Gosport to Cowes
April 9, 2025 in England ⋅ ☀️ 14 °C
April 9, 2025, dawned with a sense of purpose and a touch of nervous excitement. Today wasn’t the grand departure into the vast unknown, but a crucial prelude, a practice sail from Gosport to Cowes. Our mission was clear: to put Halcyon Sea, with all her recent upgrades, through her paces and ensure we felt confident at the helm before truly casting off on our long held adventure.
The conditions could not have been more perfect. The wind, a playful yet steady breeze, filled our imaginary glasses with what felt like champagne sailing. Just outside the Portsmouth Harbour entrance, the moment arrived. With a practiced rhythm, the main sail was hoisted, catching the wind and filling with a satisfying billow. Moments later, the Genoa followed suit, and Halcyon Sea heeled gently, responding beautifully to the combined power of the canvas.
The sail to Cowes was nothing short of exhilarating. The boat danced across the water, slicing through the waves with anewfound efficiency. We revelled in the responsiveness of the upgrades, the smooth glide a testament to the hard work and preparation of recent months. In a mere two hours and 18 minutes, one of our fastest passages yet, the familiar shores of Cowes welcomed us. It was a resounding success, a confident nod from the sea that we were on the right track.
The journey to this point, however, had been far from a carefree sail. The past few months had presented their own set of challenges. Tracey‘s redundancy, while a significant life event, had ultimately acted as a catalyst, solidifying our decision to finally realise our long-cherished dreams.
Packing up our house a place filled with years of memories was an emotional undertaking. The process of selling many of our belongings felt like shedding layers of our past. Deciding what was truly essential for life afloat and then the Herculean task of shoehorning it all onto Halcyon Sea, tested our ingenuity and patience. There were numerous leaving dos, each a bittersweet farewell to cherished friends and familiar faces. Amidst the goodbyes, there were floods of tears – tears of sadness at leaving, tears of relief at progress, and tears of anticipation for the unknown.
But here we are, at the starting line. Halcyon Sea, laden with our worldly possessions and our hopes for the future, had aced her practice run. And nestled amongst the blankets our loyal little dog Pepper, a steadfast member of our crew, was ready too. The upgrades were working, our spirits were high, and the sea was calling. We had navigated the emotional tides and the logistical challenges. We were ready to go. The real adventure is about to begin.
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Cowes back to Gosport
April 10, 2025 in England ⋅ ☀️ 12 °C
Today marked a bittersweet mini voyage we cast off our lines from the familiar embrace of Cowes Yacht Haven not to venture further afield just yet but to retrace our steps back to Gosport the mission? To gather the final pieces of our land-based life and welcome them aboard Halcyon Sea, securing them for the adventures that lie ahead.
The sails remained furled, the steady hum of the engine our constant companion. But this deliberate, motorised journey offered a unique opportunity – a chance for a visual farewell to some of the iconic landmarks that have punctuated our time in this corner of the Solent.
Like eager tourists in our own backyard, we snapped away with our cameras as the familiar skyline unfolded. The sleek, soaring silhouette of the Spinnaker Tower pierced the sky, a modern sentinel against the horizon. The stoic presence of Fort Gilkicker, a historic guardian of the hi coastline, stood resolute. The intriguing form of the submarine escape training tank, a testament to naval ingenuity. We lingered as we passed the historic Hotwalls, the ancient stones whispering tales of centuries past. And then the imposing Majesty of HMS Prince of Wales, a symbol of naval power and a familiar site in these waters.
The short journey back to Gosport wasn’t just about logistics; it was a poignant pause, a moment to absorb the beauty and history of the place we were leaving.Read more
Final Preparations
April 11, 2025 in England ⋅ ☀️ 15 °C
And so, the moment arrived. The culmination of weeks packing, sorting, and the bittersweet process of letting go of land-based life. Today, the last vestiges of our earthly possessions made their way into Halcyon Sea, each item carefully stowed and securely fastened.
It was a Tetris-like challenge of epic proportions. The electric bikes, our trusty steeds for exploring coastal paths, were wrestled onboard. The paddle board, promising sun-drenched adventures in hidden coves, found its designated spot. And then there was the miscellaneous collection - the “who knows how many other things” that inevitably accumulate when transitioning from house to hull. Each box, bag, and carefully chosen item represented a piece of our past, now joining us on our journey into the future.
Yet, against all odds, through some nautical miracle of spatial awareness ( and perhaps a little bit of forceful persuasion), everything found its place. The boat, once seemingly overflowing with the necessities of our new life, now felt organised, compact, and ready.
Our final errands in Gosport took an unexpected turn amidst the bustle of last-minute shopping and prescription pickups. We came across a woman that had fallen, and her understandably distressed son was on the phone, his voice laced with concern as he tried to guide emergency services to their location. the challenge? They were unsure of exactly where they were.
Without hesitation, our focus shifted and our instinct to help took over. We stayed by the lady’s side, offering what comfort we could, ensuring she remained as comfortable as possible and, crucially, conscious while we waited for the ambulance to arrive. In those moments, the simple act of being present, offering a reassuring word, felt more important than our own to do lists.
We were all relieved when the ambulance arrived into the car park. The paramedics completed their initial checks and a wave of relief washed over us all as the lady, thankfully, was able to stand with their assistance and walk to the ambulance for further assessment.
Having played our small part, a quiet sense of exhaustion settled upon us, a different kind of tired than the physical exertion of loading the boat. We decided to treat ourselves to a well-deserved and delicious dinner at The Creek, the comfortable ambiance and good food a welcome balm after the afternoon’s events.
Returning to Halcyon Sea as dusk painted the sky in hues of orange and purple, we felt a profound sense of readiness. Not just for the journey ahead, but for the quiet sanctuary of our floating home. Tomorrow would dawn early - a 5 am departure dictated by the unforgiving rhythm of the tides. The day’s unexpected detour had left us weary, but also with a quiet sense of purpose. A good night’s rest was not just desired; it was essential. As the gentle rocking of the boat lulled us towards sleep, we drifted off, ready to greet the dawn and the next chapter of our adventure.Read more
Farewell Dolphin Pool
April 12, 2025 in England ⋅ ☁️ 18 °C
The pre-dawn hush hung heavy in the air, a silence thick with emotion. At 5.15 am, under the watchful gaze of a magnificent full pink moon, we slipped our lines for the very last time. A lump lodged firmly in both our throats, a physical manifestation of the decade of memories tethered to this very spot, our boat’s beloved home.
The glow of the moon illuminated our passage as we nudged the bow towards the Portsmouth Harbour entrance. Each gentle turn of the wheel was accompanied by a quiet reflection, a silent reel of moments spent within this familiar haven. We knew, with a certainty that tugged at our hearts, that this departure wasn’t just for a few days or weeks. This was a significant farewell, a chapter closing with the promise of a new adventure, but carrying the bittersweet pang of leaving a cherished past behind.
A crisp chill permeated the air, urging us to zip up our foul weather gear. Even Pepper, our trusty four legged first mate, was bundled in her blankets, her life jacket a comforting, if slightly comical, addition to her early morning attire.
Leaving Dolphin Pool felt like turning the page in a well loved book. A sense of anticipation for what lies ahead mingled with a deep-seated gratitude for the memories that had been made here.
The wind was gusting harder than anticipated and pushed us towards Selsey Bill. This stretch of water always carries a certain weight of anticipation for sailors, a place where currents and conditions demand respect. We held our breath as we passed closely by the green buoy entering the Looe channel.
As the coastline unfolded, familiar landmarks emerged. The iconic white tents of Butlins at Bognor Regis stood out on the horizon. But, it was what appeared further out that truly stole our attention. A flash of grey broke the surface - a dolphin, breaching! In all our years of sailing the Solent, such a sighting had been a rare and treasured event, only our second encounter.
Then, as if summoned by our wonder, the magic multiplied. Within moments, the solitary splash transformed into a joyous ballet. A pod of dolphins, sleek and graceful, surrounded Halcyon Sea. They danced alongside us, arcing out of the water on both port and starboard, their playful energy a vibrant spectacle against the grey expanse of sea. For a glorious eight minutes, they were our companions, their presence a pure, unadulterated joy.
For us, this encounter felt more than just a chance meeting. It was a sign, a buoyant omen sent to bless our new journey. The emotion of the moment welled up, bringing tears to Tracey’s eyes - a mix of awe and the reassurance we hadn’t realised we craved. It was a truly magical interlude, a moment etched indelibly into the tapestry of our sailing memories.
With hearts lifted, we continued our passage, the rhythmic pulse of the engine and the wind the only sounds surrounding us. The. coastline slipped by - Littlehampton, Shoreham, Hove - each town a fleeting landmark on our nautical roadmap towards Brighton.
Eight and a half hours after casting off from Portsmouth, we finally steered Halcyon Sea into Brighton Marina. A wave of tiredness washed over us, a satisfying weariness that comes after a long but safe passage. However, our arrival was met with slight disappointment. Having visited Brighton Marina numerous times in the past, the current state of the pontoons and the overall upkeep of the marina was disheartening. As part of the Premier Marina Group, our expectations were admittedly higher.
Still, Brighton was just. brief respite, a place to recharge our batteries and prepare for the next leg of our adventure to Eastbourne. The memory of the dolphins, their playful escort a vibrant contrast to the marina’s faded grandeur, served as a powerful reminder of the unpredictable beauty and magic that lies beyond the harbour walls.Read more
Trading Rough Seas for Rest and Roast
April 13, 2025 in England ⋅ ☁️ 13 °C
A dawn chorus in Brighton Marina was drowned out by a different kind of sound this morning - the insistent howl of the wind. Our initial enthusiasm for an early departure to Eastbourne quickly waned as we peered out at the churning water. Neither Nick nor I relished the prospect of a long, bumpy slog, but more importantly the thought of putting our little Pepper through such a turbulent journey felt unfair.
And so, a welcome change of plan was hatched: a day of rest. It was a decision embraced with a collective sigh of relief. For the first time in what felt like an eternity (in reality, a couple of whirlwind months), we had little to do. No more endless boxes to unpack, no more bags to heave around the confines of our floating home. A genuine, guilt-free lay-in was the order of the morning.
Our quiet morning was punctuated by a message from the intrepid crew of Fuzzy Duck. They too had sought refuge in Brighton overnight, but their resolve, or perhaps their tight schedule and the pull of awaiting work, had seen them brave the blustery conditions and depart as planned. A fleeting pang of “should we have gone?”flickered through our minds, but it was quickly extinguished by the comforting reminder of our own fortunate position - time, for now, was on our side.
Having explored Brighton on previous visits, we opted for a more low-key day. A leisurely stroll around the marina beckoned, leading us up onto the sturdy Harbour wall. We walked its entire length the wind whipping at our faces, until we stood level with Halcyon Sea, bobbing gently in her berth. From our vantage point at the end of the harbour wall we were treated to an excellent view of the vibrant Brighton promenade stretching along the coastline. Further out to sea the white wind turbines of the Rampion wind farm stood like silent sentinels.
Along the back wall of the marina, a colourful array of small fishing boats were lined up, their presence announcing themselves with the distinct, pungent aroma of the sea. It was a stark reminder of the working life that coexists alongside the leisure of sailing.
The real joy of our marina wander was watching Pepper. Freed from the confines of her lead and the increasingly familiar small spaces of the boat, she bounded along the harbour wall, her little legs are blur of happy energy. It was a heartwarming sight, a reminder of the simple pleasures of open space.
Our relaxed day culminated in a hearty Sunday roast at the Brighton Marina Yacht Club. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming, the staff friendly, and the food absolutely delicious, a proper Sunday indulgence. The club buzzed with the chatter of sailors, many eagerly awaiting the results of the days racing, oblivious to our own quiet day of respite.
For us, it was a day of gentle recalibration, a much needed pause in the whirlwind of preparation and early voyager. The wind howled its frustrations outside but within the cozy confines of the yacht club and the comforting embrace of rest, we recharged our batteries. The forecast for tomorrow promised, calmer seas, and with that hopeful outlook, our plan was set: a 10 am departure, onwards towards the next chapter of our adventure in Eastbourne.Read more
Stunning Coastlines and a Family Welcome
April 14, 2025 in England ⋅ ☁️ 13 °C
Brighton to Eastbourne.
What a difference a day makes! Yesterday‘s blustery Brighton had transformed into a picture postcard scene. We awoke to glorious sunshine and the kind of flat calm waters in the marina that make a sailor’s heart sing. Even Pepper seemed to sense the change in mood, happily joining Tracey for an early morning stroll around the harbour wall at 7 am. The fishing fleet, which had lined the back wall yesterday, had already slipped out to sea, leaving that corner of the marina peacefully empty. Beyond the harbour entrance, the sea sparkled with gentle wavelets, stirred by a playful breeze.
