Early morning back down Southpool creek

Plop - splash - bump.  

There it was again a few seconds later - plop-splash-bump. 

My befuddled brain tried to make sense of the sounds and movement. Rationality slowly returned as sleeping brain neurons began to fire. Plop - mullet tail hitting the water. Splash, mullet broaching at the surface. Bump - Arwen's fender gently bouncing off the pontoon. 

It all coalesced to mean one thing - the morning tide had come back in and Arwen was now afloat once more. 

It had been a peaceful night alongside the pontoon. At 0240 I'd stuck my head out of the cockpit tarp tent to admire the night skies, bright stars and cloudless skies. Despite our unusual June high daytime temperatures, the chilly night air sent me scurrying back to the warmth of my 4 season Rab down sleeping bag. The most treasured of all possessions. Old, bought in 1982, stained by cups of tea splashes, it has seen me through Alpine expeditions, wilderness camps in our UK highlands, travels across East and West Africa and countless other worldwide trips and adventures over the years. Teamed with its partner, an early, first generation gortex bivvy bag, of a similar age, I'm covered for most situations.

Dawn came quickly, its golden light seeping through the white tarp from the east and painting early morning clouds in peachy hues. Condensation lining the inside of the tarp overnight brushed against my back as I moved around getting dressed, resulting in a damp shirt. A splash proof fleece Gilet solved that problem. 

0500 and the tide has silently crept in during the early mornings with a soap sud surface

Over the last hour or so, Arwen had gently lifted off her muddy overnight berth, her movement betrayed by the odd bump alongside the pontoon and she now provided shade, shelter and sanctuary once more to a small shoal of creek grey mullet.

Quickly dressed, sleeping bag, bivvy bag and blankets were packed away in their roll top bags to be stored back in the under fore-deck locker. The plywood sleeping platform was collapsed and returned to the port side cockpit floor and the aft end of the tarp tent was rolled back to reveal the chilly morning scenery.  The sun was just rising, the sky and landscape, an illuminated watercolour, by a changing palate of colours, pinks, oranges and peaches. A landscape watercolour, a perfectly mirrored reflection in the calm, still tidal creek waters. The morning dawn chorus provided a fabulous soundtrack to this stunning landscape artistry. 

The sun slowly climbing in the early morning sky 

Still chilly, I retrieved a lightweight fleece blanket and used it as a wrap over my shoulders and back. The alternative, a heavy red foulie in the port centre locker - was too heavy and bulky for easy movement. It didn't look pretty but who cares. There was no one around to critique my sartorial choices this morning. 

As the first of the sun's golden tendrils crept across Arwen's cockpit, things warmed a little and over the next twenty minutes, the galley box was opened, the trangia stove lit and water boiled for tea and porridge. What more civilised breakfast mean can there be than porridge with sprinkled cinnamon, sultanas, brown sugar and chopped apple? Served piping hot - truly delicious. A few custard cream biscuits along with a banana - the result - a full belly and contented skipper. 

Proof, if it were needed at all, that dinghy cruising isn't as spartan an activity as people assume. Yes it is a simple approach, yes it can be minimalist; but, unlike expeditioning and camping, a little more can be carried - scatter cushions, blankets, some nice food rations - it all leads to a civilised ambience. 

As the sun rose higher over the low hills and the creeping waters lapped gently against Arwen's hull, a 'golden pathway' fell across the creek surface, punctuated and rippled only by the wildfowl stretched their wings to gain warmth after the cool night. With high tide at 0640 and risk of grounding an hour after this, there was just enough time to stroll the pontoon, say good morning to geese and swans and reflect on the day's sailing plans. 

A little bit of rowing and then some very slow and quiet motoring with the sun rising behind

In the distance Salcombe appears through the gap

A quick check that all was stowed correctly. One last look around and appreciation of the tranquil scene. 

With no wind whatsoever, options for departure were simple - rowing or outboard. At 0715, lines were cast off, coiled and thrown inboard, making sure that the bow lines went on the outside of the shrouds before being stowed on the front thwart.  I paddled Arwen clear of the pontoon and the tide, already turned, carried us gently downriver; the occasional paddle stroke correcting course direction. For a while, I changed to oars but extended rowing of Arwen becomes uncomfortable. Her current oars are only 8'6" long, at least a foot too short and I sit on a cushion that rests on the aft end of the centre case top - not the best of positions.  

looking up one of the tributary creeks

Approaching the outer Salcombe mooring trots by East Portlemouth

After half a mile, just as the narrows opened into the wider creek at the confluence, I switched to outboard and gently motored at lowest revs the remaining mile back to the Whitestrand pontoon, tying up just in time for a very early coffee at Captain Morgan's cafe on the town quayside. The early morning regulars had arrived, sitting at the benches, poring over newspapers and swapping stories from yesterday.  I found a bench, sat awhile and pondered the day's sailing options. 

An exceptionally rare occurrence - an empty Whitestrand pontoon at the town centre 

A quiet Salcombe, an empty quayside - time to sit and reflect and plan the day's voyage.