I know that some of my readers in past or present military service will understand that frisson of fear when a snap inspection is called. Whether that be your room, account or equipment; owning up to deficiencies, or just slovenly living, presents potential for some awkward conversations.

Imagine then the state of Vela after a hard couple of months – a few knocks here and there (Yes Nicky those two gins before parking the boat in Pwllheli were a mistake), some mechanical failure (fishing buoy around the prop, not opening the intake sea cock), operator error (torn sail), losses (bilge pump handle) and fair wear and tear (leaky stern gland resulting in four hourly bailing out of engine bay)! Yes, after nearly three months of voyaging – the cracks are showing in both Vela and me.

So quite apart from being really pleased that the Co-owner had decided to train it all the way to East Anglia to lend a hand with the leg to Harwich, I was a tad nervous that my occasionally flaky approach to the equipment care of our boat would be shown up.

We left Lowestoft at 06.00am – slightly late after finding that the engine bay which had been bailed out of water the afternoon before had filled up with sea water by morning. More bailing ensued – as long as I can bail out more quickly than it can drip in for the next two weeks, everything will be ok! On being closely questioned about using the bilge pump to shift the water, I gave a heartfelt and sincere explanation that I had mislaid the pump handle some time before and I had looked high and low and not found it (all true). Infuriatingly the Co-owner took one look into the locker at the stern, reached in and pulled out said handle, accusing me of ‘girl-looking’!!! I mean that’s not even a thing – I know that as the mother of sons!

Worse was to come. By the time we had exited Lowestoft Port for the open sea, the most heinous example of my inadequate boat husbandry had been exposed – failure to regularly charge the second brand new AGM battery. It’s dead, it is an ex-battery, it has ceased to be! This was a slightly more tricky conversation which required quite a bit of hair flicking, self-flagellation and promises to replace this pretty expensive piece of kit before the conversation was ended with ‘And that’s all I have to say about it!’, (factually incorrect – there was more said about it).

With the technical air cleared, we could get on and enjoy what we imagined would be a fabulous sailing day – sunshine was guaranteed, a brisk westerly was forecast and I could essentially have a day off, handing the tiller over and catching up on some sleep. How wrong could we be?

It was a hard day – wind was just off the nose, F4-5 and the sea was very lumpy indeed. We would have screamed down to Harwich at around 8 knots had it not been for the waves which sent Vela bouncing up and crashing down, effectively acting as brakes. After 7 hours of getting drenched in cold sea water we were relieved to see the cranes of Felixtowe. It was pretty impossible to eat, let alone boil the kettle for a brew and going to the loo was definitely off the cards – hence my unsightly hoovering up of mini-cheddars at the helm.

Sadly the aforementioned cranes at Felixstowe got no closer after around 2 hours of tacking and dodging large container ships; and with the tide now against us the engine was pretty ineffectual. Harwich VTS must have been doing their nut as we careered in and out of the shipping channel – at all times trying to find the most effective way to get closer to our destination – Shotley Marina.

Finally at 3.30pm, we found the right angle up to Shotley and feeling soaked through, shaken about, hungry and thirsty we came alongside, made fast the boat and collapsed in a heap.

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Joking apart, It was great to literally hand over the reins for a day – and I got another 50 miles closer to home. Now sitting out the next low pressure/strong wind system so I’ll explore Harwich and Ipswich over the next few days and report any scintillating factoids that come to light in my wanderings.

Although I have seen many fish docks on this trip, Grimsby Fish Dock – also home to the Humber Cruising Association – proved an excellent safe harbour for Vela during the wild weather of last weekend. She was secure under the eye of Grimsby’s distinctive Dock Tower – built in the style of the Torre Del Mangia in Sienna, the tower was designed to be a hydraulic accumulator tower which powered the machinery of the docks including lock gates, dry docks and quayside cranes. It’s a welcome sight for mariners heading for port and now is one of several distinctive Victorian pieces of civil engineering in Grimsby that are being left to rot rather than be renovated which gives that part of Grimsby a very unloved look. Another of these is Grimsby Ice Factory, built to provide ice for the fishing industry it was one of the largest ice factories in the world, but now stands virtually derelict. As Grimsby was reported in the papers last week as having the unhealthiest high street in the UK, it’s a shame that it has a reputation for ‘grimness’ and urban decay when you consider its thriving past.

