An anticyclone of seabirds blew across the field, one line of trees from our car park. The birds flying upwind appeared stationary while those going with the wind whipped by like darts. As the formation drifted it slowly diminished as a steady stream of its members chose to flap back upwind from where they came.
What features are visible in the clouds follow the flock, except the darkness on the horizon that just sits and broods.
Thursday, 18 December 2014
Wednesday, 3 December 2014
Not under steam
Chrome vanadium stood in for lead to calibrate the accoustic depth measure. 3.5 metres in the new money compared well with the vernacular "just less than two helmsman lengths" in rope. We lay our trust in the modern gauge.
Sails were bent on by experiment. The first reefing line made do as an outhaul. The small genoa, confusingly, with its UV strip on the wrong face for the furling line.
The sonorous single cylinder pushed us past the buoy, slipped mooring, and feeling our way in the hidden channel, narrow, shown only by starboard marks. To the mouth, where port is marked, pointing towards the Island. Turned Southerly on a port tack and, quieted the engine, set the head sail, took the breaths we had spared for ten minutes or maybe a month.
The last Saturday of November 2014. High tide at 16:30 (or thereabouts), 13 degrees Centigrade, sunset 16:04, ten knots Easterly backing North Easterly. Our maritime adventure and the rest of the sea was occasionally lit from the side when the sun broke through.
Four tacks and then a gentle turn back towards the castle with a slow, controlled gybe. Still to conquer mooring again we left plenty of time before peak tide or loss of light by motoring back, sail was only giving us a knot in the water and prey to the tidal gyre.
Missing the mooring with the current gave me the opportunity to experiment further with the maneuverability of the vessel and to learn more about the width and character of the channel. She turned in her own length, easily holding off the following buoy and boat. I touched reverse to avoid swinging too wide in the turn and then just let the current drift the bow back to the target using the engine to cancel the flow.
Sails were bent on by experiment. The first reefing line made do as an outhaul. The small genoa, confusingly, with its UV strip on the wrong face for the furling line.
The sonorous single cylinder pushed us past the buoy, slipped mooring, and feeling our way in the hidden channel, narrow, shown only by starboard marks. To the mouth, where port is marked, pointing towards the Island. Turned Southerly on a port tack and, quieted the engine, set the head sail, took the breaths we had spared for ten minutes or maybe a month.
The last Saturday of November 2014. High tide at 16:30 (or thereabouts), 13 degrees Centigrade, sunset 16:04, ten knots Easterly backing North Easterly. Our maritime adventure and the rest of the sea was occasionally lit from the side when the sun broke through.
Four tacks and then a gentle turn back towards the castle with a slow, controlled gybe. Still to conquer mooring again we left plenty of time before peak tide or loss of light by motoring back, sail was only giving us a knot in the water and prey to the tidal gyre.
Missing the mooring with the current gave me the opportunity to experiment further with the maneuverability of the vessel and to learn more about the width and character of the channel. She turned in her own length, easily holding off the following buoy and boat. I touched reverse to avoid swinging too wide in the turn and then just let the current drift the bow back to the target using the engine to cancel the flow.
Thursday, 27 November 2014
Fade to grey
The jays have stopped raiding the evergreen oaks and the willows and hornbeams have bare tops. The sky has colour; steel blues and luminous off-whites, fading to grey. Airbrushed.
The custard maple this morning was clinging on to fewer leaves than on Friday. A sprig of a tree in a dessert coloured pool of discarded clothing. Two deer browsed the heath just North of the A31. The ponies coats looked finger-combed and freshly washed. Mist washed out the detail over much of the route, but actually I wasn't watching too hard this morning. Too little sleep?
The custard maple this morning was clinging on to fewer leaves than on Friday. A sprig of a tree in a dessert coloured pool of discarded clothing. Two deer browsed the heath just North of the A31. The ponies coats looked finger-combed and freshly washed. Mist washed out the detail over much of the route, but actually I wasn't watching too hard this morning. Too little sleep?
Wednesday, 19 November 2014
Bargains on view
November has brought the warmth of summer to its natural close, but with Southerly winds and a little cloud sealing away the vacuum of space by night, the temperatures are still in double figure of Centigrade. More rain is falling, after the remarkable dryness of September; mists form and linger, wrapping the roots of things.
All of the possible experiences of boat ownership from luffing up into a hard tack to sinking have long been anticipated (and long anticipated or feared). So far, despite mechanical setbacks preventing putting up the sails and sailing, the unanticipated experiences have been glorious. Whether marooned on a mud bank, or bobbing gently to the wake of the passenger ferry, the sights and sounds of the autumn river estuary have left a deep impression of peace and beauty.
The estuary birds, accustomed to moored boats, approach fearlessly; browsing, fishing, calling and flying. Fellow boating folk smile and wave or hail; the ferry passengers look on with some envy, or bemusement.
For the money (being crude for a moment), much less than a beach hut would cost nearby, there is an astonishing 360 degree view and a great sense of freedom. Less than half a mile to the mouth, another mile to open sea. Some fear of course, some nervousness, but only enough to keep safe with.
All of the possible experiences of boat ownership from luffing up into a hard tack to sinking have long been anticipated (and long anticipated or feared). So far, despite mechanical setbacks preventing putting up the sails and sailing, the unanticipated experiences have been glorious. Whether marooned on a mud bank, or bobbing gently to the wake of the passenger ferry, the sights and sounds of the autumn river estuary have left a deep impression of peace and beauty.
The estuary birds, accustomed to moored boats, approach fearlessly; browsing, fishing, calling and flying. Fellow boating folk smile and wave or hail; the ferry passengers look on with some envy, or bemusement.
