CRUISING
50 http://www.yachtingmonthly.com MARCH 2016W
atching the grey, pre-dawn
sky turn a gentle pink
before the sun bursts into
its daily fl ight across the
heavens is quite magical.
There’s something awe inspiring too about
the speed at which the sun lifts clear of
the horizon then suddenly separates from
it, the gap between lower limb and sea
growing as you watch.
I have been a fortunate
observer of this transition
from night to day on
far too many occasions
to count. Sometimes
daylight has come as a
huge relief; sometimes as
a natural, quiet evolution;
sometimes as a slightly
unwelcome end to a great
night’s sailing; always it
has brought a sense of
excitement about the new day ahead.
It’s perhaps the dawn start for a passage,
short or long, that brings the most
anticipation. The reluctant exit from a
warm sleeping bag to put on chilly layers
beneath stiff, awkward oilskins and boots
inevitably brings to mind the question of
why on earth you’re doing it, but then,
as you blow the steam off a mug of tea,
shiver a bit and shake out sleepy limbs,
it all begins to fall into place. Growing
light helps you to ready the boat for sea
and a look at the chart ensures your
preparations are in place.
Then, with mugs emptied, you’re
ready to go. The anchor comes up
muddy and cold, the lines are
slipped or the mooring dropped.Why sailing at
dawn is the best
In each case your tie to the land is cut, the
bows turned seaward, often – on the East
Coast at least – towards the rising sun, a
new day and a new adventure.
On one such morning, after lying over
night in the North Channel at Tollesbury
I had plans for a fairly modest trip to look
at the entrance to Alresford Creek, above
Brightlingsea on the River Colne. As it
turned out, I didn’t need the alarm, for I
was awake in good time. I dressed then
brewed up as the light grew, though the
sun was not yet out of bed. On deck there
was dew over the cockpit benches and
on the furled mainsail there were beads
of water that quickly turned to sparkling
jewels when the sun showed her face.
I watched for a while, entranced. There
was no great hurry and as yet there was
only the faintest breeze, though I reckoned
it would fi ll in with the light. I was going to
arrive off Alresford pretty
close to dead low water
anyway, so a delay at this
stage might actually be
benefi cial. Any amount
of fl ood would make my
chances of reaching the
creek that much better,
because there’s no more
than a trickle of water
about when the tide is
down. However, I was up,
dressed, fed and watered
and itching to go, so I put my mug below
and readied the mainsheet.
Dew drops cascaded on my head as I set
the mainsail before recovering the anchor,
complete with a foredeck-load of mud that
had to be sluiced off with water from a
bucket dipped swiftly over the side – it had
to be quick to avoid going aground at the
edge of the creek. Then with clean decks
and muddy hands I clambered aft in time
to tack and set the headsail.
The sun was just above the saltings,
a rosy pink ball beneath broken clouds
with brighter pink patches between them.
Their heavy underbellies were dark in
contrast. It looked like being a beautiful
day as we slid towards Mersea Quarters in
the light breeze and by the time I turnedYou may be yawning,
you may be shivering,
but there’s a unique
excitement about a dawn start.
At least Colin Jarman thinks so
The 36ft smack William, MN 15, built in
Maldon in 1889, beats down Colne with
Alresford sand works in backgroundMorning dew sits like jewels,
sparkling on the furled mainsail