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New and Old Friends

Storm bound sailors often spend time in strange ports shut up in their boats, but I was very fortunate, I had a visit from a fellow Sadler owner Pete Baker of ‘Pippinetta’ who is a member of the Sadler Facebook group and keeps his boat in the same marina. He came over for a cup of tea and a chat about all things boaty and then I was scooped up by another WRAC 863 survivor and best friend Babs who lives in Lincoln. She came aboard for about 5 mins before feeling queasy as I packed a bag – a determined landlubber, her significant contribution to the trip will be the gallons of hot water I used during my stay doing my washing, and standing under their luxury rain shower for hours!

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The Wash

The Wash is basically the big gap between Lincolnshire and Norfolk. According to legend, King John was attempting to cross the Wash in September 1216 and misjudged the advancing tide which swept away the baggage train containing the Crown Jewels – Ooops! Fortunately although tides are always a feature of sailing around Britain, my route across the Wash was further out to sea and we made it to the other side with everything of value present and correct!

I was blessed with ‘guest crew’ for this 100 mile passage – my brother-in-law Richard (married to Penny, who left a trail of broken hearted lock keepers on the Caledonian Canal), with some 30 years in the Merchant Navy under his belt. Having done his training on HMS Worcester on the Thames in the sixties, I knew he had the mental and physical resilience to cope with a voyage on Vela – or 25 hours in my company which can also be a little trying.

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We set off very early to get through the Fish Dock lock before it closed at 6.00am, to catch the ebb tide. It all worked to plan with Vela ‘slingshotted’ out of the Humber at 7 knots with a reef in the sails as it was gusting 23 knots. The sea had been whipped up by the strong winds over weekend and was a bit rolly with big waves picking up Vela and accelerating her to 9 knots at some stages. It was one of those seas which make any attempt to go to the loo a major undertaking – probably too much information but it does paint an accurate picture of the day. It didn’t help that the tinned Cassoulet I offered to Richard for tea made him go a bit green (nothing to do with the sea state of course) – there was some threat of mutiny at being served up ‘dog food’!

We made such good progress that the plan started to evolve optimistically – why Lowestoft, why not Southwold where Richard and Penny have a cottage? Only 10 miles further down the road – a bit of a challenging harbour entrance to be sure but it would be a more attractive destination. By 11.00pm at Caister it was as though someone had applied the handbrake, the tide had turned and our speed dropped depressingly to 2 knots. It was dark and cold; and even with both sails up, and the motor running, the speed only improved to 2.5 knots. Suddenly the little fantasy of leaving Vela at the Harbour Inn on the River Blyth and walking back to the cottage to bed in the early hours receded.

As skipper it was my decision and I switched back to plan A. After the longest 15 miles in history, I was practically weeping for joy as Lowestoft Port entrance came into view at 03.30am. The furthest east I will go on this tour! We found a berth in the Royal Norfolk and Suffolk Yacht Club and crashed out by 04.00am.

R&R in Southwold

And so a day and a half of rest in Southwold, courtesy of Richard and Penny who once again have proved themselves to be the ace support team on this tour. For those who haven’t been there, Southwold is a wonderfully old fashioned seaside town with a promenade, beach, lighthouse and Sailors’ Reading Room, not to mention Adnam’s Brewery. It all combines to make this a great spot to catch up on sleep ready for the next run down to Harwich.

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Yes you heard it right, no distress calls, no torn sails, no broken fingernails, no running out of fuel, no forgotten pontoon gate access fobs – nothing notable happened today – the plan survived contact with the weather, the equipment and me!

Actually that’s not true – today is notable for being the second day in a row that I have not drunk any alcohol – which will delight my mother! But before I wax lyrical about the text book passage to Grimsby, I need to reflect on Bridlington….

Yorkshire kindness

Having been towed into the Harbour, met by the entire coastguard of Bridlington, I cut a well known figure around town with people saying – “Are you the one who….?” Well not quite, but the Harbour staff (you’ll remember my waspish comment yesterday about their lack of helpfulness) knew all about my prop issues.

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Bridlington Harbour dries out and any keel boats like mine then sink into very soft mud until the water floods back in again. This is a slightly weird sensation – one minute you are lying in bed bobbing up and down slightly and the next minute you realise nothing is moving and your head is lower than your legs. I woke up at 04.00am (low water) to get a look at the propeller, it looked a right mess.

