Last leg

Kingsferry Bridge open for us

The last 15 miles then, of our clockwise journey halfway round the UK from Lancs to Kent, by husband & wife co-skippers in our Nicholson 35.  Down the narrow, winding Swale, through the lifting bridge (where we had to wait 50 minutes after just missing a lift), through Queenborough and out along the Medway.  It would have been nice to sail the last stretch but, guess what: F4-5 on the nose, and we had to reach Gillingham before the tide dropped too low.

Home!

So here we are back at Gillingham Marina, where we had our Jaguar 25 in 2010 and 2011.

Some overall trip statistics:

49 days (+10 days weather bound before starting)
1,170 nautical miles
200 engine hours (more than we would have liked!)
379 litres diesel (includes much heating in first 5 wks)

Our travels are far from over - the plan for the big trip next year is going west all the way along the south coast to the Scilly Isles.

Pantheon of heroes

Tomorrow is the end of this trip, and today is sitting quietly on a buoy behind the Isle of Sheppey with 1,150 nautical miles under our belt, and taking stock a little (as well as making plans for returning to land).

There are a number of individuals who went out of their way to be helpful, and without whom we might not be here today.

Fleetwood: Bruno & Denno aka Compass Marine Ltd of Garstang, for fitting in work on our boat around their already full schedule - including evenings & weekends - and shinning up our mast to fit a new wind indicator at a moment's notice.

Fleetwood: Adam aka Silvercrest, for sourcing new batteries the same day, despite there being a severe shortage due to everyone going to their boats & caravans for the first time this year.

Glenarm: Billy the harbourmaster, for catching our lines, advice on many things including bus times to the Giant's Causeway, moving us to a less bouncy berth, and best of all finding us a company to repair our hatch before we'd even staggered back into his harbour.

Glenarm: Steven at Red Bay Boats who came to Glenarm the same day on his way home, armed with sealant, and helped us re-seal the main hatch which had been leaking badly.

Caledonian Canal: the Lock-Keepers for being constantly cheerful and helpful, despite being asked the same questions no doubt by hundreds of boats.

Eyemouth: Jim Scott of Coastal Marine Boatbuilders and his man with the oxy-acetylene torch who repaired our raw-water copper pipe within 15 minutes of us turning up at their yard with broken pipe in hand and sad faces.

North Shields to Lowestoft: Lesley's cousin David who came for sailing and especially the 24-hour cruise from Grimsby to Lowestoft, and got 95% motor-sailing plus a F7-8 approaching Lowestoft, and still was smiling all the time.

Brightlingsea: the harbourmaster & team for their cheerful assistance with berthing and water taxis.

Finally ... SIRENA IV, and we cannot put it better than the last sentence in Eric Hiscock's book about his third round-world trip "increased affection and respect for the fine little ship which had done all that we had asked of her".

Estuary tales

Crossing the Thames Estuary can be a big deal in hairy conditions- so there's always a frisson of excitement when you set off. We left Burnham-on-Crouch at 1000, coincidentally at the same time as a large police launch and his three outriders, black high-speed inflatables crewed by black-clad marine police. It looked like SIRENA IV was either being escorted like a VIP, or arrested. 

They soon roared off in a cloud of spray when we reached the main channel, heading for who-knows-what watery law enforcement. The wind was behind us so we had a lovely sail with the foresail billowing out in a warm breeze, fourteen miles out of the Crouch into the shallow waters of the Estuary. Here there are many dangerous sandbanks on which countless boats have come to grief, but thanks to large buoys which mark the safe routes, it should be straightforward (in good weather conditions and with carefully planned tides) 

Loud explosions and huge palls of smoke aren't what you expect when helming a yacht. Lesley's startle reflex being 11 on the Richter scale, she nearly jumped out of her skin. At first we thought the police had found themselves a properly big incident, but no, we'd forgotten the firing range sited in this area.

Harty Ferry

After a spell of motoring (we were directly pointing into the wind and there wasn't enough deep water to tack, and by deep I mean 4 metres) we were able to sail south on a beam reach, in a Force 4 from the west, with SIRENA stretching her legs at more than 6 knots. At one point a chunky container ship bore down on us near the eerie Red Sand fort (a strange concoction on stilts) and we had to take avoiding action, even though we were sailing. The lowest depth we saw was just five feet under our keel, and that was four miles out in the middle of that huge expanse of water. 

