The first sail of 2026 and a lost boat hook

Getting the rust off

We had this grand plan for the first sail of 2026. A decent sail across to Herm in the Channel Islands, back to our favourite little spot. But then the weather did its thing, and to be honest, after the state of us on Friday morning, staying local felt like a much kinder option. We’d been at a birthday party in Bristol the night before and… well, the Friday was mostly spent with a chippy tea and a film, just trying to feel human again.

We eventually got moving on Sunday. I think we both expected to just pick up exactly where we left off in September, but it turns out sailing memory is a bit like a muscle that goes soft over winter.

The fuel pontoon at Brixham was, frankly, a bit of a disaster. I was on the bow, Rich was at the stern, and I asked if he was ready. He said “no,” I heard “go,” and suddenly I’d dropped the lines and we were drifting. I looked back to see Rich tangled in a fairlead, the boat doing its own thing, and the stern line definitely not where it should be. We even managed to lose a boat hook later in the week at Dittisham. For about three days, “shit sailors” was our official title. We weren’t in danger or anything, it was just… messy. We kept forgetting the basics, like turning on the radio or untying the weathered knots on the fenders before moving. We just laughed it off, mostly because you have to, but there was that tiny thought of have we actually forgotten how to do this?

The quiet bits

Once we actually got settled into Ansteys Cove, that rustiness started to matter less. It’s funny how a place so close to the marina can feel so far away. Navily always says it’ll be a rough ride, but it felt so protected and still.

Wednesday was the day we’d been waiting for. The temperature hit 18°C, which felt like a proper gift for April. Rich was hiding under the boom tent, his skin isn’t quite ready for the full sun just yet, and I was just lying on the back of the boat, soaking it all up. I’d been thinking about jumping in for about three hours. I knew I needed to wash my hair anyway, so I just put my book down, took off my glasses, and went for it.

I didn’t tell Rich, mainly because I knew if I said it out loud I’d chicken out. It was freezing. Properly, bone-chillingly cold. I scrambled back out pretty fast, shivering and grinning. Rich was annoyed he didn’t get it on camera, but I kind of liked that it was just for me. I think I should have stayed in longer, or at least done it sooner, but it felt like the official start of the year.

Radio waves and old friends

It wasn’t all just forgetting how to move the boat, though. I actually got to use what I’d learned on my Marine Radio course when we arrived on the Dart and headed up to Dittisham. It felt good to actually put the theory into practice, even if it was just for something simple. A bit of a confidence boost after the fuel pontoon incident, anyway.

The end of the trip got a bit chaotic in the best kind of way. Our boat buddy Robert from Frothy Coffee appeared out of nowhere on our last morning, banging on the hull to wake us up. We’d had a few whiskies with John and Clive the night before and the plan to sail together had been cancelled, reinstated, and then cancelled again in the group chat. Or so I thought.

Next thing we know, we’re being ushered onto John’s boat, Little Wing, without even having a morning coffee. We ended up out in some winds that were much “spicier” than we’d usually dare in our Cheeky Monkey. Sailing bare foot, feeling the boat heel over, the sun on our faces… it was brilliant.

It’s a funny group of people. A retired skydiver, a wood craftsman, a DT teacher… people we’d probably never meet in our normal lives in Bristol.

** ad photo from Robert**

Walking back to the car, there was this heavy feeling in my chest. We’re moving the boat to Portishead soon so we can get the big jobs done for our “sail the world” trip in a few years. It’s the right move, the practical move, but I’m really going to miss the views here. And the people. Especially the people.

I’m already itching to get back out, even if it is just for Brixham Pirate Weekend next time. I think I’ve finally remembered how to tie a bowline knot, at least. I still had the muscle memory from our Scilly Isles trip, but I 100% forgot how to check the knot when we took the tender, Little Monkey, from Dittisham to Dartmouth for the day. One step at a time, I suppose.