I resolved to get in the mud and cut away the line at the next low water which was mid afternoon. I went into town, bought some tough working gloves, had a walk on the spectacular beach and came back ready to get down and dirty. As I passed the Harbour Master’s office, one of the staff came out and said that he had cleared the line for me and that the prop seemed to be turning ok with no obvious signs of damage. I nearly had my second Ellen MacArthur moment, really overcome by the kindness of the harbour staff. So I take back everything I ever said about them before – they are top blokes in my eyes. A late night engine test appeared to confirm that there was no damage to the gear box and the prop shaft and so my journey could continue, and my credit card remain in my wallet – a huge relief!

In the windmills of your mind

The East Coast is renowned for wind. Which is why the North Sea coast seems to be packed with large wind farms, hopefully making the world a better place for us, if a tad inconvenient for sailors – I passed two of them on my 48 mile passage from Bridlington. Oh and a lot of buoys, each one carrying the potential for despair – but I was alert to ambush and kept a very sharp lookout.

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Goodbye Yorkshire, Hello Lincolnshire!

The main challenge of today was safely negotiating the Humber, one of the busiest shipping channels in the UK with 40,000 commercial vessels using it each year – 25% of UK’s seaborne trade passes through it. I met a couple of gentlemen from the Humber in Whitby who also had a Sadler 25 “Charisma”, they had spotted Vela and invited me over for a cup of tea. Thanks to them I had some great advice on getting around Spurn Head and crossing the Humber safely.

I followed their words to the letter and it worked a treat. I timed my passage to reach Grimsby Marina by 11pm which was the earliest I could get through the lock into the Fish Dock and marina which opens 2 hours either side of high water. This meant a bit of hanging around as I had made good time with a very favourable F3, just forward of the beam. So I prepared a delicious and nutritious meal for myself – ‘mince and tatties’ – enhanced as always by a drop or two of West Indian hot pepper sauce of which I am an addict. And yes, it does look like dog food but is actually very tasty!

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By 11.15pm, I was safe in my bed, having finally reached Grimsby and will stay here until the gale force winds due tomorrow from the Atlantic subside early next week. Actually I’m going to go to Lincoln to stay with Babs, one of my best friends, because once you’ve seen one fish dock, you’ve seen them all (and she has a washing machine and a bath)!

First a disclaimer – I don’t put myself into these situations merely to add some ‘drama’ to the blog; I’ve covered 1400 nautical miles and most of them have been pretty uneventful but sadly that wasn’t the case today. To set the scene, I arrived back in Whitby last night after a weekend of sleeping on a roll mat in a tent having been to a festival down south, lots of drink, a bit of dancing and fairly poor sleep – just what the solo sailor needs to be on peak form for the remaining 600 NM! I did all my pre-sail prep, turned Vela around, filled up the fuel cans, water, provisions etc all ready for the 09.30am bridge lift to leave Whitby. I’ve even brought back a replacement Disco Ball to complete the circumnavigation!

There was a pretty stiff southwesterly wind, F4-5 so I reefed down the sails and reached the northern side of Flamborough Head at 4.15pm. I was in two minds as to my destination – I’d spoken to a fairly unhelpful Harbour Master in Bridlington who couldn’t guarantee any place in the Harbour even though he had spots available. My only alternative to Bridlington was to anchor somewhere. The wind direction meant that only North Landing on Flamborough Head presented a safe option and as I was too early to go around the headland (slack tide was around 5.45pm), I decided to anchor for an hour or so there, have a cup of tea and a rest (Audrey can’t cope when it’s windy and choppy so it was a big helming day), and call Bridlington. I figured if the anchorage was sheltered enough I might stay the night and leave really early to round Flamborough.

Singlehanded anchoring is a science (ha!) – basically you stop the boat head to wind and/or tide, sprint forward and chuck in the anchor, then you dart back to the cockpit and send up a little prayer. At a depth of 7m, I went forward and made the anchor ready, I wanted to inch forward to a depth of 3m before I put it down. As I was going back to the cockpit, still slowly motoring forward, I caught sight of a yellow buoy. Before I could grab the tiller it had passed down the side of the boat and disappeared. As you can see – it was only little and really, really easy to miss in the swell!

A sickening crunching sound and then silence. The very worst sort of language came out of my mouth at this point. I immediately put my sails back up to give myself some sort of control and propulsion, thinking to get around to Bridlington Bay, anchor and call for help. Unfortunately the line held Vela fast. I took one look at the swell and decided that putting on my bathers and diving in with a knife between my teeth probably would end in disaster. Only one solution – PAN PAN (I have form on this one).

