The Impossible Voyage - or 'The Delivery of Fred IV'

Dramatis Personnae  The Owner - Brian Roberts; the Skipper - Michael Swarbrick; the
Purser - Chris Parsons; the Despicable Crew - John Beart and the Professor - Denys
Harland.

In early May excitement was brewing in the Cruiser Section (well in one small corner of it
anyway).  After a lot of wheeling and dealing the Owner had bought a Sadler 29, an ex
demonstration boat with lots of gear.  At this point the name blazed across the back was
Unsinkable - fortunately for the intrepid crew this was not put to test.  Amid the hustle and
bustle of Spring Bank Holiday and Glasson Week plans were made for the acceptance of
this boat and its delivery to Glasson.
On Thursday the 1st of June, the Skippers birthday, the Owner the Skipper and the
Proffessor set off to Poole to commission the ship.  On Saturday the Purser joined them and
preparation began in Earnest, sorry Fred IV.  Sunday all equipment (the magic Decca and
the Autopilot) installed sea trials began.  Tentatively leaving Cobbs Quay and joining the
procession to the 'Bridge', our adventure began.  Ten minutes later, the end was nigh.  We
were being swept onto the 'Bridge' piles by the tidal current, the 'Bridge' was closed and
we were out of control.  All the other boats were lined up ready to charge, eyes forward
and damn the rest of you.  The Professor leapt to the rescue, crunch, the reverse gear
engaged, and order was restored.  The Owner winced in pain as he felt the shudder, he was
not concerned about smashing the boat up against the 'Bridge' but upset because he thought
the gear had been engaged too quickly.  The Owner was overcome by the thrill of
realisation that he at last had a boat and was bemused by all around him, except the
gearbox of  course.  The Skipper was not yet aware that he was the Skipper, that was to
come later.  The Purser was the only one familiar with these waters and an hour later we
were all fully conversant with the whys and wherefores of Poole harbour and disciplined
out of enjoying the rest of the trial.
The Proffessor was wistfully admiring a trimaran, lost forever to the cause.
Well we got back in one piece and made our ways home to contemplate the voyage planned
to start in two weeks time.  Alas the Professor was to go down with a mystery illness, was
it the Purser, she could be a little overbearing.  Yes the Purser was a woman, all would be
revealed soon.  The Owner, disturbed by this news, the crew not the Purser - he was aware
that she was a woman, although the Skipper had his doubts, set off next weekend to
interview and put the replacement crew to test.  The following Monday, after passing all
the entry requirements (actually he was the only applicant), the Despicable Crew was duly
signed on.
Sunday 18th June, 0720, mooring warps and fenders stowed (plus a deck brush that we had
won) we slipped into the flotilla assembled to give us a send off, probably to make sure we
never returned.  By now the 'Bridge' was no longer a problem and we eased ourselves out
to sea, safely passed Brownsea Island, keeping to the small boat channel, over the ferry
cables, clear of the training wall and leaving the Fairway buoy behind, sorry astern.  We
had been blessed with good weather and the wind was gently helping us along.  Round the
first headland, the Skipper was now in charge (control was to be thrust on him later).  The
first real decision was made, the wind was directly astern, we had no spinnaker so we eased
off the wind out to seawards.  With his newly aquired RYA Shorebased Yachtmasters
Certificate the Skipper decided that the sea breeze would help later in the day to put them
back on course.  The Purser had victualled the boat for ten days, more like twenty it turned
out, after seven days there was still enough drink left to hold a party, only the Skipper
remained sober for the whole of the voyage.  The Purser was a stickler for safety and had
drilled us to perfection (reluctantly - I am ashamed to admit).  By now the famous 'red peg'
was a feature of our daily lives.  If the gas was turned on at the bottle the peg was clipped
on to the stove, if it was turned off it was clipped to the gas bottle in the gas locker, safely
outside the boat in the cockpit.  We had to turn off the gas at all times when we were not
actually using it.  How many of you do that ?  A pain in the stern but a worthwhile safety
discipline.  The day passed pleasantly and we were full of excitement with anticipation of
all the beautiful ports, harbours and anchorages that we were to visit.  Salcombe was to be
the first port of call or refuge.  We had planned the passage the week before and worked
out waypoints and punched them into the Decca before we embarked.  The weather was
glorious.  The Purser and the Despicable Crew, also familiar with the waters, were carefully
logging each ship that appeared on the horizon, regularly taking bearings to check if we
were on a collision course (impressed ?).  The Skipper was somewhat blaze about all this
having been used to dodging under the stern of all kinds of ships in Morecambe Bay and
scattering dinghy racing fleets on all sides.  When you study the 'Rules for Preventing
Collisions at Sea' you will find that they point out that it takes only a few minutes for a
commercial vessel to be on top of you from the moment it appears on the horizon.  How
long does it take you to unfasten a gybe preventer, bring in a headsail boom and alter
course ?  The Despicable Crew had rigged a patent gybe preventer with fittings and rope
provided by the Purser which could be controlled from the cockpit.  Whoever fitted the jack
stays at Sadler's had put them under the gybe preventer making it impossible to get beyond
the mast with one's safety harness on without unclipping.  We did not have a pole so the
Skipper had to sit on deck with the boat hook.
