In the race against the clock to ready Constellation for departure, we made an unfortunate mistake of not refuelling, so a stopover at Portsmouth was required to refuel on route to Brighton. I’m still annoyed that I didn’t bring more fuel to Europe, as the British ‘red diesel’ is about the only thing cheaper than continental Europe when it comes to boating. Somehow boating in England fits under Agriculture or something, which therefore means the fuel is tax-free… I don’t quite know the whole story, but what I do know is that Diesel is now at least 1euro a litre, which annoys me to no end.

Winds were poor on route to Brighton, so we motor sailed a considerable distance out through the Portsmouth forts and then East, however there were a few hours of nice winds from the stern, letting us goose-wing at 5-6knots over the ground. The trip was fairly uneventful, except for the aforementioned sharkbait boat-tow and that on arrival to Brighton marina, visitors have the pleasure of paying 20pounds per night for an overnight berth… Luckily I resisted purchasing the 60ft ketch, and stuck with Constellation as my prime choice of sailing vessel - Feet are certainly at a premium.

Up early, it was time to leave Jack in Brighton, to make his way back to Heathrow and for us to carry on directly to Dover. Again, winds were not all favourable, but with the combination of what was blowing and the tide, our journey steadily progressed. We crossed the 0degree point of Greenwich, where Johannes and I looked for the giant red line we thought would most certainly cover the planet. To our suprise, the line only exists on charts… What a let down

Coming around Eastbourne, considerable swell generated three to four metre waves, which were disconcerting to begin with, but ridden right, Constellation handled them with ease. Considering the nice weather, I hate to think what it would have been like in bad conditions. The waves were a bit much for ‘George’ the tillerpilot, but when you’re sitting in a confined space for such long periods, the opportunity to do something (ie. helm) was a pleasant distraction. Time right, Constellation also felt as if she was actually ‘catching’ some of the waves. Spray came off the bow, as if someone had placed an oversized engine under the hood, as we reached speeds of up to 10kts over the ground (twice what the boat can really sail).

Being ‘pushed’ primarly by wind from the stern, the mainsail was let right out, meaning accidental gybes would leave the boom some serious distance to travel. We lashed the boom to a stanchion base, in case the wind changed, or my sightseeing distracted steerage, yet one of the two ended up gybing us, and smashing the boom to starboard, resulting in rivets being popped between the top of the mainsheet and the base of the boom. As a jury-rig, we then moved the mainsheet onto one of the reefing points, which were much stronger anyway, being connected via a proper track. It’s a temporary fix, but until I can find the sliders that fit my boom, it will have to do… Any tips on where to find odd parts like that would be greatly appreciated.

Approaching Dover at the 2nm mark, I radioed for permission to enter the Easterly entrance. Port control let us through, and we stayed the night at Tidal harbour, the cheapest place we could find without going through closing bridges. It was also the only place that had a German and Australian flag side-by-side!

Restocking with fuel and food for the voyage across the Channel the next day, we ambitiously planned to sail through the night all the way to Ijmuiden, Holland. With this as the plan, we sailed out of Dover at 2pm to catch the tide and leave England behind. I tried to amuse myself by fishing with spinners, but the only thing I caught was the weight of of the tackle at 5kts.

As we crossed the traffic separation schemes, big shipping traffic was everywhere. Our route was still for Ijmuiden, and as night fell, the GPS read over 100miles to go, with 30hours at our current speed. Ignoring speed and time, I played the ‘human gimbaled stove’, sitting in the cabin trying to boil water while heeled over…. I need a new stove. Johannes said everything tasted better at sea, and I must agree, because my pasta was by no means special, yet it tasted like I had an Italian chef stashed in the sail locker.

By night-fall, we began 2hour watches. It was a strange feeling once Johannes was asleep, as the cold Northerlies blew, and the plankton began to glow like the stars in our wake. It was certainly a humbling experience, watching the tanker M25 equivalent to port, and Constellation sailing herself with ‘George’ the tillerpilot guiding the way. At 12am it was Johannes’ shift, and I defiantly attempted to sleep in the forecabin, but there was just too much movement. Moving back into the lee quarter berth, we ended up ‘hotshifting’ for the rest of the night. By 4am the wind had kicked up, and George was having trouble keeping course. Heading into steep waves, we put in a reef and George was able to maintain course again, yet our speed had decreased drastically with the tide. Johannes made the decision to turn into Zebrugge, and I went back on watch, secretly rather happy the current situation wasn’t going to continue for another 10-15hours, and also somewhat excited that I could now add Belgium to my list of visited countries.

