The best laid plans......may have lost the battle but not the war.... not a retreat, just an advance in the opposite direction and other literary allusions can not change the facts - we bottled it, within sight of the Mewstone, let alone the Day Mark. To be fair though, it was 'orrible.
We tiptoed past Dartmouth as she cooked breakfast, sauntered home from early Communion, started listening to Steve Wright's "Sunday Love Songs". Opposite the Castle Hotel, favourite haunt of Midshipmen and their girlfriends, Bella took a webcam picture and posted it on my facebook page. Given such an idyllic start we were ill-prepared for the next bit. The first portent was the size of the swell as we rounded "One Gun Point" to starboard. I was thinking, "is this just the funnelling effect of the river mouth in an easterly, or what". It was an "or what"! Once clear of the shelter of Froward point to port the swell turned to waves, not breaking waves in fact very few white caps which is why Bella's photo on my Facebook page looks so benign, just deep troughs with high peaks.
I am no Atlantic sailor and have only done the channel a few times so I know my limitations and this was hammering right on that particular door. We rapidly left the outside helm position and transferred to the pilothouse where David took over. I crawled around on deck battening down the few things that were loose for our casual jaunt in the sun across Lyme Bay. I got soaked all that way aft. I then went to the starboard pilothouse door meaning to shut it whilst I finished off on deck. I peered in to see Dave at the helm, feet planted firmly on the pilothouse sole (that's the floor) well over a meter apart, when he wasn't being thrown sharply to one side or the other, looking just the sort of helm you want in these conditions. Unfortunately, not knowing my own strength, somehow I lifted the door off its runners. I sat back on the deck, back to the rail, with the flaming door braced in my hands wondering what to do with it whilst bloody great waves broke over the bow showering me with water. As I said earlier, I know my limitations and I knew in David Cuff I had the right man to re-hang a sliding door in a seaway. I took the helm again and David did his "F Cuff & Sons" professional trick of re-hanging a sliding door.
I should add a bit of detail and again emphasise that my ocean going sailing has been limited but the waves were about 10 to 12 feet from peak to trough and very short wavelength between the peaks. As a result the bow of our sterling Finnish moggie was digging deep into every other wave. Dave called out "is it always like this?", fair question, on the whole, and not matching the image I had conjured up for him. I had said that between a few jobs and a bit of helming he should bring a good book to idle away the sunshine hours on the aft deck in his deck chair - honestly! We had already got a pair of the collapsible chairs out on the deck and I had even been helming from one whilst going down river. (got to break off now - my son has cooked fajitas)
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