The backpackers lodge overlooked Brighton beach and allowed me to keep a watchful ear (?) on the weather. The south westerly built through the night and howled like a dog in the morning.
I settled on a shorter, more concerted effort and enjoyed complimentary breakfast which was plentiful but hollow because, as I would later be reminded, no amount of rice crispies can fuel hard paddling.
Back on the number 7, morning news in hand, I commuted back to the Taran and was greeted by an unsurprisingly ugly sea state and a cheeky starfish.
I got some strange looks as I left the marina in a force 6 but I saw safety in only being at furthest 3 miles from a harbour. Shoreham seemed a fair target, at 5.5nm, my shortest day yet, but that’s 5.5 closer to finishing.
Another landmark rudely ruined by the weather. No chance of sneaking under the iconic pier but I was able to watch punters getting soaked on the log flume. I could think of a much better way to do that.
At Shoreham harbour I kindly let a massive ship go first (you’re welcome) and after 3 hours, yes, 3 hours for just 5 miles, I arrived at Shoreham sailing club. I asked if they knew somewhere I could leave the boat, admittedly angling at this point, for them to help me out. What I hadn’t banked on was a primo campspot with all facilities just metres from the slipway.
Feeling rather dejected with the faltering distances of late, I occupied myself with a full boat shakedown and was halfway through tea when a bunch of sailing types brought some cheer.
Sometimes it takes someone to be really enthused by it for me to wake up and remember how friggin awesome the trip is. I’m going to miss this when it’s over.
To John from Shoreham sailing club, thank you kindly for making this the easiest landing in 59 days and to the guy whose name I so rudely forgot and short sightedly didnt ask again, thank you also. Your encouragement will go a long way… maybe 200nm?