Other boats on the moorings in the Swale

Finally we got close to Whitstable and turned right into the Swale which runs south of the Isle of Sheppey. Soon we were dropping the sails and picking up a buoy at Harty Ferry. It had been a very smooth passage despite shallow water and unexpected explosions.         
  

Moitessier effect

A quiet day in Burnham on Crouch.  The yacht harbour marina is huge and generally well organised, the only disappointment being that the showers ran cold.

After a porridge breakfast, hosing down the boat, fixing the anchor pin, filling the water bottles, doing the engine checks, passage planning for tomorrow and generally tidying up ... we walked the 15 minutes from the yacht harbour into Burnham.  Lunch in the Royal Burnham Yacht Club gave us a splendid view of the wide river and the many boats sailing to and fro.  There happened to be an 'Art Trail' this w/e, so when we came across them we inspected and critiqued various paintings.  We even found a tiny charity shop that was open.  Then a light food shop for the last 3 days, ice creams to celebrate the very sunny (and windy) day, and back to the boat for some serious lazing.

Reading the Sunday paper caught us up on Wimbledon at least - we need to know a bit about the women as we have tickets for the women's final on Centre Court next Saturday.  On other news, well there didn't seem to be much - summer must be here.

As we near home the Moitessier effect is setting in a little bit.  Bernard Moitessier was in the first single-handed, non-stop, sailing race around the globe in 1968, and instead of finishing he just kept sailing and went half-way round the world again before stopping at Tahiti.  Other long distance sailors, notably Ellen MacArthur, have talked about wanting to just keep sailing rather than re-enter society. Not that we are in that league of course ... it's just that a tiny voice is whispering "why not turn left and just keep going!".  We won't of course - work, friends and home are calling us back to real life.

Crabbing

Brightlingsea this morning was dank and unpromising, after a night of rain. We took a water taxi from the pontoons on the river over to the harbour jetty for a wander and a coffee with free Wifi. There was a fisherman in yellow oilies selling fresh fish from his van on the jetty, so we bought dressed crab for our lunch.

We couldn't leave Brightlingsea until there was at least a metre of water under our keel as it's pretty shallow getting out of the channel there and into the main River Colne. The tide times meant we couldn't depart until one-thirty and by twelve, the day suddenly transformed. Sun broke through the low cloud and all was dry and warm. Sitting in SIRENA's cockpit we had a fantastic view of this busy harbour on a summer Saturday, with children sailing Topper dinghies, a bunch of venerable smacks and gaffers racing, and any number of yachts and motorboats cruising past. All that, and a delicious crab feast in the fresh air. 

The journey to Burnham-on-Crouch, when it came, also involved crabbing - across strong tides. You point the boat's nose in what looks like the wrong direction in order to compensate for the tide pushing you. There was little wind, so it was a day of motoring from buoy to buoy, in a zigzag route around potentially dangerous sandbanks - hard sand that can break boats. The shallowest bit is the Swin Spitway, and today the least depth under our keel was 3.3m in calm conditions. The first time we crossed it, several years ago in our previous boat, was another matter. Half the depth, in big winds and waves; a very scary initiation.

 After a very straightforward journey we arrived at Burnham, which is a handsome town and another yachtie's paradise.  We efficiently moored up in the enormous yacht harbour, completed the normal arrival tasks, helped a Dutch man with his route plan to Ramsgate, and devoured an excellent bean salad.  Unfortunately the harbour restaurant was having a Grease Tribute night, so no drinks for us - fortunately our mooring is far enough away that we can't hear it.

Old Haunts

A grey day dawned on Walton Backwaters and we rose from our pit at 0600 in order to 
leave on the ebb before it dropped too low; the shallowest part of leaving the  Backwaters is about a mile out to sea where there is a vast expanse with only 1m depth at low tide.  One follows the line of buoys with great attention.  We had calculated we could leave any time up to 0800, but by 0700 we were ready, so raised the anchor, sluiced off the mud (apart from the bit that somehow found its way onto the foredeck, oh and my trousers, and my hands) and headed out with the tide.  Rather to our surprise, we had a lot less water than expected - only 0.7m rather than the 1.9m our tidal curve calculations (double-checked) gave us.  Good job we didn't come an hour later!