For the money (being crude for a moment), much less than a beach hut would cost nearby, there is an astonishing 360 degree view and a great sense of freedom. Less than half a mile to the mouth, another mile to open sea. Some fear of course, some nervousness, but only enough to keep safe with.
Tuesday, 30 September 2014
committee weather
The first heath after the village edge revealed an untidy sky this morning. Stacked grey in the NW hanging in its own precipitate, whilst magnolia banks glowed in the East and, in the South stacked cumulus reflected bright sun through perforated layers of untidy vapours.
A night mist hung under the thinning canopies of trees a little later, but the sky glowed with promise. Back out in the open knives of sun cut through the layers, scoring boiling mist from the dewed lawns - any hissing submerged by the hiss of tyres on wet tarmac.
On top of the plain, banks of mist rose steadily to join the confusion of fluffy cloudlets already heading for the sky. Beasts and motors, cycles and gorse hid in their folds. The horizon was made of tree-tops with no bottoms and, eventually, the sun washed it all, reflecting whiteness from all directions.
I absorbed the morning, like the coats of the Highland cattle that herded slowly along the road, dripping with each carefully placed hoof.
A night mist hung under the thinning canopies of trees a little later, but the sky glowed with promise. Back out in the open knives of sun cut through the layers, scoring boiling mist from the dewed lawns - any hissing submerged by the hiss of tyres on wet tarmac.
On top of the plain, banks of mist rose steadily to join the confusion of fluffy cloudlets already heading for the sky. Beasts and motors, cycles and gorse hid in their folds. The horizon was made of tree-tops with no bottoms and, eventually, the sun washed it all, reflecting whiteness from all directions.
I absorbed the morning, like the coats of the Highland cattle that herded slowly along the road, dripping with each carefully placed hoof.
Monday, 29 September 2014
Autumny
I saw a fungal fruiting body at 50 paces as I drove through the slightly misty forest this morning. Shaggy ink-cap if you want an opinion, but its proximity to a mouldering tree-stump allows a range of alternatives.
A delightful little sail yesterday, exercising a number of routes around the estuary to the tune of an Easterly that was steady except for ten minutes almost becalmed near the river mouth on the turn of the tide. Slack wind meeting slack water left us bobbing in a frozen mirror. Just up-river, as we weaved around the moored yachts, the low fast flight of an irridescent bird surprised me, ornithology was briefly offline. My first (clear view of a) British kingfisher in flight.
A delightful little sail yesterday, exercising a number of routes around the estuary to the tune of an Easterly that was steady except for ten minutes almost becalmed near the river mouth on the turn of the tide. Slack wind meeting slack water left us bobbing in a frozen mirror. Just up-river, as we weaved around the moored yachts, the low fast flight of an irridescent bird surprised me, ornithology was briefly offline. My first (clear view of a) British kingfisher in flight.
Wednesday, 16 July 2014
horses of courses
The lawn looked remarkably flat this morning, after its trim yesterday evening. Blackbirds and starlings probed the mat for invertebrates and my back was not ever so bad, so happiness all round. A brief measure of panic when it was discovered that youngest was still in bed with three minutes to the bus, but mostly calm. I just wrote in the answer for a Guardian "tough" sudoku wondering as I often do how these puzzles are ranked and how often they print the ratings on the wrong one.
Slightly keen to have time for meeting preparation I considered for two seconds the sensible route to work, but how often is the weather so mellow and the light so luminous in the morning? So to the back roads. I fiddled with the radio as I left the village and, someone out there in FM land was playing Jimmy Somerville; swept back to the part of the 80's in which hope sprang eternal and the world was an exciting place. I knew I'd made the right choice.
Unfortunately many (well too many, but actually rather few) people had made the same calculation and so a certain amount of slowing and passing or diving into the rough was required to negotiate the usual long route to work. The sky filled the gap between horizons with blue only slightly punctuated by fluffy cloudlets. Ponies and donkeys dozed on the roads, letting in the day's heat before moving off to browse. The car said 18.5 degrees centigrade.
By the time I reached work the clouds had disolved, leaving only mares tails scratched into the heavens. Now however the clouds have slabbed and collected and are beginning to frown a little. Small islands of blue remain, but here at ground level the forecast is cooler with possible heavy showers. The radar shows rain from the West disolving before it reaches us.
Time I think for a brief walk, not too far from shelter and I can watch out for the red kite I pretended to not watch from the meeting. Distant gulls circle like motes in the clear light of a cloud gap, lit despite their darkening backdrop; there is a stillness.
Slightly keen to have time for meeting preparation I considered for two seconds the sensible route to work, but how often is the weather so mellow and the light so luminous in the morning? So to the back roads. I fiddled with the radio as I left the village and, someone out there in FM land was playing Jimmy Somerville; swept back to the part of the 80's in which hope sprang eternal and the world was an exciting place. I knew I'd made the right choice.
Unfortunately many (well too many, but actually rather few) people had made the same calculation and so a certain amount of slowing and passing or diving into the rough was required to negotiate the usual long route to work. The sky filled the gap between horizons with blue only slightly punctuated by fluffy cloudlets. Ponies and donkeys dozed on the roads, letting in the day's heat before moving off to browse. The car said 18.5 degrees centigrade.
By the time I reached work the clouds had disolved, leaving only mares tails scratched into the heavens. Now however the clouds have slabbed and collected and are beginning to frown a little. Small islands of blue remain, but here at ground level the forecast is cooler with possible heavy showers. The radar shows rain from the West disolving before it reaches us.
Time I think for a brief walk, not too far from shelter and I can watch out for the red kite I pretended to not watch from the meeting. Distant gulls circle like motes in the clear light of a cloud gap, lit despite their darkening backdrop; there is a stillness.
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