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An RNLI team of four from the Flamborough Head Lifeboat Station, came out within 20 mins in their Inshore Lifeboat – a very cool rib. Andy, Adrian, Cole (later swapped for Josh) and Rob (A Sadler 26 owner) were absolutely fantastic; all volunteers with jobs etc they come when they get the shout and get us ‘Yachties’ out of the poo! All except Rob (hereafter known as ‘Yachty’ due to his knowledge of sailing vessels) were ex-Service, Navy, Army (Green Howards), RAF and Merchant Navy. They took charge, cut the line holding me fast and towed me back in to Bridlington Harbour. All I had to do was to make tea and coffee (I didn’t let on about the fruit cake though – there are some limits).

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Once safely alongside, Andy got under the boat and managed to cut off the teeny-tiny buoy, but there is still some rope wrapped around the prop which needs the harbour to dry out to get a good look at – I will be up at 4am tomorrow ready with the knife. Hopefully it is just a case of freeing the prop-shaft and all will be well. If not, at least I found out today that I have a job to go to on my return and I can start using my credit card on the promise of future income!

Some good things…

The RNLI is a fantastic organisation and a charity so if you’re looking for a cause, it’s a great one to support, but essentially three good things came out of today:

Firstly, I showed that stroppy Harbour Master – got a spot in his Harbour regardless;

Secondly, I was commended by the coastguard for my ‘impeccable’ radio voice procedure – “Broadsword calling Danny Boy”;

And finally, no-one got hurt.

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Plan A became Plan B and then morphed into Plan C – as I dispensed with my original passage plan that would get me to Grimsby Marina by Wednesday night, ready to leave Vela for a long weekend to go to a festival. The problem – wind direction and a sticky out bit of land called Flamborough Head! It’s a significant headland which is best managed at slack water before the south going tide. Once around it, there are still 45 nautical miles to go before getting to Grimsby Marina where a lock operates, opening 2 hours either side of high tide. Multiple tidal gates make for frustrating or interesting sailing depending on your frame of mind and need to be somewhere! Plan A was to stop a night at Whitby or Scarborough on Monday, get around Flamborough to Bridlington on Tuesday (Bridlington also needs to be entered at high water as it dries out) and then get to Grimsby on Wednesday in time for the lock to be open.

Then I looked at the wind forecast – Tuesday was a F4-5 south-easterly, right on the nose. Getting round Flamborough Head under those conditions would be really horrible. This coupled with the issue of finding somewhere to leave the boat securely for more than a couple of days cut down my options. Deep water pontoons in Scarborough are few (Plan B) and you can’t leave a boat unattended against a wall; this left Whitby as my secure location – Plan C.

The trip from Sunderland to Whitby was boring and uneventful – a white haze cut down visibility and there was hardly any wind. The only thing of note was an invasion of butterflies and moths that came and settled on Vela’s decks and on me! It was most bizarre but something to look at during the 9 hours trip.

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At Whitby I met up with Deidre and James Emmerson, my friend Rachel’s parents who are local farmers. They had come to say hello and cheer me on, they took me for dinner at the Star Inn – The Harbour, great food and a lovely evening with a goody bag of home baked chocolate muffins and fresh laid eggs too!

Garlic and crucifix at the ready…

I’ve already mentioned Dracula – it’s one of my favourite books. Bram Stoker‘s gothic novel puts Whitby on the map for me and so it was great to have a good look around. I did however take the precaution of hanging some garlic up in the cabin when I went to sleep – you can never be too careful. Tate Hill Pier was where Dracula’s ship came to a violent grounding in a storm; Bram Stoker based this on the wreck of the Dmitry in 1885. St Mary’s Churchyard is where Lucy Westenra innocently wanders in her sleep, not knowing the horrific fate that lies waiting there for her; or that white nightdresses would be forever synonymous with blood sucking fiends and beautiful girls. Lastly the ruins of the 12th Century Abbey itself, which doesn’t really feature in the novel but can’t help but cast its dramatic and brooding presence over the whole town.

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Last but not least – Captain James Cook explorer par excellence, was born in Marton near Middlesbrough, but came to Whitby where he met John and Henry Walker, local ship owners with whom he became a merchant navy apprentice, the start of an illustrious career. He didn’t stay long in Whitby but they have claimed him as one of their own and added him to the tourist trail which was doing a roaring trade today.