It seems a considerable amount of the North Sea had been entering the cockpit throughout the night, and Johannes was sleeping in drenched oilskins from a wet shift. Everything was wet, and water was literally poring through the cabin roof from a broken seal around the solar vent. There was little to be done while on the move, so I sat my shift out, strapped into my harness, getting dumped on by wave after wave, watching trawlers and the occasional tanker fly past. I was fairly exhausted by the time Zeebrugge was in sight, and Johannes showed his sailing experience by sleeping less than I, maintaining an hourly plot, and automatically waking up whenever there was the slightest change in the boats movement.

I radioed Zeebrugge port control, and we finally entered port at around 8am, having sailed through the night from 2pm the previous day. Pulling down the mainsail 800metres from the port entrance turned out to be a trying experience, and I’m glad I was strapped onto the jackstays, as I had the unpleasant opportunity to hit the deck rolling, with unusual wave formations hitting us on the beam. Sail finally stacked, we eventually cleared the entrance, and berthed at the Royal Belgian Yacht Club, nestled deep in the harbour.

Johannes somehow managed to stay up that whole day, exploring the area, yet for me, I went back into the now calm forecabin, and slept like the dead.

Zebrugge to Holland and the canals next.

nick.

Firstly, I’d like to profusely thank BeforeUdig.co.uk - The company who put up the funds to power Constellation with a brand new offshore cruising sail, made by UK Halsey Sailmakers of Bursledon. I picked up the new sail just days before leaving England, and couldn’t be happier. My old sail was tired and worn, and will now be only used as a backup, should something horrible come of my new one. The new sail has a slight racing leech, and a reduced third reef, which nears tri-sail size. Special thanks to Duane Rogers at Beforeudig.co.uk for believing in what I’m trying to do, offering constant encouragement, and of course for funding an expensive but necessary piece of equipment.

(It has been hard for me so far to keep the narrative of this trip going in any kind of order, since the last couple of weeks were a blur, and my updates have been infrequent and random - This is my attempt over the next few posts to show some order…)

I finished my job at the pub last week, which was a welcome relief. By the end of it, I was tired and anxious to start the trip, and it seemed no matter how hard I worked, I still never had enough money to achieve much at all. I did get things together in the end, but it was trying to say the least. I finished work on a Wednesday, and traveled into London the following day to pickup Johannes and Jack from Victorian station. I had planned to be two hours early, yet to my astonishment, as I walked out of the bus doors, I nearly ran into Johannes, waiting at the bus stop, carrying enough luggage to move house for a family of six. We lugged it all back to the train station, where I met friends from Australia and ate lunch in the nearby park. We eventually met up with Jack, and travelled back to Southampton, loaded to the hilt with equipment. The following day was spent sailing in the Solent, to give Johannes and idea of how Constellation was sailing, and also as an opportunity for Jack to film at sea. I also learnt that I need an outboard.

It was a rush-job on Saturday to get Constellation ready for departure. I was waiting on guardrails to be sent from Compass, we needed to install the wiring and mounts for the autohelm, and I still had to climb my mast again to fix the aerial. The VHF turned into a debacle when the feeding line got jammed at the foot of the mast, however Johannes retrieved it, and the job continued. It was only when I pulled the wiring through the cabin roof did I realise there was nothing wrong with the old aerial at all - There was a BNC connector between the inside cable and the outside cable which had come loose… The moral of the story is, assumptions are fatal… Ok, maybe not fatal, but irritating and stupid.

I had final drinks with my new friends from England, whom I already miss dearly. I think if I had been living entirely alone in the boatyard, without all the wonderful people who also lived there, my experience would have been drastically different. There was always someone to ask a question, borrow a tool from, or just someone to talk to, and it’s to those people I thank immensely for being so kind and generous.

Constellation was ready for departure, and at 5am we left under blue skies. Bill followed in his boat, waking up at such an un-Godly hour just to see us off, and to let Jack film from another vessel while we motored for the last time up the River Hamble. Thank you Bill, you are a true gentlemen, may the sea chickens live on.

Thank you England for everything -

Brighton, Dover, Belgium and Holland in the next post.

nick.

I have very little web access, but in a frenzy of work, Johannes and I are on route to Hamburg. Currently we’re berthed in Dover, and heading directly to the Netherlands today & tonight. A proper update soon; for now just some photos.

Sailing the Solent for the last time.