Round Portland Bill (not the Rear-Commodore Bar) standing seven miles off with
favourable tide.  We had actually planned our start to take advantage of the tide round
Portland Bill (good textbook stuff eh ?).  By now the Purser and the Despicable Crew were
gaining confidence in the Skipper, who was also navigating - they were not told it was his
first serious attempt at navigating since he had quallified - the Owner was not too bothered
because he knew how to work the Decca (Ha! Ha! - wait and see).  The Skipper was
working out the tides every two hours using the tidal diamonds on the chart and working
up the course to be steered.  The Purser and the Despicable Crew were avidly taking
bearings and we were updating the chart regularly, plotting fixes and Decca readings
hourly.  The weather was unbelievable.  Ahead a fleet of small craft were apparently at
anchor, lots of small fishing boats with sea anglers like you encounter on the way to Piel.
Mistake number one, never assume things and like the wise old owl believe nothing you
hear (or read on the Decca) and only half of what you see, get the binoculars out and have
a good look.  The boats turned out to be inflatables and launches flying the 'A' flag (see
club notice board).  Yes divers and we ploughed through them, more scalps to the Skippers
belt.  Fortunately we saw them in time and managed to sail round them.
We could see Start Point light flashing in the distance.  We were making good time, as far
as we could make out we had all the supplies we needed, nothing forgotten - well done
Purser.  No  need to put in at Salcombe, might as well press on.  The Owner, quite rightly,
wanted to get round Land's End as soon as possible so we had, at the back of our minds,
the desire to make progress.  The Skipper decided that the watches would be the Skipper
and the Despicable Crew, 'A' watch, and 'B' would be the Owner and the Purser.  'A'
watch did first watch, the watches were to start off being two hours long to see how we
could cope.  Returning for their second stint Start Point was now well astern and the
Eddystone Light was beckoning ahead, our next waypoint on course for Falmouth' our
second planned port of call.  All along the way we had listed all the ports that we would
possibly call at and those that we could use for refuge in case of foul weather but so far
the weather was favourable.  This was our first glorious moonlit night.  'B' watch had been
motoring but there was now a breath of wind so we set the sails and ghosted on.
The Skipper knew the Owner quite well, having crewed for him for several years, but the
Purser and the Despicable Crew were newcomers to him.  The despicable Crew was fairly
quiet, he was one of the Purser's best friends, but the Purser was a bit too domineering
(demanding is the right word but would give you the wrong impression) for the Skipper.
A lovely sunrise brought warmth and contentment to the Intepid Crew and the boat sailed
on.  A liner crossed our bows in the distance, probably bound for Plymouth, and the
Eddystone Light was looming ahead.  So far everything had gone well, almost too well.
The Skipper now made his next decision.  The crew were well, the boat was well, the stores
were ample, we were nothing short (again I am giving the wrong impression) so he altered
course for the Lizard, away from Falmouth the next possible stopping place.  Our next port
of call was now uncertain.  The Skipper had been looking forward to calling at Falmouth
or anchoring in the Helford river but these romantic places  (Frenchman's Creek etc) were
slipping by, the delivery mentality was taking over.