Then it was up with the sails, close-hauled into a WSW F3 and engine off - bliss.  We left in the one reef we had from the last passage down to Shotley, because the forecast said F5 and we didn't feel like full-on exercise. Once past Walton pier we were beating down the Wallet, between the Gunfleet Sands windfarm and the Essex shoreline; with tide against initially it was a slow process, then as the tide switched to the flood in our favour the tacks were around 75 degrees, much more efficient.  There were plenty of other yachts around, and no commercial traffic as this whole area is shallow, btw 2m and 10m.

The day stayed grey, and the rain settled in, yet this did not diminish the pleasure of sailing in F3-4 on flat water - with 7 rolls in the foresail and one reef in the main she is well balanced and steers herself with the occasional nudge from the helm.  Despite her weight and the reefs we were getting over 3kn in 10kn of wind.

Arrival in Brightlingsea is a careful process, even on a rising tide, because there's a narrow curving channel to be followed.  Then the cheerful harbourmaster appears in his launch and guides us to our place on the visitor's pontoon - the space is very narrow to turn round, however turning to starboard using reverse (propwalk to port) and the bow thruster turns her 'on a sixpence'.  The pontoons are mid-river, and the harbourmaster also provides an 'on demand' ferry service; we went ashore for showers, shopping and a coffee in a cafe.  Brightlingsea was a Cinque Port in its heyday, is charming and old-fashioned and incredibly boaty - every garden seems to have a dinghy or two, and there are beautiful old sailing smacks restored to their former glory.  The only thing against B'sea is that there's no mobile broadband, and we didn't discover the pretty little cafe-with-wifi behind the waterfront until too late - hence this blog posted a day late.

nose to nose with a Nicholson 40

Back to the boat to cook supper and we made 2 of those 'small world' discoveries: another visiting yacht, with a cat onboard, was from Gillingham (where we are headed as our new home) and knew our friends there; and we were tied up bow to bow with the very same Nicholson 40 that we saw here 2 years ago, when visited onboard and had our longing to own a Nicholson re-confirmed ... and here we are.

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.

Commencing re-entry

Today was a strange one in some ways.  For various reasons we felt the impacts of the world outside our little floating bubble.

goodbye Shotley

The day started normally enough, and in a rather leisurely fashion.  The showers at Shotley are ... well, avoiding the alliteration, let's say not good - no temp control, Niagara strength, too small to swing a gnat, and the floor floods.  On the upside they had baths - our first lie down in hot soapy water for 8 weeks.  

Then came the first outside world stuff:  Lesley called a florists in Preston to arrange flowers for an old family friend's funeral; Nic called a damp treatment company to look at problems the decorator had discovered in No 8; we spoke to Gillingham Marina about taking up a permanent berth in a week's time; Lesley got a call from the BBC about prospective work.

We left the marina and pushed out through the Harwich/Felixstowe entrance against the tide with a F3/4 NW behind and just the foresail - gradually overtook a boat on the same tack with all his sails up (of course we don't race, yet always pleasing to pass someone).  We turned to starboard (right) and headed into the Walton Backwaters - water all around us and most of it too shallow.  This is where Arthur Ransome set his Swallows and Amazons books.  SIRENA IV sailed surprisingly well on just the foresail, even close-hauled (into the wind).  After many weeks where seeing another yacht was an event, it's amazing how many yachts are out and about in this area, even on a weekday.

Hamford Water is a popular anchoring spot in the Backwaters, and we dropped our hook with a few others and were gradually joined by a few more including two huge thames barges.  Another outside world moment came as we planned where we might spend the last 6 nights of the trip, and realised that we are so close to home we had been here before in our first boat.

As the tide dropped away and the rain & wind squall eased, we watched the famous red seals of Bramble Creek lounging on the mud banks.

Pirates and lighthouses

on the Foot Ferry, approaching Ha'penny Pier, Harwich 

A day off in Harwich may not sound too appealing. But for us, it was heaven. We got up appallingly late (0830), moseyed over to the small Foot Ferry from Shotley marina which buzzed over to Harwich in just six minutes. The place has a grand seafrontage and many historic buildings, although there are lots of empty shops and closed businesses too. It was a calm sunny day for once, with blue sky and white clouds. 

LV18, later Radio Caroline et al

Our first stop was a trip around LV18,  the last manned lightship run by Trinity House which sits on the quay. Not only was it fascinating as a former light-ship, but it was a solid piece of broadcasting history too. It had been used as a pirate radio ship, by Radio Caroline and then later Radio London and Radio Essex. We saw the comfortable cabins used by Trinity House staff/DJs and the ancient music deck where the likes of Emperor Roskoe and Johnnie Walker had spun the platters. Lesley also spotted a prehistoric UHER reel-to-reel tape recorder on board,  like the ones she used at Radio One in the 1980s.     

