boats – Page 3 – derrickjknight

“You Can’t Keep A Good Brit Down”

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This morning we drove to New Milton to buy Jackie a bag to carry her overnight stay requirements for our trip to Bicester tomorrow. We then continued to Friars Cliff where we brunched in the Beach Hut Café.

There are two rows of beach huts there – one on the promenade above the beach level, and the other further down. These colourful buildings brighten such areas.

This dog walker had probably made his way from Avon beach, curving away in the distance..

Long shadows were evident even just before midday.

A gull perched on a post catching what warmth there was from the sun piercing the clouds.

Dogs frolicked

and their owners

crossed each other’s paths

on the sand.

At one end of the lower level of beach huts

sat a couple of women, so well insulated from the chill air that Jackie cried “You can’t keep a good Brit down”, which they appreciated.

On the way home .we diverted to Mudeford

where gulls paddled in the shallows at low tide.

Of the several boats

tethered or grounded

in the harbour one was overturned.

Others fronted the moored yachts

and the quayside buildings.

Branches were spectacles on the sand.

On the sea front’,

having missed the boat that was stocking crabs on the van for Brixham,

hopeful

young starlings,

gathered

for possible treats;

they would have enjoyed the great slabs of Spanish omelette that Jackie conjured from the seemingly entire contents of a greengrocer’s stall bound by the massed clutches of multiple brooding hens. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the malbec.

The Schneider Trophy

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This afternoon Jackie drove us to Calshot and back in order to watch the sun go down.

The tide was up in the Beaulieu River, offering reflections of Beaulieu Palace House

and of private houses.

Along Rollestone Road the ancient and modern meet in the forms of ponies grazing freely on historic moorland and the towers of Fawley Power Station.

We arrived at Calshot shortly before sunset. The tide had ebbed; buoys were beached,

and large vessels glided past,

towards the low sun that lit the beach huts’ verandas.

Swirling clouds splashed around the western sun

while, to the east, smooth water reflected its effects.

Parked boats were mirrored in pools on the quayside.

Shallow water glistened

and gleamed,

as did the windows of Houston House

which bears this plaque.

Wikipedia tells us that:

‘The Coupe d’Aviation Maritime Jacques Schneider, commonly called the Schneider Trophy or Schneider Prize (sometimes incorrectly referred to as the Schneider Cup, a different prize), was a trophy awarded annually (and later, biannually) to the winner of a race for seaplanes and flying boats. The Schneider Trophy is now held at the Science Museum, South Kensington, London.

Announced in 1912 by Jacques Schneider, a French financier, balloonist and aircraft enthusiast, the competition offered a prize of approximately £1,000. The race was held twelve times between 1913 and 1931. It was intended to encourage technical advances in civil aviation but became a contest for pure speed with laps over a (usually) triangular course (initially 280 km, later 350 km). The contests were staged as time trials, with aircraft setting off individually at pre-agreed times, usually 15 minutes apart. The contests were very popular and some attracted crowds of over 200,000 spectators. An earlier trophy, also presented by Jacques Schneider in 1910, in France, was the Schneider Cup, which is now in the possession of the RAF College Cranwell.’

and

‘In 1931 the British government withdrew support, but a private donation of £100,000 from Lucy, Lady Houston, allowed Supermarine to compete and win on 13 September against only British opposition, with reportedly half a million spectators lining the beachfronts. The Italian, French, and German entrants failed to ready their aircraft in time for the competition. The remaining British team set both a new world speed record (610 km/h (380 mph)) and won the trophy outright with a third straight win.^[7] The following days saw the winning Supermarine S.6B further break the world speed record twice, making it the first craft to break the 400 mph barrier on 29 September at an average speed of 655.8 km/h (407.5 mph).’

As the sun gravitated towards

the horizon,

orange hues

spread

and deepened.

A jet trail pierced the indigo backcloth,

and the palette introduced red pigments

streaking

across the firmament;

finally dipping into the stream running alongside Jack Maynard Road.

This evening, for dinner, we enjoyed Jackie’s splendid beef and mushroom pie; boiled potatoes, carrots and cabbage, with which I drank more of the madiran.

Knobbly Knees

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If you have no choice but to resort to vast shopping outlets, Bournemouth’s Castlepoint is far more user friendly than most. This is where we drove today for Jackie’s outfit for her niece Rachel’s wedding to Gareth in a few days’ time.