But there’s always a catch isn’t there? The wind, though gentle, was stubbornly set against us. We knew this was a likely scenario for the initial leg of our anticlockwise adventure, and we accepted it with a shrug and a smile. A light breakfast fuelled us as we prepared Halcyon Sea for her next journey, carefully stowing anything that might take a tumble in the anticipated headwind.
As we motored out of the harbour entrance, the morning sun painted our passage in brilliant light. Pepper, nestled snuggly in her blankets, seemed far less apprehensive than she had on Saturday, perhaps sensing our calm and the gentle motion of the boat.
The coastline unfolding before us was nothing short of breathtaking, a tapestry woven with centuries of history. We passed the intriguing diagonal Friars Bay cliff steps, carved into the cliff face in the 1920s, a testament to the early days of Peacehaven. It’s fascinating to think that Peacehaven itself is a relatively young town, established in 1916 by the visionary Charles Neville.
As we approached Newhaven, a momentary pause in our course allowed a ferry to exit the Ouse River and glide safely ahead. Then the Vista truly opened up, revealing the majestic Seven Sisters cliffs, the chalk white peaks marching towards the sea, beginning at the “Curly river”as Nick affectionally calls the Cuckmere.
Billing Gap was next, the dramatic point where the rolling green of the south Downs meets the crashing waves. It’s poignant to know that of the original eight Coastguard cottages built here, only three remain, a stark reminder of the relentless power of coastal erosion. Just this week, we learned, the National Trust has even had to restrict coach access due to the increasingly unstable cliff face.
Rising above the landscape at Beachy head, the Belle Tout Lighthouse stood proud. Built in 1832 and decommissioned in 1902, its history as colourful as its white washed walls. From tea shop to wartime casualty to 1950s rebuild and even a stint under BBC ownership, this resilient landmark has been moved 17 meters inland to escape the eroding cliffs. Now beautifully restored it welcomes guests as a unique hotel and B&B. Adding a touch of recent drama, news broke just last month of a significant crack appearing in the cliff edge nearby.
The iconic Beachy head Lighthouse came into view perched below the towering white cliffs. Operational since 1902, this 33 meter tower was the last traditional-style ‘rock tower’ built by Trinity house.
And then, as we finally rounded Beachy Head itself, the first glorious panorama of Eastbourne Seafront unfolded! A 5 mile stretch of beautiful beaches, a classic three tier promenade, the elegant Victorian pier, the vibrant band stand - a feast for the eyes. A little further along a new addition to the landscape caught our attention: a towering big wheel offering breathtaking views.
Our approach to Eastbourne Harbour took us past the historic Martello Tower, a reminder of days gone by. Navigating the scattered lobster pots required careful attention before we joined the queue to enter the inner harbour. Access to our berth for the next week involved going through a lock. A quick call on channel 17 alerted the marina staff to our arrival. The wait was a little longer than anticipated as the locks were temporarily out of service while they topped up the marina with seawater. Then came the delicate dance of waiting for outgoing boats to clear the lock gates before our turn.
Trying to hold our position against an onshore wind, without the aid of a bow thruster, was a challenge that Nick expertly navigated. We were finally directed to our berth, were a wonderful surprise awaited us Val and Sophie, Nick‘s mum and niece, had come down to welcome us– they’re smiling faces a heartwarming sight.
After a much needed cup of tea and a quick lunch, we raised a glass of wine to celebrate our arrival. And the family welcome continued! Nick‘s brother, Andy, also popped by to say hello. For Nick, it truly felt like coming home, albeit to a temporary haven. Eastbourne, with a sunny welcome and the embrace of family, felt like the perfect place to drop anchor for awhile.Read more
Boat Bliss, Seaside Strolls and Scones!
April 15, 2025 in England ⋅ 🌧 10 °C
Day 7: Boat Bliss, Seaside Strolls, and Scones Ahoy in Eastbourne!
After a night where the wind and rain put on a rather dramatic performance, we awoke to a calmer, if still slightly damp, Eastbourne. Undeterred, Pepper and Tracey braved the lingering elements for a good, long morning walk along the seafront. It was a peaceful start to the day, with only a few early birds about, including the industrious contractors busy at work in the Outer Harbour. They were tackling the task of replacing the navigational buoys, temporarily removed during the recent dredging – essential work keeping the maritime pathways safe!
A charming little vignette unfolded as we passed a group of fellow dog walkers, their morning constitutional complete, enjoying a final chat before heading their separate ways. Our little Pepper, ever the social butterfly (or rather, doggy socialite!), was in her element, though she looked hilariously petite next to the patient Labradors and stately Alsatians awaiting their owners' farewells.
Back on board, with breakfast enjoyed and the early morning chill starting to dissipate, the sun finally broke through the clouds. This was the green light Nick needed! Out came the cleaning arsenal, and the long-neglected back of the boat received a well-deserved scrub. There's a particular satisfaction in seeing that white gel coat gleam again. Following the scrub-down, a touch of Teak Wonder worked its magic on the deck step. By the time it had dried, the stern of Halcyon Sea looked rejuvenated, a testament to a bit of elbow grease and nautical know-how – a job very well done!
Meanwhile, Tracey embarked on a more terrestrial mission: the quest for the elusive launderette. The results? £5.40 for a wash and £1 for every seven minutes of drying time. Ah, the joys of boat life! It was another gentle reminder of the everyday conveniences we once took for granted on land. Still, needs must, and clean laundry is a happy crew!
One of the undeniable perks of Eastbourne Marina is its fantastic location. A plethora of restaurants are within easy reach, and a mere ten-minute walk leads to a retail park boasting familiar names like Asda, Next, Boots, and Mountain Warehouse. This makes it an incredibly convenient stopover, especially for the crucial task of "victualling" – restocking the boat's supplies.
With a specific mission in mind, Tracey ventured to Asda, her basket soon overflowing with the essential ingredients for the Afternoon Tea we were hosting for Val and her friends tomorrow. Scones, jam, cream, an assortment of biscuits, and our own daily necessities all found their way into the trolley. The return journey, laden with these delightful provisions, was a bit of a trek, prompting a silent vow to perhaps be a tad more strategic with future shopping trips. Another lesson learned and filed away in the ever-growing "Life on a Boat" manual!
Dinner tonight was a delicious and resourceful affair: leftover chilli con carne transformed into a comforting pot roast, generously topped with grated cheddar and parmesan cheese. A culinary triumph born of practicality!
With the blog completed and uploaded it was finally time for bed. Today felt like a significant step in truly settling into life onboard. The rhythm of boat jobs, interspersed with seaside strolls and the anticipation of sharing good company (and delicious scones!) tomorrow, created a sense of comfortable contentment. We're finding our sea legs, both literally and figuratively, and loving every step of this incredible journey.Read more
Afternoon Tea aboard Halcyon Sea
April 16, 2025 in England ⋅ ☀️ 12 °C
This morning aboard Halcyon Sea was a flurry of purposeful activity, a nautical version of spring cleaning before welcoming esteemed guests. With the anticipation of afternoon tea brewing, we embarked on a mission to bring a new level of order to our floating abode. It's amazing how quickly a boat, even one as well-organized as ours (we like to think!), can accumulate those last lingering boxes and items needing their permanent place.
Today's target: the under-bed storage in the forepeak. Now, accessing this prime real estate is no simple task. It requires a full-scale strategic retreat, involving the complete stripping of our bed. Mattresses were wrestled aside, bedding folded and temporarily relocated, all within the cozy confines of our sleeping quarters. Imagine a delicate dance of duvets and pillows in a space just large enough to turn around, not easy for the average size person but almost impossible for Nick and his 6’ 6” stature – a true testament to our evolving spatial awareness!
With the bed dismantled and the under-bed area exposed, the final stowage operation commenced. Each box maneuvered into its designated spot, inch by precious inch. It’s a satisfying feeling when everything finally slots into place, maximizing every nook and cranny of our seaworthy home.
Having created a temporary laundry mountain during the bed-stripping process, Tracey seized the opportunity to tackle that essential chore. A walk to the marina's laundry facilities ensued, the rhythmic tumble of the washing machine a temporary soundtrack to the otherwise peaceful marina. It's in these moments, dealing with the practicalities of life afloat, that the effortless convenience of land-based living occasionally flickers in our thoughts – but the trade-off for this adventure is undeniably worth it!
With the boat tidied, the laundry completed, and a growing sense of anticipation, we turned our attention to the pièce de résistance: the afternoon tea spread. Scones and cake arranged enticingly on plates, and the essential accompaniments of jam and clotted cream were lovingly presented. Biscuits of various shapes and sizes joined the ensemble, creating a tempting tableau ready to welcome our guests.
Soon, the gentle chatter of familiar voices filled the air as Val and her lovely friends arrived aboard Halcyon Sea. The next few hours were a delightful interlude of catching up, sharing stories, and excitedly discussing our upcoming passages. The tea flowed freely, punctuated by the occasional clinking of glasses as we indulged in a little celebratory wine – after all, good company and good conversation are always worth toasting!
As the afternoon drew to a close and we saw our last guests safely back onto dry land, a feeling of warmth and contentment settled over the boat. But the evening's socialising wasn't over yet! We awaited the arrival of Nick's brother, Andy, who had kindly arranged dinner back at his house.
Stepping back onto solid ground for a home-cooked meal was a welcome treat. We savoured the delicious food and the simple pleasure of spending time with family, enjoying the familiar comforts of life on land – a spacious dining table, effortless access to amenities, and the easy flow of conversation without the gentle rock of the boat.
Returning to Halcyon Sea later that evening, our hearts were full. Today had been a lovely blend of practical boat management and the joy of sharing our new life, even in its early stages, with family and friends. It felt like we were truly creating a home on the water, a welcoming space for both adventure and connection. With the blog updated and the day's memories safely recorded, it was time to rest, ready for tomorrow’s birthday celebrations.Read more
Birthday Cheers and a Wheel with a View
April 17, 2025 in England ⋅ ☀️ 13 °C
Today was all about celebrating family! It was our wonderful Sister-in-Law, Marie's, birthday, and being conveniently berthed in Eastbourne meant we could wholeheartedly join in the festivities. After a brisk morning walk along the stony beach, our chauffeur for the day arrived. As we cruised along the vibrant seafront, the impressive Eastbourne big wheel, a recent addition to the coastal landscape, presented the perfect photo opportunity – a colourful testament to seaside fun!
The day unfolded in a delightful ebb and flow of friends and family, popping in to wish Marie a happy birthday. It was a fantastic chance for some proper, in-depth catch-ups, the kind that life on the move sometimes makes a little harder to come by. Adding a sprinkle of serendipity to the celebrations, Marie, Andy, and our lovely nieces Paige and Sophie are heading off on a mini-break tomorrow. In a truly generous gesture, Sophie offered us the use of her car for the weekend – a total game-changer!
Suddenly, a whole new realm of possibilities opened up. The logistics of acquiring larger, heavier boat essentials became instantly easier. We could now explore the surrounding area at our own pace, making those longed-for meet-ups with Val a breeze and perhaps even squeezing in some bank holiday sightseeing. The gift of mobility was truly the gift that kept on giving!Read more
Mobile Again
April 18, 2025 in England ⋅ ☁️ 14 °C
Bexhill Banquets and Box Set Bliss!
Freedom! Today, we embraced our newfound wheels and set our sights on a delightful lunch with Val and her friends at The Bull Inn in Bexhill. Sophie's car transformed what might have been a complicated bus journey into a leisurely drive. The tyranny of the bus timetable was banished, allowing us the luxurious indulgence of a proper lay-in – a small but significant victory!
The Bull Inn, a cherished Friday haunt for Val, lived up to its reputation. The food was simply amazing, a proper pub feast. And for Nick, a nostalgic treat awaited – his absolute favourite dessert, trifle, graced the menu! Suffice to say, he was one very happy sailor.
Post-lunch, our newfound mobility allowed us to tackle some essential errands at the local retail park. First on the list: more tasty provisions for our loyal first mate, Pepper. Next, a significant upgrade to our onboard entertainment system – a brand new Smart TV! The ancient set currently residing on Halcyon Sea had long since passed its prime, making movie nights a thing of the past. A modern screen was a much-anticipated addition to our floating home comforts.
