Saturday 25th April: Waiting on weather

WoW - the terse abbreviation that I used to come across from time to time in a previous life in the North Sea oil & gas business. The forecast was for SW 8 here, and 9 on the north Cornish coast, so the decision was made for me: this would be a day ashore.
Mullion is a real community, with countless societies and events. If the weather is OK tomorrow, I'll miss the concert of the male voice Fishermen's Choir.

Meanwhile, spring is springing all around, with bluebells, wild garlic, elderflower, etc. all blooming, and the blossom being blown from the trees as fast as they can grow it. For the brass players in the audience, next week is the Helston Flora Dance (yes, that tune).

Friday 24th April: rest day

The body is feeling every one of its 48 years, so today was proclaimed a rest day. Repairs, phone calls, laundry (thanks Leslie at the B&B), and planning. The forecast for tomorrow is frightful, so I'll check again in the morning and see whether it is sensible to put in a short morning's paddle to position myself to catch the morning tide round Lands End on Sunday.
Falmouth and the Lizard are definitely an area to which I want to return for fuller exploration.
Meanwhile, back to the charts, to see what the options might be in the morning.

Thursday 23rd April: Falmouth - Mullion Cove (20 n.mi., mostly uphill...)

I slept through my alarm, and when I finally woke, one of the garden birds was doing a perfect imitation of it. Jeff dropped by in the morning with some cordage and his trolley, which we cannibalised for spare parts. I had lost my original trolley in Sheerness, and was now using my wife's, which we had mis-assembled - hence all the problems. A quick phone call to Kari-Tek followed, and they immediately agreed to meet Jeff next week to replace his axles, and to post another set to me. Many thanks to Jeff, and full marks to Kari-Tek for customer service!
By then, time was slipping away, and I missed the ebb stream round the Lizard. At each headland, conditions became a little more interesting, with an easterly kicking up a bit of a chop, plus yesterday's swell from the south, and a larger swell from the south-west setting in. The Lizard is truly a beautiful place, but I had little time to enjoy the scenery, except to note that the Lizard Head itself resembles a nest of vipers, with a daymark painted in the form of an eyespot. By the time I was rounding it, conditions were pretty meaty by my standards (so probably just a bimble for Jeff and Simon). The SW swell was now a pretty consistent 2m, with the occasional 3m, and the tide races were developing nicely, with seas sweeping the decks in all directions, including sideways. The boat is slamming away - quite normal in a chop, but it is a bit unusual to get airborne as far aft as the cockpit when this heavily laden. We would fall off the wave again, to a loud bang, I would feel the seat and cockpit floor flex under me, and sheets of spray would fly sideways in my peripheral vision. In an unloaded boat nearer the start of the day, this would have been fun, but I found myself just wanting to get off the water, so I took the first opportunity and cut the trip short at Mullion Cove.
The decision was vindicated by the local fishermen in the harbour. I forget the precise words, but recall something like, "Arrr, there's some weather coming."
No photos today - I had other things on my mind.

Wednesday 22nd April: Pentewan - Falmouth (19 n.mi.)

Pentewan sands dry out a long way at LW (well, duh!), so launching was a bit of a struggle. Once on the water, conditions were a bit choppy and the boat was slamming tiresomely as I pushed into a freshening southerly. Stopped for a late lunch in a sheltered cove (photo of deceptively calm waters in tropical turquoise colours loaded, now that I have access to a USB port). Phoned Jeff Allan from below St.Anthony lighthouse, and crossed the entrance of Falmouth harbour to the eponymous chorale, as set by Brahms.
At Swanpool Sands, Jeff, Simon Osbourne and families met me and helped carry the boat up the beach. Jeff and Simon, both expedition paddlers of prodigious accomplishment (just google for them!) opined that I should be round Lands End tomorrow, but looking at the charts I can see that this just isn't going to happen.
Set off up the hill for the campsite marked at 798311, to discover that it doesn't exist any more, but fell into conversation with one of the locals who introduced me to a neighbour who offered hospitality (thanks Jackie!) and a meal.