Time to leave the beautiful countryside of Northumberland for the old industrial heartlands of Newcastle and Sunderland. One on the Tyne River, and one on the Wear River. My destination was Sunderland – as one of my neighbours at the Amble said to me -“don’t expect a marina like the one here” – as it happens, I chose Sunderland Marina as my day’s destination because it’s a rare thing on this coast – an all tides marina. It did have cold showers though but was a bargain at £19.

The day started with blue skies, a F3-4 easterly breeze and very warm. The bikini came out for the third time this trip (cost per wear is finally going down). While I wasn’t exactly racing along, as long as I was maintaining over 4 knots with the breeze, I decided to keep the engine off. By the time I got past Blyth though, the breeze had become inconsistent and the boom was swinging around as the wind became flukey. Time to put my book down and switch the mighty Yanmar on – in a supportive capacity of course.

I was mighty glad that I had last been sea sick in the Bristol Channel and have not had a hint of nausea since. I think my stomach is now pretty cast iron (probably due to not having any refrigeration) because the sea was pretty lumpy today, maybe as a result of yesterday’s storms but certainly enough to make standing up unless absolutely necessary a hazard, and I felt ok. The blue skies had given over to a hazy white by the time I got to the entrance of the Tyne and I settled to a dull afternoon of rolling and pitching. By 3.30pm I was nearly at my destination, having past the Souter Lighthouse which is famous for being the first lighthouse in the world to be powered by electricity.

As though understanding that my afternoon needed perking up, eight planes flew over me in a tight formation and came back and forth several times. A few minutes later a Royal Navy Vessel, HMS Explorer whizzed up to me with a loud hailer and told me to move out of the Sunderland Airshow exclusion zone. This meant a detour further out to sea but gave me a good view of the show such as it was. Unfortunately much of the programme had been cancelled due to the worsening weather and low cloud. Luckily the Blades, the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight and a single RAF Typhoon were still performing – presumably it had taken the Typhoon 5 mins to travel from Lossiemouth unlike the 10 days it’s taken me!

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Anyway sorry about the poor pictures today, not the most exciting, but that’s the great British weather for you! A lot of miles to do tomorrow, not a lot of wind forecast and drizzle – Yay!!

Amble Marina has proved to be an excellent place to take a few days break – the only marina I have stayed at which has a bath! I’ve been able to avoid the gusty southerlies and thunderstorms and plan the next phase of the journey. Oh and most importantly, to sort out my highlights (can’t have dark roots, even at sea!).

Amble is a very nice village surrounded by stunning countryside. While the south of England has been suffering temperatures into the late 3o’s, the north east has been a more bearable 28-30°C. I’ve been loving the blue skies and the chance to put away my thermal vest for a few days.

A few miles further inland up the Coquet River from Amble is the picturesque village of Warkworth with its storybook medieval castle, home to Harry Hotspur and the Percy family, Earls of Northumberland. Very much worth the riverbank walk to see this beautiful place.

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Someone’s here to see you…

Day two in Amble was devoted entirely to sorting out my hair. As most of my female readers (and some of my male ones – mustn’t make gender assumptions!) will appreciate, it’s a challenge to maintain the highest standards of appearance on a 25ft sailing boat with no hairdryer, a 4cm x 4cm mirror and constantly at the mercy of the elements; most of the time it’s a case of plastering on some Factor 50 and hat and cracking on. Sitting in a salon for half the day was incredibly pleasant and made a nice change from swabbing decks and cleaning out the bilges.

On my return, feeling relaxed and gilded, a mysterious visitor had arrived at the marina. I could not have been more surprised to see Frank, last seen 28 years ago, my university sweetheart who was doing some business in the north-east that day. It was wonderful to see him and spend the afternoon catching up with family news and putting the world to rights – a huge, but very much appreciated surprise.

To celebrate such a lovely day and my last pay check for a while, I took my hair out for a posh meal at Sea and Soil, where I enjoyed Gorgonzola soufflé with Parma ham and figs, and North Sea pollock with sea spinach, wild mushrooms and butternut squash gnocchi!

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A proper tourist

I was in two minds on day 3 – to head off or stay, one of the old sea dogs I chatted to said that my apparent inertia was a symptom of Harbour Rot! Although the wind was favourable, the forecast was for thunder and lightning so I decided to have another day sightseeing. A bus ride away is Alnwick which I last visited in 1997 when we were posted briefly to Newcastle. Alnwick has a very impressive castle – another home of the Percy family, but I didn’t feel like touring a whole bunch of state rooms and so I went around the Alnwick Castle gardens instead which were beautiful.

