Chapter 24 Along the Saxon Way
For once the August bank holiday started with perfect weather. High water at Heybridge on Saturday was at 1039 hrs by which time the little gaff cutter Shoal Waters was gliding past Osea Island in the light northwest breeze ready to take full advantage of the ebb to get clear of the river before the noise boys arrived to take over for the weekend. The forecast was for light northerly winds and I planned to cross the Thames Estuary to visit Kent. The Buxey Sand is a major obstacle with a choice of the Spitway to the north or the drying Ray Sand Channel to the south, but as a result of some amateur survey work, I reckoned that I could slip across the sand, south of the Buxey Beacon, to the Whitaker Channel. Today it was busy with racing yachts for this was the start of Burnham Week. From there we carried on across the Foulness Sands rather than go right out to the outer edge, which is seven miles from the nearest seawall on Foulness Island. I admit we didn’t use much plate but the Northeast Maplin Bell Buoy beckoned and the sands slope very regularly so deeper water was always available away to port. The Swin was the busiest that I have ever seen it but most craft were under motor as the wind grew ever lighter and veered slowly. I sounded along the edge of the West Barrow Sand to dodge the ebb tide as much as possible but it became increasingly obvious that I could not reach the North Foreland before the westbound flood tide set in, so I settled for the East Swale. As I wanted try again on the Sunday morning ebb, we glided along between the Isle of Harty and the great bulk of the Horse Sand to run ashore just west of the old wooden wreck so that we dried out overnight, the sure way to get a good nights sleep in a small shallow draft boat.
The forecast for Sunday was for very light winds. We left with the topsail and ghoster to ease our way over the last of the flood. Progress was painfully slow along the Roman Coast. If only they had kept the River Wensom dredged so that we could slip south beyond the twin towers at Recluvers and inside the Isle of Thannet as the Romans did two thousand years ago! I settled on 1700 hrs as the time for decision. If we had covered the twenty miles to the Longnose Buoy, we would have another three hours of fair tide, if not, it would be back to the Swale with the westbound flood. Anyway, the sun shone and life seemed good. A useful breeze came in from the north for a while and trip seemed to be in the bag but then it went easterly and our fellow travellers switched on their motors, leaving us to beat slowly, Oh! so slowly, past Margate. Anyway there was plenty to watch. I have never seen this area so busy. Many craft were bound south but even more were rounding the Foreland to catch the early evening ebb into the Thames. Even the very tip of the normally hostile, Longnose rocks were graced with a party of venturesome walkers. In fact we rounded the buoy at 1600hrs but it was flat calm by now. Using the tide wind, I steered east to get well clear of the rocky shore as it opened out to the south and Margate Pier reluctantly bid us farewell. When the wind did come, it came from just east of south. The topsail soon came down and the seas mounted quickly so that we had to put in one reef. Joy decided to lie down inside rather than struggle into oilskins as Broadstairs and then Ramsgate came into view while the spray began to fly.
Suddenly I could ease the sheets for the Power Station at Richborough and the GBS buoy at the mouth of the River Stour. The spray flew even harder for a time until we reached the shelter of the extensive mudflats for we were early on our tide. I had to sound hard to find the channel until I reached the line of buoys and the triangular beacon, which I noticed is being replaced by a new one nearer the channel but they hadn’t transferred the light yet. From then on the banks rise steeply with pole beacons on every bend. Some are already being undermined while others stand well back on the high sand showing that the river is constantly changing its course across the wide flats. A unique feature here is the reflective spinners on all marks. A powerful spotlight seems to the thing here for night navigation. I had no stomach for tacking along the winding river to Sandwich in the dark so we settled for the inside of a wide bend just north of the old train ferry terminal and anchored for the night. The river here is cutting into the eastern bank and silting up the western side, which gave us a flat area on which to dry.
Monday was just perfect, mist, sun and then wind from the north. We wound our way into Sandwich to join the Old Gaffers Rally and all the fun of the fair in the quaint old town. Of particular interest was an exhibition of the port of Richborough in the latter years of the First World War when it was second only to the port of Dover for servicing the army in France. Tanks and other vehicles sailed on the worlds` first sea going train ferries. The turn round time was twentyfive minutes. On the sixteen hundred yard long wharf, six mobile electric cranes, the first in England, loaded lighters built in the many boat yards on site, to be towed across the Channel and small enough to go into the French canal system. There were fiftysix miles of railway sidings. The massive gantry, which served the three train ferries is still standing but forty miles away at Harwich where it became part of the Harwich to Hook of Holland train ferry service until well after the Second World War. The forecast for Tuesday was northeast and I determined to make the best of it. This is one of those places where the tidal current continues to run out long after low water while the level rises quickly up the ancient stonework of the bridge. I watched carefully as darkness closed in and with the mast down, began to pole upstream as soon as it eased at 2215 hrs. A couple of hours later we were clear of the industrial area and through the railway bridge out onto the marshes of the national footpath called the Saxon Way. The moon was nearly full and I couldn’t resist sailing for another mile or so before anchoring for the night close into the northern bank in an area reminiscent of the Norfolk Broads.
