Ahead of the storm

Day 18 – Worthing to Eastbourne – 7^th June – 30.1 nm

The forecast is good, but the conditions are better.

It’s 06:00 out of bed again. The crowds, clamour and ice-cream van of yesterday are long gone and it’s peaceful and sunny as we get ready to go. There is a last minute faff as the toilets are still locked, and I hunt around for an alternative – it’s all glamour in this game.

Over the top of the shingle bank and... who’s taken the water? The beach is not quite as steep at low water it seems, in fact nowhere near as steep - the water’s edge can’t be seen, it’s hidden by the curvature of the earth.

Not only is the beach flat, it’s also stony, something that wasn't obvious at high water yesterday either - it wouldn't be under 3 or 4 m of water I suppose. A long and rocky drag with the trolley finally gets us to the water. I'm glad that it’s not rough, that would make for a tricky launch.

On the water and away, the conditions are perfect, but I'm feeling a bit rough – typical. The forecast is not good for the upcoming days so we really need to get some miles today. I dial in the waypoint to Beachy Head and my heart sinks, there are 26 nm to the first waypoint.

26 nm later there aren't.

It takes a while but finally I reach the impressive cliffs of Beachy Head. In 2012 I had to hide behind the lighthouse to shelter from the wind, in 2015 the only problems are a set of knackered shoulders and too much sunshine – you just can’t please some people.

It’s a slog against the eddy up to Eastbourne, scratching along the cliffs and then the gravel beaches, but every cloud has a silver lining, the sun has lifted the bikini to beach ratio nicely.

I meet a ski paddler in nothing but his shorts, while I am geared up the eyeballs. He ignores my Hello, glances rather condescendingly in my direction and smugly ponces off without saying a word, making a big play of paddling hard. Oh yes, a big day out to the pier and back - Mummy's little soldier.

Pascale finally finds a parking slot, only for me to change my mind and scratch a little further up the beach. She gets her revenge by choosing a landing slot on the steepest shingle beach, right beneath the balcony of the Eastbourne Angling Club. Oh yes, as popular as a fart in a Volkswagen now.

I scramble up the shingle, the glare of eyeballs on my back, still feeling rough and wishing for more miles. But there are no more today.

Early o’clock

Day 17 – Gosport to Worthing – 6^th June – 30 nm

The 07:00 on the water start meant a ‘no way!’ get up time. I needed to get out of the Solent on the last of the ebb and then catch the flood, as it started to flow along the coast. So it was an 05:15 wake-up on our noisy urban campsite. The forecast was familiar once again, a rather breezy start followed by further strengthening winds as the day progressed. The swell forecast was 2-4ft, but I hoped the shadow of the Isle of Wight would take the sting out of things to start with.

Yesterdays’ tricky gravel landing was now an easy sandy launch. Out around the Gilkicker Point as the first of the day’s sailors were just heading out of Portsmouth, I stayed close in to judge the timing and then it was off across between the early ferries. The submerged barrier wasn't, so it was a straightforward paddle through a gap and then off towards Selsey Bill.

The closer I got to Selsey Bill the less shelter I got from the Isle of Wight, it was getting breezy and a little choppy, but at least there was no real swell. The wind was blowing the splash off my blades straight into my ear, so it was on with the Stupid Hat. Aah, dry-eared bliss, hope nobody has a camera.

I was a little nervous of the Bill, I knew that the shallows there projected a distance offshore and could make things confused, but at least the wind and tide were running together for me.

It was white and choppy off–shore, I couldn't be bothered to go all the way out there and so I decided that I would try to sneak an inside route to avoid the overfalls. As I got near I could see plenty of sandbanks but no obvious route, and then I saw the mad-woman waving out to sea once again, so I went in to say Hello - there was no hurry. The flow was shifting well here, and by the time we had exchanged a few words the water had risen enough to form a nice easy inshore channel, and so I sneaked happily around the corner. Another one ticked off.

Around the corner things were nice and smooth, but with the help of the tail wind I was making a nice 5 kts towards... well, wherever. With the wind it was an ‘options day’, a bit of a suck it and see plan once we had rounded the Bill - so the destination was sort of made up as things went along.