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I’d been told also about Barter Books, a second hand bookshop in Alnwick which is housed in the old railway station and is wonderful. You can browse, have tea and cake, sit around reading books without feeling rushed. You can bring in your old books and ‘barter’ them for other books. There are first editions and lots of bestsellers too. A large collection of non-ironic Ladybird books took me straight back to my childhood.

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With the imminent trip to Whitby on my mind, I had to buy a copy of Bram Stoker’s Dracula so that I could re-read the terrifying account of the arrival of a mysterious Russian Schooner into Whitby Harbour during a horrendous storm. No living soul is found on the ship, only the lifeless body of the Captain who has lashed himself to the wheel with a crucifix in his hands. The final log entry for the Demeter hints at a horrific cargo – “I dared not go below, I dared not leave the helm so here all night I stayed, and in the dimness of the night I saw It – Him! God forgive me but the mate was right to jump overboard.” The Whitby Coastguard oversees the unloading of several mysterious boxes of earth, the only cargo other than silver sand. The coroner records an open verdict, but Dracula has arrived in England.

Fortunately, thanks to Audrey the auto-tiller, I should be able to leave the helm on my way to Whitby and cower down below if I feel the presence of the undead!

After a pretty blustery day in Arbroath on Monday, I was ready to take advantage of what was forecast to be a south westerly wind which would give me a comfortable close reach all the way to Eyemouth some 44 miles across the Firth of Forth. Ha Ha Ha (hollow laughter)! The favourable wind lasted about 3 hours and then the shenanigans started. The wind backed to the south and suddenly it was a battle of a day. The main physical feature was the Bell Rock Lighthouse, which I saw for most of the day, never near enough to take a decent image – hence this one from Wikipedia. But it is a fantastic lighthouse, in the middle of nowhere and built by Robert Stephenson who has featured in my blog before, such is his imprint on the infrastructure of this country. It marks the treacherous Inchcape reef and is iconic in its solitude. If you were a lighthouse keeper, then the chances are you’d go stark staring bonkers if posted to Bell Rock.

Once I was about level with Crail the tide was still pretty much against me and so I had to make the most of the flukey wind and tack, with ever decreasing benefit in terms of proximity to the target, Eyemouth. By about 4pm it was pretty unpleasant – choppy, gusty and horrid. I started to consider an alternative destination – perhaps on the north side of the Firth of Forth. Sadly there weren’t any harbours that would give me a comfortable night, most dried out at low tide. No good for Vela with her kitten heel of a keel, only boats with twin stumpy sensible shoes can go in those places (cue incoming flack from bilge keel owners)!

So I just had to sort my attitude out and stick with the plan. One piece of light relief was a repeating message on VHF “Sailing vessel at N56° 07.643’ W 002° 29.722 this is the Seagull survey vessel, go to Channel 8”. I kept looking at the coordinates on my chart plotter thinking – that isn’t me, it must be some other sailing vessel. On the 5th time the same message was relayed, I checked my Lat and Long and for good measure looked around me – there was no other sailing vessel in sight and I realised it could only be me! When I answered the call, the Seagull watch asked me where I was going and appeared completely bamboozled by my movements – they had witnessed me zig zag to and fro for hours, hardly improving my southward position at all! He wanted to know what the hell I was going to do next, so they could get on with their job surveying in a grid pattern without dodging a mad red yacht. He was audibly relieved when I told him that I had just given up trying to sail to Eyemouth and that I proposed to motor due south from that moment onwards. This is exactly what I did, fortunately by this time the tide was in my favour and my speed wasn’t too bad. I eventually pulled into Eyemouth at 9.30pm – 14 hours after leaving Arbroath, 53 nautical miles later!

Stinks of fish but nice little town

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I woke in Eyemouth to the pungent smell of yet another fish dock and the shriek of ecstatic gulls, gorging themselves on the dregs of last night’s catch.  The Harbour Master called to say hello and give me information about showers and loos. The downside was that due to delays on the building of a pedestrian bridge between the various docks, you had to walk a mile and a half to get to the facilities – no leeway for a vindaloo in these circumstances!

