After three months of patience, on 2nd August 2025, we enjoyed our first sail on Lanita.
During the last couple of months we’d had our mast down for new rigging. Having taken our vessel to a boat yard across the harbour which we thought was cheaper (though later we realised we may have misjudged this). This was an event in itself. Mooring alongside a wall, rather than a pontoon, and being jostled by the odd flurry of waves as someone in the distance motored too quickly across the harbour. We worried for Lanita’s safety as our fenders slammed into stone. As time passed more quickly than expected, our boat was nearly left hanging dry. The tide had been steadily ebbing away and, distracted by the flurry of activity, we nearly didn’t increase the length of the mooring lines in time! It was certainly educational, but not one of the most enjoyable adventures we’d had.
Having chosen the only well-known rigger in Portland, we discovered too late that he had taken on too much work, giving us frequent excuses as to why the job wasn’t completed in the time he’d said was possible. As such, we were mastless for weeks longer than originally planned.
We tried to make the best of things and continued with a multitude of other jobs: servicing winches and other sailing hardware; cleaning the deck; and so on. Though as each day with ideal sailing weather passed by, our frustration grew.
Eventually, however, we were rewarded with a complete Lanita once again, mast standing proud as we motored out into the harbour, this time with sails on. After taking some time to test unfurling and re-furling the mainsail within the safety of the harbour walls (our mainsail is raised and put away in a different way to previous boats we’d sailed on and so requires a new learning curve), we felt it was finally time to leave the safe enclosure behind us and venture into open sea.
We sailed with the motor running in neutral for a while as we established a level of confidence in our sails, and then, we turned the engine off. The most beautiful sounds met our ears. The one we’d thought of and lusted over those past three years without sailing. Water lapping gently at the sides of the hull as we coasted along, sail fluttering every now and then as we changed angle to the wind. The incredible peacefulness that comes from moving through the water by the power of the wind in the sails, the roar of the engine now silent.
By late morning, the wind picked up and we started to see around 16 knots. Lanita felt overpowered as gusts came through, so we decided it was time to reef our large headsail. Trying to find the sweet spot of enjoying the power of the wind, while at the same time feeling comfortable and still in control is an art I feel I am just beginning to understand.
As we were sailing just outside the harbour walls, we hadn’t put together a sailing plan. We’d been in too much of a rush! This turned out to be an error we committed more than once. After two or three trips out, we soon realised that due to our assumed comfort in being close to our marina, it was actually making our experience less enjoyable as we were unprepared for changes in wind direction, or in merely deciding where to go. It led to a number of miscommunication and arguments, both either having made assumptions, or feeling unsure, resulting in communication breakdowns. We have since realised we need at least a simple plan for every trip we make, especially in these early stages of our sailing, and have seen a marked improvement in communication on board as we both know what to expect from our voyage.
On that particular first sail, we stayed out in order to challenge ourselves in heavier winds, but this meant we didn’t anchor in the harbour for lunch as we’d thought we might. It resulted in a lovely eight hour sail, but with no break and little respite from the wind as one of us had to constantly be at the helm (we didn’t yet have batteries for our autopilot). No wonder we were tired and grumpy by the end of the day! Tension, arguments, misunderstandings. Those things that always accompany nervousness, fear and lack of knowledge.
A few weeks after our first sail we crossed another great milestone. Anchoring outside the harbour walls. It was a half-day sail to Ringstead Bay, past the manicured beach of Weymouth, to a stretched out sandy bight. Enclosed by rugged cliff walls, a mixture of green bushes and rocky outcrops enclosed the sand below.
We set anchor at the eastern edge, as advised by our pilotage book, and settled in for slightly late elevenses. As we sipped our tea we watched a small flotilla of sailing yachts arrive, perhaps in convoy, or perhaps just coincidence. All seemed to have travelled the short distance from Weymouth to enjoy lunch aboard.
Lanita rolled and bobbed around, jostled by the continuous waves being pushed in by the south easterly winds. It wasn’t the best day to have anchored there, and we imagined we were less protected than many of the other boats due to our nervousness of anchoring too close to shore. Nevertheless, we were entranced. Time passed as I attempted to understand the distance to land by looking at the size, depth of colour, and level of detail in the tiny humans that walked the shoreline. Now and then turning to enjoy the huge expanse of nothingness. The unfamiliar. No land, no boats. Only an undulating blue horizon in sight. France was somewhere out there, though too far to be seen.
The opportunities that anchoring gave us became ever more apparent as we whiled away the afternoon under the warm summer sun. Increasing yet more, our desire to continue down this tough yet rewarding path. Ever curious for what comes next.