Tuesday 21st April: Lantic Bay - Pentewan (11 n.mi.)

Woke late, and took my time enjoying this idyllic spot. Decided on a gentle day's paddle. Arrived early at Pentewan, where there is a welcoming campsite just behind the beach (with internet access in the bar...). Pottered down to Mevagissey to have a look at the harbour, and back to Pentewan to do a bit of rolling practice before coming ashore. Fellow campers Richard and Heather provided tea, rockcake, and pleasant conversation - when I'm paddling solo there's always the danger of losing the faculty of speech, except insofar as it is required to remonstrate with myself!

Showered, and visited the security guard to scrounge battery-charging facilities. Discovered that he is friends with Jeff Allan, and in short order I was on the phone chatting to one of the great names of our sport (while Jeff, no doubt, was thinking "who on earth...?")

Monday 20th April: Plymouth - Lantic Bay (Just East of Fowey) (23 n.mi.)

Woke early and wandered around outside to get VHF reception for the 0710 MSI broadcast from Brixham Coastguard. Missed it, owing to an interruption from the MoD police, who understandably thought I was doing something fishy. Paddled across to the marina at Queen Anne's Battery for some supplies for running repairs, and missed the 1010 MSI as I was in a VHF shadow.
Went past the famous Hoe, and north of Drake Island before turning south past the breakwater. Plymouth Sound is showing signs of spring; the trees are coming into leaf. As a result of missing the MSI, I had no "gunfacts" and hence did not know whether the Tregantle Rifle Range was firing today (later I could hear that it was). Out of nowhere came five short blasts in the measured basso that denotes a seriously large vessel. I looked around to see what was about to run me down, and listened on Ch.16... "Securitay, securitay, securitay..." Warship Marie Louise was about to commence live firing a few miles south of me, and was establishing a 10 n.mi. exclusion zone. So I paddled on a bearing, running the gauntlet between one bunch of people with little guns, and a group of (presumably) Frenchmen with rather big guns (judging from the thunderous reports). Hence I had a rather tiring and boring paddle.
Arrived at Lantic Bay to camp on the beach. The bay is stunningly beautiful - the cliffs around are full of blooming gorse, primroses, blackthorn and a dozen other species that I can't identify. I lost my bag of cooking condiments in Sheerness, and didn't notice before setting off again, so tonight's meal was just a disgusting bunkering operation.
Treated later to a night sky dripping with stars: The heaven-tree hung with humid night-blue fruit - Joyce.

A thought on Fowey:

Oh the harbour of Fowey
Is a beautiful spot
And it's there I enjowey
To sail in a yot;

Or to race in a yacht
Round a mark or a buoy
-Such a beautiful spacht
Is the harbour of Fuoy!

- Arthur Quiller-Couch

Sunday 19th April: Salcombe - Plymouth (20 n.mi.)

Woke to a cloudless blue sky. Launched at South Sands and immediately met Nick Arding paddling his Rockpool.

Marvellous cliff scenery from Salcombe to Inner Hope (which surely deserves to have a hymn tune named after it), and pretty bays thereafter for a long while. Passed the once-exclusive hotel on Hurst Island to seaward. Early on, a sighting of a patch of sandy bottom through the azure water had set up this morning's earworm: Vaughan William's setting of "Full fathom five" from The Tempest - its shimmering harmonies perfectly reflecting the mood. After a hearty lunch on the beach, it was Tchaikowsky - perfect for slogging into a half-knot of adverse tidal stream. Entered Plymouth Cattewater and found the NATO slip. The Marines are all on leave, and the MoD police are a bit taken aback: "highly irregular" was the phrase that sticks in my mind. These policemen were really sharp, quickly asking very penetrating questions, but were most civil and helpful. Wheels fell off trolley twice; it really is wrecked. Dined at the local pub and was greeted with great warmth (guys, if you're reading, remind me of its name). Passed a comfortable night on the floor of the mess room above the guardhouse.

