"Passing through the Avon Gorge under the wonderful suspension bridge, we all felt at ease in the bright sunshine."

Dolly is co-skipper of Super S

Crewing aboard S.V."Super S"

"Super S is an extremely well found vessel built by a proper sailor who knew the demands of long distance cruising"
Date - 4th June 2002

I was asked to crew down to Cowes from Bristol aboard Super S, a thirty-eight foot Macgregor sailing cruiser.
Eddy and Dolly were heading to the Isle of Wight to join the United Kingdom Sailing Academy (UKSA).
I have been sailing long enough to give the impression of nonchalent ability and this was enhanced by my single handed manouvers in and out of Bristol Marina on my own twenty-seven foot yacht.
Super S is an extremely well found vessel built by a proper sailor who knew the demands of long distance cruising. She had been sailed to the Azores and back and in the Round Britain race.
Eddy and Dolly had been working hard at preparing her for sea and I felt very confident in both boat and owners. They had owned her for less than a year.

"We fully expected to weather the whole trip in Super S without stopping."

The Clifton Suspension Bridge is in the background
We left Bristol Marina on Tuesday 4th June at eleven a.m. with a decent weather forecast of westerly force 4 or 5. There was no point waiting for the wind to change because it is common knowledge that in sailing, the wind is always from ahead.
The forecast wind strength was not at all unreasonable. The size of Super S had me uprating my cautionary wind speeds from the usual force 5 or 6 being too strong to set off in, to force 6 or 7 being a comfortable limit for a well found thirty-eight footer. Passing through the Avon Gorge under the wonderful suspension bridge, we all felt at ease in the bright sunshine.

"When the depth sounder was found to be faulty I remember some salty comment about using a lead line; it seemed reasonable at the time".

The skipper, Eddy, at the wheel in the centre cockpit
The force 5 was therefore acceptable to all three of us and we passed out of the "floating harbour" lock and under the Bristol Suspension Bridge with courage and optimism. Passing through the Avon Gorge by boat is the sole redeeming factor of berthing in Bristol. It is quite a daunting prospect to have to pass through various swing bridges and a lock. One must then push the tide down to Avonmouth, finally emerging into the Severn Estuary with its fearsome tides and sandbanks. Bristol Channel tides have a strong reputation, but in reality many places have fast tides, bores, swing bridges and sandbanks. In this way local sailors all around the British coastline build up the particularly hazardous features of their locality. This talk makes one feel frightened of ever leaving the harbour.
So, we left knowing we were the elite type of sailors who could see through the projections of marina moaners. We felt we had the courage to go against common sense and actually go sailing.
Most marinas contain well equipped boats which rarely, if ever, go to sea, but Super S was not like those and we planned to do the longish trip around to Cowes in one leg.
With a fin keel and seven foot draft there are few ports of refuge until we reached the English Channel. We did not manage to get there and we ended up in Padstow. All three of us were suffering from debillitating seasickness in the short lumpy seas of the Bristol Channel.
"We did very well by covering over a hundred miles in just twenty hours but then it all came to a stop."

We did very well by covering over a hundred miles in just twenty hours but then it all came to a stop. Firstly, the wind was always dead ahead, so we motored into it doggedly and expected it to veer to the north-west about the same time as we turned to the south-west on rounding Hartland Point. We anticipated being able to set sail on a beam reach. and settle in to regular watches accompanied by cups of hot steaming tea and welcome snacks: a real passage in a real sailing boat by real sailors.
However, the wind remained in the west-south-west with the odd gust from a more northerly quarter. We knew it would change eventually and that gave us something to look forward to.
After twenty hours of determined motoring the diesel fuel ran out unexpectedly. At the same time the wind faded away to nothing. We were now getting nowhere, the boat wallowed in a lumpy sickly sea and a badly set mainsail slapped to and fro annoyingly.
The rhythmic rolling in beastly beam seas had shot the diesel up the sides of the diesel tank and caused air bubbles to stop the engine. Whether or not the tank had baffles is unknown and will be checked at the first opportunity.

Secondly, we had all thought super S to be so well built and fitted out, she would go as far as we could push her. We had not realised the strain of motoring into heavy walloping seas for twenty two hours. Dspite the very reasonable progress the boat was making, we all succumbed to seasickness after the first forty miles. One by one we reched out our breakfasts. First Dolly, who was a novice crew, then myself, who prides herself on never suffering seasickness. The only time I have been seasick on my own boat was while anchored and rolling the gunnels under. The smoke of a charcoal heater was as bad as the smell of diesel as far as nausea. Why I was sick this time is unclear, I am used to single handed sailing on a small boat with an outboard engine. The outboard means I rarely resort to motoring, instead I am accustomed to sailing my way out of situations, albeit slowly.
Motoring at six knots in lumpy seas is fine for a few hours, but very tiring for prolonged periods. It was reaching into a low locker for milk which got me. Once I had reched I was cold, tired and out of action for several hours.

