On Saturday at 1015 local time the lock gates to Docklands opened up and we set off down the Thames. After days of dire portents from the weather druids, Saturday was warm, calm, and sunny. We sped down the river with a fair tide, which stayed with us all the way out the estuary, where we turned the corner into the Straits of Dover. Dawn on Sunday found us motoring along the south coast, approaching the Isle of Wight, which we are now passing. The wind has come up fresh, dead on the nose, with a gale in the forecast.

If it comes soon, we'll go back into the Solent, a grand harbor behind the Isle of Wight. If it holds off a bit we'll try for Portland, another 50 miles along. If the gale doesn't materialize we'll keep going as far as Falmouth, although I'm not holding my breath.

All of this motorboating may seem unsporting. The fact is that we're getting late in the season to be going to Portugal, and the most important thing is to get ourselves in the best position (Falmouth) from which to leave for Portugal. The prevailing wind along this stretch of coast is from the SW, so it was predictable that we'd have to either burn some fuel or wait for a fair slant of wind. . I'm sorry to say that we don't have time to wait for the wind.

In London our sainted cook Dani left the ship after several days of packing her extensive belongings. She was scheduled to get off a month ago, and stayed beyond her rotation out of the goodness of her heart. Right now Gina Gerdes, our utility deckhand, history discussion section leader, and now cook is filling in very ably, and we continue to wax fat. In theory a relief cook will be waiting for us on shore whenever we get to wherever we're going, however the weather permits. Such is the life of low-powered vessels on coastal voyages.

 

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