Back on the boat, after Pepper's happy evening walk, we finally settled down for a movie night. It was a simple pleasure, but one we hadn't enjoyed in almost a month. As the opening credits rolled, Pepper curled up on my legs, just as she always did back home. In that moment, surrounded by the familiar warmth of her presence, it felt like home, like nothing had truly changed.
With only a few more days remaining in Eastbourne, our thoughts began to drift towards the next leg of our adventure: Dover, with a tentative departure date of April 22nd. The weather forecast, thankfully, looked promising.
It's a curious feeling. While Eastbourne has been wonderful, a cherished opportunity to reconnect with family and friends, a subtle shift is occurring. The initial anxiety about heading east instead of west, that pull towards the familiar, has begun to dissipate. A sense of excitement for the new experiences that lie beyond Tuesday is starting to bubble up. Eastbourne marks our furthest eastward point so far; everything after that is uncharted territory for this adventure. The respite here, the chance to reorganize and prepare the boat without the pressure of constant movement, has done us the world of good.
For now, we're content to savour these last few days in Eastbourne, looking forward to catching up with a few more family members before we once again cast off. We'll simply enjoy the present moment, the warmth of connection, and the quiet anticipation of the open sea.Read more
The Unvarnished Truth
April 19, 2025 in England ⋅ ⛅ 15 °C
Navigating the Quirks of our Floating Home
Up until now, our blog has been filled with the sun-drenched joys of new adventures and the heartwarming reunions with family. And while those moments have been undeniably wonderful, as we settle into our seventh night here in Eastbourne, with just one more before our Dover departure, it feels like time for a little peek behind the idyllic Instagram filter. Life aboard Halcyon Sea, while brimming with excitement, also comes with its own unique set of realities – a charming (and sometimes bruising) adjustment to our new floating existence.
Let's start with the obvious: space. Or rather, the delightful lack thereof compared to our former land-based abode. Suddenly, doorways have become treacherous obstacles, each one a narrow portal waiting to ambush unsuspecting limbs. Tracey, in particular, is sporting a rather impressive collection of nautical-themed bruises, a testament to our daily dance of trying to navigate the boat without constantly colliding. This close proximity can occasionally lead to moments of… let's call it "heightened communication" when we both simultaneously require the same minuscule patch of saloon floor.
Even seemingly simple tasks have taken on a whole new level of complexity. Take, for instance, the daily ritual of making our bed. What was once a mindless routine now feels like an Olympic sport. We can't exactly stroll around our mattress, and the fact that it's conveniently split in two (a design feature, we're told!) only slightly mitigates the wrestling match involved in fitting the mattress protector and the fitted sheet. As for the duvet cover? That's a challenge best tackled with a combination of strategic shoving and hopeful optimism. And because our forepeak berth elegantly tapers towards the foot, a standard-sized quilt results in a rather comical excess of fabric – think a duvet attempting to swallow the end of the bed. Bespoke boat bedding, alas, comes with a price tag that makes our eyes water, and Tracey's relationship with the sewing machine is currently more of a distant acquaintance than a close partnership (though it's definitely on the horizon!).
Our "master suite" boasts a locker that, in its previous life as a weekend sailor's haven, offered just enough hanging space for a few essentials. Now, it's been ingeniously transformed with shelves, packing cubes, and the magic of rollable vacuum packing bags – a triumph of spatial Tetris! The saloon, our main living area, is undeniably snug. We've done our best to inject a sense of home with soft furnishings and personal touches, but one misplaced item can throw off the delicate feng shui, sending Tracey into a mild (but understandable) tailspin. Did you know the term "feng shui" literally translates to "wind-water," perfectly apt for life on a boat!
The galley, or kitchen, presents its own entertaining challenges, particularly the top-loading fridge. While we've diligently tried to keep frequently used items near the top, inevitably, the one ingredient we desperately need lurks at the very bottom, requiring a full archaeological dig. This often results in the hilarious spectacle of Tracey appearing to dive headfirst into the abyss, her legs comically dangling out of the top – a pose that would surely win gold in the "Nautical Fridge Diving" Olympics, if such a sport existed! Cooking is now a carefully orchestrated military operation. Our portable induction hob is a fantastic addition, but it commandeers the majority of the work surface, including the hatch to the aforementioned fridge. This necessitates a meticulous pre-cooking inventory – a lesson learned the hard (and hungry) way in our early days.
Our two back cabins are currently a testament to organized chaos, packed to the gunnels with our belongings. To the untrained eye, it might appear a jumble, but we have a mental map of every item, strategically packed with the most frequently needed things closer to the entrance. Retrieving something from the far reaches of these cabins will undoubtedly be a logistical exercise worthy of a naval maneuver, but it's a small price to pay for having (hopefully!) everything we might need for our adventure.
Even the heads, our petite bathroom, presents its own learning curve. Thankfully, it's surprisingly spacious, even for the long-limbed Nick. Showers are possible, but they require a mental checklist: water tank level? (Cue the hose if needed). Water heater on? (Especially if the engine hasn't been running). Shower pumps engaged? (To avoid an indoor swimming pool). And the familiar flush of a land-based toilet is a distant memory. Our new system involves a pump to expel waste and draw in seawater to clean the pan – a novel experience, though we do appreciate the marina facilities! Fun fact: Did you know that historically, the term "head" for a ship's toilet comes from the fact that the facilities were often located at the head (front) of the ship, utilizing the flow of seawater for flushing?
Ultimately, everything aboard takes longer and requires a degree of forethought that was simply unnecessary in our previous life. Those simple, taken-for-granted tasks of a house are now a thing of the past. We have no doubt that these new routines will eventually become second nature, but for now, we are constantly learning and adapting to our fascinating new environment. Even the constant togetherness, while wonderful, is an adjustment, especially for Tracey, who had grown accustomed to the sanctuary of her own workspace while working from home.
So, dear readers, while our blog often showcases the exciting and social aspects of this journey, the reality of boat life involves a fair amount of comical maneuvering, strategic packing, and a newfound appreciation for the simple conveniences of land. But these quirks, these challenges, they are all part of the adventure, adding their own unique flavour to this incredible experience. And who knows, maybe one day Tracey will even conquer that sewing machine and create bespoke, perfectly fitting boat bedding – stay tuned!Read more
TravelerHaving a fitted duvet makes life much better. Marilyn made ours fitted. You should have asked Marilyn to do it for you before you left. Still it will give you both the chance of learning the sewing machine. You might also need the skills for some sail repair later. Good luck 🤞
Eastbourne Farewells
Apr 20–21, 2025 in England ⋅ ☁️ 12 °C
Farewells, Feasts and the Looming White Cliffs of Dover!
Our final few days in sunny Eastbourne were a delightful whirlwind of socialising and practical preparations, a gentle easing into the next chapter of our adventure. The social calendar remained happily full with more visits and welcoming friends aboard Halcyon Sea. Sunday brought the absolute treat of a home-cooked roast lamb dinner courtesy of Val – a culinary highlight and a small family gathering that truly felt like a proper Sunday feast.
Monday was dedicated to those last-minute chores that required the invaluable assistance of Sophie's car. Errands were run, final bits of shopping were secured, and then it was time for a slightly bittersweet journey to the RBL club in Polegate to meet the Millers returning from their trip away. There, we returned Sophie's trusty chariot with heartfelt thanks and said our final farewells, immensely grateful for their generosity which had truly transformed our weekend mobility.
As the Eastbourne sun began to dip below the horizon on Monday evening, a more serious task took centre stage. Nick dedicated himself to the intricate art of passage planning for our forthcoming journey. The destination? Dover. Just the name itself carried a certain weight. After all, this wasn't just another hop along the coast; this was our venture into the unknown (at least for us!), our first foray into waters beyond our previous sailing experience. And our first port of call? The UK's busiest ferry port!
Yes, a certain flutter of… let's call it "pre-Dover butterflies" had begun to take flight. That familiar hum of nervous anticipation started to resonate within us. The comfort of Eastbourne, the friendly faces, the relative ease of marina life – all were about to be exchanged for the bustling reality of a major shipping channel. Would we navigate the ferry traffic with the grace of seasoned mariners or resemble slightly bewildered ducks in a very busy pond? Only time would tell!
Despite the underlying nerves, a sense of excitement also bubbled beneath the surface. This was it – the real deal! We were finally venturing into truly new territory, each nautical mile a step further into our grand adventure. Eastbourne had been a fantastic stepping stone, a place to reconnect and prepare, but the lure of the open sea and the promise of new horizons were growing ever stronger. So, while those pre-Dover jitters might be doing a little jig in our stomachs, they are accompanied by a healthy dose of anticipation and the unwavering spirit of adventure. Bring on Dover – we think!Read more
Setting Sail for Dover
April 22, 2025 in England ⋅ ☁️ 13 °C
Setting Sail for Dover - Sunshine, Sea Surfing, and a Few Pre-Port Jitters!
The day dawned bright and breezy, a picture-perfect start to our passage to Dover. Tracey and Pepper embarked on their usual morning stroll, the rhythmic pounding of paws on the promenade perhaps mirroring the nervous energy Tracey was walking off. Meanwhile, Nick was a hive of activity aboard Halcyon Sea, meticulously prepping everything for our departure. By 10 am, our planned time to slip the lines, a palpable sense of anticipation filled the air.
We eased away from our berth and waited our turn at the fuel pontoon, topping up our tanks before heading for the lock gates and the open sea. Our little Pepper, usually a breakfast enthusiast, seemed to sense the shift in the atmosphere. Her appetite had vanished, a clear indication that she knew a journey was imminent. We're still working on the elusive art of boat-based potty breaks for her; her current strategy seems to involve a strategic refusal of food and water! To help her relax, we administered her calming treats, which usually lull her into a peaceful slumber for most of the voyage.
And then, it was time. We exited the lock and motored out into the English Channel. Once safely past the safe water mark and after a careful scan to ensure no pesky lobster pots lay in wait, Tracey turned Halcyon Sea 180 degrees, pointing her into the gentle breeze. Up went the sails, catching the wind with a satisfying whoosh, and there we were, finally sailing towards the iconic white cliffs of Dover!
The familiar coastline of Pevensey Bay, Bexhill, and Hastings slid past, each a marker of our eastward progress. The rolling green hills gradually gave way to a more rugged outline. Rounding the headland at Hastings, a glance astern revealed Beachy Head as a distant speck on the horizon, while ahead, the hazy form of Dungeness began to emerge. Halcyon Sea handled beautifully, and despite sailing slightly off our intended track due to the wind's playful nudges, we were making excellent time. The sun shone down, and we even enjoyed a bit of wave surfing, the boat gliding smoothly over the swells. Our initial worries began to ebb away with the miles.
In the distance, the unmistakable silhouette of Dungeness Power Station loomed, a stark contrast to the natural beauty of the coastline. The steady stream of ships in the shipping channel served as a reminder of the busy waterway we were now sharing. Soon, the inevitable moment arrived: a gybe! We prepared for the maneuver, and thankfully, it went smoothly. However, with the boat now more beam-on to the sea, the ride became noticeably bumpier. The water swirled around us, giving us a rather corkscrew-like motion from the stern quarter. It was a swift reminder that our stowage skills still needed some refinement as a few rogue items took flight across the saloon – a mental note for future voyages! Pepper, a little concerned by the sudden change in motion, came seeking a reassuring cuddle before settling back down. A distant cluster of lobster pots prompted us to heighten our vigilance, both pairs of eyes scanning the water ahead. Nick's steady hand on the helm soon had Halcyon Sea, and consequently us, settling into the rhythm of the new sea state.
Folkestone harbour and the outer breakwater of Dover gradually appeared on the distant horizon. With around four hours still to go until we reached our destination, our minds began to race with the logistics of entering a busy port. The wind had picked up, and with the late afternoon chill setting in (still April!), we wrapped up warmer and put on some upbeat tunes to keep our spirits high.
Two miles from Dover Harbour, protocol dictates a call to Dover VTS to announce our intentions. Ours was to enter the harbour, not just pass by. Nick made the call, his voice calm and clear. Tracey, who had been surprisingly composed throughout the journey thus far, suddenly felt a wave of nervousness wash over her. Despite her complete trust in Nick's meticulous planning, she felt like a complete novice. We were still sailing, and the moment to drop the sails was fast approaching. With the wind now behind us and the sea a little more erratic, Tracey's mind was a whirlwind of forgotten procedures. We ran through the harbour entrance plan, the theory clear, but the unpredictable nature of the sea amplified Tracey's self-doubt. The advice was to call Dover VTS again when 200 meters from the harbour entrance to request permission to enter. As if to underscore the maritime activity, the Dover lifeboat was just outside the breakwater on a practice exercise – a reassuring sight, Tracey thought, should anything go awry.
