Juggler's Travels
(extracts)"Wonder and shells go together"
(Swansea Bay, 2000)
"Juggler" is a Halcyon 23 sailing boat. Here are extracts from the narrative of her summer cruise from Bristol to west Wales and back. There are twenty-thousand words in ten sections in the complete version. To get the whole story with luscious photographs click here
The log was updated daily using a Psion series 5 handheld computer via infrared with an Ericsson SH888 mobile phone which has a modem.
Saturday 5th August, 0955 hrs.
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. Objects clattered around inside the cabin as I tacked into the eye of the wind and enjoyed the feeling of hard sailing. 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.
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. 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 affect 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 may have a reactive approach to navigation but it's full time, like a constant computation of all possibilities to see which option will be sound and result in progress away from more danger and towards less danger, or, the safe completion of the passage.
(Ilfracombe Harbour, 2000)
(Ilfracombe, 2000)
(Tenby, 2000)
To go off cruising to Ireland would be lovely, but it will soon be September and Juggler is a hibernating animal. To set off now would be to sail into a deteriorating series of weather patterns and ever shortening days. Oh, how depressing! It is my feeling, having reached this corner of the Bristol Channel, that I am on the edge of a new voyage. Today I saw the Islands of Skomer and Skokholm. Northwards is Fishguard and further on is Holy Island with Holyhead and the Skerries. In my pleasure at weaving this web of sailing and writing, I feel as if I would enjoy having a year out of university, in order to sail to Ireland and North to Scotland. Of course that would be more difficult than it seems at present. The autumn Breeze is less forgiving than the summer breeze and it is weather that sets the scene for the sailor.
"Happy people are those who forget the bad things; Sad people are those who remember the bad things!"
(Quote from Ty, Proprietor of Celtic Motor Spares (and Car & Van Hire), Hakin Bridge, Milford Haven. Tel: 01646695524).
It looks like I can head out of the marina tomorrow (Sunday), although I feel, psychologically, unwilling to leave Milford. My physical side will take me away from the security of the marina, to the fringe again, where Gannets wheel and Fulmars paddle, where Shearwater almost touch wing-tips on wave crests. And, where my heart is in my mouth, so it can have a better view!
(Carmarthen Bay, September 2000)
The weather forecast depresses me with gales in the North and rain here tomorrow. I am uneasy about heading to sea in the morning.I would rather be back in Bristol by now. I feel as if autumn has a grip already and I should not be hanging about in the Bristol Channel still. All it takes is a calm day with a touch of sunshine and I shall be on holiday again. For now I feel anxious and vulnerable to a deep low somewhere West of Scotland. The wind moans at me as it passes "what are you still doing here?" as it rushes off to fill a hole up in the North
This morning I went to the Spinning Wheel cafe', where I completely won over a small cat, having her dribbling over my hand in my lap. I engaged with the waitress on a less physical level, talking about her Law degree and her Bournemouth origins. I overheard two other snippets about her as I sat writing; She has a pierced belly button and her name is Claire. The next mission, today, is to eat something decent and keep cool.
A young brown Herring Gull arcs across the water, it's wing tip close to the wavelets like a Manx Shearwater. It rises on an eddy out of the harbour mouth, spooks a pigeon and lands delicately on a high wall. By this time of year these young ones are learning the skills which will enable them to meet the challenges of winter. They no longer squeak incessantly at their parents for food, acting as if they are still covered in down. Instead they peck at anything to see if it is edible. They posture against other birds, expressing the will to power over food sources, as any self respecting Herring gull must. The adults are strapping, big, grey and white birds. Their beaks are yellow with a red spot near the tip. The whiteness of their bellies is clean and bright, a wonder considering the time spent scrabbling for food in the water. Their cries are a constant refrain at the seaside,"Gulla, gulla, gulla, gulla, gulla". It drives the human inhabitants wild, many of whom see gulls as "rats of the air". I think they are beautiful, vivacious, survivors. They have clear, sharp eyes and can catch bread in mid air, like hawks can songbirds.