Saturday 18th April: Brixham - Salcombe (22 n.mi.)

Awkward 1 metre chop + clapotis caused by the long fetch and cliffs to leeward, as far as Start Point.

Start Pt was so named in the great days of sail, as it is here that the Channel chop is said to give way to Atlantic swells - hence, here the Atlantic starts. I'm not sure that this applies after a long period of easterlies, but nevertheless the sea state did settle down a bit once I was round the Point. Oh for a skeg, though!
Prawle Point is said to resemble Queen Victoria, and seen from Start Pt, silhouetted against the afternoon haze, it really did. Or maybe it was Grandma from the Giles cartoons. Or a backpacker reclining on the foot of the cliff... One's imagination plays tricks. On a long crossing, I don't look at the compass all the time. Instead, I choose a distant object - sometimes a cloud - and just refer to the compass occasionally. Clouds take many forms: is it Kilroy? or a djinn?
I had planned to camp on the beach, but decided a hot shower was too tempting, so hauled the boat all the way up the hill to the youth hostel. The trolley is falling to bits :-(

Friday 17th April: Rest day, Brixham

Spent the day enjoying this picturesque fishing port, complete with replica of Drake's ship, the Golden Hind.

Why do I need a day out? Well, there's lots to do: pick up a new pack of charts, tide tables, etc. sent poste restante from home, and send back the old ones; stock up on provisions; do laundry; make running repairs to kit; plan tides for the next couple of days; look at the medium term weather forecast on the web (the surface pressure charts are really helpful); and of course update the blog! I also fitted in a courtesy call to Brixham MRCC, and checked their detailed tidal stream atlas for the expected eddy that will help me get across Start Bay against the last of the flood tomorrow.

There's also the chance to do some serious eating, and let the salt water sores dry out for a day!

Thanks for all the comments - keep them coming. It's nice to know that folks are interested.

Thursday 16th April: Dawlish Warren - Brixham (14 n.mi.)

I was so keen to leave DW that I didn't even bother with a proper breakfast! Nowhere is all bad, however, and a chance meeting on the beach has left me with a promise of accommodation with 539 Assault Squadron, Royal Marines, when I reach Plymouth. Like I said, you meet some interesting people!
Conditions had kicked up a bit, and there was a confused sea, about 1m, for the first half of the day. Slow progress, but it didn't matter as I had no intention of trying to go further than Brixham today. The sun came out and revealed the rich colours of the old red sandstone contrasting with the deep greens of woodland and pasture on the hills.
Into Brixham in the sunshine. A delightful old fishing port full of quaint pictureque charm. Helpful Tourist Info office pointed me to a B&B that welcomed me and the boat. Rest day planned for tomorrow, to repair body and kit before the next big push.

Wednesday 15th April: West Cliff - Dawlish Warren (27 n.mi.)

A long paddle today, setting off in the sunshine, and enjoying the changing geology and scenery of this stretch of coast. I've been incredibly lucky with weather so far: a high over northern Britain has created easterliess to push me along for the last few days - unexpected and most welcome.
The sandy cliffs near Bridport gave way to the the (mudstones and shales?) of Charmouth, where the casual onlooker could see swarms of fossil hunters chipping away at the cliffs. But don't be deceived! In reality, this is a secret army of Cornish separatists, chiselling away a breakaway republic. Only a few thousand years to go lads, and you'll reach the Bristol Channel!
Dawlish Warren looks attractive on the map: a small village, with access to one of the three campsites via a level crossing over the railway. In reality, the level crossing is impassable, and the village and its campsites exist to serve the amusement park. Having trollied the boat uphill and down for a couple of hours in the dark, I was not amused at all by the time I returned to the beach to pitch camp. Dawlish Warren is not somewhere to re-visit.

