Parachutes and ferries

We weighed anchor at 10.30 from our peaceful spot in Poole Harbour near Pottery Pier, and motored towards the narrow exit where happily the chain ferry was busy disgorging a load of cars and couldn't barge across our bows.

Rescue chopper over Old Harry

Once out in Poole Bay and sailing nicely (SE Force 3, close reach) we spotted a rescue helicopter, a lifeboat, a knot of black military boats and in the sky, a big transporter plane. 

Nic recognised what was happening from his childhood experience in these parts. Soon men would be parachuted out into the bay, to be picked up by the fast boats. Serious excitement on a Monday morning. Was it the Special Boat Service? We didn't know. 

The rib heading away from us

A great black rubber boat sped towards us at 25 knots and braked to come alongside. It was full of black-uniformed chaps with windswept hair, ruddy cheeks and forceful demeanour. 


They informed us there would be a parachute drop and we should turn north, towards the beaches of Bournemouth. So we did. 

Two transporter planes droned overhead countless times without making a drop. 

We had cameras at the ready each time and were getting rather fed up. 

At last they dropped two big bits of equipment and a single paratrooper. After that we got back on course and sailed off, excitement over.

Except the sailing itself was exciting most of the day - a lovely 12-15 knot wind across to Christchurch Bay and the North Channel, the shallow western way in to the Solent. We managed to keep sailing past Hurst Point, even though the wind suddenly died there and then came back with a vengeance when we had rounded the corner, in waters which were choppy and turbulent. 

Lesley's next challenge was entering the lovely Lymington river. It's shallow around the entrance but the real focus was on the ferries. In the course of 20 minutes we encountered three very large ones on their way in or out. At one point we did a U turn and went backwards; discretion and valour and all that. 

Finally we crept in on the tail of the third ferry and to our (extremely expensive) marina berth. Into the charming town to have a rather average dinner at the Ship Inn with a rather abrupt barman to boot. But now it's quiet, we've done our laundry and we can chill out in this popular honeypot for sailors. All overlooked by the jolly old ferry snugged down for the night.