Secret Waters

In all of our seven and a half weeks on board we have had none of the archetypal days at anchor, reading books and blissfully lazing. We had a schedule to meet. Until today, that is. We arrived yesterday in the Walton Backwaters of Essex, made famous by Arthur Ransome's book 'Secret Waters' and Nic yearned for some time pottering around the shallow creeks in our rubber dinghy, replaying the adventures of the children in the story.

We've been at anchor for more than 24 hours. Low water has come and gone - with water beneath our keel a healthy 0.7 metres at the mimimum, so we've stopped worrying about going aground. Time to break out the dinghy. It takes a while to wrestle it on to the foredeck and blow the darn thing up with the foot pump, section by section. Then we manoevure it carefully over the side (tied on securely) and Lesley descends into the dinghy to receive the outboard handed to her by Nic, plus the grab bag with portable VHF, mobiles with chart data loaded on them, water and oatcakes in case we get stranded. 

There's a certain lump in your throat when you get in a dinghy and see your yacht receding into the distance. She looks so big and safe and reliable, as you chug away from her into racing tides and possibly dodgy weather. Yesterday we saw two dinghy-loads of people overcome by fierce squalls and a rainstorm. They were pushed on to the mudbanks by the wind and thoroughly drenched. It took them ages to shove the boats off using wooden oars. 

Today the weather was kinder, and we went out at around high water, although there were still one or two knots of tide flowing. The sun was warm and our little old outboard started up at the first pull. Nic steered us over to Bramble Creek, where we had earlier seen a group of seals basking, from afar. Now they were in the water, so we cut the engine and drifted, as we didn't want to disturb them. 

One by one, inquisitive heads bobbed up around us, including a mother and baby, with dark eyes popping, necks straining to see what we were about. The seals are a strange foxy red colour, apparently because their fur is dyed by iron oxide from the rich mud of the Backwaters. We rowed away from them quietly and carefully, before starting the motor and departing.

There are numerous small creeks and byways to explore, with only the occasional yacht or motor boat for company. We also wanted to get a few shots of SIRENA IV from the water, and Nic did just that as Lesley steered in circles around the boat. 

Then came the whole palava of getting back on the yacht, hauling the dinghy on board, using the pump to remove air from it and stowing everything. During that process we looked up and saw a surprising sight - a  huge red and black cargo ship chugging towards us, from Bramble Creek. The pilot book says there's an explosives factory down there, and sometimes its supply-ships come and go down the creek. We were glad it hadn't turned up while we drifted around happily with the seals.