 

Things were going nicely now, I was quite enjoying myself, but it was too choppy to take a pee. By the time I got to Littlehampton conditions were getting decidedly lumpy and the weight of my bladder was affecting the handling of the boat, so I sneaked in behind the breakwater to have a break. Even in the wind it was a busy beach and I had to get fairly close to the sand to get enough shelter to do what I needed to, turning my back on the crowds and surf lifeguards with their binoculars.

To be honest it was blowing a hooley by now; at the end of the breakwater it was pretty chunky. I watched a couple of boats venture out of the harbour and then turn and go back in – hmm, nice. But I figured I could still scrape a few more miles. So I scratched along the beach, dodging the breakers , gesticulating anglers and the endless chain of colourful kite surfers.

By the time I reached the edge of Worthing I’d had enough, it was 30 nm done on a breezy day, that’ll do. So it was in through the gravelly dump, followed by a heavy carry to sit out of the wind on the grass behind the beach, watching the crowds eating ice cream.

It was a 13:00 stack - I looked forward to a blissful afternoon of kit drying and snoozing.  I'm easily pleased.
However, the Team Pie-Power Support Crew were having a bit of a nav faff and so I had to sit in the sun eating ice cream for an hour until I was rescued. Life's a beach...

Posh Bingo

Day 16 – Swanage to Gosport – 5th June – 35 nm

Another early start, once again to sneak inside a weather window. Winds are forecast for 11:00 so I want to get through Hurst Narrows and into the Solent by then. Out of Swanage and away, the following wind blows me beneath grey skies, enough chop to get some good surfs but not so big to be a problem. I enjoy the conditions and I make good progress, ticking along close to 6 kts – life could be worse.

It’s a while before the Isle of Wight can be seen through the murk, but I’m glad to see it, I guess I’m going the right way.

The wind comes in a few minutes ahead of time but I'm not far from the Narrows now. I’ve not paddled Hurst Narrows on the flood before, it’s pretty fast, confused and choppy, don’t piss in now Fatboy, but I zoom through at 9 kts or so. I worked hard to get here ahead of the wind and now I can relax a little in the shelter of the Solent. With a following wind and a good tide I zip up the channel, just trying not to get run over by all and sundry.

The radio waves are jammed with race talk; it’s a good opportunity to play ‘Posh Bingo’. Get 3 radio voices in a row, each posher than the previous and ‘Bingo!’ – you win! On a busy day in the Solent it is too easy though, it has to be 5 in a row.

The Solent’s also a good place to play ‘Dim Bingo’ – but that’s for another day.

The sun comes through the clouds now and my big cag starts to fill with sweat, slopping around in the sleeves. Even with the wind and tide I still have to work hard to get beyond Cowes before the tide turns.

At Cowes there are boats everywhere, everywhere: battleships and yachts bigger than the island I live on, races going on left, right and centre, catamarans zooming at ‘can they control that?’ speeds (while gliding a few feet above the water),  and to make a point you might as well drive a large car transporter through the lot while you’re at it too. I decide to sneak over Bramble Bank, it will be a little choppy but the logic is that in the shallows I should only get run over by little(ish) boats – a sort of simplistic damage limitation strategy.

The wind is blowing here and it starts a little ‘yeehah’ but ends a little ‘whoa’ as it gets lumpy and shallow in the wind over tide by Lee on Solent. I somehow surf through a race, yachts not waves, unscathed and then start scratching against the tide, to finally call it a day at Gilkicker Point.

35 nm in just over 6 hrs, that’ll do me...

Nothing Special

Day 15 – Portland to Swanage – 4th June – 22.2 nm

Last night we sat on the campsite at dusk, functionally eating our food when an owl alighted on the sign-post just a few metres away. It perched there, in no hurry, while we watched in fascination, our food growing cold. Eventually it became bored with us (well you would) and then silently disappeared into the darkness. One of those special moments.

But it was a late finish yesterday. Late finishes and early starts don’t mix too well for me. So, today the early start was only early-ish, as I struggled onto the water an hour late.

I sneaked quietly out of Portland Harbour, crossing the path of a boatful of military types on their way across to the office on the Sir Tristram training ship. 