Tuesday 14th April: Weymouth - West Cliff, Bridport

Timed the departure from Weymouth to take advantage of the first of the ebb round Portland Bill (thanks, Barbara, for your excellent tidal stream info from "Tidal streams between Portland Bill and St.Albans Head", ISBN 1-871680-16-6). Some of the tidal stream data hereabouts has proven unreliable, with some tidal diamonds on the Admiralty Leisure Folio plainly being 180 degrees in error.
Met some of my wife's family at the Bill, but the landing just east of the Bill, onto small boulders in a little surf, was a bit dodgy and I took a swim. No big deal, but brother-in-law Pete waded in to help, and I then had to think about the danger of a loaded and swamped boat getting surfed down on top of him.
Round the Bill in calm conditions, and then paddled on a bearing to Bridport. This meant I kept well offshore, avoiding the adverse eddy that sets in downstream of the Bill. From this vantage point, Chesil Beach is insignificant compared to the sweeping, green, arable land to landward of the Fleet. Far from being boring, it's actually quite attractive.
Reached Bridport, to find that the camp spot recommended by Barbara looks like it has been covered by new sea defence rocks, so paddled on towards Eype's Mouth, where the campsite marked on the OS map looks pretty inaccessible for a laden kayaker. Paddled back to SY452908 and camped on the beach, feeling it shudder under my sleeping mat whenever some particularly heavy dumping surf came in.

Monday 13th April: Swanage - Weymouth (21 n.mi)

A perfect day in paradise! Today I was joined by paddling friend Barbara, who is kindly hosting me as I write this. Conditions were calm, with a knot or two of tide under us, and the scenery all along this famous "Jurassic Coast" is stunning.




The cliffs are enjoyed by climbers, too:
(but they sometimes come a cropper) (Barbara is chair of IOPCC).








We pulled out just past Chapman's Pool for a leisurely lunch in the sunshine:












This part of the coast is famous for landmarks such as Lulworth Cove and Durdle Door, but is simply beautiful...









On the way, we discovered a mutual interest in music ... and then discovered that we have friends in common in that world ... and then that a friend from university days lives a few yards from Barbara's.
Landed on the slip at Weymouth, a short drive, wining & dining, then a surprise catch-up on 25 years of news! Peter will help me recover from the loss of all the data from my organiser (which got trashed at Sheerness) by supplying contact details for our mutual friends. Meanwhile, if you think I should (or might like to) know you, please email your contact details to me (don't post them here).

(And yes, I used to work in IT, and yes, I had a backup, and yes, it was corrupt :-(

Tomorrow: Portland Bill and Chesil Beach. People have lost their sanity paddling along Chesil Beach...

Sunday 12th April: Yarmouth - Swanage (19 n.mi.)

Departed Yarmouth and kept close inshore as far as the Needles to avoid the last of the flood stream. Met these three paddlers (Peter, left, is starting his own circumnavigation of Britain in three weeks, but he is a photographer so you can expect much better visuals on his blog!)



Very calm at the Needles:









Steered 260 to stay offshore and get maximum tidal assistance, and plodded into the calm greyness, being overhauled by a succession of smart yachts. Sun finally came out, and I arrived in Swanage in a bright and cheerful state. Came ashore next to the lifeboat station, and had a pleasant chat with a gentleman who had spent most of his seagoing career on the QE2, travelling the world, including a memorable and famous trip to the Falklands... One of the joys of a trip like this is the people you meet!
Stayed the night at the YHA which, like all youth hostels, is at the top of a hill.

By the way, for those of you thinking, "but he lost the camera in the Bad Business at Sheerness," that's true, but it was recovered after spending six days floating in the Thames Estuary, and spent a further two and a half weeks with all the other salt-water-sodden kit in a plastic bag with Kent Police. It still works! (Olympus m770SW).

