Back to Cardiff

The clocks had gone forward, but losing an hour's sleep wasn't really a problem. The new seat cushions that Louise had made were extremely comfortable, and I think we must have had our best ever night's sleep aboard Ishtar.

Others were stirring, as I opened the hatch and stuck out my head, mug of steaming coffee in hand.

The lock out was far more organised, everyone having booked their preferred time, 09:30, 10:00 or 10:30. We were on the 10:30, so Louise readied the boat, and checked her passage plan, as Tigger and I went for a leisurely walk, talking with other Cardiff sailors as we did so.

When we did eventually lock out, it was cramped, but civilised.

Out we went, into the Bristol Channel, her waters already starting ebbing back West, just in time to start the next cycle and bring more water up to Bristol, as it's done for millions of years.

Anyway, time to get the sails up.

Louise hoisted our cruising chute, or asymetric spinnaker, if you prefer.

We were joined by a variety of other coloured sails. 

All the boats jockeyed for position, adjusting sails and headings to try and find the best puff of wind on another very calm day. The sheer joy of being out on the water moved along by nothing more than a breath of wind, was obvious on everyone's face.

A couple of hours later, we were enjoying a ginger beer in the club bar (Louise had work and I am hopeless at afternoon drinking). The arguments started about who had sailed the best and the worst, and laughter rang out across the Bay.

A 'shakedown' cruise, really, but one that left everyone with a big smile on their face, wanting more, and wondering whay we can't get weather like this all the time.

A brief visit to Portishead

So, were we ready? No. You never are. There's always more to do, but enough was enough. It would have to wait.

We arrived at the boat late on Friday afternoon. Everyone else was the same as us. Carrying bags and boxes out to their own boats. I took Tigger for a walk. There are some tall reeds at the club, over 6ft high. Herons hunt at the water's edge, and the occasional mink is to be seen. Tigger loves hunting for sticks in the reeds, bouncing about, with the occasional meerkat impression.

As darkness approached, we wandered across to Mermaid Quay. Harry Ramsden's fish and chips went down well sitting on the wharf, where you can moor your boat via a Pay and Display system to visit the shops and restaurants.

I often wonder about the sailing ships and steamers of past centuries, and the men that worked and sweated so hard, loading the coal, and unloading other goods - the original purpose of the docks. I wonder what it was really like to sit here in 1912, where I now enjoy my fish and chips. More interesting, what would one of those men think if they could see the Bay now?

Anyway. Back to the club, and into the bar for a few beers in good company. Seems everyone was looking forward to the trip.

Saturday morning. Louise wanted to get some fresh rolls for lunch, and I just waited. Low tide was around 14:30, and, since we were headed up Channel, it made sense to wait for the flood to take us to Portishead. In the end, we locked out just before low tide, with a crowd of other yachts, 16 in all, making the trip from our club.

Louise got the sails up very quickly, and the noise of the engine was soon forgotten in the warm hazy sunshine. The wind was from ahead, so we lazily tacked back and forth for the next hour or two, gradually separating away from the other boats as we all moved at slightly different speeds and in different directions.

To call it a gentle sail doesn't do it justice. Drifting with the tide, sailing at perhaps one or two knots more than the water was moving, even the peaceful lapping of the water against Ishtar's hull seemed quiet.

I'd promised Louise that I'd just let her sail the boat. She wanted to do the whole thing from start to finish as if I wasn't there. So Tigger and I made some tea, some Ciabbatta rolls with hummus, took some pictures and did some reading. We passed a couple of larger vessels at anchor, their vibrant colours a contrast to the whites of the yachts.

As the afternoon slipped by, you just knew a wonderful sunset was coming. It didn't disappoint, as we passed Clevedon and approached Portishead.

All this peace was all too soon over, however. The good weather had brought out dozens of boats from Portishead marina. add yachts from Cardiff, and the locks were working flat out, filling and emptying every half hour, chock full each time until we were all in.

Tie up. Engine off. Open a beer. Nice.

We joined our friends Sheila and Vince aboard their yacht for our customary curry. A couple of glasses of wine and an axcellent home baked cake, courtesy of sheila, and then to the pub, where we joined all the other crews, in differing states of inebriation, depending on whether they'd eaten aboard their boats, or gone straight there after the lock.

Everybody had anjoyed the day, smiles all around.





Is it worth it?

Once the maintenance is done, the real panic starts. Do we have everything on the boat? Is there food, diesel, water? Is there bedding? Are the clothes still there? Louise was going to skipper the first weekend trip, so she was worried about her passage plan, too. Which way was the best way? What time to set off? What time were the locks at Portishead operational etc etc....

So much hard work on the boat, and then so much hard work getting everything ready. It's easy to see why some people give it up after a season or two.