The time came to turn Halcyon Sea head to wind to drop the sails. While the sea state wasn't particularly rough, to Tracey, it felt like we were being thoroughly stirred, a decidedly uncomfortable sensation. Sails stowed and permission granted to enter the harbour, we made our way through the breakwater. The water within the confines looked deceptively calmer. Once inside, the final call to Dover VTS was permission to enter the yacht marina. Once granted, a sharp turn to the left and a call to the marina for our berth assignment was made. We were so close!
The marina staff directed us to berth F147, port side to, meaning fenders and ropes needed to be on the left. Tired from the journey and the emotional rollercoaster, Tracey struggled with the weight of the fenders and ropes, failing to secure the spring line properly. The wind was pushing us away from the pontoon, and Tracey couldn't quite make the jump. After two unsuccessful attempts, Nick made the wise decision to call the marina and request the vacant berth on the other side of the pontoon. What followed was a less-than-graceful reverse into our new spot. Successful, yes, but certainly not our smoothest docking.
In that moment, Tracey jokingly (but with a hint of seriousness) declared her readiness to trade the seafaring life for a motorhome. Tears welled up as she took a very relieved Pepper for a much-needed walk ashore. Tracey then visited the marina office to pay our dues and collect the essential access key cards and marina guide. Finally, at 8:45 pm, the siren call of fish and chips was answered. Exhausted, exhilarated, and profoundly relieved, we devoured our supper before collapsing into bed. The journey was complete. We had travelled for 10 hours and 20 minutes and 9 of those hours had been under sail, that felt like an achievement itself. Dover had been conquered.Read more
Dover Reflections, and a Heavy Heart
April 23, 2025 in England ⋅ ☁️ 10 °C
Dover Reflections, Yacht Club Tales, and a Heavy Heart
This morning dawned with a gentle invitation to slow down. Still recovering from the intensity of our Dover arrival, we embraced a lazy start, allowing ourselves time to process the events of the previous day. We sat together, the gentle rock of Halcyon Sea a soothing rhythm, reflecting on the lessons learned from our first real passage. The conclusions we reached, while perhaps self-evident to seasoned sailors, were important milestones for us. Tracey acknowledged the need for greater involvement in passage planning, recognizing that a deeper understanding of the day's overall strategy would undoubtedly ease any anxieties. We also agreed that our onboard communication could benefit from some fine-tuning – clear and concise dialogue is paramount when navigating both close quarters and challenging seas. And the flying chopping board incident served as a rather dramatic reminder of the importance of meticulous pre-departure stowage! A heavy wooden projectile hurtling across the saloon is definitely an "adventure" we'd prefer to avoid.
Having gathered our thoughts (and a few stray items), we ventured ashore for a walk into the heart of Dover. Our destination: the Royal Cinque Ports Yacht Club, a venerable institution where we hoped to soak up some local maritime flavour. We enjoyed a refreshing drink and a tasty roll, striking up conversations with some of the club's welcoming members. They regaled us with tales of the club's upcoming move from its current historic premises to a new building on Marina Curve. It was fascinating to hear about their efforts to meticulously document the history of their current home, photographing each room as it stands. They even spoke with fondness of preserving tangible pieces of the past, hoping to salvage a carpet adorned with the club's emblem (a generous donation from a former commodore) and a beautiful stained-glass door bearing their badge.
As it was St. George's Day, the club was offering a rather tempting special: a drink, a hearty beef roll, and a traditional hot cross bun for a mere £10 – a true bargain! We shared stories of our own sailing club back in Fareham, finding common ground in the camaraderie of the sailing community. The Dover members generously offered invaluable advice on departing their busy port and suggested the best routes for our next leg to Ramsgate. Our stroll around town was somewhat curtailed by Pepper's presence, limiting our ability to explore the main tourist attractions. However, the simple pleasure of stretching our legs and soaking in the local atmosphere was enough.
Returning to Halcyon Sea, the aroma of a simmering curry soon filled the cozy saloon as we discussed our plans for tomorrow. We decided to extend our stay in Dover by another day. A couple of boat maintenance tasks needed our attention, most notably our temperamental navigation lights. Additionally, the wind forecast didn't look particularly favourable for a comfortable passage. Friday, however, held more promise, so we opted for a slightly delayed departure.
As the evening drew to a close, a shadow of sadness fell upon our little floating world. We received the news that Tracey's dear friend, Alistair McLaughlin, had passed away that morning. Alistair, affectionately known as "Storky," was a towering figure in the sailing community, not just in Scotland and his local haunts but across the entire UK. He was an inspiration to so many, selflessly sharing his vast knowledge and helping countless sailors, in his own unique and often quirky way, to hone their skills on the water.
The picture we share today is a cherished memory of Tracey hiking out on an ISO dinghy, with a typically focused Alistair at the helm. Tracey had lost her confidence on the water after a difficult experience, and it was Alistair, with his no-nonsense attitude and unwavering belief in her, who helped her rediscover her love for sailing. This particular photo captures a joyful moment during one of our early cadet sailing adventures, a "pirate raid" from Prestwick to Troon, culminating in a well-deserved treat of fish and chips on the beach for everyone. Such happy days, filled with laughter and the thrill of the wind and waves.
Alistair was a highly respected sailor across numerous classes, but during Tracey's time in Scotland, his true love was the RS300. Tracey fondly remembers watching him maneuver the boat with an almost balletic grace, carving through the water as if he were skiing. He was an incredible talent to witness and a formidable competitor, amassing a remarkable collection of trophies up and down the country. He will be deeply and sorely missed by a vast network of friends and fellow sailors. Our thoughts and deepest condolences go out to his family and loved ones during this difficult time.
Fair winds and following seas, Storky. Sail on.Read more
Nav Lights & Museum Marvels
April 24, 2025 in England ⋅ ☀️ 13 °C
Nav Lights, Museum Marvels, and a Brush with Dover Fame (Almost!)
Today was a curious blend of practicalities and poignant reflection. While the emotional weight of yesterday lingered, the ever-present demands of boat life and the ticking clock of the tides kept us moving forward. The morning was dedicated to essential admin and, crucially, boat maintenance. Our recalcitrant navigation lights were top priority. Arriving in Dover under the cloak of dusk had been a stark reminder that these small but vital pieces of equipment are non-negotiable for our safety. Thankfully, Nick, now convinced of his newfound electrical prowess, traced the issue to a loose connection and a blown bulb. A bit of rewiring, a clean-up, and a fresh bulb later, we were illuminated once more!
Tracey, meanwhile, decided to indulge in the shower facilities at Dover Marina. These were a pleasant surprise – modern, clean, and boasting the unexpected bonus of free hairdryers in the ladies' room! However, a slight heart-stopping moment occurred when the motion-sensor lights decided to take an unscheduled break mid-shower. For those acquainted with Tracey's mild (okay, perhaps slightly more than mild) fear of the dark, this was a potentially traumatic experience. Thankfully, it was daytime, and a sliver of natural light filtered into the building, preventing a full-blown, ghostly streaking incident across the marina! Later, while paying for our extended stay, Tracey recounted her illuminating experience to the marina staff, painting a vivid picture of a potential nighttime dash that would have undoubtedly caused quite a stir.
During a solo stroll with Pepper while Nick wrestled with paperwork back on board, Tracey had a rather unexpected brush with local fame. A reporter from the local news approached her, keen to get her thoughts on the area with the upcoming council elections looming. Tracey was rather glad she'd made the effort with her hair that morning! Alas, her moment in the spotlight was swiftly extinguished by the fact that she was merely a visitor and therefore unable to offer any insightful commentary. Dover, it turns out, is undergoing a significant regeneration project with ambitious plans stretching to 2050. The Dover Harbour Board owns those prominent white buildings along the waterfront, currently housing not only the Royal Cinque Ports Yacht Club but also a hotel/wedding venue and numerous bars. The long-term vision involves reclaiming these buildings for luxury apartments and further expanding the port to accommodate increased ferry traffic and trade – the very reason for the yacht club's impending move. This transformation will undoubtedly add another layer to Dover's already rich history, welcomed by some and viewed with a degree of nostalgia by others, as is often the case with such significant changes.
In the afternoon, we decided to immerse ourselves in that rich history with a visit to the Dover Museum. The star attraction, and for good reason, is the remarkably preserved Bronze Age boat discovered in Dover in 1992. Thought to be around 3,500 years old, this prehistoric vessel was unearthed by construction workers during the building of the A20 road link between Folkestone and Dover. An internationally significant archaeological find, it underwent seven years of meticulous research and conservation before taking pride of place in the museum. While the boat is undeniably the largest exhibit, the museum's impressive collection of other artifacts did not disappoint, offering a fascinating journey through Dover's past, from Saxon and Roman times to World War II, with insightful displays charting the evolution of the harbour over the centuries. We spent a captivating few hours exploring its treasures.
Later that evening, we turned our attention to tomorrow's plans for our departure from Dover and our passage to Ramsgate. With the route now more clearly visualised in her mind, Tracey felt a renewed sense of confidence. The anticipation for our next leg was building, tempered by the knowledge that we were slowly but surely finding our rhythm in this extraordinary life afloat.Read more
Farewell Dover, Hello Ramsgate
April 25, 2025 in England ⋅ ☁️ 12 °C
Farewell Dover (and Our Nerves!), Hello Ramsgate (and a Gentle Kiss with a Pontoon!)
The moment had arrived. Time to bid adieu to Dover, a port that, despite its friendly inhabitants, had instilled a healthy dose of "leaving a busy shipping lane" anxiety within our nautical souls. The air aboard Halcyon Sea was thick with a quiet focus as we prepared for departure, each lost in our own pre-sail rituals. Nick, ever the diligent captain, busied himself on deck, penning the day's log, while Tracey, still vividly recalling the saloon's airborne antics of our last passage, meticulously stowed every conceivable item below – determined to avoid a repeat performance of the "flying chopping board of doom."
We mentally ran through our exit strategy: the precise moment to call Dover VTS, the designated route out of the Eastern entrance. Adding to the slightly comedic tension, a fellow sailor berthed astern, also making his escape, ended up tailing us out. While his prior experience in these waters might have been reassuring in reverse, we hoped our carefully laid plans would suffice.
Radio chatter commenced. Permission to slip our lines was granted, followed by the instruction to call again at the end pontoon. Check. Permission to leave the outer marina entrance followed swiftly. Hallelujah! The ferries that had seemed to barricade our exit miraculously parted like the Red Sea (albeit at a slightly faster pace), and as we reached the southerly cardinal buoy, we made our final call to Dover VTS. A brief hold inside the breakwater by the Knuckle lighthouse was requested, to allow an incoming ferry to pass. The ferry whooshed by, and then came the magic words: "Leave at your best speed." You didn't need to tell us twice!
The exit, surprisingly, proved far less daunting than our nerve-wracking entrance. A collective sigh of relief swept through Halcyon Sea as we finally pointed our bow eastwards, the iconic White Cliffs of Dover standing proud to our starboard. We queried the name White Cliffs, as they were decidedly dirty and scattered with green mosses and grass, coming to the conclusion that they must be photoshopped for films. Evidence of the cliffs' slow but steady crumble was everywhere – piles of chalk rubble at their base contrasting with the brilliant white of newly exposed rock.
Today's journey was a mere hop, skip, and a jump in nautical terms – a breezy 2.5 hours. Alas, the wind remained stubbornly on our nose, relegating us to a motor-powered cruise along the Kent coastline. We opted for the inner passage of the Goodwin Sands, those infamous sandbanks lying just four miles offshore, stretching ten miles between Ramsgate and St Margaret's Bay. Varying in width and reaching depths of around 80 feet, these underwater behemoths reveal their sandy tops twice daily at low tide, with vast expanses of the upper ten feet becoming exposed. Today, however, with the tide high, the Goodwin Sands remained a hidden, watery realm. Their history is a sobering one, with the first recorded shipwreck dating back to 1298 and a staggering 2,000 more reported since – though the actual figure is estimated to be double that! The area is a watery graveyard of protected wrecks, including the Admiral Gardner and the Rooswijk, as well as four Royal Navy warships lost in the Great Storm of 1703, claiming 1,200 lives. Strong tidal currents constantly shift the sands, both tantalizing and frustrating archaeologists and divers, covering and uncovering historical sites. These ghostly remains are carefully monitored by Historic England, their preservation a delicate dance with the ever-moving seabed. Adding to the maritime drama, over 80 vessels, including steamships and even German U-boats, were sunk here during the two World Wars. Thankfully, Tracey remained blissfully ignorant of this rather dramatic history lesson until we reached the relative safety of Ramsgate!