Saturday 11th April: East Wittering - Yarmouth IoW (25 n.mi.)

A much better day today. Had some problems with the trolley disintegrating on the way down to the beach - not sure what caused it or whether I've found a cure. HW at Wittering and surf dumping onto the shingle bank made for an interesting launch (and probably quite dramatic for the onlookers). Today I have four charts on deck (Admiralty Leisure folio, that fold in half and fit neatly in an A3 Ortlieb document case), and they survived the launch and the rest of the day without even getting damp. Well done, Ortlieb.
Stood well off to avoid the surf break, and saw a couple of other sea kayaks in the distance. They looked as though they were heading for the south of the Isle of Wight, whereas I had changed plan and abandoned the idea of doing St.Catherine's Point as the tides are a bit late today.
A quick chat to QHM Portsmouth on the radio, and I was safely across the deep water channel that leads into the major naval base, and then lunched at Gillicker Point. Unable to raise Southampton VTS (my low antenna height is a problem), so had to do the Solent crossing just on visuals. Fortunately, traffic was light, but I did have that nervous small-furry-animal-scuttling-across-motorway feeling.
Two knots of tide under me most of the way to Yarmouth, where I was met by friend and former colleague Dugald and hosted royally by him and his family. Sun really did try to get out on the last mile to Yarmouth, and I was treated to a fine display of crepuscular rays.

Good Friday: Shoreham - East Wittering (25 n.mi.)

Back to sea. The sores haven't really healed yet, but I'm binding them up with electrical insulating tape - the only thing that will stay put. A grey drizzling morning set the tone for day: one of the most boring paddles ever, into a mind-numbing vista of greyness. At one point the sun tried to come out, but only managed to turn the clouds slightly yellow. Turner could have painted it. A solitary tern (I think) performed crop-spraying manoeuvres above a small patch of grey water, but apart from that bird there was no sign of life. Even the gulls couldn't be bothered. Came ashore at Wittering and trollied the boat up to the campsite marked on the OS map, fuelling up on fish & chips en route. Campsite is phenomenally expensive. Too bad.

On reflection, not everything was grey. This boat moored off Selsey Bill had a particularly colourful skin condition...

Sunday 5th to Tuesday 7th April: ashore

This a planned break. Today (Monday) I had an interview for this autumn's career change, so here I am at home, looking at a worsening weather forecast and thinking it is a blessing in disguise as it might give the damage caused by my dry suit a chance to heal a bit. This is the sort of thing that cannot just be ignored, as 8 hours a day in salt water will only make it worse, and could create an expedition-stopper.

Saturday 4th April: Seaford - Shoreham by Sea (15 n.mi.)