Thirdly, the skipper, Eddy, topped up the diesel tank from deck cans and bravely, yes bravely, went below to bleed the injectors. After the third attempt the engine came to life, but it had been the final straw for the skippers churning stomach.
We decided to make for the only port of refuge within fuel range and laid a course for Padstow, eighteen miles down the Cornish coast.
GPS fixes were hastily plotted in the clatter and clutter of the heaving cabin. The chart table was very well arranged with a secure seat and everything at hand including an effective chart light on a flexible stem. The chart covering the Cornish part of the Bristol Channel, however, was too small a scale for accurate fixes.
"Being at sea is an entirely different experience to shore based passage planning"
It is a rule of sailng to have suitable charts, particularly of ports of refuge en route. We had been using a passage planning chart covering the whole Bristol Channel since rounding Hartland Point and this was an oversight in our preparations. We fully expected to weather the whole trip in Super S without stopping. Eddy had a good five day forecast and we had been confident of, at least, rounding Lands End before stopping.
I had entered Padstow before. When I saw a cone shaped rocky islet close inshore I assumed it to be Neyland, a large rock half a mile to seaward of the Camel estuary. In reality it was Gull Rock, off Tintagel Head.

We passed close to seaward of the rock as if to approach the Camel estuary, but gradually realised there was no opening behind it, just a waterfall coming down a gully.
I'm sure I saw a group of Storm Petrels, the smallest seabird in Europe, which pleasantly interested me for a few minutes. The moment of bird watching was my way of trying to forget the massive navigational error which had us rolling around near to Tintagel Head. I was tired and had been helming during the coldest hours of daybreak. I am used to having a GPS and damp chart on my knees in the cockpit so a constant check can be made on position and progress. Super S was organised differently so the navigation was all done below at the chart table.
A sickly but seriously concerned navigator did some intense chartwork with the GPS and a magnifying glass. The result of this burst of rationality was an urgent order to the sickly skipper to steer due west, away from the cliffs and wheeling gulls, out to sea again.
The entrance to Padstow was five miles further along the coast and the wind was now freshening from the north-west. We were close to rocks with the swell bursting upwards into white skeins, there were daunting cliffs for as far as the eye could see.
The boat was on a lee shore and I prayed in my heart the engine would keep going.
We were unfamiliar with the sails and reefing gear aboard Super S although we had set the mainsail.
There was a raincloud system enveloping the cliffs near Padstow and so we took down the mainsail and motored slowly up the coast. The tide was beginning to run against us and again we were wallowing side to side in a new cross swell from the fresh northerly wind, right on the beam.
The bight of hostile rocky cliffs between Hartland Point (over twenty miles to the north) and Trevose Head (four miles sw of Padstow) forms a dangerous cordon. Due to our health and lack of practice with Super S under sail I was unsure of our ability to claw off the lee shore if the engine stopped again.
One of the wise choices in preparation had been going with neap tides. The Bristol Channel does have strong tidal streams but we were able to make good way against the newly incoming tide. This rising tide would allow us to make into the Camel estuary with its evocatively named Doom Bar.
The wind was blowing straight in to the entrance as I pushed aside fears of going aground and pounding on the sands.
We passed close by a fishing boat and Eddy called out to them, "How much water over the bar?".
"Plenty!" came the helpful reply, so we headed in towards the irresistable refuge with our hearts in our mouths and a seven foot fin keel being the only depth gauge aboard. The depth sounder had not been working since Bristol where it had indicated one foot and had remained like that regardless of the actual depth.
The skipper later stated we should have gone back to Bristol marina the moment we realised there was not a working depth sounder. I remember some salty comment about using a lead line; it seemed reasonable at the time.

We passed safely over Doom Bar and rounded up to anchor in The Pool, near to Padstow Harbour.
Next thing we were all asleep in the flat estuarial calm.
Now I am on a train home to Bristol having finally accepted the skippers decision to get the boat to Cowes by other means. The strain on his body and mind had been made unbearable by the engine bleeding event. The prospect of a hundred miles of rock strewn, desolate seas around Lands End, with no ports of refuge added to the depression. The health of all three of us had been stricken by tiredness and beaten by seasickness.

I was the only one able to eat anything at all even though we were now locked in to the serene inner harbour of Padstow.
Three hearty Welshmen on the boat next to us muttered something about "chicken" but I know it was the wisest choice to make in the circumstances.
The skipper had health issues which brought him to the bravest decision of all: to abort the trip.
"Brave sailors are less able than well found boats"

Lessons learned:

1. Brave sailors are less able than well found boats

2. The wind nearly always blows from the direction in which one wishes to travel (particularly so with light winds while under motor. Then most of it is apparent wind, caused by the boats forward motion)

3. The Bristol Channel is a bastard stretch of water (Now I've said that I qualify as a local)

4. A crew of three is as strong as the strongest member (in some respects)

5 A crew of three is as weak as the weakest member (in other respects)

6 Being at sea is an entirely different experience to shore based passage planning (One of the most difficult things to do in a yacht in a seaway is pour a kettle of water into several mugs - there should be a test for that)
"...we were now locked in to the serene inner harbour of Padstow"

Finally, to have sufficient confidence and ability with ones vessel it is necessary to play with all aspects of the handling of sails and reefing. The ability to claw ones way off a lee shore against a rising wind is invaluable.
As a single hander I might have decided to head offshore under reefed sails, therefore to take advantage of the new wind direction and make good progress down towards Lands End. Perhaps I would have been encouraged by the motion of a boat under sail rather than feeling ennervated by constantly motoring.
I would have heartened myself with thoughts of freer winds in the English Channel. I have experienced the way the first part of a trip can be entirely different to the second part. I would certainly have thoroughly enjoyed arriving in the Solent aboard Super S, the super spirit.

Sailing is an extremely challenging pastime. One must know when the challenge is too great and be prepared to admit it, as was the skipper, and, accept it, as were the crew.

 
"...the bravest decision of all: to abort the trip"
Words and images ©Clarissa Vincent 2002