by B Naylor

As the summer of 1955 wore on my natural sailor's fear of strong winds and gales gradually gave place to a fear of the two curses of that otherwise glorious season - flat calms and sea fogs. It was with no surprise, but not a little foreboding therefore, that I viewed the morning of July 17th, for it was very misty and possessed not a breath of wind. Feeling sure that if I were to wait the rest of the summer, I should probably fare no better, Geoff and I started preparations for departure.

Emma was reluctant to say goodbye to her old haunts - the anchor requiring a plunge for its recovery from one of the heavier obstructions common in that ground. It was nine o'clock by the time we paddled towards the river and one could then just make out Mersea Island but a flat calm still prevailed. Seeing our feeble efforts with the paddles a kind fellow rowed out from a nearby yacht and volunteered to tow us out 'before breakfast'. Asking us where we were bound he was obviously amazed to hear us answer "Ramsgate" but disguised his incredulity by merely saying, “that is a very long way”.

Near the withies marking the entrance there came a light breeze and, casting us off, our friend wished us 'Bon voyage'. It was nearly high water and we passed over the bank the withies marked on the starboard tack in the light easterly. Our first chart did not quite cover the entrance to the Blackwater so navigation was by experience as far as the Colne buoy and the port tack was taken with hope rather than purpose as the Swin Spitway buoy was invisible in the haze. It turned up however, almost on course but we had to dodge a patch of disturbed brownish water before pointing her bows towards the buoy. A Thames barge was not far behind and did not bother to avoid the patch, thus confounding our judgment.

Once at the buoy Emma was at last 'in charted waters' and tore past in glorious style on to the Whittaker which she passed 12 minutes later at 2.32 pm - giving her a speed of 5 knots in that moderate, steady easterly and favourable tide. No other buoys were visible so we followed a compass course to lead us to the eastward of the East Barrow sand which was visible from afar being a high bank with a tall beacon on its NE end, which we just grazed.

At this point the tide was turning and, although not yet quite against us, began to set into the estuary and gave some assistance on the next leg towards the North Edinburgh channel in a failing wind. Ahead lay a horizon which was far from sharp and made us suspect a bank of fog. This seemed all the more likely when ominous murmurings resembling a muffled diaphone were heard in the distance. The flood carried us further into the estuary than we desired and it was apparently the South Edinburgh channel buoys which loomed up on the port bow. As the wind was sufficient only to just give steerage way when the tide set against us through both channels, our strenuous efforts on the paddles towards the nearest buoy to make sure of our position were of no avail as the fog closed around us and the Nore light vessel boomed its single warning blast.

This signal gradually grew louder as we continued in the grip of the tide, pointing the bows hopefully upstream when steerage way was available. The atmosphere became very thick and visibility had dropped to about fifty yards when. darkness came. Thus we faced a dangerous night at sea in a main shipping lane with little or no way on - around us ships' sirens sounding but no visible hull materialising, much to our relief. Once or twice we feebly tried to paddle into shallow water but failed to reach bottom with our lead line so that anchoring was out of the question.

In this region of complex currents our Admiralty Pocket Tidal Stream Atlas was a great help giving all the changes in sufficient detail at a glance. With its aid we forecast the change to a favourable stream and sure enough at the appointed hour the Nore diaphone stopped increasing in volume and an apparent breeze from the East sprang up. Judging by the noise we decided that the lightship was very close and put the boat on a corrected course for the entrance to the South Edinburgh channel. I had hoped that the fog would clear soon after nightfall as it had done so often in the Channel but three weeks earlier. However, this was not to be, and Emma ploughed on into the pitch dark her crew expecting any moment to hear her plate scrape on a shingle bank or see the ghostly lights of a steamer bearing down on them. Such was not to be our fate, instead a glow suddenly appeared in the fog ahead towards which we steered and had no sooner identified it as the starboard entrance marker than the middle ground (quick flashing) buoy appeared. We passed between them with intense relief and set course to pass through the middle of the channel. This put us close to the feeble wind and occasionally Emma would go about in a most infuriating manner and end up hove to because the jib sheet stuck in the block (Emma has a lazy jib).This caused some friction between my crew and I until I took over when it promptly happened to me!

Despite their abundance no further buoys were seen until daylight, the Nore foghorn subsiding once more to a murmur whilst the Tongue lightship (two blasts) became louder and the jangle of a bell was heard nearer at hand. This turned out to be coming from a large steamer at anchor - the first ship seen - but dawn was approaching and with it the fog began to clear. This seemed to be the signal for all the ships in creation to start moving. One small coaster began chasing us and had, in the end, to be flashed. This caused her to change course abruptly, stop her engines, and a voice boomed, "Are you all right?" We answered in the affirmative but could not help wondering whether the question was meant to be a reflection on our sanity.

The noise of the Tongue diaphone subsided gradually and then ceased abruptly with the end of the fog as we glided gently by the buoys on the end of the Margate sand. Ahead, however, a bank of haze still lay and the North Goodwin diaphones still boomed their dismal refrain in the distance. Ahead a tall steel tower appeared and then disappeared again just as promptly in the haze. Then, to eastward, we were privileged to see the last few flashes of the North Foreland - enough to identify and fix a compass course with its aid.

Thence it was largely plain sailing past the Foreland and through the minor overfalls and eddies whilst the sun rose in a cloudless sky until the heat became intense. The light air from the east continued but only just gave steerage way, our quite rapid progress being mainly by the tide's agency. Thus borne along we passed Broadstairs and then made a big mistake by passing Ramsgate too, for somehow Sandwich attracted me. Perhaps it was the attraction of the unknown for there were no details on the chart and the Channel Pilot devoted but one small paragraph to it. However it looked a welcome haven on the map so in we went. Steering from the southernmost Ramsgate fairway buoy by compass and making allowance for the strong tide we soon found ourselves paddling into the estuary in a flat calm. The ingoing tide was hardly noticeable in the outer channel but became increasingly swift at the bend into the river proper where a light easterly would have enabled us to beat all the way to Sandwich itself but I foolishly chose a berth to the South of the Yacht Club moorings and there let go the CQR.

The Richborough yachtsmen were very free with their advice but not one of them could tell us where the hook would find clear ground. We were quickly warned off the first spot chosen because there was said to be a 'grid' beneath. With the anchor I picked up an iron ring weighing close on a hundredweight which Geoff was fortunately able to lift off. Then the boat was moved alongside an old, half sunken barge further up and we were in the middle of washing up after having had a well earned lunch when another hurried move was made because, according to another passing boat owner, there were 'stakes' under us. Then followed a time-wasting errand further downstream not attended by any more success. A pleasant looking pool at the northern end of the quay seemed not half so pleasant when a sluice gate was discovered at the other end and was quickly abandoned. When I asked an apparently knowledgeable member of the Yacht Club about a suitable berth I did not get the offer of one on their moorings which I expected (though thinking they looked a bit crowded) but suggested she be moored alongside the nearby quay. Not enough warp was available for that and I had no fenders so we eventually asked two millwrights working on the cranes if she would be alright alongside an old converted M.F.V. and they saw no objection.

When at length we had tidied up however, the owner of the quay appeared looking for trespassers and a row ensued followed by police inquiries when we reached Sandwich. MORAL - if off Pegwell Bay give the Stour river a miss but if by some mischance you should find yourself there avert your eyes as you pass Richborough and carry on to Sandwich proper to which I arranged to have Emma towed. Continued: 009/12