Awoke to grey drizzle and the 0520 Shipping Forecast and Inshore Waters Forecast on BBC Radio 4 LW: SW 4/5 becoming variable 3 later...
Used the back entrance of the campsite and the nearby sailing club's handy lengths of scrap conveyor belt to make today's launch much easier than last night's recovery. Scrupulously returned the lengths of belt to their original positions. The vis was down this morning (at times, the IPTS lights of Newhaven harbour could be seen only at about 300m), so I floated around off the north-eastern breakwater, waiting for the Transmanche ferry to exit astern and make her turn. Put in to Newhaven, crossing the channel at No.1 ro-ro berth to beach the boat on the slip in the North Basin, right opposite Russell Simpson, chandlers, where a new VHF was procured. Lost an hour while we waited for the battery to charge, then back to the slip where a sturdy young man engaged me in conversation. He had done a bit of paddling when he was "in the military", having spent three weeks paddling round the top of Scotland. Three weeks is fast for that trip, and when challenged, he admitted that, yes, it was with special forces, bivvying on the beach and getting a food drop every 3 days. Apparently they had no particular training for this trip, in some of the most treacherous and fast-moving of British waters. Their instructor had apparently just decided "it would be a good idea." Somehow I find it faintly reassuring that our politicians need go to no great lengths to create enemies for us, so long as they can employ that instructor.
From Newhaven, the original plan was to make Littlehampton - a long day, but with a couple of rest days planned afterwards. Paddling past Brighton, I entertained myself by working hard to overhaul a yacht ghosting along in light airs and sunshine half a mile ahead. Then the wind arrived, the yacht disappeared into the distance, and soon I was battling both the tide and a SW 5-6, the forecast conditions being augmented by a sea breeze. The long fetch soon built up a 1m chop [1], and the adverse wind and tide turned the paddle into a test of stamina. Matters were not helped by a confused sea state aggravated by the wash of passing gin palaces. Preferring not to risk a surf landing onto the steep beach in these conditions, I slogged on to Shoreham-by-Sea with the intention of cutting the trip short there. Foolishly, I hadn't prepared pilotage notes for this haven and, approaching the harbour mouth I seemed to be deadlocked for access with a merchant vessel further offshore. Raising the port control on the new VHF, a disjointed and bizarre exchange took place, in which the other party clearly wondered what type of large merchantman was proposing to blockade his little harbour at no notice. Only when I had given my length ("17 feet") and beam ("umm, 21 inches") was there a long pause, followed by an assurance that I was too tiny to need any sort of clearance at all.

Shoreham harbour was delightfully quiet, and I pulled up the sailing club slip just in time to cadge a shower as the Saturday afternoon dinghy sailors were clearing up. The cavalry arrived for the only planned stop of the circumnavigation, and we dined in style at the excellent local Italian restaurant.

Notes:
[1] Estimates of sea state from a kayak are notoriously prone to exaggeration. One's eyes are about 70cm above the waterline, so when the horizon starts disappearing, the seas are only averaging around half a metre. Beyond that, you start timing the proportion of the wave cycle for which objects remain in view.

Friday 3rd April: Pevensey - Seaford (13 n.mi.)

Today, my VHF died. Actually, this is my wife's set - mine still being in the custody of Kent police, rotting away from salt corrosion and water ingress, if not already defunct. This replacement set has already been repaired once, thanks to the sterling efforts of friends and former colleagues in procuring spare parts, so its demise is particularly galling. I suspect that salt has crystallised behind the keypad.
Anyway, today's report to the CG has to go via phone, as must the negotiation with Eastbourne Port Control for access to the harbour, where I spent a fruitless hour hunting for a replacement set. VHF is a really useful tool - for getting weather forecasts, understanding the intentions of other vessels and port authorities, and in emergency. For emergency use, I also carry a GPS-enabled 406 MHz PLB (a sort of baby EPIRB), but that is a single-purpose device with its own advantages and limitations. (Actually, this is a replacement PLB, the first being thought to be still in the tender care of Kent Police...)

So, off I paddled, now well behind schedule. The chalk cliffs rise dramatically south-west of Eastbourne, and today their crests were wreathed in writhing mist. Most atmospheric. The foghorn on Beachy Head Lighthouse sounded its fluty C every 30 seconds. Now, I don't hold with the traditional association of musical keys with emotions, as I think this is a hold-over from the days before equal temperament, but maybe if Trinity House re-engineered the horn into, say, a B flat major chord, it might do something for Beachy Head's macabre reputation. For me, the horn just set up today's earworm - an elaborate improvisation on a simple ground bass, to the rhythm of the paddles. An earworm is a sign of a good paddle: no concerns about navigation, no difficult sea-state to contend with, no undue fatigue or worries about a tricky landing.

The Seven Sisters passed to starboard, if anything even more beetling than Beachy Head itself. This must be one of the best paddles in the South-East, even if I was now fighting a slight easterly-setting tidal stream.
I beached at the western end of Seaford and once again struggled to heave the boat up a steep shingle bank, to camp at the site south of the railway line.

