Over the course of two summers, I circumnavigated Britain aboard Goldfinch, our Bénéteau 36cc. It was June 2022, and I was cruising on the penultimate leg with a strong and experienced crew aboard; Bryan, Debbie and Mike were all seasoned sailors who I’ve known and sailed with for many years. Leaving behind Salcombe, surely one of the most beautiful harbours on the south coast, we had before us a 50-mile sail to Weymouth, across Lyme Bay.

This is one of those passages where getting the tide right is crucial. Just before Weymouth is the Isle of Portland: not actually an island, but a comma-shaped peninsula that juts out into the Channel. For centuries, the limestone from Portland has been used in monumental buildings, including the Tower of London, St Paul’s Cathedral, the Bank of England, and the UN Headquarters in New York.

Leaving Salcombe early one June morning at the start of the penultimate leg of a UK circumnavigation. Photo: Robert Harding, Alamy

Despite all this mining, dating back at least to the time of the Romans, there is still quite a lot of rock left poking out into the sea, on a coast that is otherwise gently curving. The impact that this geography has on the tidal streams has profound consequences.

This isn’t just a matter of detail. To quote St Thomas à Cunliffe in the Shell Channel Pilot: ‘Portland Race is the most dangerous extended area of broken water in the English Channel […] Quite substantial vessels drawn into it have been known to disappear without trace.’

In a way, this passage was as serious as crossing the Pentland Firth, which was a major milestone for Goldfinch the previous year. There are two main differences, one good and one bad.

Mark carefully worked out a detailed plan before the passage. Photo: Robert Harding, Alamy

On the one hand, I’ve been past Portland Bill a few times before without any problems. On the other, unlike the relatively short expanse of Pentland Firth, the dangerous water of Portland was going to be at the end of a passage of more than 50 miles, which made the pinpoint timing much harder to achieve.

After much contemplation, mind-changing and dithering, I decided that being early was better than being late. So we set off at about 0700 in the morning from Salcombe, expecting to arrive in Weymouth about 2000 in the evening.

Sailing around Britain: Quick off the mark

The first part of our passage sailing around Britain was much faster than I’d allowed for. Having erred on the side of what I thought was caution, I found that we were making speeds over the ground of 7 knots or more, helped by favourable tides. I knew that there would come a time when the tide turned against us: Lyme Bay is just too wide to get a lift all the way across it. So I accepted the extra speed, knowing that we would get some opposition later.

The inside passage can be calm, but if in any doubt, the outside route 3-5 miles offshore should be safer. Photo: Robert Harding, Alamy

The wind was in our favour: a west-southwest breeze, strong enough to push us forward but not so strong as to be uncomfortable. Once or twice on the passage we thought about trying to slow down, but this somehow goes against the grain. If you know the tide is eventually going to turn foul, every instinct tells you to keep going while you can.

In planning for this passage sailing around Britain I had, for the first time in ages, made use of good old-fashioned paper charts. I’d marked off approximately where we needed to be each hour in order to get to Portland at the right moment, when the tide was weak and about to turn in our favour.

Every hour I was plotting our actual position on the chart and comparing it with the target. And relentlessly, inescapably, we were always two hours ahead of schedule. And now Portland was very visible ahead of us. In the meantime, the wind had been increasing steadily throughout the passage. It was more or less behind us, and with just the headsail we were making 7 or 8 knots over the ground.

Heading out across Lyme Bay, it is hard to predict exactly when you will arrive off Portland. Photo: Robert Harding, Alamy

Well, all that sounds good. But it did mean that when the tide turned against us we were in exactly the wrong place – much further ahead than I’d expected. As it happened, this was the very day of peak spring tides.

So here we were, approaching one of the most important tidal gates in British waters, on the day of the strongest tide, with the stream about to turn against us. To add to the fun, the wind was still at our back, and freshening with every minute. This meant that the wind was going one way, and soon the tide would be going the other way.

The result of this argument is always shorter, steeper waves; and in an area where the tide is notoriously assertive, it promised to be a bit sportier than we’d bargained for.

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Time to decide

As you round the Bill of Portland there are a few options available. One of these, the so-called Inshore Passage, involves approaching Chesil Beach to within about 300 metres and hugging the shore as you go round the peninsula. In this way, in fair weather, it is possible to tuck inshore of the ill-omened Race.

Salcombe is one of the South Coast’s prettiest harbours. Photo: Robert Harding, Alamy

I’ve done this before and it’s been fine, but today, with a Force 5-6 building behind us, it didn’t feel like this was ‘fair weather’ within the meaning of the Act. So I opted for the alternative of giving the Bill a clearance of two or three miles.

Just to the east of Portland Bill is an area of shallower water with the dispiriting name of the Shambles.

In case you are not already wide-eyed enough, the sea gets even crazier over this patch, and you have to make a decision about which side of it to go. As we approached, I could see on my multi-function display that the tide on the western side of the Shambles was a south-going at 6 knots. Essentially, this meant that even at full pelt we would be standing still if we went that way.

The passage to the east was much longer, but offered contrary tides of ‘only’ three knots. So I thought at first I would plump for the eastern route. However, turning east meant that the wind and waves were on our beam. As the wind picked up and the tide flowed ever faster, the waves became steeper and higher.

So here we were, approaching a huge tidal gate, on the day of the strongest tide, with the stream against us and a freshening wind at our backs. Photo: Robert Harding, Alamy

It was immediately clear that having this sea on the beam would be extremely unpleasant and probably dangerous. For the first time ever in Goldfinch, I began to feel that I’d been beaten. I changed my mind, and turned north, passing to the west of the Shambles so that the weather was behind us. Till now we had been sailing, in the fresh breeze from astern; but now I turned the engine on and adjusted our speed such that we were not being walloped so hard by the waves overtaking us.

If you are the person on the wheel, you experience things differently from the rest of the crew. At that moment, when I was battling the elements, and to a certain extent improvising the navigation from moment to moment, I decided that I would stay on the helm.

I was skipper, not because of greater ability, but because this was all my idea. Now it was my responsibility to get us through it safely. In practical terms, it was easier to stay at the wheel than to hand over to anyone else, even though any of them could have done it at least as well as me.

I’m not sure how long it lasted: maybe an hour. The tidal stream was against us: it was not as strong as the chart-plotter had threatened, but it was still solid, and our speed over the ground was only about four knots, with the engine revved in tune with the waves and the headsail still full with the following wind. It was scary.

Mark Browse fell in love with sailing half a century ago, at the age of 11 on the Norfolk Broads. Photo: Robert Harding, Alamy

It was also exhilarating, however, and with every minute that passed the feeling of apprehension grew less. There had been moments, when the short steep waves had been hitting us from the side, when I had felt uncomfortable. Now, the adrenaline was receding and I was at the wheel, trying to keep the boat on course as she surfed down the waves.

Journey’s end

Gradually, as we got into the lee of the Isle of Portland, the sea flattened. When the worst was over I handed the helm to Bryan. We carried on past Portland and towards Weymouth.

To get into the marina at Weymouth, you have to go under a lifting bridge. As it turned out, with the fair wind and (to begin with) favourable tide, we were just in time for the 1800 bridge opening, two hours earlier than I’d intended. We carried on into the marina, found our allocated berth, and went into town for supper.

We found a pub that served us steaks cooked just right (which, as it happens, is how I like them) and we celebrated the end of the June 2022 leg of Goldfinch’s journey around Britain.

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