Before summer 2005 was over, Niamh and I planned to get away for one more ‘adventure’ and wanted to make it our most ‘adventurous adventure’ yet. 

I booked a week off in late August hoping the weather gods would smile and started thinking about suitable destinations and starting points. 

The RNLI depot in Poole is an ideal spot for us to start from as it is secure and costs nothing for me to use, however it is limited by the lifting road bridge through from Holes Bay to the harbour proper, and the narrow harbour entrance at Sandbanks has frightened me sufficiently until now to keep me bottled up within the harbour. 

For a quiet camping destination I fancied visiting Newtown Creek on the Isle of Wight, having had a brief ‘sighter’ aboard a Nelson 42’ earlier in the season as deck hand and helm for a yachtmaster exam. 

The complications of Holes Bay bridge times and the tidal ‘windows’ at Sandbanks, Hurst Point and Newtown entrance made for interesting passage planning, but with decent weather it seemed Thursday / Friday or Friday / Saturday of my week off could be possible return trip days, with the advantage that the tides were neaping towards the end of the week. 

The weather on Wednesday was appalling with gale warnings all over and rain coming down in stair rods. Thursday was not a whole lot better, despite a reasonable forecast of 3 / 4 South Westerlies. As the last possible day to depart loomed the forecast again promised 3 / 4 South Westerlies and even some sun, so on Thursday night I packed the car and boiled up the picnic eggs. 

By 9:15 on Friday morning we were rigged and packed, launching down the steep weedy slip into Holes bay, the last 10’ being a bit of a dramatic ‘ski’ to the water as physics took over with green weed underfoot and Niamh on her bottom getting her first of many damp backsides to come over the next two days. 

The outboard took us happily round to the bridge for 9:30 and we charged through at the front of the cue, wanting to make sure we made our 10:00 tidal gate out past Sandbanks and the notorious chain ferry between Poole and the Isle of Purbeck. 

The weather was OK, with patchy sunshine and a breeze from the south west. Once clear of the Old Town Quay we hoisted the reefed main and made good time down the channel to Sandbanks, motor-sailing at around 5 knots over the ground according to the GPS we carry. 

As the tide was slack around 10:00, the entrance to the harbour was calm and easily negotiated, with no chain ferry related dramas (apart from the photography as we forgot to wind the camera on and nearly missed it). Once clear of the ferry we gybed to port tack (involuntary), hugged the northern shore and cut across through the Looe channel north of the Hook Sands, which dominate the harbour approaches. 

Our first waypoint guided us to the far end of the channel (East Looe) and from there we gybed back onto starboard (intentional this time), cut the engine and pointed the bow rather alarmingly towards the far off Isle of Wight, a distant vague grey mass on the horizon. 

Though not quite a dead run, we were far enough off a reach for the jib to be constantly wanting to set one side or another, though I resisted the temptation to furl it as I knew we had to be in the Solent off Newtown Creek before 15:00 or else the tide would turn and we would get swept westwards once more. 

I needn’t have worried however, as the wind was making towards a healthy top of a 4, maybe bottom of a five, and what with tidal assistance under us we were bowling along at an indicated 6 knots + over the ground. 

I quickly learnt not to look over my shoulder once we were clear of the lee offered by the Isle of Purbeck….the faces of the seas looked far more frightening approaching our stern than their backs bowling away ahead of us. None came aboard on the run to Hurst point, but they were often breaking and slapping the stern or gunwale as we hared off down wind to the east, watching the burgee and leach carefully to avoid further unplanned gybes in these ever more lively conditions. 

The seas were made up of a long swell with chop over the top, some of which we were able to surf down, which Niamh found exciting, until she spent rather too long staring at the GPS and began to feel a bit sea sick. I always make a point of forgetting something important, and this time it was the First Aid kit with the 'Stugeron' [sea sickness] pills, left in the car at the RNLI depot. She tried watching the horizon and even had a steer (shared with me in the conditions). However after about ten minutes sat in the port corner leaning against the buoyancy tank her hand dropped from the tiller and she snoozed away the next hour, only waking shortly before we entered the Solent, despite me beating a regular tattoo on her ear with the tiller as I caught broaches and brought Joshua up into the wind a little at times to guard against gybes as we rolled in the seas. 

