English Channel

The Solent

Thames

River Estuary

Thames

Dover Strait

N

KENT

EAST

SUSSEX

WEST

SUSSEX

HAMPSHIRE

Dover

London

Portsmouth Newhaven

Eastbourne

Deal

Shoreham

Ramsgate

Leigh-on-Sea

North

Foreland

South

Foreland

Beachy Head

Hollowshore

Granville

Dock

B2 Buoy

Dungeness

Haslar

Marina

Gosport

Boulder

Bank

Horse Sand

Fort

ISLE OF

WIGHT

ISLE OF

SHEPPEY

0 10 20nm The Swale

T

he only thing blacker than the night was the

foreboding citadel of Horse Sand Fort which

came up moated by the lapping Solent.

‘When we get round that lump, put her

on 115°,’ I said to Glum, my crew who had

groped my new boat, Betty II, a 25ft gaff

cutter, out of Haslar Marina, Gosport,

just 30 minutes beforehand.

I peered eastward at the slowly lightening sky and willed

on dawn – the navigation lights were precariously ‘mounted’

with bungee cord around the mast – and I was keen to unship

them as soon as possible. I don’t like bungee cord at the best

of times; like Blu Tack, it’s a patented solution for those whose

DIY skills are wanting. I should know, I’m from their ranks.

As we curved around the masonry of the beetling fort’s

circular side, Betty started to complete the diameter.

‘Where the hell are you going?’ I said as the boat

headed back towards Portsmouth.

‘I’m steering round to your course,’ came Glum’s

indignant reply.

I nipped below, pulled my handbearing compass

from my kitbag and eyed it up towards the south-east.

‘That bloody compass is more than 50° out!’

With my handbearing compass, I found 115° and

told Glum to steer for something, anything on the

slowly delineating horizon.

As daylight chased away the shadows of perpendiculars,

I looked at the ship’s compass sitting in a specially cut

hole in the cabin bulkhead. It was to port of the engine,

which squatted under a lid in the companionway. Then

I recalled how the former owner, the well-known Old

Gaffers’ Association sailor Ben Collins, was a dab hand

at laptop nav. And although I’m a paper chart man, he’d

even shown me how to get the best out of my own tablet

which I carry, perversely, not so much as backup, but as a

control over my pencil-and-divider scribblings. It suddenly

occurred to me that he probably hadn’t looked at anything but

his laptop – even the compass – since the engine, a recent

addition, had been installed.

Glum unscrewed the compass from its billet in the cabin

bulkhead and, emptying the contents, made a makeshift

binnacle out of the teabag carton and gaffer-taped it on

to the mainhatch. Bingo, the card swung into line with its

handbearing sister.

By now, a smart west-south-west breeze had come up with the

light and we made short work of pulling the Boulder Buoy

abreast, but I was a little miffed at realising how fast the fl ood

was running... It had clearly been running for a while, and

then I realised I’d forgotten to add an hour for BST. We had

missed an hour’s fair tide.

The Looe Channel was benign. Only the furrowed waters

over the Boulder Bank gave us a hint of what it would be like

in wind over tide conditions.

THE SPRING FLOOD

Betty II raced on, and I delighted at her turn of speed, her

directional stability and her fondness for letting the helmsman

leave the tiller: ‘Go and make a coffee,’ she seemed to say, ‘I’m

alright for a spell.’

To starboard, we soon had the spires of the Rampion wind

farm, still under construction, in view: a marooned forest

which mocked the giant chimney of Shoreham’s gas-fi red

power station to port. Then all disappeared in fog.

Curiously, this did not prevent the wind rising, and I

climbed up on to the deck to roll in some reefs. Impressed with

the effi ciency of the old brass roller reefi ng claw, I was soon

back below for a check on the chart. It was then I heard

a motorboat. I put the chart aside and listened intently, but the

pitch did not change. Then it stopped. That was when I realised

it was the automatic bilge pump. It was reassuring that Betty

was telling me I’d reefed at the right time: the pressure on her

keel-stepped mast was opening a seam somewhere: this pesky

I DELIGHTED AT THE BOAT’S FONDNESS FOR

LETTING THE HELMSMAN LEAVE THE TILLER

Below, Betty II

shows what she’s

got while we get a

feel for the old boat

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