Coals to Newcastle continued

Unfortunately the pain in my ribs prevented the sound sleep I needed and I was late getting out next morning. The 0030 hrs forecast was N 4/5. The tide ebbed from 0300 hrs and I ought to have left then but it was 0525 hrs before I looked out to find a light wind west of northwest. Twenty minutes later I was under way, crossing the bar at 0555hrs and heading for the flash of Orfordness lighthouse just visible in the cold grey light of a reluctant dawn. The sea had smoothed out and the wind was about the top of force two. She went like a train under full working sail and I toyed with the idea of setting the topsail but guessed, correctly, that there would soon be more. The sky was half cloud but no sun found its way through. The 0630 hrs forecast gave N 4/5, veering NE. I made a thick cup of Horlicks and settled back to enjoy some fine sailing. By 0650 hrs the entrance leading marks to the river Ore were in line and Orfordness was abeam just over an hour later. To my delight, I found that I could point the course along past Aldeburgh. The water was smooth here in spite of the rising wind but of course the tide would soon turn against me. At 0845 hrs the large Martello tower south of the town drew abeam and off Thorpness at 0945 hrs a warm sun came out for a spell lightening up a charming little hamlet. In the shelter of the buildings I brewed up and had another snack. It is very shallow north of the hamlet and I had to get well offshore, meeting more tide but having more wind with which to sail over it. This was the pattern up the coast, light airs in the shelter of the crumbling cliffs driving me out into the tide while the marshy coastline at Minsmere and north of Dunwhich enabled me to close the shore to dodge the tide and make better progress. The power station at Sizewell went by at 1010 hrs during a rainstorm while determined holiday makers sat on the beach making the best of it. By Dunwich at 1125 hrs, the entrance to Southwold harbour was clearly visible and the sheets could be freed as the coast swung more easterly. I considered pressing on to Lowestoft while the wind served but was anxious for a hot meal and welcomed a chance to visit Southwold again after so many years. It is a fearsome place and as the entrance drew near I almost changed my mind when I saw the white surf breaking on the north pierhead. The first section of the southern pierhead is merely piles with the tide sweeping through them and across the narrow channel towards the north pier. Further in where it becomes solid, a shingle bank has formed. Add a head wind, several knots of tide, a fisherman who expects boats to go round his line and you have all the ingredients for a few exciting moments. The river widens out among mudflats and saltings lined with mooring stages. The obvious place for lunch was one of the line of mooring buoys in mid stream. For this I use a `grabbit` boat hook from the cockpit attached to a line leading through a bow fairlead to the Sampson post. In this strong tide it would need smart work with the hook as the buoy flashed by. I furled the jib, got the plate up and lunged for the first buoy; missed, lowered the plate, unrolled the jib and tried for the next buoy. This time I furled the jib but forgot the plate, clipped onto the buoy but was late chucking helm over to make the vessel swing away from the line. The result was that the line from the bow passed under the boat behind the plate making it impossible to raise. Shoal Waters heeled beam on to the racing tide, swung back and forth madly as I stowed the mainsail. Help arrived in the shape of the harbour master in his little clinker motorboat. He tried to push the stern round and after several attempts go the line jammed between his transom and his rudder, leaving the two vessels dancing in the strong current locked together in an embrace, which was positively indecent. It goes to prove my theory that while newcomers can get into some amusing scrapes, it takes long experience to get into a real mess and that two experts can always do better than one on his own. Fortunately no camera was to hand onshore! Eventually I got a rolling hitch onto the buoy line for a stopper to take the strain while we sorted things out in time for lunch and the 1400hrs forecast; NW 4/5 going NE. In fact the afternoon was a mixture of sunny calms and violent rainstorms. By 1905 hrs I was moored up in Lowestoft and bedding down for some sleep. I was now at the easternmost part of England. The wind had my permission to go easterly as long as there wasn’t too much of it.

The 0030 hrs forecast gave Humber NE 4/5. Bearing in mind the calms of the previous afternoon and subsequent smooth seas, it should be possible to slip round to Blakeney. To take advantage of the ebb tide I would have to leave at 0200 or 1400 hrs. I am always in favour of an early start as this would meaning passing a well lit coast in the dark and having plenty of daylight for the tricky sandy havens ahead. If I waited for the afternoon ebb, I would arrive on the dangerous North Norfolk coast in the dark so I turned out at 0120 hrs feeling strangely enthusiastic. As I changed the jib and close reefed the mainsail (it is so easy to shake out a reef if it is not needed), a steady drizzle was falling through a light breeze from due east. Beyond the red and green lights on the harbour entrance, the night looked black and frightening. Nothing stirred in the harbour except an occasional seagull swooping through the beams of light thrown by the lights on top of the silent wharves. It was just 0200hrs as I slipped the buoy and glided to the entrance. Ten minutes later I passed between the pierheads and out into the night for a few minutes on port tack steering southeast and then round onto starboard tack as the town lights opened out north beyond the high harbour walls. Then I freed the sheets a little and she began to hurry along. The revolving light on Lowestoft lighthouse lit me up regularly every fifteen seconds, in one instance catching a wave shattering into spray several feet above the bows. Then came rain and more rain. The necklace of lights along the shore rose a little along the cliffs of Gorleston, dipped down to the red and green lights of Yarmouth harbour entrance (0330 hrs), carried on level for the town and then turned deep yellow for Caister. Eastwards a line of red flashing buoys kept me off the Scroby Sands. It was just getting light at 0500hrs as I reached the Whistle buoy at the seaward end of the inshore channel and a few moments later caught my first sight of Haisborough light struggling through the haze. Now the coast was falling away to leeward and I could free the sheets progressively. The wind gradually hardened and sent the little boat boiling along flat out for Blakeney. At six in the morning a red sun came up behind a bank of mist and I noted that the sky above had faint traces of blue, the hint of a warm sunny day at last.

