Ship Out

Peter had taken himself off, (by taxi would you believe – less than half a mile!) to the warmth of his apartment in the marina for the night while Richard and I froze on board in -4 degrees after the heating had been turned off for the night. It was turned back on in the early hours when I began to freeze under my summer duvet.

We had rigged a slip on the breast line, around a parking bollard, so we could pull ourselves back alongside when we floated off on the middle of the night high tide. Probably as a result of the ‘intake’, and the intense cold, we slept through our buoyancy and missed the opportunity. So we awoke, still stuck on the bottom, and facing the prospect of the ‘plank’ again, but it was now even more treacherous as it was covered in frost.

The prospect of a ‘full English’ in the Ship was too alluring, so we braved the bridge and enjoyed a sumptuous breakfast – with coffee and tea instead of HSB…

The Landlord of the Ship had been so very helpful, providing the bridge which was fashioned out of a float from a pub raft. He had wanted to bring his son on board to see the yacht, but, after breakfast, his son was at school so, unfortunately, it didn’t happen. Next time, maybe.

Overall, the visit to the Langstone dock proved to be a real ‘winner’ and great fun. The apricity was magical although it had clouded over for the return passage and there were even flurries of snow. In conclusion, the Ship Inn should become a regular destination as the depth issues proved to be not so much of a concern and with the warm welcome, good food and excellent HSB, why not!

Since the recent replacement of the batteries, I have consciously not been leaving them on charge, and the philosophy has worked well with only the automatic bilge pump connected resulting in a maintained 100% charge even after a few weeks. This has meant that I have switched off the Ultra Sonic Anti Fouling (USAF) but I have come to terms with this on the basis that its efficacy is debatable and, in the cold winter water temperatures, the fouling implications are greatly reduced. The only noticeable effect of the USAF that we have experienced, is that the visitation of dolphins appears to be reduced. Given that our potential cruising area in 2026 is to the hot bed of orca attacks on sailing yachts, there may be an unintended benefit of turning it back on!

I must apologise in advance for these musings from my lazy crew who were unhappy about being asked for a second blog contribution in as many days. Their contributions below are not from their creativity, but courtesy of AI…

Peter (Morton) writes (?):

(He mumbled an account into his phone and asked AI for a poem…)

We moored Hejira by the Ship Inn wall,

Four hundred yards. A mighty haul.

Tied her up tight (or so we swore),

Then went for beer. Then some things more.

HSB first, red wine next,

Good food, tall tales, a sense unchecked.

The night went on. The tide went too.

Which one of those we failed to view?

We wandered back, content, well fed,

To find the quay—but not the bed.

The boat had left. The river smirked.

Our access plan no longer worked.

We stood. We stared. We weighed the swim.

Decided “no” on grounds of “grim.”

Then out he came from bar-room light—

The landlord, calm, and clearly right.

With floats and rope and practiced ease

He built a bridge across the seas.

Not wood. Not steel. Just hope and twine.

A pub-made span. A work of art.

We edged across with careful feet,

Each step a gamble, small and neat.

Aboard at last! The heater burned.

The cabin warmed. All lessons learned.

At dawn the bridge still mostly stayed,

We crossed it back (no calls were made).

Then straight inside for plates that groaned

With toast and bacon, eggs and bones.

Three full English. Tea in floods.

Morale restored. All spirits good.

Served by a smile both bright and fair,

Lithuanian, we think—don’t stare.

And now we sit, our tea gone cold,

Considering what fate might hold.

The snow starts falling. Soft. Absurd.

As if the trip lacked one last word.

So off we go, both slow and wise,

Back home through flakes and narrowed eyes—

Four hundred yards, in white disguise,

The coldest passage of our lives.

Richard writes (?):

(He asked AI for a passage in the style of Shakespeare … what !)

A bitter night it was, when Hejira, fair of line and weather-worn of soul, lay tethered fast unto the quay hard by the Ship Inn’s ancient stones. The moon, a pale and watchful sovereign, cast her argent gaze upon the river’s skin, now stiff with frost, and all the world seemed held within winter’s breath.

Within the narrow womb of the yacht, the cold crept like a thief. Each plank did groan, each rope did mutter low, as though the vessel herself did speak of ancient seas and harsher trials yet endured. The wind, that faithless knave, did whistle through the rigging, plucking frozen notes upon the shrouds, and made a cruel music for the sleepless ear.

Wrapped in wool and hope alike, the mariner lay wakeful, counting not the hours but the cracks of ice forming upon the deck above. The lantern’s flame did tremble, as if afeard, and breath hung heavy in the air, a ghostly cloud that marked each living moment. “O night,” quoth he, “thou art a tyrant most unkind, to test both timber, bone, and will.”

At dawn, when timid light at last did creep across the quay, Hejira stood crowned in white. Snow lay thick upon her decks, and ice like crystal armor clasped her rails. The river held its peace, and all the world seemed hushed, as though awaiting some great speech.

Yet salvation lay but steps away. For from the Ship Inn came the promise of mankind restored: a door flung wide, a hearth ablaze, and kindly cheer. There, before a roaring fire, did hands at last grow warm, and tea was poured as though it were ambrosia itself. A breakfast rich and noble followed—eggs and bacon, sausage and toast—fit fare to banish winter’s spite.

Thus ended the trial of that frozen night, not with lament, but with comfort earned. And Hejira, faithful still, waited patiently at the quay, knowing well that though the cold may bite, the fire—and fellowship—will always have their hour.

I wonder if I can get replacement crew on AI…. ?