Jackie led the way across the car park to her shop of choice.

I followed slowly, taking in the sculptural railings;

the steps;

the serried ranks of cars;

people loading their purchases before driving away;

and shoppers chatting

and walking about.

I joined Jackie in Evans. While she chose some shoes reflected in this nether mirror,

I allowed myself to be distracted by a full length one,

before taking a multiple selfie reflected in silver balloons from Burton’s staircase, which also afforded a view of

Wallis models below.

From the first floor of this open-plan shared store I watched shoppers passing by

or just taking a rest.

There was even a cyclist

skirting the car park.

When we returned to our car, this Coca Cola can rattled across the tarmac at the speed of Usain Bolt.

On our way home we diverted to Christchurch, parking in the Priory Car Park. In the gardens alongside stands this commemorative sculpture:

Here is Side A;

here Sides B and C;

and here Side D.

A gentleman with a stick made his way along the quayside;

as did a number of cyclists. I didn’t think to ask this gentleman why he carried a spade.

A motorised dinghy sped towards the sun,

and a small group walked away from it.

A dog on a balcony was set off barking. Perhaps it suspected someone may be stealing the boats.

A vessel normally used for visitors’ trips hove into view just before we left,

while a paddle boarder approached from the opposite direction.

Jackie was of the opinion that this gull would have won a knobbly knees contest. It would have been a close call between the bird and the lamppost.

This evening we dined on spicy pizza and plentiful salad. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I started on another bottle of the malbec.

A Rescue Operation

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This morning turned out to be rather longer than planned and required a little more energy than anticipated to be expended. We began with a trip to New Milton for shopping, including a new watch strap for me. We then returned home to collect two large bags of garden refuse for the dump.

It was to be quite fortuitous that we had the bags on board when we set off into the forest from the Efford Recycling Centre.

Egrets were fishing on Lymington River,

where the usual boats were moored.

A long hoarding has been in situ around Threeways in Pilley for quite a number of years has at some time served as an art gallery. Paintings by a variety of artists remain in situ.

Ponies, in return for the freedom of the village, keep the grass in front of the houses cropped short.

There were many ponies in evidence at the road junction at St Leonard’s Road, East End. We weren’t going to get past them, so just watched this grey

leave its post on the centre line, turn,

and, passing a companion at the swampy corner, cross

the road towards East Boldre, leaving another chestnut to take over traffic control duties.

The pony standing in the pool

liked a drink with its grass, which took its mind of the fly on its nose.

Another grey advanced on me, no doubt seeking goodies, in which it was to be disappointed.

Travelling on, we hadn’t covered many metres of St Leonard’s Road before our road was blocked again.

Pheasants, both male

and female, skittered backwards and forwards into the hedgerows,

except on Tanner’s Lane, where they gathered in a bouquet.

Sunlight sparkled on the water between the mainland and

the Isle of Wight.

Hello. What was this on the shingle beach?

It was Emma’s car, a Twingo.

Watched by her mother, Paula, and two other young ladies attempting to offer advice, guidance, and assistance, the driver had, with her mother and dog, set out for a walk which had to be abandoned. It became immediately necessary to free the vehicle. But how?

The car’s wheels just span on the loose pebbles as Emma vainly tried to climb over them. I helped guide her onto a firmer section, but this involved first having to reverse further down towards the waterline, turning, driving at an angle to the foreground of this picture, then reversing as close to the corner post as possible. Despite her fears, the young lady kept her cool, and almost made it. Several times.

It was then that I remembered the orange bags. By this time Jackie had joined us, so she fetched them. We placed them on gravel behind the wheels. It was still difficult. We then roped Jackie’s hessian supermarket bags into service so we had all four wheels covered.

Still no joy, until we were joined by another gentleman with rather more knowledge, especially about being very very gentle on the accelerator. Emma turned left at the point in the picture above, and reversed slowly towards the corner. With all hands on the bonnet; backs, thighs and knees straining, we tried again. We had lift off. Emma just avoided reversing into a hedge. We all gave each other hearty hugs, and Jackie and I drove home for a late lunch.

This evening we dined on Hordle Chinese Take Away fare. And very good it was too. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the malbec.