Then, a few hours into the trip, you see something like this:

There you are, relaxing on a yacht, the warm spring breeze sighing gently as it breathes you towards your destination, your friends doing the same on their boats. You imagine people stuck in traffic, or queueing in supermarkets, watching junk on the tv, and you sit back and smile. All is good.

All is good.

Of course it's worth it.

More maintenance

What else? Oh yes, there's a list somewhere on the boat of things that we were going to do this winter. A trip to the chandlers, and a few purchases online and we'd better get started. This won't take long.......

Firstly, a new sea toilet. The inlet and outlet pipes were the same diameter, and in roughly the same position, and the toilet fittings were adjustable, so the angles should be straightforward......

So, it took a whole day, naturally. I fitted and removed the thing four times. After the first fitting, taking about an hour, I thought it was fine, apart from a tiny drip from the outlet hose. Toilet out, trim the hose, back in, still leaking. Eventually, Louise drove to the local chandlers and we renewed the entire length of outlet pipe - the old one had become inflexible. Once the new pipe was fitted, the toilet went in and no leaks. Works like a dream, and so much better.

Next, the taps in the heads and galley would be changed. The heads took about 15 minutes. The one in the galley took, er, a day. Remove the old tap, fill the hole, retile, make a teak plinth for the new tap, remove tiles in new position, drill, seal, etc, etc. I'm beginning to realise that thinking a job will take x amount of time on a boat is a waste of time. Don't estimate, it will take as long as it takes.

Next job, lead the control lines for the mainsail back to the cockpit - makes sail handling in rough weather easier, and a lot safer. I'd bought second hand winches last year, and we shelled out for the clutches, deck organisers and a nice piece of teak to cut and mount everything on. £91 for a length of teak 1.2m long, 150mm wide and 32mm thick. Ouch!

Two days? Nope. Three weeks. Lining everything up, ordering bolts to go through the saloon roof, testing, realigning, ordering new bolts, cutting drilling

Taking down the headlining, only to find it had been glued up, and removing it destroyed it, yet more work, buying new plywood and material to cover it....

Every day, it seemed the boat was in more of a mess. Would we ever get it done? Meanwhile, Louise had decided to redo all of the seating. She'd bought some 7cm thick memory foam mattresses and, cut and glued them onto the original foam, doubling the thickness and infinitely increasing the comfort factor. Then she remade each cover, one at a time, over weeks, and did a beautiful job.

The first trip of the year was approaching, a late March overnight stay up at Portishead. Time was getting short, but finally, a few days before we were due to go, everything came together.

On a beautiful spring evening, we took Ishtar out into the bay - our first sail for months. I was dreading trying to hoist the sails, in case all of my work had come to nought, and everything jammed.

Mainsail up. Easy. Try reefing. Unbelievable. I'd led back a reefing line from the Leech (back) and the Luff (front) of the sail. Shortening sail simple meant letting out one line whilst pulling in on two others. I was delighted with the way it all worked.

Louise's hard work had paid off too. The new seating looked great and was extremely comfortable. Many people have said to us that owning a boat is about constant maintenance and DIY, and the time spent enjoying it is far less than the time spent working on it. At times, it seems this way to us, too.



Winter maintenance

We've been busy. Running two houses, two cars, two boats, a motorhome and two small businesses leaves little time for, well, anything really.

We rebuilt the garage, knocked down walls in one of the houses, installed a new bathroom, converted the attic and spruced up the motorhome.

All the while, Ishtar sat on her pontoon in Cardiff bay, gathering dirt and feeling more than a little neglected. I'd been working a fair bit, and Louise had been doing all of her usual night shifts, so we decided to get Ishtar's standing rigging checked.

Good job too. When the Rigger, Andy, came to have a look, he found that one of the spreaders - the bars that help hold the mast up, had broken away completely, and would need to be re-welded. Decision made. We'd change the rigging.

Louise did the vast majority of the work. Firstly, she took Ishtar across to Cardiff Marina on her own, where, helped by Andy, the rigging and mast was removed:

Louise then took Ishtar back to her pontoon berth. My father and I drilled off the broken spreader, and welded it up before refitting it. We made a lovely mess with the mastic designed to stop galvanic corrosion.

A couple of weeks later, Andy had ordered in all the new bottle screws, stainless steel cable and other biits and pieces and once again Louise took the boat to Cardiff Marina where the mast was restepped, and all the shiny new wires and fittings installed.



A lot of work, and a lot of money. Having sailed with a friend who was unlucky enough to have a failure in his rigging, but who was level headed enough to save his mast, it's great piece of mind to know that ours has all been renewed, and should be good for 10 years or more of sailing.