Soon enough, the time came to veer from our easterly course and point Halcyon Sea towards Ramsgate. Following our carefully studied plan, we spotted the buoys guiding us towards the harbour entrance. A quick call to Ramsgate Port Control on channel 14 for permission to enter, followed by a chat on channel 80 with the marina for berthing instructions. Their succinct guidance: "Anywhere you like on pontoons E or F, the longer pontoons have cleats in the middle." This implied that the pontoons were not that long and we opted for a central pontoon with a middle cleat. Clearly their definition of long and ours differed considerably!
With the tide and wind seemingly engaged in a vigorous wrestling match within the marina, we picked our spot and cautiously approached. A little nudge of power was needed to swing the bow around, but perhaps we were a tad overenthusiastic with the throttle. Bang! A rather undignified kiss with the pontoon ensued, resulting in a small but noticeable chunk of gel coat departing the bow of Halcyon Sea. Ah, the glamour of sailing! It's not always sunsets and smooth waters, is it?
Tied up and with Pepper happily scampering ashore for a much-needed leg stretch, we surveyed the damage. Nick, ever the optimist, is confident he can perform a temporary repair that will suffice until we can get it properly looked at. The marina itself appeared to be in need of some TLC, with broken pontoons scattered around (perhaps unsurprisingly given the boisterous conditions). It seemed particularly geared towards the fishing fleet. However, the people we've encountered so far have been genuinely friendly, a definite plus!
We ventured to the Royal Temple Yacht Club, where a lively quiz night, presided over by the Commodore, was in full swing. A pleasant surprise awaited us – we bumped into Tony and Sue, the couple we'd met back in the Royal Cinque Ports Yacht Club in Dover! We joined their table, put our general knowledge to the test (with varying degrees of success!), and shared a good laugh, even jokingly discussing a potential reunion in Chatham, our next stop before the bright lights of London. A well-deserved pizza fueled our return to Halcyon Sea, where we spent the evening plotting and planning for the days ahead. Tomorrow is earmarked for more boat maintenance (that gel coat isn't going to magically repair itself!) and hopefully a little Ramsgate sightseeing, provided the boat jobs don't consume the entire day. This sailing lark, we're learning, is a constant balancing act between adventure and the less glamorous, but essential, realities of boat ownership!Read more
Ramsgate Repairs & Dodging Dark Tunnels
April 26, 2025 in England ⋅ ☁️ 13 °C
Ramsgate Repairs, Dodging Dark Tunnels (and Dodgy Pubs?), and a Drone Farewell!
Our grand plans for a day of leisurely Ramsgate sightseeing vanished faster than a free pint at happy hour. The culprit? That pesky pontoon kiss from yesterday. To properly address the minor gel coat casualty on Halcyon Sea’s bow, it turned out our bed once again needed a full-scale deconstruction. Apparently, the boat-repair toolkit resides in the most inconveniently accessible location imaginable – directly beneath our sleeping sanctuary.
However, every cloud has a slightly damp, condensation-related lining! This unexpected boat surgery did provide a prime opportunity to air out the forepeak. Sleeping in such close quarters, especially with the recent chilly weather, has created its own microclimate of condensation. Being gently dripped on by the blind that covers the hatch in the dead of night is not exactly our preferred wake-up call. It's less "gentle rain" and more "mildly irritating boat tears."
By the time Halcyon Sea was back to her (mostly) normal self, with our bed reassembled in a feat of nautical engineering, the clock had ticked past 3 pm. This left a mere hour before our planned tourist destination, the Ramsgate Tunnels, that slammed its subterranean doors at 4 pm. Tracey, truth be told, let out a sigh of relief. Another place shrouded in darkness, potentially filled with mannequins designed to induce heart palpitations, wasn't exactly topping her list of must-see attractions.
Instead, we opted for a less spooky exploration of Ramsgate town with Pepper in tow. Our first discovery was the UK's largest Wetherspoon pub. Now, we're not averse to a good Spoons, but their strict no-dog policy meant we couldn't sample its reported vastness. Judging by the slightly glazed expressions of some patrons exiting, perhaps our canine companion inadvertently saved us from a truly "epic" experience. The town itself was bustling with Saturday energy, and the faint strains of live music drifted from one of the waterfront venues, though its exact location remained a delightful mystery. The usual array of high street shops lined the streets, but as is often the case these days, the crowds were… well, let's just say the tumbleweeds were probably having a day off elsewhere.
Our wanderings led us past a rather intriguing building: The Ramsgate Home for Smack Boys! Established in 1881, this institution provided shelter and support for young apprentices, some as young as ten, who worked on the large sailing fishing boats called "smacks" that fished out of Ramsgate Harbour. Imagine a childhood of physically demanding labour on the often-treacherous seas – injury and even death were grim realities. The home was the vision of Canon Eustace Brenan, the vicar of Christ Church in Ramsgate, who sought to offer both spiritual guidance and practical assistance to these vulnerable "smack boys." Over time, the home's purpose evolved, extending its care to shipwrecked sailors from the Goodwin Sands and later providing refuge for survivors of the First World War – a testament to its enduring spirit of compassion.
After a boat-cooked dinner, we ventured back to the Royal Temple Sailing Club for a quick nightcap. The atmosphere was… intimate. We were the only patrons besides the friendly barman, Bailey. He shared some of the challenges the club faces in attracting new members, particularly the younger generation – a familiar tale for clubs across the land, it seems. We recounted stories from our own club in Fareham, finding solidarity in shared experiences. Mentioning our planned early departure for Chatham, the barman, a surprisingly early riser and drone enthusiast, offered to capture some aerial footage of our exit – a rather novel and much-appreciated farewell!
With a 5:30 am alarm set, driven by the need to make the most of the tide for what promised to be another long day on the water, an early night was definitely in order. We drifted off to sleep, the gentle rolling in the marina against Halcyon Sea rocking us to sleep. We are hopeful that tomorrow's early start will bring smoother sailing (both literally and figuratively!).Read more
Ramsgate’s Fog to Chatham’s Lock Down
April 27, 2025 in England ⋅ ☀️ 18 °C
From Ramsgate's Foggy Embrace to Chatham's Lock-Down (Literally!)
Our rude awakening this morning came not from the gentle chirping of nautical birds, but the insistent blare of foghorns – nature's way of saying, "Nope, not today!" One bleary-eyed peek out revealed a marina shrouded in a pea-souper fog so thick you could have spread it on your toast. The foghorns, sounding their mournful two-minute dirge, seemed to be actively serenading us back to bed.
After eavesdropping on some French sailors' foggy deliberations (Tracey's O level French finally proving useful!), we decided to adopt their "wait and see" approach, resetting our alarm for 8 am, albeit with the knowledge that we were sacrificing precious tidal assistance. Ramsgate to Chatham was already shaping up to be a marathon motor-sail (emphasis on the motor, the wind being characteristically unhelpful), a good ten-hour slog even with a cooperative tide.
At 8 am, the foghorns had mercifully fallen silent. Operation "Get to Chatham Before Christmas" was back on! A brisk walk for Pepper, a hasty breakfast, a frantic tidying session and we were ready to slip our Ramsgate shackles. Permission granted by Port Control, we nudged Halcyon Sea out beyond the constraints of the harbour. We hadn’t realised that Bailey had captured our departure on his drone.
The initial leg was deceptively pleasant. Sunshine glinted off the calm sea, illuminating the charmingly colourful beach huts of Dumpton Gap and Broadstairs. We could clearly see the headland, our gateway to the East Coast. The houses perched precariously atop the cliffs gave us pause – how much longer would the landscape remain looking this way.
Then, as we rounded the headland, it loomed – a menacing band of fog. A quick consultation with the shipping forecast confirmed "foggy patches." How bad could a "patch" be, we naively wondered? We motored on a little further, until the coastline vanished completely, and a knot of unease began to tighten in our stomachs. Visibility plummeted. A mutual decision was made: abort mission! We executed a swift 180-degree turn. After all, we were only at the start, and pressing on into oblivion with nowhere to duck for cover seemed… unwise.
Moments after our about-face, our ever-vigilant shore contact, Nick's son Olly, called, slightly panicked: "You're going the wrong way! Are you doing a man overboard drill?!" It was strangely reassuring to know we were being remotely monitored, even if our maneuvers looked suspiciously like a maritime emergency. We explained our foggy predicament and our temporary retreat.
After a brief "pull yourselves together" pep talk, we donned our metaphorical "big girl pants" and turned about again. Confidence, albeit slightly forced, suggested we could handle this pea soup, but we remained ready to bail if things got truly hairy. Heading back in the correct direction (again!), we motored a little further offshore, adhering to our passage plan to avoid any unexpected encounters with shallow sandbanks. Navionics, our electronic guardian angel, displayed the whereabouts of ships with AIS, allowing us to play a high-stakes game of nautical dodgems.
The sun began its valiant attempt to burn off the fog, and a tantalizing patch of visibility opened up before us. All clear! Safe as houses! Or so we thought. BAM! Without warning, the fog descended with the speed and stealth of a ninja, reducing visibility to a mere 60 feet – a boat and a half length. This felt decidedly less "adventure" and more "potential maritime incident."
Then, like a spectre emerging from the gloom, the silhouette of a vast chemical tanker materialized off our port side. Relief washed over us as our navigation proved accurate, but our collective sigh was abruptly interrupted by the tanker's booming foghorn – a sound less like an "acknowledgement" and more like a sonic boom designed to induce cardiac arrest. Our nervous laughter that followed was a testament to our frayed nerves.
This bizarre dance of clarity and near-zero visibility continued for a heart-stopping 1.5 hours. At one point, a huge vessel, over 780 feet long and 102 feet wide, passed within a mere 200 meters on our starboard side. We heard its foghorn, a deep, resonating bellow, but never actually saw it – a truly eerie experience. The fog transformed the world into a silent, grey void, the only constant the rhythmic chug of our engine. Our voices were hushed, announcing the next ghostly marker on the chart. A profound sense of loneliness and remoteness washed over us, but there was no time for existential pondering; all concentration was needed to navigate this watery purgatory, punctuated by prayers for the fog to lift. Our eyes played tricks, every hazy outline morphing into monstrous shapes – Tracey's vivid imagination was clearly in overdrive, envisioning scenes from a low-budget nautical horror film.
And then, as suddenly as it had descended, it began to lift. We emerged from the oppressive grey into a world of hazy sunshine. But Tracey's imagination wasn't quite ready to retire. Looming ahead were strange, otherworldly formations jutting out of the sea. We'd never seen anything like them. They resembled the menacing AT-AT walkers from The Empire Strikes Back! In reality, these bizarre structures were the Shivering Sands Army Fort and, a little further on, the Red Sands Fort. These Maunsell forts, built near the Thames Estuary for anti-aircraft defense during WWII, were once interconnected towers. The Shivering Sands fort, the last of the Thames Estuary forts to be constructed, was grounded in late 1943. Three sets of these forts, named after their designer Guy Maunsell, were built in the Estuary (the Nore forts have since been demolished). After the war, the rusty sentinels were abandoned, their access ladders removed to deter trespassers. However, they became unexpected havens for pirate radio stations, with Radio Invicta and its successors broadcasting from one of the forts in the mid-1960s. While largely derelict now, a charity, Project Redsand, occasionally runs boat trips for those intrigued by these eerie relics. One fort even remains semi-habitable, with a landing gantry for visitors.
As we entered the Thames Estuary proper, another, more sobering historical wreck came into view: the SS Richard Montgomery, a ghostly American Liberty ship built during WWII to carry vital supplies. In August 1944, laden with a terrifying cargo of approximately 7,000 tons of munitions, she joined a convoy bound for the UK and then Cherbourg. Upon arrival in the Thames Estuary, she was directed to anchor off Sheerness. Tragically, on August 20th, 1944, she dragged her anchor in the shallow water and grounded on a sandbank, lying precariously close to the Medway approach channel. While efforts to unload her began, a fatal crack appeared in her hull, and the forward end flooded. Salvage efforts continued until late September, by which point only about half the cargo had been removed. The vessel then completely flooded, and the salvage operation was abandoned. Her masts remain eerily visible above the water at all tide levels, a constant, silent reminder of the estimated 1,400 tons of explosives still entombed within her forward holds. History lesson over – and perhaps best not dwelled upon too much!
The pretty bays with their colourful beach huts had faded and made way for a more industrious landscape as we were now amongst busier shipping lanes in Thames Estuary.
