The Voyage of Storm Petrel. Book One. Britain to Senegal Alone in a Boat. Clarissa Vincent.

The Voyage of Storm Petrel. Book One. Britain to Senegal Alone in a Boat. Published by girl in a gale, February 2011, available at www.amazon.com

EXTRACT/
I gazed out on a geckoless sea, as the French boat, "Karak" left this morning. Sunday 16th February, 2003. The couple were my favourite people in Peniche even though we only talked in passing. As I made my way to a pastelaria for breakfast, George was on his way back from the covered market clutching a plastic bag full of rolls. He shook my hand firmly and then held up his rolls. I exclaimed, "Ah, du pain" ("Aha bread"), George, eyes smiling, replied, "Mais oui" ("But yes"), Feeling really competent in speaking French I plunged into the shallow pool of my knowledge. I said, "Pour mange' avec du buerre et la confiture" ("To eat with butter and jam"), George, his beard looking like a tide rip over the shoal of his chin, said, "Certainement ... est le miel"

The Voyage of Storm Petrel

The Sailor, the Boat, the Book
____ -------------^--------- _____________

............. The Sailor .............

I have sailed in small cruising yachts since 1990. I became interested in coasting and voyaging as I read more and more books about it.
While looking for information about living on the local canal in Hertfordshire I saw a book by Tania Abe, called "Maiden Voyage". I realized if it took Tanya Abe a couple of years to sail around the world, she must have been living aboard for the duration. Therefore I could live on a twenty six footer too. I was deeply engaged by her story of sailing alone aged just eighteen. My interest in living on a barge waned as the idea of small sailing boats became an obssession.
Another intrepid small boat sailor, Shane Acton, was so laid back he made it all seem so easy. He went around the world on a tiny, eighteen foot, plywood boat, called "Shrimpy". His book was titled after his boat. Now I knew what I wanted..
The writing of Tristan Jones is my absolute favourite. His Welsh character as well as a gift for spinning a yarn brought disbelief from some readers. Nonetheless, "Saga of a Wayward Sailor" and "The Improbable Voyage" amongst others, are pure adventure, very funny and rich writing.
For me, sailing has been as much a literary environment as a wet one. Although my first experiences of the wet world were as an unwilling four year old, with my parents and sister, clambouring over one another in a fourteen foot GP14 dinghy. Then, in 1992, I sailed to France and Belgium aboard my own twenty three footer, "Juggler" and life has been wet ever since. In 2001 I graduated with a BA Honours in Sociology and since then I have grown to love writing as much as sailing.
............. The Boat .............
"Storm Petrel of Narnia" is a twenty seven foot long sailing boat. She is over forty years old and built strongly with an elegant hull form. The Folkdancer 27 was designed by Fredrick Parker. The lines are derived from the enormously popular Scandinavian Folkboat. She has two sails, a genoa, set forward, and a mainsail set aft of the mast. Her cruising speed is three to five knots (One "knot" is a little faster than one "mile per hour"). Storm Petrel had travelled extensively prior to my ownership. Apparently she was sailed to New Zealand during the 1980's. I bought her in 2001. When I repainted the stern, I added a port of origin "Storm Petrel ... of Narnia". Her home port exists only in books. Her travels, however, are on the real sea.

Mistral Blows West

A narrative provoked by an inland voyage. Single-handed with a Dawncraft 25 canal cruiser from Ely in Cambridgeshire to Bristol in the South West. 300 miles; 225 Locks; 17 days.

"...1300 hrs Lock through Denver Sluice. A narrowboat and family prepare somewhat nervously. This nervous tension peaks as the lock starts to open and an anchor and warp is wrestled out of a deep locker. "I hate this stretch, every time" sings the skipper of the narrowboat while his partner increases the tension by reminding him that "Well there IS a woman and child aboard!"..." Read more - This story is in eight sections, linked at the bottom of each page

Bristol Channel cruising

Chapter One, in which Juggler heads to sea after 3 years in harbour and starts sinking.

"...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...." Read more

Bristol Channel cruising

Chapter Two, in which Juggler sails to . . . a shell on Swansea beach.

"...Swansea surrounds me like a sweaty blanket, it's nice to be in urbanity (I went in search of a bakery and a cafe') but shops are the same nationwide. The first impression I got is that all the shops are closed down and boarded up, to be replaced by "Super Shops" which sell everything one could possibly need, like cigs, milk, fags and papers. Swansea has a modern shopping gallery just the same as anywhere. The older part of town is similar to Reading or Leicester. I found battery terminals to link my two together, film for my camera, batteries for my Psion and GPS, distilled water for the charging, boiling, batteries.
Things on sale which made me chuckle are a beer named "Blob". Gold plastic 13 amp plugs and a skin tight pink lame' mini dress.
The Old Maid Cafe' has a painted 3/4 scale hardboard Old Maid in the window, wearing long black skirts, broccade and lace neck, topped with half-eyes and a silver bun. The most exciting thing I saw was a calender with pictures of the Welsh coastline, the Gower, Milford Haven, and north Wales are all beautiful. Especially when taken on sunny days with large format cameras.
I wonder if a fan heater will be useful to dry out the damp. Juggler has become more fish than fowl after her voyage and is damp as a sea cave. I could light a charcoal fire but it is simply too warm already. The damp is partly due to very muggy weather which feels like having a mildly feverish temperature.
I've checked with various people (Boots checkout girl, Old Maid Cafe' waitress, Marina office staff) that it is not just me who is gruggy, all reports say the weather is the cause. So I'll just plod on into my adventure...." Read more

