Sark

The Rounding of Sark, with apologies to Lewis Carroll. 

A misty old Sark, I eventually spied

As I crept in La Greve de la Ville

Picked up a buoy at the top of the tide

Had a swim and cooked up some tea.

 Harve Gosselin at dawn

Up at dawn for the forecast, another fine day

Checked the sea cocks, fuel and oil guage

Then under Grande Moie and inside Fournais

But around the Goulet Passage

Bright sunshine above and blue sea all about

As I sluiced with the south flooding stream

Then round La Conchee and on to L’Etac

Headng west with the wind on the beam

North to Les Dents to pick up the line

That leads to La Grande Greve

But just as I spotted the Harve Gosselin

The fog dropped, twas hard to believe.

The tide now was slack so I stuck to the course

With one eye on the Ipad nav app

Is that a moored boat or a whipped up white horse?

Here’s the ten metre line, better stop.

Now the fog dissipated and all became clear

Cross the north going race by Brecqhou

I lassoed a buoy and opened a beer.

Then walked up to Clos de Vaul Creux.

Dawn swim cleared my head as I looked to the north

Through the Gouilet passage and on

Six knots race sucked me in, spat me forth

Spinning round, facing where I had just come from.

But while I was singing with joy and delight

A bandersnatch swiftly drew nigh

And  grabbed at my rudder which twitched in fright

Dropping back to my blithesome sigh.

Abeam Bec de Nez with the tide ebbing fast

I set a course north towards Alderney

Past Pierreau Vraic to the Swinge at last

Into Braye for a shower and tea

In the mist of the world he was trying to say

In the midst of his laughter and glee

He had softly and suddenly vanished away

For Sark is a bojum, you see.

Paul Thompson.

Contessa 32 Pisces 615.

June 2013.