Later we chilled out in a fantastic small cafe, read the cafe's own newspapers and reconnected briefly with the world, mainly Wimbledon. We've lived a life without radio, TV or papers for seven weeks now and it has been surprisingly pleasant. (Lesley will have to cram madly about recent events before returning to journalism in July.)

Then came a long wander around the quaint winding streets of Harwich, including the High and Low lighthouses which used to line up as 'Leading Lights' to provide a guide for incoming boats and ships. Unfortunately the shifting sands hereabouts meant that they no longer provided a reliable path and became known as 'Misleading Lights.' 

The afternoon was rounded off sitting on the quayside at another cafe, drinking hot chocolate and watching the constant parade of yachts and pilot boats and container ships plying to and fro across a backdrop of Felixstowe's mammoth cranes.  A magnificent Thames barge came barrelling across, all sail up with two knots of tide pushing her east. It was a strange moment to see a trading vessel from the past silhouetted against the great framework of modern cranes which handle most of our imported household goods.         

Upwind joy

Yesterday in Lowestoft was one of those mythical 'rest days'; true we had a leisurely breakfast with our departing crew member David, and we did spend an hour looking round the town - but after that it was shopping, washing, cleaning, passage planning, oh and blogging.

Up at 0530 this morning, to be off down river at 0630 to catch the bridge-opening slot at 0700 - if you're late they don't wait for you.  Then out of Lowestoft harbour entrance ... a much calmer experience than our entry on Sat.  The forecast was for a decent wind (F4-5) from a decent direction (NW to W) which would give us a good sail south; we therefore decided to skip Southwold, the Deben and the Ore (we'll be back) and do the 40 miles to Harwich.

The forecast was close - we had F5-6 (glad we put one reef in) from WSW, so we were close-hauled.  With an average of 20kn of wind and a fair tide of 2-3 kn we screamed south at btw 8 and 9kn - that's fast for a cruising yacht.  An absolutely splendid sail for almost 5 hours, though often hard work due to the gusts and also the strange rips and bumps around Orford Ness even though we were a mile off.  Sizewell and Aldeburgh came and went, almost in a blur.  No wildlife at all - despite what was said in an earlier blog, we miss the guillemots which have been absent since Flamborough Head presumably because there are no longer cliffs for them to nest.  The leaden skies didn't quite rain on us - in this whole journey we have had remarkably little rain whilst sailing (motoring).

the iconic Felixstowe cranes from Shotley marina

As we approached Felixstowe the wind was finally on the nose and there are specific routes for yachts to follow in order to avoid the big ships.  (Did you know that 80% of the goods imported to the UK come through Felixstowe docks?)  So we motor-sailed and then dropped the sails before entering the confluence of the Rivers Orwell and Stour.  We were feeling pretty tired, and also in need of 95L of diesel, so decided to go into Shotley Marina on the peninsula looking south to Harwich and east to Felixstowe.  

view from Butt & Oyster at low tide

Lesley's family friend, Rosie, lives nearby and came to see the boat.  Rosie also drove us to the famous Butt & Oyster pub at Pin Mill where an excellent meal was dispatched whilst viewing the acres of mud at low tide. 

The long haul

On Friday afternoon we set off on the long-anticipated leg of more than a hundred miles which would take 24 hours non-stop, from the commercial port of Grimsby, crossing over the Wash and across the top of Norfolk, down to Lowestoft. Thank heaven we had Lesley's cousin Dave (experienced sailor) as our capable and phlegmatic crew. We worked 2 hour watches with one person on standby and one asleep or resting.

The weather was kind (F1-2) when we left Grimsby, though as soon as we popped out of the harbour entrance, there was a large tanker looming for us to contend with. And there were lots more large vessels to watch for around the Humber channel. However we spotted cheery seals in the water and the sun came out. The forecast was for SW 5 to 6 which should allow us a decent sail for much of the trip.

Dave is sailing

Guess what? the wind was on the nose, East South East, which meant more motor-sailing. But for a short while we decided to forget our passage timetable and just sail. We tacked back and forth in 15 knots of wind (zig-zagged for the non-sailors among you) wasting time and thoroughly enjoying ourselves; SIRENA came to life as the elegant sailing yacht she really is. Then alas we had to put the engine on again. 


