16th June We had sailed up the Humber from Grimsby on Friday night in Laertes in company with Taffy and spent the night at Brough.

I awoke to find the boat settled in the mud and as it was raining slightly I promptly lay down and endeavoured to wrap the blankets round me once more. Eventually Barry, my crew, was up and about so we went for a walk round but were soon back and had some water on the boil. After breakfast Dai came across from Taffy to see us, he stepped on to the foredeck walked right round and down the side deck, stood on the after deck and then said, ‘Are these decks strong enough to hold me?’

It was blowing fairly fresh so we decided to put two reefs in the main before trying for Grimsby which would be a dead knocker all the way. As we cleared the creek at 1245 the tide was still flooding and we sailed out on port tack sailing as close as possible without pinching her. Unable to weather the Whitton Ness L.V. we went about and as we approached the Yorkshire coast we found we had only made good about half a mile in half an hour. We sailed down this side of the river for some time and a barge came up astern and passed us very close to port. We waved back to the skipper who was peering at us from the wheelhouse and the barge thundered past and eventually disappeared in the mass of buildings and ships that was Hull. We sailed a little further along this side and then went about to sail across to the Lincolnshire side.

When we were opposite the Oil jetty at Salt End it really began to get rough. I have never before seen waves like it, not at close quarters, and hope I shall never again at least not when I’m in a fourteen foot dinghy. We were sailing merrily along in fairly rough water with plenty of spray coming over when all at once we encountered a damn great wave that appeared as though it was determined to pass straight over the top of us. Words could not express our feelings at that moment. The boat battled gamely on, she dug her forefoot in and began to climb it. It seemed a lifetime and then without warning she looped over the crest and careered down the other side into the trough where the whole procedure started again. The boat was behaving wonderfully well and during the whole time she never once stuck her nose under although they were exceptional circumstances as the waves were so high that the boat rode them like a cork. While we were battling with these waves one of F.T. Everards motor coasters passed shipping solid water over the bows and it was pounding against the wheelhouse right aft. We could not see the name although she was within hailing distance as we could only see her when we reached the crest of a wave. Not long after she passed we decided to bear away and get out of it as it was none too healthy.

As we approached Immingham it was still rough, it is always a bad place in wind against tide conditions, but that to us was like sailing out of the North Atlantic into a duck pond. We made several short tacks to get past Immingham and as soon as we were past we tacked out a little further. By the time we were opposite Laporte Titanium we could see that we were making little progress but we kept on plugging it as Grimsby was only a few miles ahead. About a mile past Laportes we could see that the tide had definitely started flooding so we decided to put the boat ashore and try to push the boat along as it was only two or three miles to the creek.

Our efforts were in vain, however, for every time we sank knee deep in mud or kicked a big lump of chalk with our toes. In the end we decided to moor the boat on Laporte’s jetty if it was at all possible so we climbed in and reluctantly headed back towards Immingham. We came hurtling up to the jetty and I took her round the lee side and luffed up to an iron ladder temporarily.

After some searching we managed to borrow a massive coil of 1½” manila and anchored the boat successfully but by no means safely. Then we managed to get a lift home only to walk in and see ‘The Cruel Sea’ lying on the sideboard!

Next day we went back intending to haul Laertes out and bring her back over land and found a rigging screw had come unscrewed and the mast gone overboard was hanging below the boat as she wildly danced about in the waves. A lesson indeed!

5th August At about 1000 on Sunday morning, two tired lads arrived at Cleethorpes dinghy park — Angus and myself. We had spent the previous day with three more lads carrying the camping equipment for 30 Scouts across a field for about three-quarters of a mile in blazing hot sunshine and as if that wasn’t enough we had to walk about three miles for a bus carrying all our personal gear.

We were both urged on by the prospect of a week’s idle luxury as we both set to to rig Laertes. With us was Barracuda which got bogged down being trolleyed down to the water but we managed to dig the trolley out from under her.