Thursday 2nd April: Dungeness - Pevensey (26 n.mi.)

NE 3/4 becoming 4/5, occasionally 6 in east; slight, occasionally moderate at first in east; mainly fair.
The whole family turned out to help launch the boat at the old lifeboat station, where the expanse of shingle and sand is easier to cross.
Called the Coastguard, and then Lydd Range Control to find that there was no firing scheduled today. Punched out through a couple of modest surf breaks, pushed the deck cargo back into place, and then turned for the west. It was a long slog past Lydd range with a force 4-6 on the quarter, as this boat has no skeg, and its primary stability is a bit too solid when fully laden[1]. Things got a bit easier when the sandstone cliffs started at Cliff End in a fondant of pinks and ochres.
Met a gent on a sit-on-top at Hastings - only the second paddler of the trip (the first having been a geology student in N.Kent).
Difficult recovery up a steep shingle bank at Pevensey, but worth it for the excellent Bay View campsite behind the gap in the houses at GR TQ 6495 0263, where the wardens greeted me with a mug of tea and the offer of a lift into Eastbourne (gratefully accepted). The marina at Eastbourne is frightfully chic, so I enjoyed sitting by the waterside, wearing headtorch and Chillcheater coverall, munching fish & chips.
I had some alterations done to my drysuit just before setting off, and the overcuffs are starting to chafe badly. On the water, you don't notice what's happening, but when the sores dry out you do!

Notes:
[1] A properly trimmed sea kayak will drift bow to wind, or maybe beam to wind. If you want to travel with the wind on the quarter (i.e. almost in the same direction as the wind), it helps to lower a small fin, called a skeg, near the stern. This helps slow the stern's drift downwind, and therefore has the effect of holding the boat on a downwind course. Trouble is, my boat doesn't have a skeg.
Edging is rotating one's hips so that the hull heels to one side. You do this while keeping your torso more-or-less vertical - otherwise you capsize. The purpose of edging is to induce or maintain a turn away from the lowered side of the boat (imagine a warship turning at speed). Paddling "on edge" can therefore compensate somewhat for the lack of a skeg (and is also used for other purposes). To do this, it helps if the hull rolls easily a few degrees either side of vertical (little "primary stability"), but then stiffens up and becomes more stable beyond that ("secondary stability").

Wednesday 1st April: St.Margarets - Dungeness (20 n.mi.)

Another 0500 start, to catch the tide. Wind NE 3-4, building a bit during the day. Fair. Good.
Negotiated with Dover Port Control (VHF is essential here), and likewise with Folkestone. Filed trip report with Dover CG, but when I tried to get the weather from them (St.Margarets being in a radio shadow) the tips of my pencils broke. I keep finding more exasperating consequences of the bad business at Sheerness. Over a period of time, one fine-tunes all the kit for a trip like this, but now I find that I've not replaced the knife I usually keep in my buoyancy aid pocket, and that the lanyards on the chinagraph pencils of my (replacement) A4 "chart table" are too short.
Paddled from Folkestone to Dungeness on a bearing, passing to seaward of the Hythe range, which was firing. I wonder whether gunners' dreams are punctuated with slamming doors and clumsy warehousemen dropping heavy parcels...
The increased fetch as I neared Dungeness meant that the seas had built to between 1 and 1.5m, so at high water (henceforth: "HW"), there was danger of dumping surf on the steep shingle bank. I aimed for some people on the beach, thinking that they might warn me of any unseen submerged hazards. They helped carry the (very heavy) boat up the beach and welcomed me into their home, already bursting with visiting relatives and neighbours' children, making tea and feeding me, offering showers and laundry facilities. We discovered much in common: Keith, a former lifeboatman, is an artist and a learned lover of contemporary music (but with taste eclectic enough to encompass Fairfax and Sturton!); son Orton is researching cold water corals, so we were able to chat about the life of academic research. Nothing was too much trouble for this family, and they helped restore my battered faith in human nature.
All along the Kent and Channel coasts, we see evidence of military activity from the Napoleonic period and two world wars. PLUTO came ashore near here.