I was very glad now to have reefed before setting out, and that I resisted the temptation to shake out the reef during a gentle reach through the harbour, I was now thundering along at or above hull speed in a quite unpleasant chop. 

Passing Hengistbury head near Christchurch was my last chance to change plan and run north to Mudeford before committing to the Solent, but as the boat seemed more confident than me, and no water was coming aboard, with any tendency to death-roll being controlled by sheeting the main in slightly, I elected to press on. 

We found the buoy marking the approach to Hurst Point via the northern and more sheltered route easily enough and then ran towards the narrows with nervous expectations as the wind was still holding top of a 4 and the tide was barrelling into the Solent underneath us, meaning once committed we would not be able to turn back if we didn’t like what we found. 

The swell was blocked by the off-lying sandbanks as we approached the narrows, however the chop became more exaggerated, becoming the classic tidal straight up and down slop, through which we were unable to pick a clear path. 

Whilst very quick, our passage into the Solent was memorable as heaps of water reared up around us on all sides, Joshua still barrelling along at 6 knots or so over the ground. I had planned to keep tight to the northern shore entering the narrows to keep out of the worst of the current, but fearing a gybe in all that mess I headed up slightly, carrying me through the worst of the slop. Memories of ‘the wave’ from our trip out of Studland earlier in the year were awoken as the first green sea thumped unceremoniously across the foredeck and into our faces. This was followed by around six more before we cleared the narrows, flooding the boat above floorboard level, but never actually threatening to overwhelm us, rolling was reduced by heading up slightly and the confused seas meant no roll or pitching motion could get hold of us….it was just very ‘bumpy’ and wet. 

As soon as we cleared the point the slop dropped away and though the wind remained strong we had a very relaxed run up the Solent, riding the tide passed Keyhaven, Yarmouth and Lymington with the GPS reading 8+ knots over the ground at one point. The GPS lead us unerringly to the Hamstead Ledge buoy and the marks for the Newtown Creek approaches. 

As we hardened up to reach into the harbour the strength of the wind was no longer masked by our downwind flight, so we roared into the creek on our beam ends, dumped the jib amongst the moorings to regain a modicum of control and brought up against what proved to be a very weedy Newtown Quay, somewhat shaken by the strength of the wind we had ridden across Christchurch bay, but pleased to have completed our outward journey, more than an hour ahead of schedule (Holes Bay to Newtown Quay in around 4 hours). The furling gear managed to knit itself into a mess at this point so I spent 15 minutes spread eagled across the foredeck being beaten around the head by the foot of the flogging jib before we could unpick it and calm things down. 

Some very helpful Hawk 20 sailors setting out from the quay were able to reassure me about there being water for us to leave on at 8:00 the following morning so we made fast with long springs and bow / stern lines between the wooden ladders and many tiny West Solent ‘Skows’ (?) moored off the quay. 

Niamh and I then de-rigged the outboard and swapped it for the tent and sleeping bags in the stern locker. The tent took longer than usual to tame as it kept try to morph into a kite, but eventually we had the shelter rigged and were thinking about exploring Newtown when a couple, who were off to sail their Skow for the evening, joined us in conversation. This culminated in an offer of tea back at their parent’s cottage and a lift to the ‘local’ petrol station - as I was concerned that if conditions remained poor I may have to motor across the Solent in the morning to Lymington or maybe motor into the teeth of the wind all the way home. 

Niamh and I explored the National Trust bird hide for an hour, spotting 'peepa' birds (Oystercatchers) Egrets, swallows, and many other unidentified species before returning to Joshua to collect the fuel can and meet up with Lara and Colin for the cup of tea and petrol trip. 

A very friendly tea at the cottage was enlivened by commentary from the room next door on Aussie Test match wickets falling regularly, I saw pictorial evidence of some folk sailing round the Isle of Wight in Oppies (put me in my place that did) then Colin drove us the mile or so to the most expensive fuel stop I have yet had….99.9p per litre. A 5 litre can full and a bottle of two-stroke oil saw off £10, then it was back to the boat for our sausage and baked bean fry up. 

