by B Naylor

(Continued from 006/03)

It was late evening on Thursday, 21st July when I found Emma, to my relief, intact and moored against an old converted lifeboat near the Toll Bridge, Sandwich. So overjoyed was I to see her again that, going below, I flung my arms around her centreplate case. Even the extortionate fee for her towage did not abate my enthusiasm.

Getting ready at about 10.00 am the next morning I was puzzled by the fact that the tide was ebbing fiercely under the bridge long past low water at Ramsgate (8.20 am.) Instead of getting the last half of the flood therefore, it had only just started when I was off (11.00) and was fierce half a mile seawards, though there was fortunately no unpleasant encounter with the bridge. At a bend there was a highly accentuated stream on one side and there I stuck for an hour or more in the fluky adverse breeze. Nearby was a creek and over it a little white bridge, also a very convenient form, of which passers-by did not fail to take advantage in order to enjoy the diverting spectacle.

At length, however, the wind stayed steady long enough for me to beat past the offending bend after which it steadily increased and gave me good speed past the wharf at Richborough where I did not have the good fortune to shake my fist at the owner. Thence out from between the banks and along the buoyed channel it was almost a dead beat in the light breeze, which was not far north of east. I gained deep water without further incident and was indeed glad to see the last of Sandwich and its environs.

Emma reached easily down the coast past a large steamer aground in Pegwell Bay with two tugs making valiant, but apparently unsuccessful, efforts to refloat her. To port lay the Goodwin Sands like a graveyard of ships with the headstones of iron, requiring no inscription and dismal even in that bright sunshine. The position of the South Foreland was by then quite clear and the lighthouse too was soon recognisable. I kept a respectable distance away, however, in order to avoid possible overfalls, although they could not have been serious in such weather. Soon after picking out the South Foreland, I recognised the moles of Dover beyond and began to take occasional glances at the 'Channel Pilot'. These caused my steering to 'go haywire' as Emma was still on a broad reach. Few ships had been apparent in the vicinity until then, but her appearance on the horizon seemed to be the signal for all the ships in the harbour to leave and all those at sea to enter. The prospect of making that entrance under such conditions was not pleasant

Fortunately, a lull did occur when there was still a mile to go. It was dusk and the signal lights beckoned from the eastern mole as she glided towards the entrance before a decreasing breeze, and I was afraid that it might fail altogether just when speed was essential to beat the tide sweeping past the entrance. I steered for the middle of the eastern mole at first in order to avoid being swept past the entrance, to be in a relatively sheltered anchorage if the wind did fail, and in the best position to see any ships leaving the inner harbour. Then, the way being clear, I turned and made for the water just off the end of that mole but the cross current carried the boat away, so that she passed through quite near the other side. The eddies just inside were a little troublesome but the wind had freshened slightly and before long I was making circuits of the outer harbour in darkness and a lovely moderate breeze. There were a number of sailing dinghies moored in the NW corner plus a number of vacant moorings, but I thought it was better to drop the hook just to the east of them, the time being about ten.

After having treated myself to a sumptuous repast my position still seemed to be unaltered and the pneumatic drill nearby on the beach mercifully ceased its clamour at midnight, so I hoisted a riding light and retired to my bunk. Next morning the sun was again shining and there was a good moderate breeze, though after breakfast it deteriorated a little. Soon shipping activity started, making me wonder whether I was yet to have a near encounter with one of them. A train ferry very obligingly dropped anchor just inside the mouth about due north of the end of the detached mole, thus nicely obstructing my view of the entrance.

About 11 o'clock, having set the mainsail and the jib alongside it (the jib-boom being set on an outhaul), I heaved short on the warp and she gradually worried the anchor out of the stiff clay. She then lay quietly in the light easterly while I transferred the hook into the cockpit. Then it was a simple matter to pull on the outhaul and set her speeding away in a long board, aiming to pass under the stem of the anchored train ferry. While thus employed I received a hail "Where are you from and where bound?" from a customs launch - also "What is her tonnage?", which received the smiling reply, "About a half", and they appreciated the joke, though Emma was surely taking it quite seriously and swelling with pride at being addressed like a big yacht. Then she twice made for the entrance but, like a timid mouse trying to leave its hole, retreated again at full speed. The first time was after she just got beyond the stem of the anchored ferry, heard a hoot from another leaving the inner harbour, and perceived that the former was weighing - so away she shot towards the submarine base in the NE corner of the harbour. The second time she got her nose out but was frightened back again by the appearance of a big boat just about to enter. The 'no exit' signal was not lowered after the vessel had passed but I was determined to get her through and, after making several fruitless boards in the foul tide between the two mole ends, just rounded the tip of the detached one in time to avoid the next steamer.