Bristol Channel cruising

Chapter Three, in which I decide to get home in time for tea ... one day.

"...I sat on the terrace of a cafe' overlooking the marina, holidaymakers, stragglers from the beech, wandered past in search of adventure, or just getting away from the sand and the town centre which reminds them so much of home. Being intimidated by on one hand the estate agents whose window was crowded with marina dwellings at extortionate prices, and on the other hand by the yacht brokerage whose window was crowded with expensive yachts. I overheard comments such as, "It's like Monte Carlo!" (in a Welsh accent)..." Read more

Bristol Channel cruising

Chapter Four, in which I see my first real dolphin and find two brass ones in a charity shop.

"...Ilfracombe is not a completely calm place to moor. Any South Westerly around to North Easterly winds send in a surge to both the inner and outer harbours. This means constant movement which is wearing on the mind in a way that only someone who has experienced it can know! From the pier the boats look calm and pretty with the slight rolling and rocking movements appearing, well, charming and relaxing. From within the cabin though, the view outside is forever heaving up and down and ones internal organs are in motion. The feeling this produces makes me quite envious of people on holiday with cars and sleeping in nice solid hotels. "Oh for a hotel bed that doesn't rock and roll...". No, only joking. I have a plan to make for Milford Haven tomorrow morning at 0500 hrs (Tuesday the 15th August). It is a slightly daunting passage in the open sea at around 50 miles. The refuges en route are nil, apart from Lundy Island, which is a formidable lump of granite accompanied by Puffins. The Puffins do sound wonderful and reaching Milford Haven has become an ideal position to attain.
From there I can take a train to Ilkley next week while juggler is moored securely in a marina. Also there are numerous rivers and bays to explore all within the relative shelter of the extensive Cleddau Estuary, which stretches ten miles inland. I would feel that I had made sufficient distance away from Bristol to be really pleased with myself, at the same time I would not be giving myself any extreme challenges on the way back in September. 100 miles is a fair way but done in day sails is easy to whittle down. The 50 miles from Ilfracombe to Milford Haven is proving hard to embark on, psychologically it is beyond my comfortable passage length of 25 miles although I have many times sailed 50 miles in one leg..." Read more

Bristol Channel cruising

Chapter Five, in which I'm hungry for a teacake . . . and a waitresses smile.

"...I drink coffee as the sun rises over Hillsborough Head, to the East. Two dogs bark, one goes "Rugh, rugh, rugh, rugh", the other goes "Hgur, hgur, hgur, hgur". I sit on the bucket and laugh to myself at them. The cabin is open to the sunshine which drives out the clamminess from rainy days and sweaty nights.
One night I awoke in the early hours, about 2 am, and, popped my head out of the forehatch to check the dinghy was secured. When the tide leaves it knocks the dinghy around for a few minutes just when the surge breaks onto the sand at that point. Anyway as I peered over the side I heard a wolf-whistle! Only my shoulders were visible so I wasn't being overly careless. Can a girl get no peace, anywhere?..." Read more

Bristol Channel cruising

Chapter Six, in which Clarissa sees Caldy Island from the cafe' Candy overlooking Carmarthen Bay.

"...I have reached my turning point, the apex of my journey. From here I can only head back Eastwards up the ever narrowing Bristol Channel. Here I'm closer to Rosslare in Ireland than Padstow in Cornwall (58 n miles and 67 n miles respectively). How exciting to sail over to Ireland. I have other plans, the Llamas re-union in Ilkley is at the end of the coming week, I have to get there and be in bass player mode. 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. All evocative to a writer (my chosen persona for now!) and attractive to a little yacht and skipper, fit from sailing the summer breeze.
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..." Read more

Bristol Channel cruising

Chapter Seven, in which I become conversant with Celtic Motor Spares and Cresswell Quay.