Johannes & I, Brighton, England.

Constellation at anchor at Osbourne Bay, Solent.

Sharkbait boat-tow on route to Brighton.

Jack, who we dropped off in Brighton to fly back to Berlin. Happy Birthday!

So much more to say… If you can read German, Johannes is better at writing and has a proper update.

nick.

(photos courtesy of Johannes due to camera loss)

I know you just read the title of this post, and probably think I’ve gone and broken down, sunk, or otherwise put poor little Constellation in trouble - But you’d be wrong! Constellation was in fact the rescuer, not the one in need of help!

Last night, after spending too much time at the Ketch Rigger at Hamble Point, waiting for laundry to dry, I came back to boatyard ready to go read, or go to sleep. Friends drove me to and from the yard, and as I was heading back to my boat, another friend had decided the world was too much, and was ‘just going’ on his yacht. He was in a bad state, all electrics out, and throttle with only two settings (fast, or stall). He managed his way out of the marina at low water, and we watched his mast curl up the river, turn around and crash into a pontoon. Not sure what to do, we ran up towards Constellation, started up and chased him up the river, only to find him another 500metres up, run aground on and ebbing tide.

Our boats were of a similar size, and coming in too close would have set us in mud, so we turned around, borrowed an outboard and dinghy, and motored back with the small boat in tow. I ran in circles for 15minutes, while Karin and Rob boarded the stranded boat from the dinghy, and attached ropes as high up on the mast as possible, with a second rope tied down onto a cleat. Karin motored back to Constellation, and cleated on. As the stranded yacht went into full reverse throttle, I motored at full forward throttle, heeling the the other yacht, trying to free the keel. I was somewhat concerned about throwing the prop, or fouling it with a slack line, but I reduced throttle, went backwards several metres for a ‘run up’. Powering forward again under full power, we succesfully freed her.

Constellation is no tug boat, with only 9hp, but she was brilliant, and more than likely performed her first rescue tow!

In other equally exciting news, Hamburg is all on. Johannes has a bus booked for London, arriving in early August with liferaft, tiller pilot and other assorted pieces, ready for the trip back to Germany. Constellation is getting closer to being ready, with stanchions and lifelines almost installed, however I still need to climb the mast (again) to replace the VHF aerial, and while I’m up there, I’ve got an LED mast light to install. There are other small jobs everywhere, but I’m confident she’ll be ready.

As to what happens once I’m in Hamburg, I have absolutely no idea.

nick.

I left yesterday in perfect conditions for Newtown, the Isle of Wight. As the conditions were so favourable, I spent most of my time ‘noodling’ about on my own, trying to get the gist of how best to handle things singlehanded.

Sailing alone is hard. It’s also harder when the boat is not really setup for it. My main track is on the cabin roof, the winches don’t self tail, needing to jammed on what seems the wrong side (in terms of ease), and hanking on sails (as opposed to just rolling them out on roller reefing systems) when the wind is up, and you’re running backwards and forwards from the tiller trying to keep nose onto the wind is a pain in the ass. Even things like the fact I don’t have a lazy-jack mainsail bag, mean dropping the sail is every bit that: Dropping it on the deck and having it howl around with a life of its own.

But back to my Newtown trip. I sailed over and into the river succesfully, and tried to lay anchor for the first time. I came in at dead on low-water, meaning I needed to figure out how much chain to lay, keeping in mind the now rising tide. It’s the little things that get you, like forgetting to work out how much chain you actually have. Well, I know now, and I’ll also endeavour to make metre-marks on the chain so I know how much I’m paying out. I’ve always been nervous about the theory of anchoring - To me, it just seems impossible that the anchor will actually dig into the seabed properly. As such, I woke up reguarly during the night to check the boats nearest me for movement: My nightmare was the anchor letting go, me hitting a boat downwind, and having the opportunity to test my 3rd party insurance.

I work up this morning to a howling wind. I don’t have a wind speed indicator, but I would guestimate 25-30knots, maybe gusting more. I thought my smallest headsail and a reef would do, but I came out of Newtown and nearly (ok, it felt like it) inverted the boat. Struggling to keep the nose into the wind, I put another reef in, and tried again: Not as bad, but still way too much heel. The contents of my ‘house’ found its way onto the lee side of the cabin… In the end, I dropped the damned mainsail altogether, and of course spent way too long trying to tie it down. Everything takes so long to do by yourself. I kept creeping towards the Newtown gravel bank, which I naturally wanted to avoid. I didn’t fancy grounding at the minute, and motored well away to keep flailing about with my sail.