    

Moon and a buoy

Eight hours into the trip, late on Midsummer's Day, the wind started building and after midnight Nic decided to put one reef in the main. By one o clock it was blowing F6.  By three, the sky was already beginning to get light and the wind moderated. At 4.30am  Lesley and Dave saw the sun rise in a blaze of pink glory, and two rainbows shone out of a strange mound of cloud which looked like smoke.

Getting seriously rough

Soon after, off the town of Cromer in Norfolk, the wind had built some more and we took the decision to put a second reef in the main. The Met Office forecast for the sea area Humber suggested winds could reach F8, though we were close in to land so it shouldn't reach that extreme where we were going. However even the inshore waters forecast was expecting F7 and spoke of an 'unusually vigorous' depression swinging in. 


By 0900 it was blowing a 'hooly': we had gusts of 32 knots, the top end of Force Seven. We all wore safety lines and gritted our teeth. We couldn't motor straight into the waves, (too big, too steep and too powerful ) so we had to 'tack' back and forth with the engine on, down the very narrow Caister and Yarmouth roads (channels). A giant windfarm workboat called REM Supplier came up behind us in the narrow bit, and we had to contact him on the radio to tell him not to alter course for us, we would tack around him. 

At 1100 we had a leak from our hatch on to charts below - they got rather damp and salty, due to seas crashing on the coachroof, and on us too! Whoever was on the helm, or sitting outside, was constantly drenched by gusts of spray - the salt water got in your eyes and stung terribly but it happened so often you just forgot about it.  By now the windspeed indicator was reading 34 and 35 knots - which is Force 8, and officially a gale.

We knew the harbour entrance at Lowestoft was narrow and in the words of the pilot book, was 'lively' in anything over a Force 4. What could we do but go on- we couldn't go back 100 miles to Grimsby and there was no good refuge nearby. SIRENA ploughed bravely through the giant seas - her long keel making life easier than it would be in a modern boat, though it still felt like being inside a washing machine for the spin cycle.  

Inside the harbour looking out - aaargh

The last few miles were like pulling teeth - by now the strong tide was also against us and we crept slowly from side to side of the shallow channel leading to Lowestoft, buffeted madly. We were wet to the skin, tired out but driven by shedloads of adrenaline. Finally, with Nic on the helm, we saw the twin lighthouses marking the harbour entrance. No-one said 'can we get in, or will we be smashed on the wall?' We just had to think positively. Nic pointed her nose at the middle of the entrance, which had a maelstrom of huge waves breaking across it, raised the engine revs higher than ever before and drove her forward. 'Watch this for steering' he shouted as he wrestled the wheel from lock to lock. Seconds later, we were through in one piece, with Dave and Lesley cheering and clapping an amazing feat of helmsmanship. The long haul was over - 22 hours and 116 nautical miles.

£4 an hour

Ooh look - the anchor ball

Last night we arrived at Scarborough when there still wasn't enough tide for us to get into the harbour, and took the decision to anchor for an hour or so in the pretty bay. There was no wind but an ugly rolling swell which made it extremely difficult to cook a pan of boiling pasta!  The three of us ate our bowlfuls of food in the cockpit, to the incongruous sounds of church bell practice, which came floating across the water. It was a calm blue evening, and four teams of red-faced rowers passed us, having a close race.

At nine-thirty we set off for the inner harbour, creeping in warily and watching the echo sounder like hawks, under strict instructions from the harbourmaster. Once safely in, we had showers and a brief drink in the welcoming Yacht Club next to the lighthouse, which has a cracking view of the bright lights of Scarborough.

Scarborough Bay

The cost was 28 pounds for our brief berth for the night. We arrived at 10pm and left at 5am. We worked it out that we were paying 4 pounds an hour for the privilege of sleeping in the marina!

0430 in Scarborough Harbour

The early start was designed for us to get into Grimsby Fish Dock, 65 miles away, when the lock was open. It was another 12-hour day of motorsailing, with no wind and virtually nothing to see en route. But there was plenty of fun, with David there to talk to, and a stream of cod Yorkshire accents echoing through the boat.

And briefly, Lesley and David saw a different sort of cetacean from our usual dolphin friends - larger by far, with black backs and a single fin, each animal curving up briefly and dropping back into the sea without any interaction with the boat. We guessed they might be minke whales.