The wind seemed to have settled just north of east but was rising too much for my peace of mind. There was no point in getting the 0630 hrs forecast for there was nothing that I could do now but press on. She was clearly running too fast, becoming hard to steer and causing some waves to break alarmingly. I considered running under jib only, but that would slow her too much. High water at Blakeney was a ten o’clock and I hoped to be there by noon before the tide over the sands dropped too much. Bacton of North Sea Gas fame passed at 0700 hrs and an hour later the question was solved for me when she sheered to windward on the face of a wave and several buckets of water poured into the cockpit over the lee coamings. I hardened the topping lift, which is led aft to the after end of the cabintop, lowered the gaff jaws onto the boom and ran on like that. It was much more comfortable but my speed was gone and the fair tide was almost done. Soon there would be two knots against me. It was a long slow trip past Cromer, dull and gloomy in the haze at 0845 hrs and Sherringham seemed that it would never come abeam. In fact the three and a half miles only took an hour!

Then progress seemed to improve, perhaps more wind or perhaps just the cheering effect of the sun breaking through. The cliffs gave way to sand dunes and I began to wonder about the surf on Blakeney Bar. My three charts each showed different plans of the entrance. The seas were bad enough out here. Visions of what would happen when they started to break in shallow water kept me well offshore. By this time my course was nearly due west and she steered much easier on this bearing. I looked in vain for the entrance buoy but it was hopeless for it was somewhere towards the strong sunlight and is a green wreck buoy so it doesn’t show up at all well. The end of the sand dunes drew abeam and began to drop astern. When should I begin to turn in? At least with these high waves I got a good view of the coast when I was on top of one! About a mile beyond the sand dunes I tried to come about twice but failed so I gybed and found that the tiny mainsail came over easily, enabling me to steer south into sunny seas. Away to port, surf at least twelve feet high rolled inshore but it looked smoother ahead to starboard. I gybed back and headed more westerly and then decided that the best water seemed to be just east of south and gybed again to try my luck. Gleaming yellow sand ahead and surf fringed sands on either hand. Suddenly the boat seemed to stop dead, thinking she was aground, I pulled the up the plate, assuming that the lifting rudder had looked after itself and glanced astern to see an advancing wall of gleaming white surf with several others in support. I expected that the boat would fill in a moment but at least I could walk ashore to safety. Shoal Waters lifted and surged forward, seemingly jet propelled for seconds or minutes (who looks at a watch in these circumstances?), but not a drop of water came on board. Suddenly I was in smooth clear water some four feet deep. The drop rudder was still right down showing that I couldn’t have touched the sand. Presumably the sensation of stopping must have been caused by the boat meeting the tide pouring off the sand together with the recoil from the wave. I raised the gaff jaws of the reefed mainsail and rippled happily along in the narrowing bight of water with brilliantly yellow sands closing in on either hand.

Away to port, the main entrance channel gleamed in the sunlight. Could I find my way through to join it? Suddenly it occurred to me that I had no wish to do so and rounded up into the wind letting the bows slide into the soft sand. The sail rattled down, the kettle went on and I bailed with the sponge. Only my feet were wet. Gosh, that gleaming golden sand looked lovely!I was soon over the side paddling and digging my toes into the soft sand oblivious of the cold. By 1330 hrs bacon was cackling in the pan as the last of the crystal clear water left the boat and went gurgling away towards the line of blue sea beyond the thundering surf. From the chart I appeared to be at spot called `Hammonds Wreck` and the falling tide revealed some wreckage nearby. Eastward, towards the sand dunes, the main channel gleamed jade green with flecks of white. A hundred and fifty yards away, a dozen seals basked in the sun with a much bigger herd nearer the entrance. Birds of all sorts scoured the sand and pools as eager for lunch as I was. The radio churned out family favourites. With the boat head to wind, the cabin was warm and snug. It was a very happy moment.

Later on, after a nap, I donned a duffle coat and walked to the entrance. It is a wild spot with a few bones of the wreck just visible at low water. At dusk when Shoal Waters floated I moved into the sheltered pool called The Pit to anchor for the night ready to go up to Blakeney Quay at high water on Monday to arrange to leave the boat for three weeks.