Tuesday came in clear with wind from the north. We enjoyed a fine sail over the ebb to Plucks Gutter, the first bridge and with a bit of hard poling on a couple of short windward stretches, reached the second at Grove Ferry by low water. On the way we noted the southern end of the River Wensum, now just a drain. There are moored craft along both banks below the bridge. As we rounded the last bend ready to shoot the bridge, we found ourselves face to face with a large tripper boat. We hung onto one of the smaller, narrower moored craft as he squeezed by. The river trends south of west here; the wind had gone east of north, and in glorious weather we had a fine sail through luxuriant country on to Fordwich, the old port of Canterbury, by mid afternoon. There are extensive lakes on each side but all except one have been blocked off from the river. The one that is open is very shallow indeed, less than a foot deep at low water. Mile by mile the water gets cleaner until one can see the bottom at six feet and shoals of fish among the waving weeds. Last time we were here, the chef at the Fordwich Arms pub claimed the have had a fresh caught trout cooked and onto a customers` plate in twenty minutes after being pulled out of the water. Issac Walton in his 1676 `Complete Angler` praises the `Fordidge trout` and their fighting qualities.
Wednesday came in fine with light airs. At 1000 hrs we reluctantly set out for home, quanting and paddling slowly with the strong current as we revelled in the sheer beauty of the luxuriant vegetation and wild life, including a fine herd of red Sussex cattle clustered round an enormous bull, all laying down chewing the cud. I nervously approached them to get a colour slide and then realised that they were the other side of a drain so was able to go about my business free from fear. Just above Grove Ferry we met the flood tide and moored up against the bank for a meal and an afternoon nap in the scorching sunshine. So far from the sea, the flood only lasts about four hours and at teatime we slipped under the bridge with the first of the ebb. As we raised the mast, the local tripper boat came round the bend; exactly where we had met her before! Once clear of the moorings and local fisherman, we sailed slowly but the sun had set by the time we ducked again at Plucks Gutter. The ebb was faster now and I drifted on with a wonderful afterglow behind us and a full moon rising ahead. Once the wind had gone for good, we lowered the sails and put up the tent, keeping the vessel in midstream with occasional touches with the paddle on the starboard side. As the afterglow died and mist began to rise over the water and marshes, Joy turned in but I held on for another couple of miles, drifting in perfect silence, to anchor (complete with anchor light) for the night close to the northern bank just above the rail bridge. The advantage of anchoring is that the boat swings with the tide when the ebb sets in and thus acts as a sort of alarm clock. I had expected fog but it was as clear as a bell when I got under way at 0430 hrs to paddle with the tide to Sandwich. Now the water was thick with rich brown mud but large fish regularly jumped out of the way, probably grey mullet. I changed to the quant for it was shallower now, which enabled me to push along as hard as possible in order to carry the ebb to the river mouth where we anchored at 0900 hrs. By this time the wind had come in from the northwest and we were able to sail the last mile or two.
All we had to do now was to get round the North Foreland before the tide set in southerly for it runs up to three knots here. With northerly winds forecast, a fair tide was essential. High water Dover was at 1240 hrs and that most essential and long lasting document the Thames Estuary Pocket Tidal Atlas, told me that it would turn north half an hour before. Accordingly I planed to leave at 1100 hrs, ample time to cover the two miles of mud flats across Pegwell Bay, but the speed of the flood tide spurred me on to leave at 1030hrs complete with topsail for a hectic broad reach out of the river. Once into deep water, the topsail came down. It was a wild beat past Ramsgate and Broadstairs but this was acceptable, as it should mean that I could point westward along the North Kent coast once round the North Foreland. The snag of this journey is that any craft using the fair tide north will only have a couple of hours of west bound tide before meeting the ebb out of the Thames. As the wind rose, we pulled down one reef and had a rare old rough and tumble past the Longnose Buoy. In the shelter of the eight mile long Margate Sand, things calmed down and at the end of the afternoon we anchored just above Harty ferry at low water. On Friday we took it easy with a morning walk to Oare village and on up to Faversham for shopping as soon as there was enough water. After dark we took the flood to Elmley Island and moved on at half ebb to pass under the giant bridge at Kingsferry into the River Medway ready to cross to Essex. On Saturday in a brisk northerly we crossed the Thames and crept into one of the many rills that drain the extensive sands off Shoeburyness, finding crystal clear water where we anchored to wait for the afternoon tide to take us over the sands to Havengore. The only blemish on a perfect holiday was that it was the day of the cricket cup final. Essex batted first and dismissed the opposition for just over a hundred runs. We anchored in warm sunshine to enjoy listening to Essex win easily but our joy faded as they were bowled out for well under a hundred.