Walking the long way round, I noticed masses of posters highlighting the hundred year old history of the competition to decide the Eyemouth Herring Queen. Some of the houses down the street were covered with bunting and were the homes of past Herring Queens. Apparently despite all attempts to quash the event with ‘elf and safety’ (the coronation used to take place on a fishing boat, then a life boat but both have now been banned, a dive boat has come to the rescue in the face of passionless bureaucracy), and political correctness determined to convince all potential queens that they are being demeaned and objectified; the annual Eyemouth Herring Queen Event is massively well supported, enthusiastically supported by everyone in the town and brings in lots of visitors.

They don’t only celebrate beauty here, Willie Spears is immortalised in bronze – known as the ‘King of Fish’, Willie led a fishermen’s revolt against the swingeing tithes that the church were collecting, apparently he beat the local bishop over the head with a haddock! (Not really, I made that last bit up). That set the tone of Eyemouth for me, it seemed a bustling community, working really hard to keep its roots but at the same time attract new visitors – a great little place.

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Originally I was going to spend a couple of days there but when I checked the weather, I saw that an enticing south westerly wind and clear blue skies were forecast for the afternoon and evening. Perfect for an evening sail to Amble. So I left at 3.30pm, grateful for the refreshing offshore breeze after a stiflingly hot day.

Holy moments!

After yesterday which convinced me that I was rubbish at sailing, today was a dream. No sooner than I had hoisted the sails, Vela started to fly, it was fantastic to listen to the sound of the water rushing past and no chugging of the engine. The highlight of this coastal hop was to be Lindisfarne, the Holy Island which was raided by Vikings who came to indulge in a bit of rape and pillage on the Northumbrian coast. I hadn’t reckoned however for the emotional reaction when I realised that I had crossed the invisible border back into England. I basically had an Ellen MacArthur moment and burst into tears! This huge psychological milestone had crept up and taken me unawares. I had left England on 8 June and I was coming back 6 weeks later with many miles in between. As this journey has gone on I have felt the cumulative strain of thinking and planning every step, living in a small space, being far from your routine, friends and family. You realise that nearly 2000 miles is a heck of a long way and doing it largely on your own can sometimes make it feel longer. Crossing that border made me feel I had really made progress. Anyway to misquote Aliens, “at sea no-one can hear you cry”, so I sniffed a bit, pulled myself together and had a cup of tea and a slice of Katherine’s excellent fruitcake.

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Once within sight of the Abbey at Lindisfarne and the menacing hulk of Bamburgh Castle just beyond it, both bathed in golden evening sunshine, the sail became magical. Everything I failed to learn in my Medieval Archaeology degree (mediocre result on account of being an incredibly lazy student) rushed back to me as I gazed at those amazing castles and buildings guarding the north east against invaders. The photos just don’t do it justice.

Beyond Bamburgh lay my route threading through the Farne Islands and then the final run due south to Amble. I’m afraid the engine went back on at this stage, the wind had died with the sun and my desire to be in my bed before midnight prevailed, which I have just achieved!

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When I look at the weather and wind forecast, anything that has orange next to it is a sign for me to take care, if the wind is orange and is going in the opposite direction to the favourable tide then that’s going to be uncomfortable and slow going. If the wind is in my face and the tide against me then I might as well just stay in harbour. I wanted to get to a proper sheltered marina before some strong winds on Monday – that was Arbroath. Getting into Arbroath is governed by access to the marina through a lock gate – three hours either side of High Water and only operational between 07.15 am to about 9pm, the Harbour Master doesn’t work out of those hours. If you miss the gate you have to hang around all day waiting to get in, my target was 07.48am when the lock gates shut; I also wanted to take advantage of the south going tide. This meant leaving Stonehaven at around 01.30am – around 6 hours after arriving there. I set my alarm for 1am, settled down and fell asleep around 10.30pm. When I was rudely awakened it was pitch black but I felt like I had had a good few hours kip, the only unpleasant moment was climbing up the slimy wall ladder in the dark to untie my lines. It was a pretty unpleasant moment too for the young couple writhing against each other at the top, in a state of intense lust and undress! We all stared at each other for a split second in total shock before I politely turned my back and they cracked on with the activity.