In the end I was getting 8kts of speed over the ground, around 2kts of it was tide, yet I only had my smallest foresail on. As I came closer into the ‘precautionary area’ of the Solent, I began to worry. I navigated into Newtown with the chart in my hand, but today it was just too difficult. The seas were choppy, and the tiller needed constant attention. Yesterday I had been playing about by laying hove-to, and I wished I could do it again and just work out what I was doing. I couldn’t though, having only the headsail up and no main to counter it. I went into a mild panic, crossing the big ships channel, and getting closer to another hazard: A large sandbank in the middle of what seems like a very big piece of water. I decided to turn around under motor, and to drop the foresail and work things out. This is the bit where I wished I had roller reefing. Nose into the wind, the bow breaking into waves, I sat down and pulled the headsail down, while getting almost entirely submerged into oncoming waves.

Eventually it was all down, and I motored back on course, and continued on. The lifeboat RIB on its way to Cowes came past and asked if I was ok - I must have looked like drowned rat, the mainsail tacked on and flapping about enough to catch their attention!

The moral of this particular story is, sailing a boat that is not setup to be sailed by one person is hard.

But fun!

nick.

The trip to France seemed somewhat ill-fated from the beginning… The departure date kept needing to be moved, meaning there was less time sailing, and less time for error. The circumstances for the delay were unavoidable, and certainly not a sore point, but when you’re as eager as I am to get sailing, every wasted day seems like the end of time.

Our initial plan was to sail into Yarmouth, on the Isle of Wight, and then head off at around 3am the following day (dependent on tides) and head past the Needles on route to Cherbourg, France. Once we set off from the River and into the Solent, the wind would have been right on our nose over to Yarmouth, so we skipped the prospect of beating for the next several hours, and sailed into Cowes for the night. It was at this point that Rob realised his passport was still sitting in the top draw; at home. Determined for France, we sailed back early the next morning, retrieved the passport, and I climbed the mast to try and figure out what was wrong with my new VHF radio.

I couldn’t see any corrosion or broken connections, and I still couldn’t hear Solent Coastguard from the river Hamble, which I’m sure I should be able to. Not convinced, I borrowed a 3watt handheld radio, and we departed with the tides around the East side of the Isle of Wight, readying for an all night sail across the Channel.

Progress was slow, and as night fell, I turned on the boat light, only to see the mast light was flickering badly. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time, as we approached the Nab Tower, a major navigation point for shipping into Portsmouth and the Solent. It is also a tanker anchorage, and traffic was heavy. A pilot boat motored past and enquired about our lighting situation, as I was down below with a head-torch trying to amend the situation in a crowded electrical box. The loose connection was not in the box, and I couldn’t locate it anywhere - Our only thought was it was a bad bulb connection, meaning there was no real chance of fixing it while at sea. At this point Rob was rightly concerned about crossing the Channel without proper lights, and a seemingly short-range VHF radio. We still had the handheld, but large ships usually only monitor DSC calls, as opposed to the Channel 16 ship-to-ship we could have achieved on the handheld.

As we sailed away from the Isle of Wight, on a near dead-on South course, the GPS was reading ‘29 hours to go’ at 2:30am. Rob made the exectutive decision that we should turn back, and I think he was squarely in the right. There was no need to take risks crossing the Channel with limited communications, and being nearly impossible to spot due to a lacking mast tri-light.

We turned and headed for Portsmouth as the sun came up. The night was cold, and the seas were quite choppy in the Channel, and I must admit, it was reassuring and calming to see light. Winds eased, and we slowly headed into the wind. Arriving at 9:30am at Haslar Marina, we slept till 2pm, walked around the fishing docks and sailed back to Hamble at 6pm, beating in moderate seas and entering the river at night - An experience I didn’t particularly relish. The tide was ebbing, nearing low water, as Rob navigated us through the lights - I helmed and tried to maintain contour depth, and as you can see, we’re alive, and the boat didn’t sink.

It was disappointing not making France, but the entire trip was highly educational, and sometimes things just don’t work out to plan. In this case, we made an unfortunate decision to turn around, however I think it was probably the right one - The trip in reality was not a failure, because we made decisions based on conditions at the time which proved safe & successful.

Moored up in Cowes.

Fishing docks, Portsmouth

Hamburg is still on the go, with a prospective departure date of the 2nd or 3rd of August. Delayed by a few days for a very good reason - More on that another time!

nick.