Outside of the harbour wall things made a pleasant change from recent days, the sun was just breaking through and the headwind was still only a breeze. This end of the bay was sheltered from the remnants of the swell by shadow of Portland Bill. Lulworth Range was closed too and so there was not a great deal to bother me for the next 16nm or so, as I made a straightline to St Alban’s Head. A pleasant paddle.

We were starting to suspect that tide timings in the book were an hour or so out in some places, today was one of those places. Add an hour for a tardy start and it was no surprise that the tide was not sticking to the plan when I reached the headland. The headwind strengthened too as the tide changed and soon my stress free paddle wasn't any more. I scratched my way along the bottom of the cliffs, trying to find some shelter from the wind and flow, while the swell rebounded unpleasantly. It seemed to last forever (only an hour or so according to the GPS) but eventually I scraped around Durlston Head and then sneaked over the rocks of  'my, that's shallow' Perveril Ledge. Swanage Bay was a welcome sight.

Here my eye was drawn to a lone kayak making a bid for freedom, and then to a furiously waving angler on the beach, who had been trying to hook his wayward boat without luck. The rebellious boat was returned to its owner and I paddled gently over to the sandy beach. I felt a little guilty for not taking any more miles from the day, but the geography of Poole Bay meant that extra miles would achieve little. We hurriedly loaded the boat as a Traffic Warden warned that vans weren’t allowed on the front, and then off in search of a campsite. 

We found one, one without hot water or lighting but hey, you can’t expect such luxuries for £30 per night can you?

Later the wildlife theme continued, a fox came to investigate as we sat in the sunshine, on our strangely quiet campsite.

There was nothing remarkable about today, and that was fine by me.

3 Hours of gravel

Day 14 – West Bay to Portland – 3rd June – 23.6 nm

It was time to move on from West Bay. I wasn't looking forward to Portland Bill. It was a little tense last time, and I seem to recall that conditions were better then. But we had to get around and get on with things; the South Coast is longer than you think and to be honest it starts to drag a little – too many southerners I guess.

The timings in the morning meant a ridiculous o'clock start,  but we got up anyway. The swell was still rolling in from the previous day’s poor weather conditions. It was no-go around Portland in that. It looked like a late shift today. Hurry up and wait.

The trouble with playing the waiting game is that the days are still quite tiring, you sit around restlessly trying to catch up with admin or planning, but not really getting too much done. You don’t rest too well either, there’s always something going on around about. And then it's a late finish, to be followed inevitably by an early start.
 My Moron Magnet comes into play at times like this too. I can park myself in some remote unused corner, some tiny unwanted space, just looking for a little peace and quiet, but soon every man and his dog (whining dog, and sorry-mister football kids, and bass thumping stereo,  and...) will come to join me. From Land’s End to Cape Wrath the Moron Magnet held it’s charge, causing some frustration but also a few laughs, as we watched the herd instinct possess people, driving them to quite considerable lengths in order to not be too alone in those terrifying open spaces.

Maryse's Rule

We had learnt that if the wind is going to change then it often does around slack water. So regular was this phenomenon, that as the trip progressed we soon factored it into the daily planning.  But today was going to be complicated. The start time to get the best tide at Portland didn't match the timing for the wind dropping - the 3hr paddle along Chesil Beach complicated matters. It was one or the other. That said if I didn't take the weather option I wasn't going to paddle at all.

Chesil Beach was actually quite enjoyable, the sun was out which always drops the effective conditions a notch or two.  The wind had dropped but there was still enough chop to keep focussed without it being unpleasant.  Unfortunately the same couldn't be said about Portland.

I was keen, too keen, to get around and this affected my judgement. By the time I got to the end I had a super-glue paddle grip and eyes as wide as wheel trims – the diary puts it succinctly “...Glad that is over. Portland Bill was rather unpleasant – don’t ever want to do that again. Never again.”  Been around there twice now, let’s call it a day eh?

There was no tide left now, light was going to fade soon too, which all added up to an annoyingly inefficient landing in Portland Harbour. C’est la vie. Another one ticked off though. 

I was relieved to get Portland out of the way, I had made a mistake but got away with it.

A 'good enough to get out of trouble, but stupid enough to get into it in the first place' sort of day.