Kemp Sails

In a post-pandemic, post-graduation daze – we found ourselves window shopping for a more seaworthy vessel than our sleek quarter tonner, an Eygthene 24. Fast forward a month of deliberation and we were the proud new owners of a 1978 Rival 32, which we found by chance, on the Isle of Bute in the Clyde. We were very pleased to inspect the Kemp Sails that came with the boat; a triple reefed, battened mainsail and furling genoa – both in great condition, having hardly been used.

After another month of refitting in the yard, we splashed in August 2020 and got to know our stout new boat alongside the pontoons of Port Bannatyne Marina. We had replaced all standing rigging, fitted a new furling system for the genoa, serviced the engine and added a new electrical system. Our sea-trial was a 150 nautical mile run around the notorious Mull of Kintyre, northwards past the Isle of Jura and into Oban, where we would spend the rest of the season cruising the Inner Hebrides, and then haul out for a bigger refit. Following a fruitful winter of long yard days and modern upgrades, we launched and set sail in May 2021 for the Shetland Isles, the UK’s most northern territory.

The 350 nautical mile passage would take us west through the Sound of Mull, pointing the bow for the Isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides. We approached Ardnamurchan point, mainland Britain’s most westerly point, and a gateway to Scotland’s northwest guarded by the towering Stevenson’s lighthouse. Rounding the headland by boat is a rite of passage, shrouded in nautical history and traditionally celebrated by fixing a sprig of white heather to the bow. Depending on the weather and tides here, the sailing conditions can be demanding as the narrow Sound of Mull meets the wide and exposed North Atlantic. These environmental conditions attract vast numbers of cetaceans to the area, with Minke Whales and common dolphins both showing up and accompanying us on passage.

Close-hauled across the Minch, we pressed on through the night to tie up in Stornoway before the arrival of a front. Bioluminescent algae flashed and sparked in our wake as we rode the swell, mimicking the stars overhead. Casting-off from Stornoway gave us enough northerly in our bearing, that it was a straight shot NE passage, rounding Cape Wrath to reach our 60°N destination. We quickly discovered Shetland’s rich cruising grounds, with endless anchorages devoid of other boats. It’s famously windy up here, but provided you have an effective reefing system there’s endless exploring to be done. We have been impressed with our Kemp Sails canvas, the heavy cloth holding up to cold and heavy winds. We regularly sail with a second reef if it’s to be over 20 knots, and the heavily reinforced reef points do a great job in maintaining a flat cut.

Shetland is the perfect launching point for high-latitude cruising, with the Norwegian coast or the Faroe Isles reachable within two days sailing. Naturally we began seeking distant horizons, and the early winds of June 2022 favoured a trip to the fjords of Norway. Broad-reaching across the North Sea in a SW F6, we realised the true potential of our Rival as a bluewater cruiser. The heavy displacement and swept bow make for an easy motion in a seaway, and a relatively dry deck.

We made landfall in Bergen after a respectful 36-hour crossing, and after catching up on sleep, made our way into the endless network of fjords that connect this nautical nation. Again, we had most anchorages to ourselves, and we explored by hiking, swimming and fishing from the boat. The deep and fast flowing, steep sided fjords conform to produce exciting training grounds with constant attention required to the wind direction. One drastic wind shift saw us douse the asymmetric spinnaker and haul the boom up for a close-hauled beat with no change to the compass bearing!

By a stroke of luck on our return trip to Shetland, a SE F6 was forecast and we enjoyed similar conditions to our trip over, averaging speeds of 7 knots at points. We snuck past towering oil rigs and made landfall on Shetland in thick, summer fog – after 39 hours at sea. Our season was far from over yet though, and in July we cast off for a dream destination in the North; Fair Isle. Famous amongst long-distant cruisers, Fair Isle is like the Azores of the North, offering respite to boats on eastern and western passages. We encountered some lively seas on our way down, as the strong south-going tide converged with big westerly swells. North Haven on Fair Isle provided us with welcome shelter in amongst boats on transit to Faroe and Norway, and we met an eclectic bunch of like-minded folks from France, Norway, Ireland, Faroe, Alaska and Scotland.

Sailing to Papa Stour in September was a polar opposite experience, as we had the remote island almost to ourselves – except the shirtless crofters on quad bikes and giant grey seals we shared the anchorage with. As Autumn arrived, we got out in heavier weather as much as we could, testing our newly installed inner forestay with a scrap of hanked-on jib. Since stepping the mast in December, we’ve hunkered down and kept the stove going aboard – planning for 2023’s adventure and installing safety gear. Our first destination in the spring is Lofoten, in Arctic Norway!

