Four days of sailing as the temperature slowly increased and the wind speed abated. A trip that took us East up the Solent and back again. As well as visiting some new places, the trip was a minor shake-down for the crew to assess readiness for greater things and to confer some fitness by firming muscles and hardening hands. The third day was the longest at about 8 hours, largely taken downwind on the way back West to Cowes and I have to say it engendered extremely satisfying sleep on Sunday night. As is often the case, it was the things that went wrong that punctuated the journey that stick in the mind.
There is a worrying trend towards uniformity in the running of the Solent's marinas. Everything is computer controlled. It is obvious how these marinas, bought up in bulk by large holding companies, make their money. They charge impressive sums for use of their space, they diversify into waterside property, they replace humans with robots and sell concessions to the highest bidder. This leaves the visitor, however efficient and clean the facilities are, with a feeling of being processed, rather than welcome.
Chichester marina is such a place; I had to provide all my personal details except my inside-leg measurement before being allowed through their lock. On entry to the lock I had thrust into my hand three booklets, an access tag and a sheet of hand-filled paper consisting of a map and the usual mooring details. If this simple map with its human annotation had been complete and accurate it would have been a wonder, but the line indicating the berth was too thick and on a first visit it is not entirely a simple thing to orientate ones-self on a map whilst concentrating on the rise of water in a lock and the movement of the three other vessels in there. To add joy to this mildly disorientating experience, the prop-shaft anode decided to make a bid for freedom at his point, although of course we didn't find out the cause of the noise until later.
Chichester marina's fine map shows a road that runs around the perimeter of the site, but isn't ever so clear about whether the lock itself is passable by pedestrians. It has an arrow indicating a convenience store. Sadly, with its human annotation and its (relative) charm, this map contains some historic detail which might mislead. The convenience store has been upgraded to a marine super-store stocking everything you could want (with a high margin) to get you onto the water and keep you safe and comfortable there. Inconveniently this store now only opens normal shop hours. It stocks one brand of semi-skimmed, over-advertised milk. On our visit, 9:10 on a Sunday, it had no bread.
Just before embarking on this short odyssey I took a flying run round the garden, in my sandals and waving a camera. Ten minutes of carelessness. On our first day afloat on the first short voyage I had an itch that I noticed whilst helming, back of my left knee. Wearing jeans and controlling a yacht in the lively but pleasant conditions of the day did not permit investigation and I forgot the minor irritation until dressed for bed. Inevitably after my last piece, I had been bitten by a tick; it came out fairly simply.
An excursion to hang the first load of washing this morning revealed that summer is moving quickly on. The cotoneaster has lost its buzz; the lily of the valley is half over. I was greeted by a curious hornet, noisy, orange. Last week I saw my first young blackbird and whilst excavating roots disturbed a stag-beetle larva.
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