The National Trust provide the cleanest and nicest smelling public loos I have yet found opposite the disused town hall in Newtown. By the time we returned once more over the rickety bridge to the quay (trip trap trip trap over the rickety bridge - trying to spot trolls….) the sun was setting and we hunkered down for the night, listening to wildfowl (various) and the gushing of water escaping from the disused salt ponds on the opposite side of the quay to which we were moored. 

We dried out and re-floated without drama during the night, waking up at around 6:00 to find the wind had moderated to a steady 3 and the sun was trying to break through. Without delay we ate, stripped the tent off the boat, stowed everything well, remounted the outboard, ran up to the loos and back, all to clear the harbour entrance by 8:00. I knew the water was slack at the Hurst Point narrows at around 9:30 that morning and had every intention of making the trip out of the Solent more relaxing than the trip in. This meant passing up plan a of exploring Beaulieu river before heading home, but as the next tidal window was not until mid afternoon I felt the wisest course was to cut and run as early as possible, especially as I would be pushing the wind and tide all the way back to Poole. In the rush to be off we forgot to keep an eye out for the Newtown seal who had been spotted the previous day – an excuse to return. 

Motor-sailing directly upwind under reefed main only, we made good time down the Solent, accompanied by many other folk heading out through the same tidal window. A mile short of Keyhaven the fuel ran out on the outboard so we shook out the reef and unfurled the jib to tack the last stretch to the narrows, beaching Joshua right under the Hurst Lighthouse where we refuelled and braced ourselves for the Hurst Ordeal Part Deux. 

You would not have believed it was the same place. Utterly tranquil. We motored calmly through the narrows and north back round the off-lying sandbanks before shaping a course for Christchurch and the conspicuous Hengistbury Head. The SW breeze meant we couldn’t point the course unassisted and I wanted to make the best of the remaining 30 minutes or so of slack water to get clear of Hurst so left the motor running until it ran dry again, which took about an hour and a half at revs which gave us 4.5 knots over the ground despite pinching into the wind with both sails probably offering more drag than drive. 

About a mile short of  Mudeford as the engine had died for lack of fuel we tried tacking round Hengistbury Head for about 40 minutes before lying to and refuelling to buzz round against the strengthening eastward set of the tide. Again leaving the motor to run we butted our way into the small seas staying largely dry and just about filling the sails on the course back to East Looe for the passage to Sandbanks. Niamh curled up on my lap to keep warm and promptly fell asleep again while the GPS counted off the 7 miles remaining back to Poole harbour entrance. About halfway between Hengistbury and Poole I cut the engine to ensure we had fuel to push through the harbour entrance without having to refuel at sea again (messy business) and we continued to make good headway to the west in brightening conditions. 

The East Looe buoy is hard to spot from seaward, as it gets lost in the colourful mess of tourists on the beach, being very close inshore. However the GPS brought us in at exactly the right spot, Niamh picking up the buoy at about ¼ of a mile and we furled the jib, started the engine again and rounded the buoy to head dead upwind into the harbour entrance. 

The only chop at the entrance to the harbour was caused by unthinking power boaters thumping around at high displacement speeds amongst the smaller boats. The chain ferry cleared ahead of us with enough room for comfort and we made an unremarkable passage up to Old Town quay, tying up alongside the grottiest Contessa 32 I have ever seen, to wait the 20 minutes or so for the 14:30 bridge back into Holes Bay. 6 ½ hours against wind and tide this time, but the majority with engine assistance. 

I now have a sunburnt nose, bruised bottom and a huge pile of soggy stuff in the lounge to sort out and rinse through before drying and packing away ‘til Andy Peters’ Poole harbour cruise in September. 

I can recommend Newtown Creek as a quiet retreat on the busy Solent with very friendly natives. Niamh surpassed herself yet again putting up with Dad’s daft small boating plans and Joshua impressed with coping through the Hurst nasties on Friday.

The little Mariner did well, doing about 6 miles or 90 minutes at mid revs on a tank-full of fuel, of which it burnt several over the two days without missing a beat. The only irritant was frequent cavitation on the way home as we spent most of the day on port tack meaning the leg kept lifting clear and the prop spinning up with exposed exhaust popping away furiously.

Tim Robertson