Finally, we entered the winding embrace of the River Medway, racing against the dwindling tide to reach the lock entrance for Chatham. It was going to be a close call. We called the marina and were granted permission to enter the lock, instructed to move as far forward as possible to accommodate a small motorboat following us in. Tracey, blissfully unaware of the critical depth readings Nick was monitoring, experienced a surge of (okay, a lot of) panic as it appeared we were heading directly for the lock gate, not the lock itself. In her calmest (read: slightly high-pitched) voice, she "encouraged" Nick to turn. Meanwhile, Nick, battling his own rising anxiety with a mere 0.1 meters of water beneath our keel, was hesitant to make any sudden maneuvers for fear of grounding. But we made it! The lock gates closed behind us, and the water surged in with surprising ferocity, sending Halcyon Sea bobbing around like a cork in a bathtub. We quickly tamed her with a forward spring line attached to the midship cleat. Directions to our berth followed, another tight squeeze next to a rather imposing powerboat, further testing Nick's docking prowess.
With the boat finally secured, Tracey practically sprinted Pepper ashore for a long-overdue potty break. A celebratory (and slightly shaky) drink followed, a toast to surviving our foggy odyssey. Dinner at Wagamama's provided the perfect setting to recount the day's bizarre and slightly terrifying events. Utterly relieved, content, and completely shattered, an early night was non-negotiable. We think a couple of days in Chatham to catch our breath might be in order. After all, this isn't a race…Read more
Chatham Chills - A Slower Pace Prevails
Apr 28–29, 2025 in England ⋅ ☀️ 21 °C
Days 20 & 21: Chatham Chills and Chart Contemplations - A Slower Pace Prevails!
Following the slightly more "energetic" arrival in Chatham, a collective decision was made: it was time for a gear change. A day or two of a more sedate pace was definitely on the cards. This lull also provided the perfect opportunity for some crucial logistical brainstorming regarding the next few weeks. With a family party in Liverpool looming in May and the details of our friend's funeral in Scotland still pending, we found ourselves needing to identify a suitable marina where we could safely leave Halcyon Sea and conveniently retrieve our trusty car.
Out came the well-thumbed charts, and a serious planning session commenced. Our initial grand vision involved a week-long sojourn in the heart of London at St Katherine Docks. However, reality, in the form of a rather eye-watering marina quote (even for our budgeted week!), gently nudged us towards alternative destinations. Affordability for an extended stay in the capital simply wasn't in the nautical stars. So, we turned our attention to other enticing possibilities, carefully considering tidal constraints and, of course, Pepper's travel comfort. Burnham on Crouch, with a potential 7.5-hour passage, and Shotley Marina near Ipswich, a slightly longer 9.5-hour journey, emerged as frontrunners. More pondering was definitely required.
In the meantime, boat life continued, albeit at a more leisurely tempo. Hull repair (that pontoon kiss still needed attention!), a general tidy-up, a much-needed clean, and the essential task of shopping filled our days. Yes, even amidst the adventure, the mundane rhythm of everyday life persists! So far, we've resisted the urge to stray too far from the comforting presence of Halcyon Sea, rather enjoying the feeling of our little floating home as a mobile back garden in the warm sunshine.
Conveniently located right next to the marina is a sprawling shopping centre brimming with restaurants and bars. However, the crucial task of food shopping presents a slightly greater challenge. A ten-minute stroll offers access to a small Co-op and an Iceland, perfect for the basics but not quite conducive to what Tracey would deem a "proper shop." It's in these moments that the convenience of our former land-based existence, and particularly the freedom of our car, is keenly felt. Interestingly, just outside the marina entrance stands the striking Copper Rivet Gin Distillery, a beautiful Victorian building dating back to 1873, originally serving as a pump house for the dockyard's dry docks – a little local history with a fragrant twist and maybe worth a visit.
On a brighter note, the riverside walks here in Chatham are truly glorious. Pepper is in her element during her morning explorations along the river path, although these outings are becoming delightfully longer each day as she insists on greeting every single canine acquaintance she encounters. Watching her joy as she bounds across the dewy grass, nose twitching with delightful scents, is simply heartwarming. We've also discovered a fantastic fenced-in park within a fifteen-minute walk, where she revels in the unbridled freedom of being off her lead – pure doggy bliss!
The reality of full-time boat life is indeed starting to sink in, particularly for Tracey. This isn't a fleeting holiday; it's a fundamental shift in lifestyle. The inherent challenges of cramped quarters, the constant need to orchestrate movements to access even the simplest items, can be a source of low-level frustration. The feeling that our environment is perpetually on the verge of feeling "untidy" (simply because it takes so little to reach that state) can be mentally draining. Planning necessary family visits and navigating the associated logistics presents its own set of puzzles. And yes, for Tracey, the thought of leaving our little home in a strange location does play on her mind. While the initial novelty and excitement remain, the nuances of this new way of living are becoming more apparent. Adapting to a less structured environment is proving to be a journey in itself, and let's just say Tracey's inner organiser (OCD) is definitely making its presence known! However, amidst these adjustments, there's a growing sense of resilience and a quiet determination to embrace the quirks and challenges of our adventure.Read more
Dockyard Duds and a Sunset on the Bow
April 30, 2025 in England ⋅ ☀️ 21 °C
Dockyard Duds, and a Sunset on the Bow!
The urgent need for a solid escape plan from Chatham finally spurred us into action. After much digital deliberation and chart gazing, we triumphantly booked three nights at Burnham Yacht Club. The online reviews promised accessibility at all states of tide (a definite plus!), but also whispered tales of tricky pilotage on approach and, rather ominously, "short" and "wobbly" finger pontoons. Our Ramsgate-induced gel coat anxiety twitched. We nearly bottled it, our fingers hovering over the "cancel call" button, but just as we were about to surrender to pontoon paranoia, the office answered!
Salvation arrived in the form of a wonderfully helpful Harbour Master. We poured out our concerns about the Lilliputian and potentially unstable pontoons, and he, bless his nautical heart, agreed to allocate us a spot on one of the "larger" ones. A quick peek at the berthing map induced a wave of relief that could have floated a small dinghy. Yes, it was at the far end of the pontoon, promising a "brisk" (read: long) walk to the marina office, but it was also directly off the marina entrance – no complicated maneuvering required! Plus, Pepper would appreciate the extra leg stretch. A win-win (or should that be a wag-wag?) situation!
With the next port of call firmly in our sights, we tackled those smaller boat jobs that weekend sailors perpetually defer. Nick, channeling his inner MacGyver, fashioned some rather ingenious soft shackles to keep the halliards tamed and to securely fasten the anchor to the boat – no more noisy clanking! He then embarked on a cleaning frenzy, scrubbing the coachroof, decks, and cockpit until Halcyon Sea positively gleamed. Even the dolphin seat received a thorough makeover! Only the chrome polishing remained – a task perhaps best saved for a moment of extreme boredom.
Feeling vaguely industrious, we decided it was high time for some proper sightseeing, venturing beyond the immediate marina vicinity. The Historic Dockyard beckoned, a mere fifteen-minute stroll away. This sprawling 80-acre site promised a treasure trove of maritime history, including HMS Gannet, HM submarine Ocelot, and an RNLI Historic Lifeboat collection – all right up Nick's nautical alley. Adding a touch of unexpected glamour, the dockyard also serves as the filming location for the beloved "Call the Midwife," with tours included in the ticket price. However… we did not purchase a ticket. The reason? Let's just say the on-the-day entry fee of £32 per adult for an annual ticket induced a sharp intake of breath that could have emptied a small sail. While excellent value for repeat visitors, for our single, fleeting visit (and with Pepper's understandable exclusion from the indoor exhibits), it simply wasn't feasible especially with the limited time before closing.
Undeterred, we continued our walk to the nearby Fort Amherst. Now, this was more budget friendly – free entry to the grounds and wonderfully dog-friendly! With an hour of opening hours remaining, there was plenty to explore of this historic site. Organised tours of the intriguing caves and tunnels were available for a small fee and boasted rave reviews, but our slightly tardy arrival meant we missed the boat (pun intended!). A much-welcomed ice cream provided a refreshing consolation prize before our return journey, thankfully mostly downhill – a blessing for our weary knees.
A pit stop at the Dockside Shopping Centre yielded a few dinner essentials and a well-deserved pint for Nick and a glass of vino for Tracey before we ambled back to Halcyon Sea. The air fryer worked its magic on a chicken, sundowners were poured, and we retreated to the bow with our cushions for a glorious hour of tech-free tranquility, soaking in the last rays of the day. The peace was… well, insert your own suitably blissful adjective here! Our aching limbs, a gentle reminder of our nearly seven-mile trek, were a small price to pay for that moment of quiet contentment in our own little world.Read more
Holiday Vibes, then Burnham Ahoy
May 1–2, 2025 in England ⋅ ☁️ 22 °C
Days 23 & 24: Holiday Vibes, Then Burnham Ahoy!
Our final full day in Chatham felt gloriously… lazy! The sun was positively beaming, and we wholeheartedly embraced its golden invitation to do absolutely nothing of great importance. A pact was made: tonight, we’d treat ourselves to a proper meal out, ensuring Halcyon Sea was shipshape and Bristol fashion for our early departure the next morning.
Pepper, ever the priority, enjoyed her constitutional, and then we sauntered out, feeling positively holiday-esque. Cocktails at Pier 5, overlooking the marina bustle, set the relaxed tone before we indulged in a pizza feast at Fireaway. And oh, did Lady Luck decide to sprinkle some extra deliciousness our way! Apparently, a large order had been cancelled, but the pizza-making magic was already in motion. Not only did we receive a complimentary side of cheesy garlic bread (pure heaven!), but while we were still waiting our main event, our wonderful waiter presented us with an entire extra pizza to take away – tomorrow's lunch sorted for our long journey! Talk about a slice of good fortune!
Our alarms jolted us awake at the crack of 6 am. The Chatham lock operates with the punctuality of a Swiss watch, on the hour and half hour, and our target was the 7:30 am exodus. Pepper and Tracey enjoyed their final Chatham Riverwalk, perhaps a little shorter than usual, but strategically timed for Tracey to assess the sea state and relay the intel back to Captain Nick, who was below deck conjuring morning tea and prepping Halcyon Sea for her onward voyage.
Leaving Chatham proved surprisingly (and thankfully!) less dramatic than our arrival. Lines were slipped at 7:24 am, and by 7:44 am, we were gliding back down the River Medway, heading out to sea. We passed the majestic John H Amos paddle tug, a vessel steeped in history and a true survivor, having battled adversity to maintain her rightful place on the water (a fascinating tale you can delve into at www.medwaymaritimetrust.org.uk/johnhamos/pages/…). With a gentle whisper of wind (finally!) and the tide playing nicely, our passage out of the Medway was significantly swifter than our previous, somewhat fraught, journey in. Before long, the ghostly masts of the SS Richard Montgomery loomed into view once more, a stark and spectacular reminder of wartime history.
We crossed the Thames Estuary, heading past the South Essex coastline. A noticeable shift occurred in the water's hue, transforming into a murky green-brown, sadly littered with debris – a disheartening mix of natural flotsam and man-made rubbish. Wind farms dotted the horizon, though few of their giant blades were turning. In the distance, a peculiar pagoda-like structure emerged – Knock John Fort, another of those fascinating Maunsell sea forts from WWII. Each of its two towers housed seven floors for accommodation and storage, topped by a gun deck, an upper deck, and a central radar control unit. This fort, too, had its moment in the radio waves, hosting Radio Essex in the mid-1960s. Every day is a school day on this adventure!
The weather remained glorious, and with the wind still playing coy, we continued our motor-powered journey, our eyes peeled for the buoys marking our safe passage through the labyrinth of hidden sandbanks. The surprising distance between these navigational aids kept us both alert, even Pepper seemed to take her watch duty with unusual seriousness, the most engaged we'd seen her mid-passage! Finally, we spotted the southerly cardinal buoy, our cue to turn into the River Crouch. The charts depicted a notoriously narrow channel, so we were pleasantly surprised by its apparent width – though the approaching high water certainly contributed to our comfort levels. We took it steady in this unfamiliar territory, observing the local sailors confidently cutting corners and powerboats skimming daringly over the sandy shallows. A synchronized navigation effort ensued, Nick glued to Navionics while Tracey diligently cross-referenced with the Cruising Almanac, a reassuring double-check all the way.
Then, there it was – Fairway 11, our turning point into Burnham Yacht Harbour! The channel did indeed narrow, and with the wind and tide now conspiring against us, we had a little wrestle to keep Halcyon Sea on her intended path to the entrance. Our allocated berth came into view, and from our approach angle, it looked… snug. Tracey took a deep breath. "We've got this!" And we did! Yes, the pontoon was short, but the Harbour Master, true to his word, had provided us with a wider, more stable platform. As we drew closer, the gap to our berth proved far more generous than initially perceived. We were in!
