Some Reflections on South Coast Sailing

The Solent is the protected area of water between the Isle of Wight and the mainland shore of S England. It is about 30 miles long and is a wonderful yachting centre, with the famous town of Cowes, the original home of the America Cup races.

An early memory of Solent sailing was a family holiday at Bembridge with my parents, when my brother and I had a sailing lessons in a heavy dinghy from the then Coxswain of the lifeboat, (I believe his grandson is still with the lifeboat). My family had always been vagueley boaty; my father in his bachelor days enjoyed punting holidays on the Thames, camping where convenient. On the River Wey at Guildford he taught me how to paddle a punt without having to take the paddle from side to side (to avoid dripping water into it).

Later my brother owned a Merlin Rocket, a fairly fast dinghy, but I was not allowed to sail it. In my college years I sailed with friend Duncan's Firefly from Itchenor Sailing Club in Chichester Harbour. We had deadly rivals in the Shaw brothers from Bosham.

My first Round the Island Race was 1968 when there about 700 entrants, an incredible number at the time (there are now nearly 2000). One of the sights of that race was Crusade (Sir Max Aitken's boat, of newspaper fame), 65ft of a modern, but classic, ocean racer, passing the whole fleet with an enormous deck sweeping genoa. Little did I know that some years later I would crew that yacht down to the Mediterranean.

At this time I was sailing 'cruising' dinghies, sometimes camping ashore at Newton Creek or other beaches, sometime rigging a boom tent and sleeping in the bilges.

My first 'proper' cruising boat was a 21ft centreboarder, 'Pimento', designed by Primrose and built by Illingworth's yard at Emsworth. I soon discovered that the most important equipment was the bilge pump but it was great fun, visiting all the places between Chichester and Poole, especially those which were a bit awkward - Fishbourne, Ashlett Creek, Keyhaven, Christchurch, Whareham.

Newtown Creek was then looked after by a charming elderly gentlemen. He had a beautiful clinker launch, fitted with a small Stuart Turner engine with no gearbox. He used to come alongside, stop the engine, have a chat and collect the mooring fee, then lean forward and start the engine with a quarter turn of the handle. It never failed. He was always accompanied by his terrier which unfailing sat in the bows. The New Inn at Shalfleet was owned by an equally elderly gentleman who was decidedly unfriendly to yotties (and I guess most other customers). Tony Monk took it over who started serving excellent food and I have very fond memories of bar meals sitting at the rough wooden tables in front of the giant fireplace, which even in high summers had smouldering logs scenting the air. It was a delightful walk back to the quay and the dinghy, with a full moon and the twinkle of anchor lights in the distance.

Sadly, Tony moved on to Foxy's at Bembridge, and the new regime has turned the pub into a restaurant with a bar. It is still very good, but it lacks the previous informality and does not give me the same pleasure.

The Folly Inn, upstream from Cowes, had mooring piles, and it required some skill to capture the mooring rings when the ebb was in full flow. The pub was about half the present size (there are rumoured to believe the timbers of a ship 300-400 years old upon which the original was built). Now there are pontoons, the pub is bigger and it is rush to get there to place an order for food before the queues are too lengthy, and to get a table at which to eat, but all credit to landlaord Andie for being a success.

My first foreign trip was to Cherbourg. This was before the current huge marina was built in the outer harbour and there were a few visitors moorings at the yacht club in the inner basin. The showers were guarded by a harridan of a Madam who used to come in and haul you out if you had spent too long. Dinner was at the Café de la Theatre, as it was recommended in Adlard Coles.

The Channel Island of Alderney has it attractions, and it memories. There is an enormous tidal range, 10m at Springs. One evening, although we had taken care to tie the dinghy painter high up the steps before pubbing at the Divers, we got it wrong and the knot was well under water. We had a discussion as to who should strip-off to retrieve it - my good friend Ian (with whom I still sail) lost. There is now a pontoon.

In 1976, the summer of the great drought, Andie and I visited Sark in his wooden Folkboat and had considerable difficult in getting even a few gallons of water. It was on the return trip that we ran out of wind somewhere between Bembridge and the Nab Tower, and being low on fuel we drifted to-and-fro for about 24 hours, until there was sufficient breeze to get us home. Remember, this was well before VHF radios, and this was thought nothing unusual.

It is not just the Solent. The last couple of years I have returned to Brittany. The voyages to Studland, Alderney, St Peter Port, Lezardrieux, Tregiuer, Morlaix, L'Aber Wrach was about as familiar as the commuter train to London (and bearing in mind the condition of Railtrack and Connex, somewhat less exciting!). I swear the little Bistro at L'Aber Wrach has not changed it's menu in 20 years.

I now have little pleasure in sailing in the Solent, W Country, Channel Islands and Brittany. It is no longer fun. It is not pottering about in boats. It is industrialised, commercialised sailing. The final straw was the incredible charges at Poole for using the new 'facilities'.

Those of you who have sailed with me on Judicious (my Nicholson 32) will know that I have avoided the hotspots. My favourites are tucked in behind Brownsea Island in Poole, or by Pilsey Island in Chichester Harbour. The night the S and CA fleet was having problems in Yarmouth (crowded harbour, not being allowed entry, a rough night on a mooring outside), Judicious, with Bill and myself, were tucked-up in peace in the lee of Hurst Point and we were debating the wisdom of opening a second bottle of wine (wisdom won).

My first experience of sailing in wild regions was a Yachtmaster course in 1976 from Mallaig in the West of Scotland. We visited Barra in the outer Hebrides, Canna, Drumbuie (opposite Tobermory), Soay (of Maxwell Davies 'Tarka the Otter' fame). The remoteness was pleasurable. I was also attracted to SW Ireland and organised a club charter to the area in 1994. The yacht was terrible, but the area was magnificent. I have since returned a couple of times in Judicious.

In 2001, having more free time, I decided at the beginning of the season that drastic action was required. A plan was put in place to visit for the summer, with the option of not returning to the UK. That option has been exercised.

There is more about the delights of Ireland on this site.