Ten Minutes

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Today’s weather was almost all wet, warm, and overcast. Our afternoon began with a trip to Milford on Sea where the excellent Peter at Sears Barbers cut my hair. We then went on a garden centre crawl seeking some boundary stones to hold back the soil around the greenhouse. Eventually we wound up at B & Q in Christchurch where we found, and bought, what we wanted.

Having passed this rather attractive new housing development for retirees on the corner of Bridge Street, we noticed that the sky was lightening over Mudeford.

Consequently we diverted to the harbour where gulls squabbled over a chimney top perch,

and screamed around the boats moored on images of the skies

against a backdrop of dark indigo and pale ochre clouds pierced by rays of a weak sun leaving light blue rents in the cloth.

The boats themselves reflected on their surroundings.

I was not the only photographer grabbing the ten minutes that was all we enjoyed before the light dimmed once more. This gentleman, when I showed him these two pictures, was delighted that I had “got the person in”.

This evening for our dinner Jackie produced meaty cottage pie; colourful carrots, broccoli and green beans; and small new potatoes sautéed with onions, leaks, and red peppers. She drank Hoegaarden, and I drank more of the cabernet sauvignon.

The Action Came To Me

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Jackie and I left Hurst Castle yesterday as we entered, crossing the bridge over the moat. What was once a deep defensive dug-out water-filled trench, now just collects a little precipitation when it rains.

We joined the crowds waiting for the ferry.

The small fleet of pleasure boats plied their way between Keyhaven and the castle. Even as one hove into view there was little movement among the visitors. Each boat only catered for twelve people, so those who were able might as well lounge around on the grass

until this arrival

had decanted its load and taken on fresh supplies.

We gained a place on the next one and were soon back at Keyhaven.

On board the ferry Jackie had learned the story of the wrecked boat that I have featured in several previous posts. It is seen here with a severe list. The owner of the vessel has apparently died. Before his demise he had sold the mooring to someone at Mudeford. The purchaser has done nothing with it.

This afternoon we drove to Lepe to meet Elizabeth, Danni, and Andy. My sister is embarking on a documentary photographic series on ‘coast’ for her camera club. I had suggested Lepe.

On a wide junction with the Exbury Road outside Beaulieu, a young pony seemed confused. It stood in the centre, not knowing which way to turn, until Jackie stopped for it.

It had been agreed that we would make our ways to the car park and find each other. A friendly gull guided us to what seemed to be the only available space. Jackie waited in the car.

As I walked along the shingle there was much activity down by the shore at this low tide. Groups gathered in the shallows and yachts were much in evidence.

A louring sky did, however, send some off to the café.

Kite surfers were undeterred.

My extended family members, Andy, Danni, and Elizabeth, were to be found on the shingle at the far end of the car park.

I had decided that, in walking back to inform Jackie, I would amble down to the shore, where the action was. A gull’s presence against the cloud curtain suggested rain was not far away.

Indeed, it wasn’t, so, swathed in towels, the action came to me;

some pausing to inspect the shallows.

Along with the entire population of the beach, we entered the café, fought for chairs, and drank our choice of hot or cold liquids.

When the sun returned we walked down to the crumbling cliffs for Elizabeth to conduct her recce. There a couple of groups dug for lug worms to use as fishing bait,

while others walked along the exposed sand spit.

Kite surfers has continued undisturbed.

A skein of geese flapped silently by above the scene.

The darkening sky had shifted enough for a pair of passing yachts to catch the sunlight.

Soon it was time to pack up the surf kites

and carry them to the transport.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s splendid sausage casserole, boiled potatoes, carrots, and cauliflower with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Bardalino.

Sunshine And Showers (2)

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Knowing that we were to expect heavy rain all weekend, and that the first hour or two this morning would offer sunshine and showers, we drove out to Mudeford seeking what light there was.

This proved to be interesting. The sun came and went, offering dramatic cloudscapes over the sea;

over the beach huts;

over the harbour;

and over the small town.

Recent downpours had left pools for cars to drive though.

Moored boats bobbed on the choppy wavelets in the sheltered waters,

over which sped a powered vessel.

A number of little rowing boats had filled with water

or capsized.

One, overturned, provided a resting place for juvenile gulls.