Glorious sunshine bathed Burnham-on-Crouch as we secured Halcyon Sea. A brisk walk and an enthusiastic runaround for Pepper in the fields behind the marina followed, culminating in our well-deserved celebratory drinks back on board. Another port ticked off the list, another safe arrival accomplished! Burnham Yacht Marina had a familiar feel, reminding us fondly of all our wonderful friends back in Fareham who are currently enjoying a rally in Bembridge. While we were missing out on all the fun and frivolity they were undoubtedly experiencing, we raised a virtual glass in their direction. May the sun continue to shine on their Bembridge escapades, and may a grand time be had by all! Our own Burnham adventure was just beginning!Read more
May Bank Holiday: Burnham Buzzes
May 2–6, 2025 in England ⋅ ☀️ 18 °C
Early May Bank Holiday: Burnham Buzzes
Our arrival in Burnham-on-Crouch heralded a glorious blank canvas of a Bank Holiday weekend. The grand plan? Soak up the sunshine, recharge our batteries, and finally nail down our next port of call for a potential two-week stay, juggling a Liverpool family shindig and the still-pending details of our friend Alistair's funeral in Scotland. Little did we know, the Essex coastline held a delightful surprise in store!
As we'd sailed past, Tracey, ever the social butterfly, had pinged her Aunt Lin, who happens to reside in these parts. An invitation was extended, and to our delight, Lin and her husband Terry were free on Saturday! They'd heard all about the nautical escapades aboard Halcyon Sea but had yet to experience her charms firsthand. Cue much excitement! Not to be outdone, a message had also winged its way from one of Nick's former Commanding Officers, Iain, who, upon hearing of our proximity, suggested a meet-up. Sunday was swiftly penciled in for a reunion. Our quiet weekend was rapidly transforming into a veritable social whirl!
Saturday dawned in all its sunny glory, and the first wave of visitors arrived. It was such a joy to see Aunt Lin and Terry after far too long! The afternoon was a delightful tapestry of catching up on family news, sharing tales of our watery wanderings, and general all-around good cheer. Naturally, the Swallowtail, the marina's on-site bar and restaurant, provided the perfect backdrop for a wonderfully convivial lunch, filled with laughter and the easy rhythm of familiar company. Before we knew it, five glorious hours had evaporated, and it was time for heartfelt farewells. Talk about a convenient plot twist! We had a Tesco delivery scheduled for that evening. Burnham town, while charming, was a bit of a trek for a full-scale grocery haul, even with my fabulous new accessory – a shopping trolley! Yes, you read that right. The quintessential granny trolley, lovingly bestowed upon us by one of Val's thoughtful friends, has become my unexpected favourite. Who knew practicality could be so chic?!
Sunday brought the much-anticipated reunion with Iain and his lovely wife Sue. Nick confessed to a few pre-meeting butterflies, as it had been a good thirty years since their paths had last crossed. However, the moment they arrived, any awkwardness vanished. It was as if no time had passed at all! The conversation flowed effortlessly, a testament to shared experiences and a surprising amount of common ground. We suspect Sue may have fallen head-over-heels for Pepper, and we might just be responsible for a future furry addition to their household – you've been warned, Iain and Sue! Again, the time flew by in a flurry of laughter and reminiscing, and we parted ways with promises to stay in touch and hopefully orchestrate another meet-up soon. Our trusty visitor's book, a leaving gift from Portsmouth, is slowly but surely filling up with warm wishes and signatures – a wonderful memento of the friendly faces we've welcomed aboard, be it for a quick cuppa or a full-blown afternoon tea!
Our initial plan involved a Bank Holiday Monday departure, but Mother Nature, in her infinite wisdom (or perhaps just a touch of stubbornness), decided otherwise. The weather forecast suggested a less-than-ideal sailing day, so we happily opted for a slightly longer Burnham sojourn. This wasn't a hardship, as we hadn't yet properly explored beyond Pepper's immediate marina playground, a verdant haven of green spaces and fields perfect for her zoomies. We ventured along the riverfront towards the town, attempting a visit to the prestigious Royal Burnham Yacht Club. While we would have been welcomed, their dog policy restricted Pepper to certain areas, and the designated patio was rather crowded with members seeking shelter from the predicted (and accurate) blustery conditions. Squeezing a slightly bewildered Pepper onto a busy patio didn't feel fair. Instead, we plumped for the welcoming embrace of Ye Olde White Hart, a local pub that provided a truly hearty and delicious roast dinner. Both the food and the service were top-notch! Fun fact: Burnham-on-Crouch is a renowned sailing centre, hosting the famous "Burnham Week" regatta every August, attracting sailors from across the UK and beyond! The town also boasts a rich maritime history, once being a significant fishing port.
Sadly, our Burnham stop didn't align with Tracey's children's schedules. Adam already had Bank Holiday plans, and Scott was just returning from a month-long adventure in Japan. However, with Ipswich as our likely next destination, we're hopeful for a family catch-up in the coming weeks while we're still relatively close.
Our overall verdict on Burnham-on-Crouch? A resounding thumbs-up! Despite initial trepidation about the River Crouch entrance (a healthy dose of unfamiliar-territory nerves!), we found the approach straightforward. The people of Burnham were exceptionally friendly, and Burnham Yacht Harbour itself was incredibly welcoming. The Swallowtail restaurant gets a hearty recommendation from our bellies! And for our furry first mate, the abundance of green fields surrounding the marina made it a veritable Pepper paradise. While we might have been missing out on the Bank Holiday fun and frivolities our Fareham friends were undoubtedly enjoying down in Bembridge, we followed the shenanigans on the WhatsApp group that shared plenty of photos. Burnham, you were a delight!Read more
TravelerIt was wonderful to catch up with you both and we had an amazing time with you and pepper shebis so bloody 😍 cute. The weather was amazing so was the company. Love your yatch we are sure you will have some amazing tales to tell. Time flew by and we sad to say goodbye but we will definitely catch up with you all again soon. Sail safe and make lots of happy memories 😊 xxxx
Thank you both again for putting up with us. Sue has definitely fallen for Pepper. Take care [Iain Arthur]
A Heart-Stopping Dash Over the Shallows
May 6, 2025 in England ⋅ ☁️ 12 °C
Leaving Burnham: The Great Ipswich Marina Quest (and a Heart-Stopping Dash Over the Shallows!)
The lure of Ipswich had called, but securing our next berth was proving to be a saga worthy of its own nautical epic! While basking in the sunny serenity of Burnham, we'd been bombarded with a fascinating (and often conflicting) array of advice from fellow sailors regarding the best route to Ipswich and, more crucially, the perfect marina for our extended stay.
The whispers from the sailing grapevine consistently pointed towards Shotley Marina, perched enticingly at the mouth of the River Orwell with its convenient lock gate. It sounded ideal – no lengthy river motor on departure, and glowing reviews. We were all set to book, only for the Harbour Master's voice on the phone to drop a bombshell: "Sorry, your 2-meter draft won't clear our 1.8-meter dredging. And with the Bank Holiday weekend keeping the lock perpetually busy, inner water levels might be an issue." Our jaws practically hit the deck! So much for local intel.
Next on the hit list: Woolverstone. An MDL marina, like Chatham, it promised familiarity but came with a price tag that made our wallets wince – a significant factor when every pound counts on this grand adventure. Then came Royal Harwich, alluringly situated on the riverfront but offering only a handful of exposed "hammerhead" berths for non-members. Tracey's inner control freak (which, let's be honest, is far from hidden these days) recoiled at the thought of leaving Halcyon Sea exposed to the whims of wind and tide while we were off retrieving our car.
Finally, we turned our attention further upriver into Ipswich itself, and that's when we stumbled upon Fox's. A smaller marina, a mere 100 berths, but from the very first phone call, they were a breath of fresh air – genuinely helpful and refreshingly accommodating. The icing on the cake? Its walk-able proximity to Ipswich rail station, a non-negotiable for our car retrieval mission. The first piece of our complex logistical puzzle was firmly in place.
With our marina secured, it was time to tackle the passage plan, a topic that had sparked even more debate than the marina choice! The local wisdom suggested a bold shortcut: "Skip over the Sands! You'll save loads of time!" Navionics, our digital oracle, confirmed the possibility, albeit with a rather alarming "0.1m" chart datum depth for the shallowest section. But with a neap tide working in our favour, the siren song of saved hours proved too strong to resist. A calculated risk, perhaps, but the prospect of bypassing a lengthy detour was too tempting.
We awoke early, the chilly morning air biting, and slipped our lines from Burnham at a crisp 8 am. The forecast promised a breezy day, gusts of 15 knots – a standard sailing (or, more likely, motoring) day, perfectly doable. Our initial trundle out of the River Crouch was serenely quiet, passing only a few industrious fishing boats already anchored on a natural shelf, their lines already in the water.
But the calm, as always, was fleeting. Soon after leaving the buoyed path, the wind began to pick up, and with the water being relatively shallow, this created a significant, unpleasant swell. We were quickly regretting not donning every single thermal, jumper, and foul-weather layer we possessed. Our teeth chattered, but turning back was simply not an option; the logistical challenge of getting to Liverpool by Friday loomed large.
We pressed on, heading towards the infamous Spitway – the shallowest, and most nerve-wracking, part of our journey. Our eyes were glued to Navionics, the pink track line of our intended route snaking across the ominously low depths. Up ahead, a tantalizing patch of blue sky appeared through the clouds – was this the good omen we so desperately craved? Nick, abandoning autopilot, took the helm, ready to pivot if needed. We prayed the swell would subside; running aground was not on today's agenda.
As Halcyon Sea, our sturdy little home, crept along the track leading across the shallows, silence descended. We held our breath, each lost in our own thoughts and fierce concentration. One eye glued to the depth sounder, one eye on Navionics (we knew it should only take about five heart-stopping minutes to cross), and another on the relentless swell and the ever-shifting weather.
And then, a moment of pure magic. For those five "bum-twitching" minutes, the sea calmed. The choppy waves subsided, replaced by a surprisingly gentle undulation. A sliver of sun shone through the clouds, as if guiding our way. We were on a neap tide, our research had been meticulous… surely, surely we could make this?
We were through! A collective, shaky exhale escaped us. We've breathed that sigh of relief countless times on this journey, but this one felt particularly poignant. Our ever-present logbook demanded its entry, documenting the harrowing hour that had just passed.
But the sea, ever a fickle mistress, soon resumed her turbulent dance. The swell increased, the fleeting sun retreated behind the clouds, and the cold bit harder. We passed Clacton and Walton-on-the-Naze, its historic pier jutting defiantly into the churning grey. In the distance, the Harwich docks emerged, their monstrous cranes a stark, industrial contrast to the cheerful pastel beach huts lining the seafront. We knew that turning to enter the Orwell River would mean facing the waves beam-on, exacerbating the relentless rolling motion that was already turning Tracey a rather sickly shade of green. Seasickness, the unwelcome travel companion, had made its grand entrance. We passed the very marinas we had so confidently (and wrongly, it now seemed) written off, a fleeting pang of "what if?"
Then, as if by divine intervention, as we finally entered the mouth of the Orwell River, all calmed down. The chaotic swell faded, replaced by the gentle ripples of river life. The only other boats sharing the water were nimble dinghies, their sails tacking back and forth in peaceful practice. We sailed under the familiar arch of the Orwell Bridge, a landmark Tracey had driven over countless times, a surreal moment of land-based memory meeting our new maritime reality. A left turn into our chosen marina, our home for the next few weeks, and the journey was finally over.
Cold, exhausted, and profoundly relieved, we put Halcyon Sea to bed. Pepper, in her new surroundings, enjoyed a long-anticipated run along the riverside before we crashed into our bunks. Tomorrow's mission: a train journey to Whittlesey to reclaim the car – a vital step in our next logistical challenge. This sailing life, we're learning, is less a race and more an epic, exhilarating, occasionally terrifying, and utterly unforgettable marathon!Read more
Back to Boat Life
May 7–15, 2025 in England ⋅ ☀️ 15 °C
Back to Boat Life (and a Whirlwind of Family Hugs!)
So, it's been a tad quiet on the Halcyon Sea front for the past week, and for a very good reason: we've been playing "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles" (minus the planes, thankfully!) as we embarked on a whirlwind tour of the UK, reconnecting with our wonderful family. Think of it as a high-speed interlude in our slow-paced nautical adventure! The mission? To shower all our immediate family with hugs – a mission almost entirely accomplished, with just a few more embraces on the horizon before we finally cast off from Ipswich.
