussed race details with the tactician. The skipper gazed stoically out to sea. I stood over the rest of the crew poking them judiciously from time to time with the motivational sceptre. All were shiny bright and waxing optimistic.

Then suddenly we gurgled forth from the protective arm of the headland curving around the east side of Weymouth Bay… and met a quartering four metre sea…

The rest of the crew had been over to Cherbourg and back in the last month (thus inuring themselves – or at least upping their resilience – to the unsettling motion of the waves). My dear Can Opener had not.

This put him outside the mythical ten week* ring fence since he last had faced rolling seas (on the Spain to Greece delivery). ‘Twas as if my First Mate had never been to sea at all.

First he began to yawn. That’s the first sign. Then he was careful to keep hydrated and even popped a few of my ginger biscuits I had ear-marked for later. But greener and greener did he glow.

Signs of sea sickness include**:

• drowsiness (yawning)
• lethargy
• cold sweat
• pale face
• nausea

Ways to combat sea sickness before you leave the dock**:

• get enough sleep before you leave
• don’t drink alcohol, carbonated drinks, coffee, or greasy or acid foods (citrus juices for example) for several hours before you leave
• eat breads or mild food to put something in your stomach
• drink water – stay hydrated 
• take an anti-motion sickness medication eg Stugeron, Dramamine, etc (consult with your doctor) 
• use accupressure wrist bands
  
• and long before you leave the dock – be in good physical condition overall

Ways to combat sea sickness on the water**:

• avoid gas and diesel fumes
• avoid confined spaces or going below
• eat soda crackers or ginger 
• don’t sit near others who are being sick
• sit at the centre (amidships) of the boat
• look at the horizon
• steer the boat
• lying down amidships with eyes closed

I clipped his tether to the jacklines… and not a moment too soon. The Can Opener was sick as a dog.

I will not regale you with vivid descriptions of projectile ginger biscuits, nor the inelegant way he convulsed and spewed. Suffice it to say… (Alright, alright Furrball! Enough. I puked, okay? Stop yer giggling… ). Ahem. Er… yes, well.

… I firefighter-lifted him tenderly down the ladder to the saloon and dumped him behind the port bunk lee cloth where he neither moved nor whimpered for nearly three hours. After which point, he woke up and was perky as a Pomeranian.

There is not much misery worse than sea sickness. Even Captain Cat succumbs from time to time. But after it passes, it’s like a whole new dawn. 

I took it easy on the Can Opener thereafter and for the rest of the trip. Seated in his lap, I regaled him with pithy wisdom (mine) from my book of memorable quotes. From time to time, I enhanced my delivery with operatic embellishment, further illuminating its hidden meaning. The Can Opener was most appreciative – opining that yes, the meaning was, indeed, well hidden.

It’s just in rough draft now, but one day I will publish my genius for the benefit of humanity. The Can Opener says he looks forward to it.
 

–Captain Cat 

(transcribed by the Can Opener)

* Some say that if you build up ‘immunity’ to sea sickness by surviving it once (usually takes about three days to get though it at the beginning of a passage), then your body will remember how to cope next time. As long as ‘next time’ happens before another ten weeks have passed, you should be okay. It you don’t do a passage for ten weeks or more, then you have to start all over again. Of course these are just rough guidelines. They seem to fit the Can Opener’s experience, however.

** This info is nicely summed up with more detailed explanations at http://www.goddesscruise.com/SeaSick.htm

 

Cruising Castles – South Shore Of England

Why do we love cruising?

It’s the places you go, the people you meet, the food, the wind on yer whiskers… but last weekend it was the castles. 

We raced out of Poole on the Sunday and there, at the harbour mouth as we headed out to the start line, was sparkly Branksea Castle just glowing back at us from the shore. 

We get a kick out of castles, thinking about the history and who’s lived in them, the stories. Sweet to view them from the water too.

We can’t find too much info about the history of this particular castle, but it sits on Brownsea Island in Poole Harbour – the island where Lord Baden-Powell and his boy scout camp started it all. 

Cruising makes learning history seem not just painless, but fascinating.                            

–Captain Cat 

(transcribed by the Can Opener)

Dances With Dolphins

There’s no way to describe the beauty of dolphins and the way they move. You’ve just got to see it for yourself. 

Here’s our attempt at capturing a bit of that beauty.

–Captain Cat

(transcribed by the Can Opener)

 

Engine Excitement

Photo by scrumblecatamaran

Four days out… and an engine gave out*. 

Mechanical warning beepings sounded that had us all racing round the boat to determine which system was telling us to turn it off before it melted. 

Those beeps are so imperious and seem to come from every direction at once. Kind of like aircraft carriers…

Sure enough – it was the port engine sounding off that had just been serviced a few days before we left Spain. 

Fortunately, catamarans have two.

