Blue Moon's trip around the UK

It’s been three years (sailing years, two and a half chronologically). I’ve sailed 6,683 miles. I’ve sailed past every piece of coast on the UK mainland, and most of the islands. I’ve seen all but six of the 267 Scottish lighthouses. I’ve eaten a lot of fish, many chips and buckets of ice cream in a quest to find the nation’s finest., I’ve met a lot of people, almost all of whom have had something interesting to observe about them, and I’ve visited countless fabulous coastal cities, towns, villages and hamlets. I’ve had great times with a wide range of friends and even family, and plenty on my own too. I’ve visited pretty much every place on the UK coast that I’ve read about and wanted to visit, and a whole load that I’d never heard of but will never forget. But now I’m back, in Chichester Harbour, where it all started back in April 2023. And I am quite pleased with myself.

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I really had assumed something bad was going to happen, even in the 20 miles from Littlehampton in a flat calm. The flat calm was the problem: I’d not committed this issue to the blog for fear of jinxing myself, but there has been a steady leak from the engine sea water pump ever since St Katharine’s. I’d bought a new seal but decided only to risk a DIY replacement if the leak got much worse, and round about Brighton it did. Before leaving for Littlehampton I had got up extra early to make time to take the pump apart, but when I did I found I couldn’t get the old seal out. I poked it a lot with some long-nosed pliers but couldn’t get a grip, and decided to stop before I totally ruined it. Before calling an engineer, and Jamie to explain that I couldn’t make it to Littlehampton, I put the pump back together and miraculously the leak had stopped. I ran it for half an hour: still no leak. I really wanted to go to Littlehampton, so I said a prayer and set off. Of course I sailed most of the way, but motored into the harbour and left the engine running: still no leak. But the following day with no wind I would have to motor all the way from Littlehampton to Itchenor and I set off with a degree of apprehension, convinced that something could still go badly wrong. Poking a leaky seal with a pair of pliers is probably not a long-term solution, but an hour out of Littlehampton I checked again: totally dry.

Then – panic! I realised the engine was slowing, and so was the boat. This wasn’t a water pump issue, it looked much worse. It felt like a slipping gear, which sounded very improbable, but when I put it into neutral and ran downstairs everything seemed fine. What to do? I was going to have to sail to Chichester in less than five knots of breeze which was forecast to drop, which would take all weekend, or perhaps limp back to Littlehampton. Just as I had feared! Fail at the last!

I gingerly put the engine into forward gear again and everything was fine. I had probably just got some seaweed around the propellor. I really was going to be pleased to finish now, then I could stop worrying about not finishing. I had lunch, arrived off Selsey Bill and the excellently-named and quite scary Mixon Beacon which sits on some very nasty rocks, but I managed not to hit it and everything was fine. Still no water dripping from the pump and no further loss of speed. Perhaps I would make it after all.

Around the corner I could see Portsmouth and the Isle of WIght. Suddenly everything was ridiculously familiar and I was properly in home waters. Then something happened that has never happened to me around here, and only a few times in the Channel at all:

I tried hard not to go all soppy and think the dolphins had come to meet me, but I realised that I should be enjoying myself like they were, so from then on I did.

I motored past the distinctive West Pole Beacon…

…where my track today crossed my track on the 15th April 2023. Blue Moon and I had sailed around the UK, even if we both now sank, which we weren’t going to do. I motored up the channel and the wind pretended to get up, so I turned the engine off and sailed up past Hayling Island. The wind died again and the tide began to turn; I didn’t care now how slowly I was going, I was enjoying sailing back into the harbour and happy to string it out as long as possible.

Eventually the wind died completely, and since left to its own devices the tide would spit me back out and I would have to spend another three years sailing around the UK, I put the engine on after all and anchored in my favourite spot off Pilsea Island.

There is complete silence. Not like in Scotland, here in Chichester Harbour you can always hear the traffic on the A27 in the distance and the trains on the South Coast Line, and you can see the lights of the Spinnaker Tower in Portsmouth to remind you of the world outside, but it’ll do. There are oystercatchers puttering around in the mud and various other birds calling to each other as the sun sets. If the boat sinks now I could probably swim back to Itchenor on the tide, although I really hope not to have to do that as it’s as cold as Shetland in June. There is a steak from the new M&S in Dover, and some red wine left in the wine box. I’m going to have a very relaxed evening.

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And now I really am back. A nice reminder that I am home and that in Itchenor racing is more important than anything else, including elderly gents trying to have a quiet morning at anchor, when the legend that is Mark Upton-Brown, whose skill is clearly more in winning world championships than in making friends with cruisers, came and parked the committee boat right on top of me. Since I would soon be surrounded by archaic but agressive keelboats, all of whom cared more about being in the right place on the starting line than about my gelcoat or peace of mind, I upped anchor and went somewhere quieter and closer to hoist the signal flags to dress overall. Needless to say, Mark then anchored his finish line right next to me, so at least I got to say hello to various people as they bore away under my stern, cursing.

And then it was over. 1200 on the dot, as advertised, I was home. Sarah was there to wave, Andrew and Roger were there to tie the boat up just as I like it one last time. The sun was out, and it was a lot warmer than in April 2023, and I am a great deal happier than I was then.

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Don’t despair, this isn’t the last post. I thought I might do the odd summary and some stats, and perhaps a few worthy and insightful reflections on the journey. No, perhaps not that last bit, I don’t want to jeopardise the possibility of winning still more awards, do I?

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