At 1250 we were afloat and tacked out to clear our course for Ferriby some thirty miles up the Humber. There was just a comfortable breeze blowing from the south-west but I noticed a dirty looking thunder cloud had loomed up on the horizon and although it was getting no nearer it was following us up river.

By 1405 we were passing Immingham and remembered the granite monument on the bank that recalls the little ship and the men who set sail from that same creek in the year 1609. This voyage of the Pilgrim Fathers ultimately led to the founding of the United States. I could not see the monument as we were tearing past the shore and almost at once we were approaching Skitter. The sun went behind the dark clouds and it soon began to rain not heavily but just enough to be annoying. I took out the polythene cover and we laid it over the top of us and the boat so that only our heeds and shoulders were showing the sheets being led underneath where it was warm.

Just round the corner we came across that tiny ditch that the guide books refer to as a small port called Goxhill Haven. I do believe that they build barges there but I just can’t see it as a port. We were making good time and by 1530 we had passed New Holland with its tiny harbour hidden away behind the pier. I bet that’s a hell of a place to get into from upriver on an ebb tide, there’s no wonder that the place is never honoured by the presence of yachts.

The rain had now ceased and Angus folded the cover and we started to eat as we were ravenously hungry. We were still eating when we passed Barton; Barton in my mind is one of the most interesting towns on the Humber, the tower on the church which was built by the Saxons is said to be a thousand years old, and it seemed hard to believe that we were probably sailing over the same spot where King Alfred fought the Danes in their longboats sometime in the tenth century. Not may people are interested in the Humber but it has a terrific amount of historical interest if you care to find out about it.

At 1650 exactly four hours after leaving Cleethorpes, we went about to sail into Ferriby Sluice and as we bore away and sailed dawn the smaller creek at the side we were welcomed by many of the Grimsby Yacht Club. After tea we had an enjoyable evening at the Nebthorpe Arms yarning about boats and future cruises.

Thursday 9th August We slipped out of Ferriby at 1525 and as I was before Barracuda in getting away I presumed it was the understood thing as the tide was very low that we were to go through the Swatchway and into the main channel, if necessary anchoring until the tide began to flood again. Imagine my surprise when I got half way through and discovered that Barracuda was nowhere to be seen. I went about and sailed back for Ferriby wondering what had kept her and then back in the south channel I saw them careering off in the general direction of Winteringham. There was a good sailing breeze blowing from dead astern and before long I had almost made up the ground that I had lost by going down the Swatchway. We were sailing in the muddiest water I’ve seen and Geoff looked round and called, “You’ve got a queer looking bow wave.” With that Barracuda came slowly but deliberately to a halt and I luffed up to pass. I never got past for just as I came up the boat slowed down and stopped when we were abreast.

There was nothing to indicate running aground, the plate was still a quarter down and the rudder which is usually jumping up at the slightest touch was still down to its normal waterline. Or was it water we were floating on? A close inspection showed that it was pure unadulterated mud. The two boats although stopped still had bow waves and wakes of solid mud. With an hour or so to wait we passed the time by unsuccessfully trying to set the spinnaker and then prodding at bubbles with our spinnaker boom in the hope of catching a flatfish. The only results of this were a filthy boom and mud all over our decks.

I had worked out that during the two hours we were aground we must have moved about 20 feet, the movement was hardly discernible but when you leaned over the transom the mud was moving past the rudder at the terrific rate of about two inches a minute. It’s a good job the tide came in or we would have been on our way yet. Suddenly we heard a dull roar, coming up astern of us was a wave about nine inches high. At 1810, just under two hours after we went aground, we were under way once more. We chased the wave for some time and then we saw another wave advancing from the opposite direction, identical to the one we were chasing. We watched it get nearer and nearer and then ‘smack’! In a flurry of dirty water they both disappeared and we went sailing on as if nothing had happened.

After some time we came up with the Middle Whitton L.V. where four men stood watching us. Angus shouted “Going somewhere mate?’ The man with the binoculars replied, “We were wondering whether you were going anywhere. We been watching you in the South Channel ever since you hit the mud.”