Nonetheless we decided to skip the excursion around Sardinia (we were hugging the Algerian Basin at this point) and head straight for a major port in Sicily about a day or so away so we could get it looked at sooner. 

Some of the crew were disappointed but, although Sardinia would have been great to visit again, the Can Opener and I were okay with giving it a miss. 

We just love being at sea.

–Captain Cat

(transcribed by the Can Opener)

* We had been running it to charge the batteries.

Hidden Aircraft Carrier, Crouching Catamaran

If it had been daylight instead of pitch black at night, it would have looked like this….   (Photo by Defence images, UK Ministry of Defence)

Normally the night watches are calm, peaceful, serene times for reflecting upon the larger issues of life: ‘Who are we?’, ‘Why are we here?‘, ‘How big is this galaxy really?‘, ‘How can I eat both my sardines and the Can Opener’s at tomorrow’s breakfast without him noticing?‘

But this night was different…

It’s amazing how your depth perception fades to useless at night. It becomes difficult to tell the size of objects, to judge their speed, even difficult to judge what angle and direction they are travelling at. 

You can’t believe how challenging this is till you (don’t) see it.

Until last night we had been blessed with next to no traffic – the Med’s not too busy this time of year. Just a few commercial vessels’ lights passing on the horizon, nowhere near us.

Every 15 minutes as usual, both the Can Opener and I would scan the horizon… and this time we noticed some lights were NOT moving across our bow. Rather they stayed lined up with our course. 

This is a bad thing and can make even the best of us super antsy!

But they weren’t any kind of lights we’d seen before in life or in a textbook. 

There were about a hundred little white lights lined up horizontally above the water, and masses of lights – all white – by their bridge. And no sign of any port or starboard lights to tell us what direction this monster was moving in.

The lights came closer and closer and then a hulking giant something loomed out of what was near pitch blackness. No moon this night.

Suddenly a searchlight swept around and their horn blasted five times… and we saw it was an aircraft carrier. Holy great Bastet! I nearly had to make an unplanned trip to my sandbox.

The horizontal little white lights were lighting up an aircraft carrier’s runway. The bridge flicked on their nav lights and we could finally see it was port-side to us… and realised it was parked… in the middle of the Med!

Quickly I ordered the Can Opener to steer decisively around it. 

To our left, a giant aircraft carrier, and to our right now, another unknown ship (that we had previously noted but that was not on a collision course with us) was pulling up not too far off. 

We seemed to be passing through some kind of NATO military configuration or exercises on the high seas. Gulp.

The Can Opener was strangely unmoved, but I had to go below for a restorative sardine.

–Captain Cat

(transcribed by the Can Opener)

Cooking At Sea

By the fourth day, the seasickness had vanished and a cooked meal seemed delightfully appealing. Even the Can Opener was starved. 

So I set him to work in the galley, chopping and dicing under my expert tutelage. In no time flat, a brightly coloured meal hit the stern outdoor dining table.

Fresh salad with cucumbers, tomatoes, celery, red and yellow peppers, onion and fennel – beautiful for the weirdo herbivores on board.

And a chorizo pasta for the right-minded:

• onions, garlic and then a LOT of chorizo in olive oil to fry
• a little red wine for more good flavour
• red peppers and mushrooms added in next
• salt and pepper to taste
• all served on some fluffy butterfly pasta

Naturally the accolades were many and I tipped my feather hat to my appreciative crew. 

The Can Opener of course deserved an honourable mention for his efforts and I’m sure I did mention this at some point in my speech. 

–Captain Cat 

(transcribed by the Can Opener)

Sleeping In Shifts

It took about three days for the crew to get used to each other and to the daily routine. We had been doing the night watches in pairs, so this meant about two shifts per night. …And that our catnaps were only about 3 hours long max.

Since everyone was groggy with the seasickness and the with lethargy that seems to settle at the beginning of any longish voyage, the 3 hour shift sleeping continued (though less formally) throughout the day too.

But by the third day the mild nausea had worn off – even with the anti-seasickness pills, we had all been feeling a bit queasy. One moment saltines were the only thing I wanted and then like a veil lifting, suddenly it was all gone.

Thereafter I set up a one crew per watch system. And with so many crew on the boat, this meant only one watch per night. Delight!

At first the Can Opener and I would automatically wake up after our three hour snooze, alert and ready to pull on the foul weather gear, tie on our life jackets and climb up to the helm. 

Then we’d realise that we weren’t due on shift until the end of six hours, stretch luxuriously, roll over and snooze on.

Funny though. Both ways were fine.

We never felt really tired at any point at all. 

We slept when we were tired and woke when we were refreshed. 

The excitement and contentment on being on a boat on the water makes life just purrfect, no matter how you slice it.

–Captain Cat

(transcribed by the Can Opener)