Tuesday 31st March: Joss Bay - St.Margaret's at Cliffe (15 n.mi.)

Rose to my alarm at 0500 to catch the tide. As porridge simmered on the stove, the red disc of the sun rose to the east, and the merchant ships riding to anchor offshore one-by-one extinguished their deck lights. Filed the daily trip report with Dover Coastguard on the VHF, and then negotiated with Ramsgate Port Control for a safe crossing of their harbour entrance. I've heard that, to yachtsmen, kayaks are "speed bumps", but to a cross-channel ferry we probably qualify only as "road kill". It was most heartening to see the compass creep past 180 - it feels as though forward progress has now started. Paddled to Deal on a bearing, and enjoyed the start of the famous white cliffs. At 1320 I arrived at St.Margarets, and promptly fell out of the boat most inelegantly, right in front of the coastguard watch officer who had taken my call earlier. He had walked down to the bay in his lunch hour, and we had a pleasant chat about the vagaries of the tidal streams hereabouts.
As I tidied the boat up, a small dinghy pottered about in the bay. It came ashore and I lent a hand to get it up the steep beach, learning, to my utter astonishment, that its agile helmsman was 80 years old. Jim, if you're reading this, thanks for the photo:
Enjoyed an excellent, if rather extravagant, lunch at The Coastguard, but was mistakenly told that the campsite at GR 356443 would take a tent. Ended up back at the beach, having trollied the boat up the hairpin bends and back again.
Performed the evening routine of working out tides and planning the route for tomorrow. Sleep disturbed by cars (this seems to be a local late-night trysting spot) - the bad business at Sheerness has had an effect on me: I wake at the slightest noise, and I'm loth to camp near large settlements. Seeking isolation in this way also makes it hard to keep the blog updated, especially since the technology for doing so remotely got destroyed by salt water (again thanks to the Sheerness incident).

Monday 30th March: Reculver - Joss Bay (10 n.mi.)

wind SW 3-4, sea state smooth-slight, weather fair, vis good.
Woke to frost and sunshine. A slow start, so not many miles covered. The sandy cliffs of Reculver soon give way to low-lying shore with many small waders. Alas, my knowledge of seabirds is slight - there seem to be four main types: white ones, brown ones, black ones, and odd-uns. However I did recognise oyster-catchers.
To port lay the Kentish Flats wind farm and the gun platforms of World War II. In the pub last night, I had suggested to one of the locals that these would have been an unpopular posting, as they would seem to have been sitting ducks for the attentions of the Luftwaffe, but he assured me to the contrary.
The chalk cliffs start near Birchington, with an appearance deceptively like some fortification of the Napoleonic era. Just before Joss Bay, Kingsgate Castle stands on the cliffs alongside a mock tudor building and an art deco edifice in a defiant statement of architectural inclusiveness.
Landed at Koss Bay and camped on the beach. Dined on lentil-pasta-tuna improvisation...

Sunday 29th March: Sheerness - Reculver (17 n.mi.)

Light airs and smooth sea state. Launched at Sheerness, put in[1] to Herne Bay at 1700 to see whether my friends of a fortnight ago were there, then proceeded to Reculver. (No pictures , as the waterproof camera has been stolen, and my old one is insufferably clunky to use at sea). The recovery there is up a steep, rubble-strewn track, but the Kari-tek trolley coped well. Some locals at Herne Bay had recommended the King Ethelbert Inn as a good stopover, and so it proved to be. Landlord John, his staff and customers, all plied me with hospitality, and I camped in the grounds of the pub.

Notes:
[1] Kayakers use "put in" to mean "launch". Other seafarers use the same expression for a visit to a port or haven from seaward, which is almost the opposite thing. From henceforth , I'll stick to the second usage.