At last we turned the corner at Spurn Head, reached the Humber and encountered only three large ships emerging from the docks there. Lesley helmed the boat across the main channel between the ships, into the Fish Dock and the marina beyond, where John the berthmaster from Humber Cruising Association was amazingly helpful.  He even ran us to the shops in his own car. By then it had started to rain. Cats and dogs, stair-rods, monsoon weather. 

It's still drumming on the coach-roof. But Nic has cooked a curry and we don't set off again until tomorrow afternoon, so who cares?

Three Up

Leaving the Tyne

Another wind-less day (yachties are never satisfied are they - too much, too little, wrong direction) so motor-sailing again.  We took on 132L of diesel at North Shields so with a full tank we could motor 450 miles or so.  

Great having David on board, excellent company and with 3 people we have 2 hours on and 4 hours off.  Once again it's just a question of letting 'autie' the autohelm do the steering while we watch out for pot buoys and other boats.






Early on any possible boredom vanished with the arrival of more dolphins.  They only stayed half an hour this time, there seemed to be a bigger pod perhaps 400 meters away, and a few came to play with us, including 2 baby ones shadowing exactly the movements of their parent - we wondered if we were a learning exercise as in "this is how you surf a boat".

Just under the surface

parent and offspring

The extra 'off' time has been well used to passage plan for tomorrow, wherein we discovered that to get into Grimsby Marina we have to be there no later than 2 hours after High Water ... and that means a 5am start from Scarborough.  As I write this at 1630 we are passing the high cliffs south of Whitby and about 13 miles from Scarborough.  We are going to get there about low tide which should make entering the harbour interesting, according to the harbourmaster there.  As with most harbours, there's a shallow bar just outside which often changes precise position and depth month by month.  Harbourmaster advice is very useful.  We have just had a strategy discussion and decided we'll get on down there, but may then drift about and have our dinner at sea, and go in when there's a bit more water - at least if we touch bottom then we only have to wait 10 mins for the tide to lift us off.

Other than that, an uneventful day so far - to the extent that a silver object in the water caused us to detour to inspect ... could it be a lilo with someone clinging on (4 miles off the coast) ... no, it was a deflated balloon.  Oh and we just saw a seal - however seals hardly even get us on deck these days.

Close encounter

Monday started badly -  with another yacht noisily rafting up against SIRENA at 0430. We were due to get up at 0530 to leave an hour later so Nic warned them of this fact, and they went elsewhere.

Then at 6am, halfway through the usual engine checks, he found a big problem. A copper pipe which carries cooling seawater, had had a hole worn in it by the belt and had spewed seawater all over the engine. Nic removed the pipe. Things looked bad - could we get it replaced? No said the manufacturer. Our tight schedule to get to Newcastle to pick up Lesley's cousin was under threat. See the boatbuilders down the quay, said the Eyemouth harbourmaster. We walked down there with the offending pipe in hand, and 30 minutes later, returned with a welded and repaired pipe, at no charge. Bless the boatbuilders. 

We started off for Newcastle 4 hours late and this was a long twelve hour day. No wind, blue skies, motoring as usual, past Holy Island and the Farne Islands. And then at Alnmouth, the magic began.

We saw two dolphins, and they stayed with us for a total of 5 and half hours, until we finally turned into the River Tyne. When we knelt and looked over the bow, there was one of them, hanging a foot below in crystal clear water, swimming at our pace, with every beautiful inch visible. They would stay there for 10 minutes while we watched avidly, then dive under the bow and leap up in the water, but always come back to the bow again  where one of us was waiting to watch them.

The effect of seeing these wild creatures at such close quarters was electric. We both had massive smiles pasted across our faces with the sheer joy of it.  And it hasn't worn off yet. 

We arrived at North Shields marina at midnight and collapsed into bed. Today Lesley's cousin Dave arrived to crew for us. We're really looking forward to having him with us for some of the long legs south.    

Across the Forth

Bell Rock Lighthouse - 3nm off, calm day

Second time lucky - here's the Log entries:
Away at 0730, calm sea, no wind, clear sky.
Saluted Bell Rock Lighthouse as we passed 3m west of it.
Puffins!  One big black fin sighted, not sure what was attached.
Played with the Radar, got it working well after adjusted various parameters.
Flat calm in middle of Firth of Forth so motored in eight directions around the compass, comparing the Compass, the Autohelm and the Plotter GPS headings - now all we have to do is work out which one we believe, and what the deviation is on the Compass.
1430: F2 from East, motor off, full sails, making 2.5kn with 5kn on the beam.
Tightened mainsail outhaul, and moved genoa car fully aft - gave us another 0.5kn.
1530: slow quiet sailing is pleasant but will get us in too late, so motor on again.
1745: Arrive in Eyemouth, lots of boats including commercial and only one pontoon along the harbourside - after some thought we rafted against a large cruiser, and the Dutch couple on board were very helpful.