We removed our harnesses.  The Purser had insisted that we wear harnesses on watch
during the night.  She should not have needed to do that but it is surprising how easily you
can forget sensible precautions (you are getting the wrong impression again) especially
when the sea is slight and the breeze gentle.  Gradually the Intrepid Crew woke up and
breakfast was consumed.  So far the Skipper had managed to dodge the cooking, he has an
aversion for work but cooking is just too much.  As the sun got higher the waterproofs
came off, then the sweaters and soon we were all in shorts, it was unbelievably warm and
sunny.  As we were only dressed in shorts it was obvious that the Purser must be a woman,
she had the largest built in buoyancy that the Skipper had ever seen.
The day rolled on and the wind freshened.  We were doing five or six knots and
comfortably ploughing along.  The land reappeared, it was hazy and visibility was only
about ten miles.  The Lizard appeared and we were being passed by more and more ships
as we got nearer to the traffic lanes.  We could hear the traffic controller at Ushant
continually logging ships as they passed into his jurisdiction.  The Skipper was still
religiously working out his tides every two hours and surprisingly we seemed to be holding
our course.  The Decca is marvelous (do not get too impressed with it yet).  We were out
of sight of land for quite long periods but when we could get fixes (once more you are
getting the wrong impression) they tied up with the Decca within half a mile or nearer.
The Skipper was really impressed with his tidal calculations, which were usually spot on,
but, and this is the problem occasionally they were a couple of miles out.  Had we not had
the Decca or had bad visibility these errors could have accumulated.  There appeared to be
no explanation for these few discrepancies, we were allowing for leeway.  The plan was
again to round the headland well out to sea, five miles this time, as there were tidal races
shown on the chart.  It was getting late in the day and the Intrepid Crew were tired, the
Skipper was on course but the crew were restless.  The Despicable Crew spotted a yacht
rounding the Lizard well inshore and questioned the Skipper,s course.  "We are going the
wrong way.  We should be going over there".  "The tide will push us onto the rocks if we
go that way and we will have to pass through a tidal race" said the Skipper.  The Owner
then took an interest.  The Skipper gave in, it was quite calm and the sea was slight, after
all he was only the Skipper, who was he to question the Owners judgement.  Half an hour
later we were tossing and rolling and pitching and the Purser was beginning to feel sick.
To save the Purser and the boat we started the engine and motor sailed out of trouble back
on to course.
Out of the races the sea calmed to a mirror like swell and the wind died away. We motored
on into the lovely red sunset rounding Land's End in comfort, none the worse for our
experience, 'A' watch going below to rest.  We got round with the help of Bishop's Rock
light.  Our coastal lights are fantastic, great beacons shining forth reassuring and guiding
pleasure sailors like ourselves.  I beg you all to write to your MP and Mrs Thatcher
imploring them to keep Britain's lights burning.
Another glorious moonlit night, visibility not too good, the wind fickle.  'A' watch, now
in command again, had set the sails but the Autopilot could not keep the wind in them so
the skipper and the Despicable Crew helmed on into the night.  Very little shipping was
observed as we crossed the Bristol Channel.
Another 'Mediterranean ' day lay ahead.  Sailing on port tack slightly off course ie having
to sail east of the desired track, but the boat sliding along at 3 to 4 knots upright.  For the
second day we had a trolling line out and mackerel for tea, sorry dinner (not lunch).  the
Purser was the expert catcher but she could not take the fish off the line.  the Owner had
to do it for her, he was used to getting out of slippery situations.  The Despicable Crew had
his views on the procedure but his advice went unheeded.  The Purser cooked the fish but
again the Owner had to prepare them, the Skipper would have not known where to start.
Again the dress 'Mediterranean'.  The Skipper was beginning to worry at this stage.  The
Purser had attributes that the Owner and the Despicable Crew were full of admiration for
but the Skipper was unmoved, normally he would have been drooling as well.  (editor's
note: According to some experts once you start to need glasses for chart work the ageing
process has begun and to restore thing back to normal HRT for men is needed - not to
worry though when he got home the 'nice girl' that his wife is soon restored his 'you know
what sailors are' instincts).
In many ways the day was idyllic.  The Skipper abstained all day with his customary envy
of all those who can drink away all their cares and drift into stupoforic bliss.  He had to
be content to observe the happiness of his crew as they slipped into oblivion.  A casual
check was made with the Decca as to where we where, no land had been sighted all day.
The tide was about to change, the time had come to go about.  Immediately the boat was
over at 15 degrees and bouncing nay slamming along at upwards of five knots.  Forecast
over the radio : wind NE/N backing NW 4 or 5 6 round exposed headlands like St David's
Head and Hartland Point.  "Right" the Owner said "If it is going to get rough we will heave
to and have a cooked meal now while we are able".  Note the Skipper is not in control yet.