We felt sympathy for holidaymakers wrapped in waterproofs, and even more for the intrepid stallholders setting up for the weekend’s Art and Craft Fair.

Almost oblivious of the industry going on around them, a jogger,

a pair of dog walkers,

and a loving couple, continued about their business.

A heap of bright red paddle boards awaited rental customers.

The usual fishing paraphernalia lined the quayside. This couple examined

crab pots;

ropes and lines;

fluttering flags;

and buoys reflecting sunlight

or themselves mirrored in pools,

as were visitors following the first young lady forming a queue for the ferry.

Around the side of the quay the couple I had just passed gazed out to sea.

The most dramatic light of the visit fell on a group beside the car park.

As we left Mudeford for a late breakfast at Friar’s Cliff’s Beach Hut Café, three sail boats set out to sea.

They had made it safely to Friar’s Cliff by the time we reached there.

On the cliff top at Steamer Point lie three very large circular concrete bases.

Their story is now explained on an engraved metal plate fixed to a rock.

This evening we dined on chicken tikka and boiled egg salad. Well, we had had a large, late, fried breakfast. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I drank more of the malbec.

A Sparrow in Swallow Drive

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Jackie continued with the weeding of the rose garden today, whilst I wandered with the camera.

Tulips are now in bloom.

This one really did come from Amsterdam, courtesy of Danni and Andy who brought it back for us.

A bank of yellow primroses fronts this striated group at the entrance to the back drive,

along which golden wallflowers are massing.

Our first rhododendron is beginning to flower;

Japanese maples are coming into leaf,

and a deep pink cherry blossom is blooming.

Saxifrages planted last year are thriving.

Clearly confused as to the season. a sleepy wasp staggered about.

This afternoon we went for a drive.

The tide was high at Keyhaven, where the wreck was now submerged,

and the Hurst lighthouse clear beyond the line of moored boats.

A purple-headed mallard and mate basked on a lichen covered wall;

and a white-headed coot paddled past a white bird hiding in the reeds.

In view of Hurst spit swans waded, foraged, and drank. One bore a tide-mark causing speculation about what it had been swimming in.

Woman and children in silhouette on Hurst spit

Among those silhouetted on the spit were a woman and two children,

Two young women in sihouette on Hurst spit

and two young women. In each group there was one person engaged in a mobile phone conversation.

We took a diversion around a housing development in Milford on Sea. Given that these streets all bore the name of a different bird, I wondered what a sparrow was doing on Swallow Drive.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s superb beef cobbler, sautéed potatoes and mushrooms, with crisp carrots, cauliflower and purple sprouting broccoli. The Culinary Queen drank sparkling water while my drink was San Andres Chilean merlot.

The Birds And The Bees

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I spent some time in the garden today observing avian activity.

Although some wood pigeons waited hopefully in the beech and in the weeping birch,

where one pair thought about it,

a loving pair petted each other in the as yet naked beech.

Flies were attracted to the hellebores;

two of them joined a dove threesome on the decking.

Bees plundered the pulmonaria,

and another insect I cannot name sunk its lengthy proboscis into a daffodil.

A cheerful robin trilled encouragement high up in the birch.

This evening we dined at Lal Quilla in Lymington. Before the meal we made a brief list to the quayside where

a young man manoeuvred a motor boat and dinghy around

the moored yachts, avoiding disturbing

reflections on the water.

Mallards mingled with black headed gulls,

both of which engaged in preening activities.

My choice of meal was Goan lamb with special fried rice. Jackie chose chicken biriani, and we shared onion bahjis. We both drank Kingfisher.

Today’s title was inspired by a recent comment from Mary Tang.

The Mist Did Not Desist

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This morning, the temperature having dropped ten degrees, we lit the fire.

Barry the sweep has said he will expect to see smoke from the chimney when he drives by. Set against a misty, overcast, sky, he will perhaps have difficulty seeing this today. Our mix of coal and logs produced a really powerful heat.

I bought the cast iron coal scuttle in a Newark antiques centre almost thirty years ago. I used it in my study to keep coal. I have been unable to verify the dealer’s implausible and certainly impractical claim that it was an antique Belgian commode. Jackie will now have to find something else in which to store her potatoes.

By mid-afternoon when we drove out to Mudeford, the mist had persisted.