Dover

Pea soup and traffic as tedious as in an airport... We sneak toward the harbor feeling our way as a blind man. The radar is our white cane, our faithful dog. We would never had attempted a landing in those conditions in this unknown harbour as busy as a modern airport without it. It would have been suicidal !

We feel like flying a little Cessna hovering above with the big jumbos jets waiting to sneak in between them at the order of the air controller. We have to call the harbor master, then wait at a certain point for his order to go in. Chased down by a holling demon blowing his siren in our ears, we have nearly time to turn hard to starboard toward the hidden coast when a brief tear in the fog speeds my beat heart. Just 300 meters from our bow the white glowing clay cliff (little sisters of Calais cliff) rise above us !! On top of that, really trying to give me a heart attack, the mighty ferry breaks the fog almost in our wake forcing us to veer again and race toward the deep (high water) shore.

As soon as we have the order, in between 2 ferrys we enter the harbor. The fog has disipated inside and the harbor is clear. Following a fellow british sail boat, we aim toward the marina where we find the fuel dock. We came in with the coming tide and moored to the dock at slack water to leave less than 45 minutes later with the uncoming tide. Good because Röde orm is easier to handle this way. No time lost, we leave toward the west entrance acting like old local salts now that we know the procedure ! But no need to be cocky, mister fog is waiting for us a few miles off the harbor swallowing us in his smoky mouth. But there is enough breeze downwind to hoist the booster only and make way giving a rest (not needed according to the Yanmar doctor) to the engine. Well it is a rest for the cruising kitty anyway... sailing will be slower but cheaper. However knowing that we can run the engine during 60 hours make us feel better under the late conditions of heavy fog in between this constant heavy shipping lines.