This course of action was unquestionably right and it is to be recommended to all.  The
Skipper was uneasy.  The passage plan had been to sail towards Milford Haven but, with
the wind dying down every night so far, rounding St David's Head had become the target.
We had to stop soon for water and deisel but Fishguard had by now taken over as the next
port of call.  Earlier in the day the Skipper had worked out that we would be arriving at the
tidal gate to go round St David's Head inside of the Smalls light with over an hour of
favourable tide left.  That hour was to be spent having a good meal.  After what seemed
an interminable time we were once more slamming through the waves.  The wind seemed
to be four to five but the waves although fairly big did not have the frequent white horses
or spray.  We had plenty of spray but that was from the boat.  We also had wind over tide.
It is difficult to judge the wind speed and after ideal weather a small increase seems to be
threatening, especially as cloud starts to douse the sun, the forecast did not help, force six
being on our minds.  Fishguard is not recommended when the wind is from the NE through
to NW, the forecast wind.  Milford Haven is the ideal shelter but do not forget the delivery
mentality was now even stronger.  It would have been easy to go into Milford Haven but
we would still have to go round St David's Head and the weather could get worse so if we
could get to Fishguard we would save at least a day.  So the Skipper resolved to press on,
the crew were fit and well, not too inebriated, and happy to carry on.  The wind had backed
and was on the nose.  Night was falling.  Motor on.  Steady speed, no leeway, quick bit of
chart work - too late to go inside the Smalls.  The Skipper decided 'A' watch, having done
two unsociable watches the previous two nights, would take it easy tonight so 'B' watch
was ordered to do the first watch and 'A' watch retired.
At the appointed time, 'A' watch, aggrieved at being disturbed, took over.  The Purser was
feeling sick.  'B' watch retired.  The Purser was sick.  The Purser vomited again.  The
Owner passed the bowl of sick to the Skipper who threw it over the side.  This went on for
half an hour.  "Owner the Decca's red light is on" moaned the Skipper.  The Owner had
not yet had chance to go to sleep.  "No problem said the Owner".  An hour later the Owner
had exhausted all the diagnostics and manipulations and worn out his brain cells the red
light still on and no change in the reading for over an hour (we had shut off the engine and
done all the right things - tried other stations etc).  The Owner felt sick.  The Owner was
sick.  Two bowls now being passed out to the Skipper and the Despicable Crew to empty
over the side.  As the passaged had progressed the Decca had slowly taken over and lulled
the Skipper into an aura of security.  With not having seen land all day the Skipper was
worried. The Smalls lighthouse was shining in the distance.  Bearings were not so easy now
as the boat was moving about a bit.  A running fix, that was the solution.  Keep the
lighthouse on the starboard bow until we were heading North East, standing about two
miles off.  On a dark night with an unfamiliar lighthouse what is two miles?  At this point
the Skipper relied on the Despicable Crew for an opinion as to how far off the light we
were.  "Closer than two miles".  The ailing Decca said we were in the shipping lane well
to the west of the light.  The Skipper had no idea where we were.  He plotted the running
fix and his brain could not transfer it to find our position.  During all this the Purser
demanded to be transported to safety.  "How long" she said. "Twenty four hours" said the
Skipper.  After a scream the Skipper said "Well twelve at least".  The Owner by now had
been impressed by the Skipper's apparent casual ETA forecasts, so far he had been spot on,
as he was to be this time.  The Purser said two hours was too long.  The Skipper, now in
control, was cold and mean and pressed on.  At this point Milford Haven must have been
only two hours but that meant an extra day!  The Decca had lost it's magic.  We had not
foundered on the rocks and encountered any tidal races and the Bishop and Clerics light
was flashing a welcome.  We were pushing the tide but inching forward.  The Purser was
sound asleep as comfortable as could be expected.  Dawn broke without the sun.  The
Owner was fast asleep.  The Skipper's plan for a short watch had backfired. He and the
Despicable Crew pressed on, taking bearings and each getting different fixes.  The Smalls
disappeared astern and more misty landmarks were sought.  There were lots of features but
relating them to the chart was by no means easy.  The six never materialised, but the fear
of it had made its mark.  The Owner stirred.  Strumble Head popped up.  Fishguard are you
ready for us.  We could have shook the sails out but the Owner said "Best not disturb the
Purser" so we motored on into Fishguard harbour for water, fuel and sleep.  "Goodwick
Marina, Goodwick Marina this is yacht Fred IV, Fred IV over".  "Fred IV this is Goodwick
Marina, over".  "Goodwick Marina this is Fred IV, we are in Fishguard harbour but can't
see the marina can you tell us where it is, over".  "Fred IV we can't see it either I am afraid
you must have MacMillan's with the misprint we are Goodwick Marine.  Do you require
diesel?  Over".