First of all, hello! We are Becka and Zach, a couple who saved with all their might for three years whilst living in Swansea, Wales, to finally buy their 1987 Colvic Victor 40 sailboat. Upon buying our boat, named Teulu (it’s a Welsh word- pronounced Tay-lee), we bunkered down in Plymouth in order to get her up to a liveaboard, around the world standard vessel.

They say that if you wait until your boat is 100% ready, you will never leave, and as we neared our departure date back in September, we felt that through and through. Our mizzen mast had only just been craned back on, solar panels, batteries, VHF aerials fitted and life raft back from service. That week was all go! But, on that day, we let the lines off and as we sailed out of the Plymouth sound, all the angst, worry and doubt of our readiness just drifted away with the swell passing under our hull.

It’s a pretty long story but the first trip out of Plymouth stayed just that, a trip out of Plymouth and back into a cosy anchorage in the Helford River near Falmouth. We were novices in weather planning and unfortunately for us, the gale that hit the Scillies head on, also hit us dead on the bow. Think breaking waves at all angles and 32 knots of wind. It wasn’t ideal, so turning back was the best decision for us in that moment. A few weeks later, with fresh minds and after a tonne of planning this time, we set off on our passage across the English Channel. The next morning, we arrived (actually too early!) at the entrance to the Channel du Four. This stretch of water was renowned for its multiple rocks, gushing currents and countless navigational markers so required meticulous planning and a good set of binoculars! A couple of hours later, we had flown down the channel, hitting 10 knots at times (the tide was 5 knots- but we will ignore that!). We cruised into Brest feeling incredibly proud that we had accomplished that section of water

However, it was a ‘no rest for the wicked’ moment, as after a trip to the customs office and a good nights sleep, we cracked on with boat jobs. On the channel crossing, we had noticed a section of wear in our port side genoa sheet so we hired some bikes and cycled to the chandlery to buy a new one and then popped to a supermarket to resupply our cupboards. A quick stop at the marina office to use their WIFI to check the weather, changed all of our plans as there was a gap in the weather to cross the Bay of Biscay.

However, we had to be quick as a large system was rolling in. ‘We leave today at 3pm’ we exclaimed, suddenly rather flustered at the prospect of leaving again after just arriving less than 24 hours prior! But, after finishing all our jobs and having a coffee (or two), we let go of the marina lines in Brest and set out on the first section of the Bay of Biscay crossing- the Raz du Sein.
This was a similar stretch of water to Channel du Four with the number of cardinal markers (these mark danger), rocks and extreme currents. But, having now had a ‘practice’ section the day before, we felt dab hands at it and we sailed happily down the fast section of water between the mainland and the tiny Ile de Sein island.

The first night was beautiful. We had a full moon, our whisker pole was out and our Kemp sails were full. There was a steady 15 knots of wind with small rolling waves. We read our books, listened to podcasts and by the time we knew it, it was the morning.

On this day, the weather picked up a little and the wind went from 15 knots, to 25 knots by 8pm in the evening. We reefed early, just after dinner and prepared ourselves, and Teulu, for the rolly night. With 1.7m waves every 6.8 seconds, our autopilot was struggling to keep up and we ended up hand steering a good amount of the night. Combined with the sound of our free-spinning prop (we have a hydraulic gearbox so this is our norm) it was hard to switch off and get any rest. A combination of seeing other boats fly along at 20 knots and the wind shifting resulting in us having to change course and head more towards Santander, it was a rather intense night and I think Zach would agree that we were both relieved to see the sun rise the following morning.

The sun showing its face and the water transforming from a medium grey to a rich blue, lifted our spirits and around 7pm the following day, we spotted land. Although the crossing had not been long, nor too strenuous, it was the most surreal and fulfilling moment when we realised we had successfully sailed our own boat from France to Spain, across one of the most dangerous sections of water in the world.

However, we weren’t out of the woods yet. When we were 20 miles offshore, with the glimmer of lights guiding us in, the weather took a turn for the worse. We had heard the gusts really pick up along the Northern Spanish coast so we reefed early but we were still incredibly heeled over when they hit. The seas were confused and we were being flung about as we approached Gijón. The heavy rain bought a lot of haze and turning into wind to drop our sails, felt like we were participating in a rodeo! However, with the motor on, we passed through the breakwater into the marina and tied the lines on.

Accompanied by loud music from a nearby nightclub, Zach and I stood on the pontoon, in awe (or shock?) that we had another 300 miles under our belt and a new country to explore.

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