"...I visited Cresswell Quay to remember Tristan Jones, a writer and sailor of incredible quality. One of his boats was named "Cresswell", he was Welsh. Cresswell Quay is beautiful, a small village surrounded by wooded hills on a bend of a winding seaweed ridden creek. There is a line of stepping stones across the Cresswell River, which at the time was a bed of mud, stones and seaweed. The public toilets are as clean as a whistle. Across the road are cottages, a church hall and a pub. Through a gap in thick ivy one can read "RESS ARM", inside, the "Cresswell Arms" is a relaxed, unaffected peace and quiet. I sat on a wooden pew type seat with a coffee as two locals and the Landlady talked. A large beige enamelled cooking range has a vase of flowers on top, I note to myself to put flowers in Juggler occasionally, they are so simple and brief. A cured ham is suspended to the right of the range, partly cut away, I wondered if one could buy ham sandwiches, but my gaze settled on a Capstan Cigarettes poster. It shows a 1930's steam vessel in rough seas, two male figures huddle behind the wheel, out of the spray. My impression was of the pleasure a Capstan would give, like a brief, minute, fire, to reassure the sailor out in the rough salty sea. The rest of the decor consisted mainly of horse racing pictures. The landlady was tall and slim, wore a dress and blouse, with mousy, bushy hair and strong eyebrows. The bar and entrance door were painted brown gloss, the bottom of the door was rotting despite successive coats of paint. Rotting peacefully and quietly, with verisimilitude. Nothing disrupted this rare authenticity, until a noise, "BZSST" heralded the death of a bluebottle in an electric fly killer's blue light over the entrance..." Read more

Bristol Channel cruising

Chapter Eight, in which I return to Tenby twice, once by sail and once on foot.

"...Monkstone Head, half way between Tenby and Saundersfoot, had fairly difficult paths. I noticed a thick rope which plunged over a rugged precipice to the beach below, but was relieved to see the path continued in another direction. I do not like heights. 20 feet high harbour ladders are quite hazardous but one gets used to using them daily. I suppose climbers get used to giddy heights too.
A view of Tenby from the South side of Monkstone Head had me riveted to the spot as breaking waves could be heard far below on the beach. Occasionally the path edged around slopes, so steep, that if one fell it would be impossible to hang on, while further down, the incline plunged vertically to the beach. It was all very dramatic but I am sure that if I took friends there to see it the cliffs would shrink, the view would moderate and the distances would diminish. Part of my wonder comes from my solitude and freedom within that..." Read more

Bristol Channel cruising

Chapter Nine, in which I dream of being a sea captain.

"...Alice and Michael, on holiday from Norfolk sat on the quay as I rowed in and made the dinghy shipshape. "You did that well", said Alice. We talked about boats and fishing and dietary requirements and fear at sea and Great Yarmouth and Bristol. Michael fished with a rod and bits of sand-eels, little silver eel shaped fish used as bait and sold frozen in plastic packets.
When a bite revealed a crab hanging on the bait with no intention to let go, Michael proceeded to bully the creature so that it fell over onto its back as it swiped and snapped it's claws. Alice and I were in hysterics but worried about the well being of the crab. We breathed a sigh of relief when the crab was eventually chucked back, to sink and live on in the harbour..." Read more

Bristol Channel cruising

Chapter Ten, Cardiff for coal and Bristol for coffee, and, Aslan sees me home.

"...A crew cut haired man in a red T-shirt sits with a pint, I avoid catching his eye, preferring to sit quietly ashore. My eyes fall on a photograph on the wall next to me, it is the same man wearing the same red T-shirt, but making a silly expression. I smile to myself. The reward which comes from maintaining independence is often immediate and surprising
Alternatively one contacts others in a thinly veiled attempt to generate conversation. This can work well, soon breaking the ice and developing into actual conversation. The times it fails is when the difference between people prevents progress. like trying to eat dry bread at sea, chewing just makes it more sticky!
I drink a single malt whisky, a Glen Ord, it is strong, clear and has immediate effect, even though I have a full belly of rice and vegetables..." Read more

Kresza and I

"In which Kresza and I voyage from Peterborough in Cambridgeshire to great Yarmouth in Norfolk. Aboard "Juggler" a 1971 Halcyon 23 sailing cruiser....
...We had to time our arrival at Salter's Lode lock to coincide with high water, when the lock allows passage into the tidal Great Ouse. On motoring out of Salter's Lode the river undergoes a total change in character. With a feeling of tension we noticed the presence of a new force. The banks were scoured clear of features and instead of peaty fauna and sweet quiet waters there was smooth sand and a rippling power in the water."/Follow the story

The way of a sea gypsy

The way of a sea gypsy
"...Sea "gypsy"? How romantic! How naive! Yes, both of those are true. Kresza and I sailed into a dream of gulls and East coast mud, we tasted the fresh prawns of Dunkerque and levelled with the officious eyes of the harbour authorities in Oostende. We slipped out of marinas in the early hours to take the early bird discount! But we paid our way with our presence and our music, our naive ability to overcome difficulties....
...In 1995 I left the Suffolk coast with a Woodbridge man and a musician friend, Drew, aboard Juggler, heading for Cornwall. We reached Falmouth fuelled mainly by grilled mackerel and banana porridge!..."/Follow the story