MORNING STAR – A Memorable Voyage.

By Brian Schickell

Mike, a sailing chum, phoned me: “How would you like to go on the Morning Star?”

The Morning Star is a two-masted gaff-rigged ketch. She’s thirteen plus tons and sixty something feet long, of ferro-cement construction, and she’s a training ship, to teach youngsters life at the sharp end. “Count me in,” I said. “When do you want me?” “From the 27^th April to the 4^th of May,” was the reply.

So me and another chap from the Oundle area made our way to Chatham. We just had time to get our gear stowed before getting a brief talk from the skipper about who did what. There were seven of us altogether, and we were split into four-hour shifts, three per shift, to deliver her to Plymouth.

We hadn’t been on board a couple of hours when the ninety-three horse-power Perkins engine was flashed up, ropes were slipped, and we were motoring out into the Medway. We made our way to a disused jetty near the river mouth and tied up for the night, as an early start in the morning would give us some help with the tides.

We got turned in early, then slipped and away with what little light we had. We just about got into the channel when somebody switched the light off. Big black clouds thundered above and around us, with lightning sizzling here and there and I thought, “This is a good start”. The old girl started rocking and rolling – still, she’s built for it - and the winds blew north-easterly. My mate Terry was the fist one to feed the fishes.

Sea-sickness can make you feel pretty miserable. I can remember coming up from below for a shift and there was Dungeness, and it was flat calm, a mill-pond job, with the Perkins chunking us along. No wind. That didn’t last long. By the end of the shift it was gusting a gale. Eventually we settled on a course of 260’, with the current under us and winds gusting around twenty-seven knots, and the old girl reaching speeds of nine and a half knots.

With the winds holding from the north-east we were going like the clappers. You got used to her easy motion. She has an open centre cockpit, and I put one foot on the locker on my left and my right foot on the deck to counteract her heel to port. After a four-hour shift, one on the wheel and two on look-out, you were knackered. Still, that’s what we’d gone to sea for – adventure. You had to keep a good look-out, not so much for where you were going as much as ships overtaking you in those weather conditions. Keeping on course was a struggle, with the stern lifting up then dropping off the swell from the starboard quarter. When the relief watch took over you crawled into your bunk and slept. The only thing you took off was your life-jacket. Wet weather gear and boots stayed on – well, they did for me – and you fell into a deep sleep, until you were being shook, and a voice was saying, “Watch on deck.”

I remember seeing on our starboard beam the Big Cat, making its way, I suspect, to Poole Harbour. A force eight didn’t seem to make much difference to her twin hulls. Still, with each engine producing 4,000 horse-power, she will plane over anything. There was a yacht crossing our stern from port to starboard, looking like she was heading for Poole. I was on the wheel at the time. I glanced over my shoulder at her and thought, “She looks a bit sluggish.” The next thing was she came on the radio calling for assistance. Her name was Christina, she was taking on water, and it had come over the boards in the saloon. We radioed in as we were there, “Do you want us to assist you?” but the coastguard said they could handle it, so we stayed on our 260’ course.

The sea-sickness was getting through to some of us. I worked on the theory that if you don’t put anything in your stomach then there’s nothing to come out, so I had a cup of water to stop dehydration. Straight down and straight up it came. Well, I sailed most seas for ten years through the fifties between Iceland and Australia, and I was only sea-sick once in that time. And where was it? You’ve guessed it - in The Channel.

We had settled down to our four-hour shifts but always looked forward to climbing into our bunks at the end of it. I woke up – it was strange that nobody had shaken me. I went up on deck and all these twinkling lights were all around us. Where were we? Moored up in the middle of Dartmouth Harbour. We’d gone from Chatham to Dartmouth in a record breaking thirty-six hours. So, a clean-up down below to make everything shipshape, then it was our turn. A trip ashore in the water-taxi to the public showers, with a change of clothing, and we were feeling human again.

We had a meeting on board, and decided to visit some more nooks and crannies along the south coast, to use up all this time we had gained. So after Dartmouth, a day in Salcombe and a day in Fowey, all picturesque with their own character. There were a few jumping round on deck in Salcombe wondering if they should grab fenders as this sixty-five footer was weaving amongst them. We shot past our mooring buoy, did a u-turn with the assistance of the engine, and things went fairly well. They all went ashore in the evening except me. I stayed on board with the peace and quiet, just me and the boat. Mentally it was my way of saying thanks for getting us down here safe and sound. You could say it was a spiritual thing between me and the boat.

Next stop Fowey, with a trip ashore and a walk round the town with my mate Terry. We walked up to a high spot and looked down on the harbour, with Morning Star looking very small on her mooring. It was a pea-soup job getting into Fowey, all of us straining our eyes in the fog. Thank heavens for radar! There was a race going on from Plymouth to Fowey with yachts trying to find their way in. They were very nearly alongside before you saw them. Once in the harbour it was crystal clear.

It was a beautiful day when we left for our final leg to Plymouth Sound. We all relaxed on deck and took photos to look back on a memorable trip. The coastline is very picturesque. As we neared Plymouth Sound I noticed Royal Navy ships around us. Then a nuclear sub came into view escorted by tugs, returning after a long patrol down below. We made our way to Plymouth Marina and tied up for the final time. We gave the old girl a thorough clean down below and on deck, with the sails all neatly tied up. Then it was our turn – a shower at the marina’s five star shower suite. We packed our kit then sat down for our last meal together. We talked about the trip, knowing the teamwork and friendship would soon be a memory. Then we went ashore and made our way back to our homes.

My theory is, when you go to sea, you are Mother Nature’s guest. Respect her, and she will let you return.

Brian.