We picked up a mooring and to the Owners chagrin we flirted with a solid looking fishing
boat.  One hour before high tide we motored round to Fishguard Bay Yacht Club,  picked
up the only vacant mooring, and dried out in peace.
323 miles in 86 hours, 43 hours motoring and all thoroughly whacked.
The people of Fishguard were so helpful nothing was too much trouble for them.  The
yacht club opened up specially for us on Thursday morning, a local man carried the
nineteen gallons of diesel two miles back to the harbour  and the local building society gave
the Despicable Crew the directions to the nearest branch of the Abbey National Building
Society.  He had to buy some shares.  On of the main reasons that we had had to make a
landfall.  As a penance he had to scrape the propeller free of barnacles, it took two bottles
of beer to see him through it.  The Owner checked out the engine, the Purser cleaned the
boat out, the Skipper, he was no longer the Skipper, his responsibilities had ended last
night, did the shopping and errands and we were all set to go on the evening's tide.
We left Fishguard motoring into the wind towards Holyhead.  A Greek pleasure liner left
at the same.  Three blasts on its whistle - I am engaging astern propulsion, would be
believe it a small power boat raced across his bow and made him give way.  Later the line
reported an unlit target float drifting in our path.  The Purser and Despicable Crew where
on look out and were obsessed with ships and boats but the Skipper and the Owner had
other priorities, this was quite an interesting comparison.  They were looking forward of
the bow for part submerged containers, commercial fridges, tree trunks bulks of timber,
unlit buoys etc.  This loose raft was right up their street.  We spotted it and left it to
starboard.  There was a favourable wind shift and 'A' watch hoisted the mainsail and
unfurled the genoa and sailed into the night with cries of "Switch the Auto Pilot off" from
the Purser.  'B' watch took over and reset the sails and got an extra knot.  I don't know
what they had been up to but 'A' watch found that we were of course - you should have
been the chart - huge zig zags. Wind shift said the Owner, who was not Skipper.  Back on
course we sailed on.  About this time the Owner tied his favourite knot, perhaps it is the
only one he can do because he is very fond of doing it, a hangman's noose, and he hung
it over the Despicable Crew's bunk, something to grab on to if he stumbled about the boat
at night.  The Skipper, the Purser and the Despicable Crew were alternately incredulous and
concerned by the Owner's intentions.  This 'grab handle' was exhibit 'A' in the ensuring
inquest (about the voyage not the Despicable Crew - actually the nickname was to be
compared with Tiny when given to a giant - he was a very nice,if a little self appreciative
person).  We spent a pleasant four hours goose swinging two miles south west of South
Stack Lighthouse.  It takes great skill to stay exactly in the same spot for so long.  The tide
changed and the night closed in, dawn breaking with the grey gas rigs to port.  The day
improved and we slipped unnoticed up the Lune Deeps, though the racing fleet, causing
Susie Morris to demonstrate her manoeuvring skill - the Skipper was sailing under the jig
with number eighteen on the port bow - no way was he going to be involved with it again.
To atone we did a 720o turn outside the dock entrance - yes we did (to get the attention of
the docks to get the green light) and locked up and after what can most euphemistically
described as a pantomime tied up seaward of Freebird.  508 sea miles, 124 hours at sea, 52
of them motoring.  The last leg had been the best sailing leg.  We never had a reach, either
close hauled or running all the way.  After seven days of living on top of each other
without ever once getting near to falling out we collapsed into the cabin and slept.
I was Skipper for the first let to get a qualifying passage for the RYA Yachtmaster Scheme.

  Will anyone pay our bail and get us out of here.

It would be nice if all visitors to Glasson Sailing Club were made as welcome as we were
at Fishguard.