Weather or not

We were all set to go this morning at 0730 as soon as the lock gates open.  However on visiting the 'facilities' block which overlooked the harbour entrance, we noticed spray blowing over the harbour wall and a large breaking swell rolling through the entrance - uh oh, the wind has not changed to SW and abated as forecast - quelle surprise.  (Yes, the pictures we took make the sea look flat, so we're not publishing them - you had to be here.)

We consulted the Harbour Master: "it'll blow like this all day".  We sounded opinion of other visiting yachts: "you don't want to be going south in this".  We waited until 0930 (the lock gates shut at 1000), and it was no better, so decided to be prudent and stay another day in Arbroath ... there are worse places to be weather bound.

Bell Rock Signal Station - now a museum

Coffee in the snazzy cafe overlooking the harbour;  a very interesting hour in the Bell Rock museum (Bell Rock was one of the 'Stephenson Lighthouses' for those who may have read the book of the same name); the most delicious smoked salmon from the 'smokie' by the harbour for lunch in the cockpit; a little lite shopping, particularly to replace our broken thermos (the guarantee will be in a file in a box under a decorator's cloth somewhere in a house far away); fixed a broken cockpit locker lid with some ad hoc joinery, and fixed the Navtex so it started receiving navigational information again; family phone calls; decided not to take on 100L of diesel (half our tank) here, because the wall where we would have to moor threatened many oily & rubbery marks on our lovely clean hull.

We invited a German couple who were moored by us to come aboard for drinks and chat -  they are from Bremen, in a Westerly Merlin, and he sailed it from Ijmuiden to Lowestoft single-handed - they are heading for the Caledonian and then the Western Isles, returning in August.  We introduced them to ginger wine, then gave them a shot of Laphroaig as a taste of things to come.

Harbour time

Arbroath Abbey

For once, a day off sailing actually felt like a day off. Yes there was food shopping to do in the small town of Arbroath, plus passage planning for the next leg to Eyemouth, but we also went to see the splendid remains of the Abbey and ate delicious Arbroath smokies for lunch, sitting in a sunny cockpit.

This evening we ventured a mere 75 yards from the boat to the Harbourside Grill for lobster (Lesley) and halibut (Nic). And then we roamed another 10 yards to Marco's Ice Cream Parlour for dessert. It was all about indulgence. 

The pretty inner harbour

Arbroath as a town is making brave efforts to bring in yachts and tourists despite its obvious economic problems. It's not an easy place to get into; there are treacherous rocks as you approach and the inner stone harbour has a very narrow lock entrance. But Ron, the grizzled old seadog at the harbour office was a mine of good advice: after all he recommended the Harbourside Grill. (He's been a lifeboatman hereabouts for 33 years.)  He also suggested we go to the Foundry Arms pub to hear the famous fiddlers band, but sadly we have to go to bed with a sparrowfart start in the morning. As ever.

Footnote:  things are beginning to wear and break: the rope locker lid is hanging on by one hinge out of three; one bow fairlead is getting loose; the spinnaker pole had to be braced up to stop it clonking on every wave; the plotter refused to zoom out and pan now & again yesterday (by far the most serious); the thermos is not thermos-ing any more - cold bovril, anyone? Oh and the pressurised water system may be leaking somewhere in the miles of underfloor and behind-locker piping, because we have to pump out the bilge every day.

Dolphins and Smokies

goodbye Peterhead

Alarm at 0500, to leave at 0600 (need time for porridge before a long day).  Managed to leave Peterhead at 0615 with no wind and a large oily swell.  Put up the mainsail anyway - it's our usual policy to put it up while it's easy, and when motoring in swells it acts as a stabiliser to dampen the rolling.  We'd decided to do a long one, missing out Stonehaven and going straight to Arbroath, 65 miles straight down the coast - no tricky navigation and no nasty tide-race headlands. Put on the auto-pilot and sit back.



