Having enticed the readers to Cowes (yes, there are more than one of you!), they might be wondering what happened next. Well, after sampling the empty eateries in Cowes, the following morning (just) we caught the tide for Yarmouth. The wind, which promised to be fair and from the North, as usual had not read the forecast and disappeared completely by about three. (I suspect that some sort of sea breeze effect had vaguely materialised) so Freddy2* was called in to push us to Yarmouth. Passing the odd merchantman, we arrived at the busy (even on Thursday) marina, missing the ferry on the way in.
There’s something about modern ships – shoe boxes with scalloped fronts and backs. The romance of the sea trade is, I fear, dead. I’m glad I never became a Naval Architect, after all!
After a quiet drink at the Yacht Club, I repaired to Riff Raff for an impromptu repast and so to bed, pondering where to go next. Poole? Bembridge (round the South of the Isle of Wight)? or retrace my steps.
Friday morning came and I woke quite late. That, and the tide times determined our fate we’ll catch the tide to retrace our steps. The wind was from the North again, so we lazily tacked up the Solent to Cowes and resumed our acquaintance with the East Cowes Marina.
On Saturday, I intended to go “home” to Northney, rent a pontoon space for a night, and take Riff Raff out of the water on Sunday. Of course, I hadn’t booked any space anywhere.
Up late again (I wonder why) – even at 10:00 the radio was alive with people trying to book a berth for the night (and it’s not school holidays yet). I set sail, more in hope than expectation, and arrived at the entrance to Chichester harbour just after low water. The wind was light from the South and we drifted in with a touch of help from Freddy 2. Suddenly, Freddy 2 seemed to lose power. I checked that I’d undone the petrol tank vent – I hadn’t so rapidly took corrective action – without much effect. There was a lot of weed about in the channel so it seemed possible that there was some round the propeller. This – in the centre of the narrowest bit of the entrance, surrounded by several wet suit clad “young people”. So, the tiller was lashed and off went the engine – the prop was complete wrapped in some stringy species of seaweed. It took a few minutes to clear it as Riff Raff drifted upstream (I suppose that I should have raised black balls to the masthead but there was nothing appropriate to hand….)
With that mess cleared, we continued sluggishly upstream. On arrival at Northney I discovered that a berth was available and we were soon back on the mainland. I then attempted to lift the centre board, only to find it was jammed down. Of came the cabin table and I peered into the centre board slot. Sure enough, it was full of weed which took some time to clear.
Next morning, Riff Raff was dragged from the briny and now sits on her trailer again, waiting the call of the sea. It might come this week.