26th June 2018
We made three miles towards our destination last night.
It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. In the same eleven hours, we sailed six miles through the water. It’s just that we weren’t going in the right direction.
Yes, you guessed it, on the hottest day of the year in England, there was still drizzle in the North of Scotland – drizzle and incessant headwinds. I’ve worked it out: We have had headwinds now for seven days in a row – first of all North Westerlies on the way up the East Coast towards the Orkneys. Then Westerlies across the top (strong to “near gale” Westerlies to make sure the sea stayed good and rough after the full gale that saw Samsara scuttling into Fair Isle).
And finally, just as I get to the top of the Hebrides, ready for “left hand down a bit” to St Kilda, what do I get: First of all, a flat calm to announce the coming change in the weather – and then, can you believe it? A light South Westerly.
And more drizzle.
Some things are just not fair. There’s only a hundred miles to go after something 850 during which there hasn’t been a single complaint (well I don’t remember it) and now this.
I was all ready to enjoy today: I had taken advantage of last night’s calm to wash and change my clothes for the first time since Fair Isle. I even got undressed and climbed into a sleeping bag – it was Heaven.
And now, I poke my head out of the hatch to find a light headwind and drizzle. What does Ken Bruce call it on Radio Two “Dreich?”
Of course, I could cheer myself up with a French Fancy or even a slice of bread and apricot jam (I made loaf of bread in the calm – I must write about that) but sugar is like cocaine: It doesn’t last very long and then you just want more…
I looked at the little electronic weather station. Pressure rising, not that you’d notice… but, wait a minute what’s this: 12.5o C – as Southern England prepared for a new “hottest day of the year” record…
Well, that was a couple of hours ago. Now I can tell you that I wouldn’t swap places with anyone on Brighton beach. The charcoal stove is fired up – once I got the seawater out of it (how did it get there?) I just checked the thermometer again: 23.5o!
Mind you, I didn’t notice this for a while. I had made the mistake of sitting on the leeward (downhill) berth to write this – it seemed that on the leeward berth, the laptop was less likely to slide off my lap. But you have to remember that hot air rises – which means that all the cold air burrows its way underneath – right onto the leeward berth.
I am now sitting to weather, as us old salts would call it, and I’ve had to move along the berth away from the stove.
We’re still not going in the right direction but it doesn’t seem to matter so much. It’s coffee time – the problem now (yes, there is always a problem) is that while I have a whole spare box of Cherry Bakewell Tarts, there are only two French Fancies left. Of course, I could have that slice of bread but the loaf smelled so good when it came out of the oven that I had four slices there and then – and it doesn’t look so big now…