Juggler's Logbook

"Wonder and shells go together"

"Juggler" is a Halcyon 23 sailing boat. The following is a logbook of her summer cruise from Bristol to somewhere West.

The log is currently (August, 2000) updated daily using a Psion series 5 handheld computer and an Ericsson SH888 mobile phone which has an infra-red modem.

"Juggler" and I have been cruising for ten years. Long enough to fool myself I am a competent sailor!

Saturday 5th August, 0955 hrs.
The Cumberland Basin Bridge will swing at 1000 hrs.. The weather is hot and sunny. Annemarie, a university colleague and boat owner, enthusiastically waved me off. Les, Scottish landowner, artist, traveller and peat stove stoker, wished me well too.

There followed a wonderful, but brief, passage under the Bristol Suspension Bridge and down the python like curves of the River Avon. Avonmouth docks marked the end of the river and the estuary lay brown and glittering beyond. A fresh westerly wind made for a challenging welcome to the Bristol Channel. The 20 mile distance across to Barry Harbour in south Wales seemed much bigger with the wind shoving me back towards Avonmouth. However the tide ran strongly westwards and with reefed main and foresail Juggler leant into the beat.

The channel turns offshore at Portishead and heads out past barely covered sandbanks. Two round islands, Flatholm and Steepholm, lay on the horizon, sentinels guarding the channel. Here the wind was even fresher and Juggler's bilge keels lacked grip on the sploshing water which was formed into three foot waves as wind and tide fought. Objects clattered around inside the cabin as I tacked into the eye of the wind and enjoyed the feeling of hard sailing.

I began sinking! The floorboards were awash. I carefully (in stomping 5 ft waves) looked at the possibilities; the sea toilet - no; the unused engine intake - no; the cockpit drain pipe - no, plus, there was no water in the front, only the main cabin. Ah ha! the sink outlet - yes. Next to the hole is another, unused, one. This was gulping in water with the boat heeled over in the fresh wind the starboard side was immersed up to the drains.
I was quite fearful about sinking but acted calmly. At the time I was refueling the outboard, one of the cans slopped petrol into the cockpit. That left an unpleasant smell to exacerbate the sinking drama!
With sails reefed about 50% Juggler still bashed along on her ear, the wind strength must have been about force 6.
It got to the point at which the tide was turning against me. To remain where I was would result in being quickly swept back up to the sandbanks I'd just thrashed my way out of.

Anchored 1 cable N E of Flat Holm.
Fresh head winds prevented me reaching Barry.
Here is a very uncomfortable anchorage but the only real choice.
I will make the 6 nautical miles to Barry at midnight when the tide allows.
I've been stuck in thinking of 50 mile passages, but short ones of 5 to 25 miles are better. I really can't stand the rhythmic rolling here at Flat Holm. The tide is high at half past twelve. I can go then to Barry and rest. I'm mildly sick and fairly exhausted. The dinghy crashes around at the stern as unceasing waves roll under Juggler from the South. I want a shower.
Sunday 6th Aug, 0620hrs. Breakfast of muesli, tea and a boiled egg. Yesterday the anchor fouled. I could pull the 100ft chain half way up and then no more. I decided to wait until low water in the morning, so I could reveal the obstruction. It was a thick metal cable, which after getting a rope on I untangled the anchor from. A red sunrise gave me hope.
I was sick last night, a first for me, the violent rolling at this anchorage did me in. As the tide speeded up to around 5 knots the wind picked up the swell into cresting waves. I was sheltered but rolling and pitching about. I managed to sleep from 0100hrs to 0500hrs.
Decision - where to? Oxwich too far: Ilfracombe too far: Porthcawl too frightening!: Minehead +/- 2 hours either side of high water, so, no: Porlock Weir, tide wrong, too risky in the dark: Barry, aah, what a good idea, only 6 miles and entrance allways possible.
Teddy says "Go to Barry, I want a holiday, NOW!"
1507hrs Sunday 6th August. Barry Harbour moored yards from the slip in perfect peace. I blubbered a little tear as I arrived; not of happiness or fear, but of the awesome tides, waves, rocks and the little boats in them.
Juggler sailed impeccably the last 6 miles. She bashed her way over five foot crests, without me even holding the tiller. What a perfectly balanced little yacht she can appear. There are occasions when the chaos of wind, waves and tide form a concert, playing the boat like a cool jazz trio.
Some waves rush forward but dive right under the keels, emerging from the other side with a swooosh, like a sturdy toddler with a tendency to rush between your legs when you're not expecting it. These waves seem to have no effect on the boat. Other, smaller waves appear within feet and explode, soaking the sails half way to the top. These ones get you right in the face, and neck and bottom and legs and feet.
I keep thinking how Dave (my friend who sails with me sometimes) would love this, but in other bits, how there'd be nowhere comfortable or even tolerable, with the boat crashing along heeled at 40 degrees in the gusts.
This morning at Flat Holm, the Bristol Channel was all around. There are high headlands (Brean Down, 98 metres), Steep Holm, the other island of the two which stand like sentinels between Glamorgan and Somerset. Seven miles across, it gives views of Welsh mountains and The Quantocks, at 300 metres above sea level. Further down channel, Selworthy Beacon rises 300 metres within two kilometres of the sea.
The view out of Barry Harbour is straight back to Steep Holm, looking like Ayer's Rock, and, Brean Down, a double hump which indicates the Holms in an ancient geological discourse.
I used all of my strength to pull up the cable caught on my anchor. I used all my mental resources to smooth out the sea sickness caused by the rhythmic rolling. I used all of my love of sailing to get boat and self into port again. Well, "love" is not correct. It is a metamorphosis, the boat changes from a floating caravan in port, to a romping whale-like spirit at sea.

"Sitting in-between fish soup and the gully air, the boat is constantly tripped into motion."