Arbroath (of the Smokies - smoked fish - fame) has a locked marina (the outer harbour dries at low tide), so if we didn't get there by 1945 we'd be out all night.  Consequently we did some careful calculations taking into account tide 'with' and 'against' (roughly 6 hours each), to work out where we should be down our long straight line at each hour - that way we could tell if we were falling behind.

he thinks we are a trawler

So the day proceeded, 2 hour watches: the on-watch person looking out for other boats (plenty of those around Aberdeen) and lobster buoys (plenty of those at random), and gazing at the coast (clear for once) and any wildlife (if I never see another guillemot it will be too soon); the off-watch person goes below and eats, sleeps, reads, and makes log entries.  Occasionally seagulls would fly behind us, presumably thinking we were a trawler carrying fish possibilities.

The wind teased us with the occasional F2-3 but it was never sailable (i.e. always on the nose) and it never lasted; we don't have time to be tacking, we have to make the lock deadline.  We only saw one other yacht all day, going the other way with a flappy mainsail (ours was beautifully tight :-).  We purred on, with a calmer sea, keeping a little ahead of schedule.

Then around 1600 it all changed.  Within 15 minutes it changed from SE F1 to W F6 - we briefly saw 32kn of wind across the deck, plus a lot of spray as the seas built up very quickly.  After crashing along for a while, and within a few miles of Arbroath,  we decided it would be prudent to drop the mainsail before the wind and seas built further.  Again, 'hoorah' for the autopilot - it keeps the boat into the wind while both of us drop the sail.  Then on we crashed, rolling more now without our 'stabiliser', cursing our luck that every day seems to end with strenuous effort, risk of injury, and seawater in the face.

Our curses faded when 4 or 5 dolphins suddenly appeared beside the boat, just a few feet away.  They shadowed us, raced away, jumped, came back ... and it's so difficult to photograph them because they are so fast and the boat is rolling.

Eventually we made it through the narrow rocky entrance into the neat little marina at Arbroath, tied up by 1845.  Switched everything off, got the key and code for the facilities, cooked up a stir-fry, and toasted another tiring but successful day, albeit with no proper sailing.  We accept that this part of the journey is a 'delivery' - we just have to get on.

Heaven and hell

Whitehills outer harbour - small

It's amazing how you can be thrown from the height of sailing bliss to sailing angst in just a few minutes flat. There we were scything through the waves, clocking 7 knots of speed in a 20 knot wind, both sails up in a close reach. The skies were full of cotton wool clouds, sea a luscious dark blue, as SIRENA IV sped east towards Rattray Head, the northeast corner of Scotland. We had set off from the charming little harbour of Whitehills where the minimum depth on our echo sounder was just 0.2 metres, that's a scary 7 and a half inches between the keel and the rocky bottom.  

This morning's sailing joy was what it's all about - why we go through the time and expense and hassle of buying and maintaining a boat, and it brought great big smiles to our faces as we each took our turn at the helm.

Then in the space of a few minutes, the white sea fog descended and hemmed us in, and mountainous seas built up around us. The boat was plunging and bucking, and we were in potential danger of collision with any of the big fishing boats that ply this tricky coast. For an hour and a half we sounded the foghorn (a doleful sound) every few minutes, kept our safety lines clipped on and scanned the fog constantly for any sign of a vessel. All this while SIRENA rode the huge waves like a trawler.  

When we could see on the chart-plotter that we were past Rattray Head, we breathed a sigh of relief. The boat had been almost five miles offshore and yet the effects of the headland and its fast tides were unforgettable. At last the fog lifted like a curtain on the land side, and the sea sparkled blue again. But the monster waves kept going all the way to Peterhead, the large fishing port whose marina we finally entered at around 6 pm. The boat and we were crusted with salt spray. In fact, if you lick your hand, it tastes like a chip.   

Long slog

Inverness to Whitehills:  61 miles.

High points: the haar (fog) lifted early; leaving under Kessock Bridge at 10kn with the tide; briefly seeing the famous local bottlenose dolphins; having a gull adopt us for a while (they sometimes think we are a trawler); the autopilot, that steered us all day; friendly reception by Whitehills harbourmaster.

Low points: had to motor all day; flat calm first thing (0530) and very cold; sun came out for a while, with a nice sailing breeze but dead ahead and with 60 miles to do there's no time to be tacking; clouded over, wind built to F6 and still on the nose even when we adjusted course along the coast, creating very lumpy sea.

No pics - only the wildlife would have been interesting, and it was too quick for us.