Filling my mirrors this morning, queuing into the market town, two tonnes of German engineering, a huge grey Mercedes. We lost contact at the first T-junction and I glanced up immediately after to find the bulky thing still there, but now separated by another grey Mercedes, just a slightly sleeker model.
On the one-way, waiting for the lights, they drew parallel. I looked in, a small lady, dark hair, perched on the driver's seat.
A bright morning with moderate temperatures (for the time of year). A perfect day for a drop-top, impractical, unreliable Italian model in red. Don't wear that corporate cage, swap Teutonic for frivolous. "Live a little" I thought. We went our ways.
Wednesday 22 February 2017
Monday 20 February 2017
Out and a-boat.
Saturday was still and quite beautiful on the water, but not sailing weather; picnic on the boat weather, watching the gulls and the visitors to the town quay.
Sunday, though duller and initially still, had a gathering breeze through the day and, while it was not enough to get us to the island without motored assistance, got us back easily. We motored down river slowly, peacefully until we came to a start line of dinghies. They let us through, politely, despite it being less than three minutes to the off. So we followed a small fleet down the river channel and shortly after another small fleet followed us and, with great fortune and a little consideration from the ferry there was nothing trying to get up river at the same time. Once on the last leg of the channel, by the marshes, and with a strengthening breeze on our right cheeks we flew the jib and, by releasing the main sheet and turning slightly to the West, the main went up too.
Half a dozen boats up by us, as well as forty or so dingies that all turned West and, to the East, maybe a dozen more boats towards Cowes, all drifting in the faintest of mists that clung to the water, blurring distant headlands into water-colour washes.
We took a long starboard tack until the flooding tide pushed our path too far East to meet the next harbour entrance. Tacked up into the relative shallows again, but the wind wasn't up to beating the cross-flow unless we had gone all the way up to the castle and wanting our lunch and a bit of shelter, since the sun was only reluctantly showing, we tacked out again having made all of 250 yards and resigned ourselves to using the engine to our destination once we hit the deeps again.
A few rays of sun broke through, spotlighting small sections of rippled water, occasionally a boat, sometimes even our own. We moored on a finger into wind. I jumped the rail with the stern line, although there was really no hurry as we came in in fine control.
Our favourite island coffee house with a shared tea slice, our own sandwiches and an apple. We re-acquainted ourselves with the port as the slow rhythm of the arriving and departing ferry made waves in the marina. We worried over wear and tear, planning repairs.
Just before slack tide we cast off again to reverse the journey. A single port tack straight across; meeting the channel half way to let the outgoing ferry by and then chased up stream by its returning twin which passed us before the wave barrier, forcing us to choose a side and start the engine.
First time under canvas this year, six or seven miles. Wind increasing 2 to a good 3 and overcast.
Sunday, though duller and initially still, had a gathering breeze through the day and, while it was not enough to get us to the island without motored assistance, got us back easily. We motored down river slowly, peacefully until we came to a start line of dinghies. They let us through, politely, despite it being less than three minutes to the off. So we followed a small fleet down the river channel and shortly after another small fleet followed us and, with great fortune and a little consideration from the ferry there was nothing trying to get up river at the same time. Once on the last leg of the channel, by the marshes, and with a strengthening breeze on our right cheeks we flew the jib and, by releasing the main sheet and turning slightly to the West, the main went up too.
Half a dozen boats up by us, as well as forty or so dingies that all turned West and, to the East, maybe a dozen more boats towards Cowes, all drifting in the faintest of mists that clung to the water, blurring distant headlands into water-colour washes.
We took a long starboard tack until the flooding tide pushed our path too far East to meet the next harbour entrance. Tacked up into the relative shallows again, but the wind wasn't up to beating the cross-flow unless we had gone all the way up to the castle and wanting our lunch and a bit of shelter, since the sun was only reluctantly showing, we tacked out again having made all of 250 yards and resigned ourselves to using the engine to our destination once we hit the deeps again.
A few rays of sun broke through, spotlighting small sections of rippled water, occasionally a boat, sometimes even our own. We moored on a finger into wind. I jumped the rail with the stern line, although there was really no hurry as we came in in fine control.
Our favourite island coffee house with a shared tea slice, our own sandwiches and an apple. We re-acquainted ourselves with the port as the slow rhythm of the arriving and departing ferry made waves in the marina. We worried over wear and tear, planning repairs.
Just before slack tide we cast off again to reverse the journey. A single port tack straight across; meeting the channel half way to let the outgoing ferry by and then chased up stream by its returning twin which passed us before the wave barrier, forcing us to choose a side and start the engine.
First time under canvas this year, six or seven miles. Wind increasing 2 to a good 3 and overcast.
Thursday 9 February 2017
Eternal spring hopes
Last weeks' dawns were delayed by clouds whose soft patterings filled the semi-conscious interludes of night. Thursday's dawn brought calm, after a stormy night and finally, on Friday, the promise of earlier mornings was met by an almost clear, pale blue. What small clouds there were scudded Northwards along the Eastern horizon. Shadowed, they were more like a wolf pack than a sheep.
It is to the skies that my spring hopes have been focused; waiting on the bright herald of sun to draw me from bed early enough, instead of the dull alarm call and fumble for light switches that mark winter. Yesterday morning though, after the birds had sung to me around half after six and I'd managed to beat the alarm down to the kitchen, I saw snowdrops on the way to work; the first flowers to greet the year and signal a return of hope to ground level, to the garden, the Forest and the sea.
It is to the skies that my spring hopes have been focused; waiting on the bright herald of sun to draw me from bed early enough, instead of the dull alarm call and fumble for light switches that mark winter. Yesterday morning though, after the birds had sung to me around half after six and I'd managed to beat the alarm down to the kitchen, I saw snowdrops on the way to work; the first flowers to greet the year and signal a return of hope to ground level, to the garden, the Forest and the sea.
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