Let's rewind a week to Wednesday, May 7th. Nick became a temporary landlubber, hopping on a train to Whittlesey, the current residence of our four-wheeled friend. The trek to Ipswich station provided a decent dose of pre-train cardio, but the journey itself was surprisingly smooth. Then, the joyous reunion drive back to Ipswich, ready to collect Tracey, Pepper (the ultimate travel companion), and what felt like the entire contents of our floating home packed into various bags.
Ah, but the anticipated happy reunion aboard Halcyon Sea was… slightly overshadowed. Upon Nick’s return, he was greeted by a sight that could only be described as "Tracey Unchained!" The seemingly simple task of strategically repacking for our land excursion had devolved into a full-blown cabin crisis. Picture this: the one essential item Tracey absolutely needed was nestled deep within the bowels of our low-ceilinged back cabin, requiring a contortionist's skills and the prior evacuation of approximately half the cabin's belongings just to gain entry. What followed can only be described as a flurry of flung items, the tragic snapping of innocent plastic coat hangers, and a level of frayed nerves that could rival a tangled fishing net. Not the serene start to our weekend getaway we had both envisioned. For the second time on this voyage (Dover still holds the dubious honor of first place), the siren call of dry land and a stationary home echoed loudly in our minds. However, once the elusive treasures were finally unearthed and the cabin bore a vague resemblance to its usual organised chaos, the monumental task of loading the car commenced. And isn't it always the way? A fully loaded trolley coinciding perfectly with low tide, transforming the marina gangway into what felt like a near-vertical assault course. We were practically Olympic athletes before we even reached the car park!
Speaking of our four-wheeled steed, the sensory whiplash of transitioning from a leisurely 5 knots on the water to a breakneck 70 mph on a jam-packed motorway was quite something! Surrounded by a blur of traffic that appeared to be operating on warp speed, even a simple bladder break required a strategic (and slightly panicked) pit stop at the services. The supposed hour-and-a-half drive stretched into an eternity, with Tracey's knuckles maintaining a grip of steel on anything within reach. Finally, sweet relief! We arrived at Teresa and Martin's, our incredibly welcoming home-away-from-floating-home for the next couple of nights. Their hospitality was a true balm to our travel-weary souls, providing not only comfortable beds but also the glorious opportunity to conquer Mount Laundry! A brief but deeply appreciated visit with Kathy, Tracey's mum, was also squeezed into the schedule.
Friday saw us hitting the road again, destination: Liverpool! A 2 pm arrival was crucial, as Nick and his son Olly had a long-overdue (seriously, the man was starting to resemble a head like a burst couch) barbershop appointment courtesy of Olly. A glorious Greek feast with the family followed, punctuated by a few celebratory tipples at our Airbnb before we finally succumbed to the lure of sleep, ready for Saturday's big event: Jess's 30th birthday extravaganza!
Saturday was all about celebrating the wonderful Jess, Olly's other half. While Jess was busy transforming her chosen venue into a party paradise and attending to her own pre-celebration glam, we ventured into town for breakfast and those last-minute party essentials. Once back at the house, the rest of the Liverpool contingent arrived: Andy, Marie, Sophie, Paige, and Val! Pre-party drinks flowed freely, followed by a communal pizza feast orchestrated by the ever-organised Lauren (Nick's daughter) as everyone took their turn navigating the two surprisingly efficient bathrooms shared by our rather large and excitable crew, also including Matt and Elsie (our adorable granddaughter), Steph and her girls Maddie and Amelia, and the lovely Sandra and Tony. Against all odds, everyone emerged looking fabulous and a fleet of Ubers whisked us across town to the City Wine Bar. Jess had truly outdone herself with the decorations, and a fantastic playlist curated by her niece set the perfect party vibe. Surrounded by a sea of loving friends and family, the atmosphere was electric, a true testament to the wonderful person we were celebrating. A truly fantastic evening of laughter, dancing (well, some of us!), and general merriment ensued!
Sunday dawned with the familiar ritual of packing (again!), followed by a convoy heading to Olly and Jess's apartment overlooking the beautiful Sefton Park. Olly had arranged a charming breakfast picnic in the park! Armed with picnic chairs, blankets, and a strategically erected tent to protect the culinary delights from any rogue park squirrels, we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, watching Jess open her presents from the family in the glorious sunshine. As Monday loomed for most, the farewells began, but we were lucky enough to snag a few more precious hours with Jess and Olly before heading to Pat and Tony's (Jess's amazing parents) for a BBQ and round two of birthday celebrations – Sunday being Jess's actual big day! A wonderful afternoon of sunshine, good food, and even better company followed, but the exhaustion from the whirlwind weekend was starting to set in, prompting a 7:30 pm departure. We were once again fortunate to enjoy a few more hours with Jess and Olly, staying at their place for the night before our Monday morning departure.
Monday saw Olly and Jess setting off on a well-deserved surprise mini-break, leaving us to make our way back to Whittlesey. Our incredibly kind hosts, Teresa and Martin, had also offered to look after our furry first mate, Pepper, for the weekend! Pepper, it sounds like, had the absolute time of her life with the glorious freedom of a dog flap and a sprawling garden, while we enjoyed a wonderfully stress-free (albeit slightly Pepper-less) weekend. We picked up some BBQ essentials and enjoyed a lovely summer-style evening with Teresa and Martin before our Tuesday drive back to Ipswich.
So, here we are, back aboard Halcyon Sea in Ipswich! And the family cuddles aren't quite over yet – we're planning to catch up with Tracey's wonderful children tomorrow or Thursday before we finally point our trusty vessel north towards Lowestoft and the next exciting chapter of our adventure. The best news? No immediate deadlines looming! Our next fixed point on the horizon is the RNSA90 Scotland branch on a four day rally starting in Ardrossan in August. It feels like we can finally take a long, deep breath and enjoy the journey at our own pace. What an incredible, albeit slightly chaotic, week of family love, laughter, and land-based escapades! Now, where did we leave those boat shoes…?Read more
Ipswich Adieu & Orford Ness Intrigue
May 14–18, 2025 in England ⋅ ☁️ 14 °C
Ipswich Adieu, Orford Ness Intrigue, and a Lowestoft Landing (with a side of Yacht Club Snobbery!)
Our time in Ipswich was a flurry of activity, a land-based reset button before we embraced the open sea once more. The boat became our three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle as we reloaded everything, Tracey's boys, Adam and Scott, were hugged and caught up with, and the trusty car made its final journey back to Teresa and Martin's in Whittlesey.
Meeting up with Scott was a particular highlight, having just returned from a month-long adventure in Japan. It's still mind-boggling how technology shrinks the world – video calls from a bustling Tokyo street to us sailing along the South coast felt as casual as chatting in the next room. We enjoyed a fantastic evening with the boys over a much-craved Indian takeaway, but as always, time zipped by far too quickly, and goodbyes were exchanged.
The next day, Nick was on car-return duty. The Veteran's Railcard was certainly earning its keep! However, the initial train journey hit a snag with a cancellation and a lengthy delay. Thankfully, the ever-helpful Teresa came to the rescue, whisking Nick back to theirs for a spot of lunch before attempt number two. This time, the train gods smiled, and he made it back to Ipswich without further incident. Meanwhile, Tracey was a whirlwind of boat prep, cleaning, stowing, and even managing to conjure up dinner, all in anticipation of our ridiculously early 5 am alarm and 6 am departure on Saturday.
We slipped our lines with the rising tide, a gentle push back up the River Orwell before turning left at the harbour entrance and out into the open sea. It felt fantastic to be back aboard and even better to be on the move again! The morning was a chilly, overcast affair, but the sun was starting to poke hopeful pinholes through the clouds, casting a shimmering promise of light on the water. Yet again, the wind forecast proved to be a tad optimistic, but the allure of exploring new horizons spurred us onward. The boat that had followed us out of the harbour actually turned back, a fleeting moment of "are we making a huge mistake?" crossing our minds.
The scenery along this stretch was… well, let's call it "uniformly green and remarkably flat." We passed the entrance to the River Deben. Many had sung its praises, but warnings about our 2-meter draft lingered, and our northward trajectory won, so we gave it a miss. The entrance to the River Ore also slid by, but our attention was already captivated by a strange collection of buildings looming on the horizon. Perched precariously on what appeared to be a vast sandbank (actually a bed of shingle), this was Orford Ness.
These peculiar structures are the relics of a once top-secret experimental military site, a place where scientists tinkered with, tested, and concealed atomic weapons and their components. But its history stretches back further and includes some truly groundbreaking science. Under the guise of the Ionospheric Research station, set up by Robert Watson-Watt in 1935, the very first purpose-built radar masts were erected here! This seemingly innocuous station was the birthplace of RDF (Radio Direction Finding), the precursor to the RADAR (RAdio Detection and Ranging) we know today. The site's military history actually began way back in 1913 when the War Department (now the Ministry of Defence) acquired a large chunk of Orfordness for an airfield. By 1918, a staggering 600 people lived and worked here, testing new aircraft, developing parachutes, bombs, gun sights, aerial combat tactics, and even dabbling in camouflage and navigation. In the 1920s, it became a firing and bombing range for the nearby Aeroplane and Armaments Experimental Establishment at Martlesham Heath. It even served as a POW camp during WWI. The site finally closed its doors in June 1973 but was later acquired by the National Trust, welcoming its first visitors in 1995. Despite bomb disposal teams working to clear the area, much of Orfordness remains off-limits outside designated paths. Nature has also reclaimed its territory, with an abundance of flora and fauna, including Suffolk's first grey seal breeding colony, some of which we were lucky to see, established in 2021, where an impressive 130 pups were born in 2024! It's incredible how much history lies hidden along our coastlines.
As we continued our northward trek, the imposing dome of Sizewell nuclear power station dominated the horizon. Sadly, photographic evidence is lacking, as the sea had decided to get rather frisky. A quick (and rather precarious) trip below deck for Tracey resulted in a swift return looking decidedly green, leaving Nick to single-handedly navigate the increasingly lumpy waters. Despite skirting the shallower areas, the wind against tide had whipped up a significant swell, and the boat's motion was doing absolutely nothing for Tracey's burgeoning seasickness. We passed the sandy shores of Southwold, and finally, in the hazy distance, Lowestoft appeared! But we still had another hour and a half to go!
As we approached the buoys marking the harbour entrance, the haze surrounding the land made it difficult to discern the channel clearly. Once again, we placed our faith in Navionics to guide us safely in. Protocol dictated a call to Lowestoft VTS on channel 14 when 200 meters from the entrance, requesting permission to enter and stating our intentions. Trying to hear the radio over the howling wind and the boat's waltz in the lumpy sea was a challenge, but permission was eventually granted, and we squinted ahead. It wasn't until the very last minute that the harbour entrance revealed itself, prompting a flurry of fender deployment. We'd opted for the Royal Norfolk & Suffolk Yacht Club, conveniently located just inside the harbour wall, saving us a trip upriver and through any pesky lifting bridges. A hammerhead berth awaited us, a welcome sight after the day's exertions, and of course, Pepper was in desperate need of a post-sea leg stretch!
First impressions of Lowestoft? A quintessential seaside town, complete with penny arcades, the irresistible aroma of fresh donuts and shops proudly displaying Lowestoft Rock, and fudge. There's a fair bit of development underway along the promenade, much of it currently fenced off. The Royal Norfolk & Suffolk Yacht Club staff were pleasant enough, but the place had an air of… well, let's just say it felt like they mistook themselves for the Royal Yacht Squadron! All sorts of rules about dress code and, crucially, a distinct lack of dog-friendliness. We were relegated to the tented area outside with Pepper, but the biting cold made that an unappealing prospect, and she certainly wasn't welcome indoors. However, our friend Robbie, pointed us towards a restaurant literally across the road called Iconic, and it truly lived up to its name. While Pepper still couldn't join us, the price and quality of the food were incredible – two main meals, a bottle of wine, a dessert, a Bacardi (naturally!), and a Bailey's coffee for a mere £48! After our long and somewhat turbulent day, with full bellies, we were in bed by 8:30 pm, utterly exhausted. Tomorrow is officially a rest day, a chance to recharge before we set sail for Grimsby on Monday. Lowestoft, we've arrived, and we're ready for a (slightly warmer and more dog-friendly) exploration!Read more
TravelerBeautifully written
Traveler
Where is Pepper’s hat?
TravelerI’ll have to get her one 😃