Sailing at night is fine once you get going, you can see loads in the moonlight and Scottish nights are so short that it wasn’t long before the sky started to lighten. By 5.30am I was outside of Montrose and around two hours to go until Arbroath. I tried a bit of sailing but with the wind almost on the nose it didn’t improve my speed or direction much. I tried to be philosophical about missing the lock gate but I was determined to make it and so I gave the engine some more welly and by 7.30am I was on VHF Channel 11 to tell the Harbour Master that I was nearly there. I screamed in through the lock gate at 7.47am and whooped loudly! As punishment, he had given me a difficult spot behind a huge yacht which wasn’t quite long enough and there were two large fishing boats behind me – one full of blokes on a fishing jolly. Naturally I was delighted to have to carry out the manoeuvre twice with an audience, having botched the first pass, but at last I was in and could crash out, which I did without further delay.

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A visit from the Scottish clan

The highlight of my time here in Arbroath was the visit today of my niece Emma, her husband Ross and their kids Lockie and Ruby. They were on great form and despite Lockie (aged 7) threatening to do a number two in the heads and Ruby threatening to massively lose her cool after her hat was blown off into the waves on the beach, it was a lovely day with the sun putting in an appearance so that we could have gin and tonics on deck in the late afternoon.

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Arbroath Smokies and the Abbey

As part of my culinary tour, I had to experience some ‘smokies‘, which Arbroath is famous for. It’s a smoked haddock and I have had two meals now which featured it as its main ingredient. One, a savoury pancake filled with a smokie, cream and leek sauce which was sensational, and then today a seafood and smokie Linguine. This was at the Old Boatyard Restaurant within staggering distance from the marina – the chef knows his stuff and can conjure magic out of the ingredient.

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The other thing that Arbroath is famous for is the old Abbey, built of the local red sandstone and consecrated in 1197, it’s where the 1320 declaration of Scottish Independence was signed, but never enacted due to us wicked English (mwah ha ha!). It was also supposed to be what the American Declaration of Independence was modelled on.

Sadly I ran out of time before I could visit the Signal Tower Museum. I add this to the ever increasing list of other museums that I haven’t had time to visit in my life: The Peterhead Prison Museum, the Fraserburgh Lighthouse Museum, The Stonehaven Tollbooth Museum and the Gosport Hovercraft Museum; my loss I guess!

Post G&T maintenance

The stern gland forms the border between the outside of the boat where the propeller is turned by the shaft and the inside of the engine bay which you obviously want to keep dry. The stern gland contains packing which requires a regular supply of grease to prevent overheating through friction and stop water getting into the boat. My special job today was to fill up the grease pump with more grease. This is similar to trying to get yogurt into a baby’s mouth without the yogurt going everywhere. After a gloopy fifteen minutes I was pleased with results – until I slip on some unnoticed spillage of grease tomorrow that is! All ready for tomorrow’s trip across the Firth of Forth.

I don’t know if this is a common feeling but it seems to get harder as time goes on to say goodbye to people you care about. I felt very wobbly lipped when seeing Penny and Richard off at the Marina gate in Peterhead.  I spent 3 days at their house and literally didn’t move a finger,  drinks and meals appeared, hot baths, flushing toilets and no requirement to bale out the engine bay after every journey.  But I confess that it was also lovely to see Vela again; unlike my deceased cat, a boat doesn’t sulk when you leave it for a few days! Another notice to other sailors – Peterhead Marina is extremely good value – for my (ahem) 7m boat, I was charged £14 a night – this included electricity and showers!

I left at middayish to make the most of the tide as the wind forecast was a bit pathetic and from the south.  As it turned out there was a breath which supplemented the engine for most of the 37 miles. I was relieved to maintain an average speed of over 5 knots as it drizzled for most of the journey and I was getting cold and damp, (I’ve ceased to be a purist about sailing – I throw everything at any passage of longer than 25 miles to ensure an average speed of 4 knots – particularly if the weather is rubbish).  Visibility was pretty low going past Aberdeen which is a busy port servicing the Offshore Oil Industry and I only just made out the still blades of the wind-farm to the north.  AIS is a real bonus in those situations.

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It was with some relief therefore that the skies cleared before I saw the War Memorial which lies on the high ground to the south of Stonehaven. I had already spoken to the Harbour Master about where I could put Vela – as you can see from the top photo, the inner harbour dries out.  It was a choice of alongside a trawler or alongside the wall.  I chose the wall but will be up a few times in my brief hours of sleep to adjust the lines for the rise of the tide which will start at around 10.30pm.  Stonehaven is a very attractive town and I was greeted by a grizzled mate of the HM, Ian who took my lines and recommended a chippy for my tea – all in all a welcoming place for the night.