With the breeze and tide both in her favour, she sped swiftly by both the mole and the blocked western entrance then past a corvette or similar vessel anchored a mile SE of the harbour. To the SW lay Folkestone harbour, clearly visible in the bright sunny weather but it looked rather exposed and not particularly inviting when I passed about an hour after leaving Dover and then headed for the coast near Hythe seeking slacker water in the adverse tide which would prevail before long. This brought the fresher wind almost dead astern and caused some rolling in the choppy sea. Further south I knew that the Channel Pilot mentioned firing of danger signals so, spilling the wind from the main for a little while, I consulted the tome while she reached along happily under jib. Finding no information of the nature of these signals I continued very close inshore. Thus several ranges were passed before red flags were seen on one of them. Discretion being the better part of valour I immediately adopted a more southerly course which cleared the range adequately. On more of a reach and getting into deeper water the motion eased considerably. Ahead the land narrowed to a thin pencil line along the horizon then apparently disappeared below it, because the tiny vertical line which looked like a beacon well out to sea gave the correct bearing for Dungeness light, so I headed straight for it and ignored the tide. Two hours later a wreck buoy (close starboard) and the Newcombe buoy (well to port) were on the quarter and I watched a fisherman charge his motor boat full tilt up the steep slope o£ the shingle spit which had materialised between the lighthouse and the land. I passed Dungeness headland very close inshore to avoid disturbed water and encountered little save some eddying just past the point.

The breeze was by this time little more than a light air, but she continued to plough on bravely while I managed to get a makeshift meal. There were many ships about - all of which came quite close to the headland beyond which the tide was in her favour and she glided gently but swiftly past the wreck buoy beyond. In the late afternoon haze I descried a faint smudge ahead which looked rather like a hill but did not dare hope at this stage that it could be the headland near Hastings. A little later, however, the hill became more distinct and a square tower on its summit looked very conspicuous. Again letting Emma sail herself under jib I was able to identify positively the hill as Fairlight Down by studying the Pilot (the only time I have ever been able to see the coast as that venerable tome sees it). To starboard the coast was so low as to be almost invisible and no trace of anything that might be Rye could be seen - in any case the tide would not be favourable for that port for another six hours or so, whereas, by carrying on, I should just arrive off Newhaven about time for the young flood. The idea of going to Rye therefore did not tempt me for very long, and I pushed on across Rye bay into the evening, at the close of which Fairlight Down was quite near and to the east the lights of Hastings were already glimmering.

The tide was again foul but I abandoned an earlier idea of 'shore crawling' just in the obscured sector of Beachy Head light, partly because such a procedure was distinctly dangerous and partly because I had made so good a speed to Hastings that my arrival at Newhaven might be too early for the flood. I therefore made for the Hastings pier with the intention of steering by my unlighted compass towards the Royal Sovereign light, but, fortunately, the said light became visible just before I reached the pier and the compass was not required. Instead of the fog or calm that I had feared, the wind backed slightly (making it dead astern) and freshened to the kind of moderate breeze one expects of an English summer night, but so seldom gets.

Hastings and St. Leonards piers slid speedily by and their lights changed to a reddish hue as they faded into the haze. Some lights became visible at Eastbourne and then the Beachy Head light came out of its obscurity and was identified. The water was really quite rough and the motion violent considering the fair wind - the gear was taking rather a battering. About half way towards the lightship the mainsail mast lacing carried away allowing the sail to belly unduly and leaving the yard jaws freedom to part company with the mast, but they showed no tendency to do so and the belly did not matter in the fair wind. The jib could not be kept filled so that its boom swung about madly, catching the forestay with the end fitting every time. I longed to take it down but did not fancy the operation on such a dark night, particularly as it would have required hoisting again on rounding the light.

It was not very easy to steer for that light with its 20 second period and an accidental gybe took place once or twice - further out, however, its approximate position was obvious all the time from the lights of ships in endless procession, stem to stern, round the light. I felt safe from shipping interference there until a couple of boats (perhaps bound to and from Rye) passed close enough for me to reveal Emma's presence by the old and well tried torch on the sails. The flash from the lightship was quite mesmerizing, especially when (towards 12.30) I began to feel the effects of my thirteen hours on the helm. Sometimes it appeared to be miles away, sometimes no more than a few hundred yards off, sometimes even up in the sky! However, the fatigue gradually wore off and, at 2 o'clock, the ship really was close at hand. Emma was yawing violently in the phosphorescent seas - sometimes I thought it better to leave the ship to port, sometimes to starboard. Almost suddenly it was to starboard - its glimmer regularly increasing to brilliance as the beam swept across my sails.

When Beachy Head light appeared well past her, I gybed and broad reached towards that lighthouse. At first progress seemed slow, but soon the tide was favourable so that the light speedily became more prominent and its elevation more obvious, Dawn began to break and in that early twilight the shore looked awfully close so I assumed a westerly course until I could have my first look at the chart for six hours. Just before sunrise I saw what appeared to be a jewel sparkling in the water not far away to the NW - rubbing my eyes did not seem to make any difference and I had nearly convinced myself it was a water sprite luring me to destruction when my attention was distracted for a while and, when I looked back, the mirage, optical illusion, or effect of fatigue was resolved - it was in fact the Newhaven breakwater light. The last few flashes before sunrise were sufficient to identify it and get its rough bearing. Then up came the sun and transformed the scene to one of dazzling beauty as it illuminated the cliffs to a pitch of whiteness which almost hurt my unaccustomed eyes. From majestic Beachy Head the coast swept westwards with the Seven Sisters, tailing down to Cuckmere Haven and rounded off by Seaford Head - all capped with beautiful emerald green - a memorable morn after a long night and it spirited away my weariness. It was indeed one of those moments, one of which is enough to make the worst of travail during a long voyage worthwhile.

The wind freshened slightly so that it seemed possible to make Newhaven against the ebb until I was a mile or so off Seaford when the breeze became light. I therefore hove-to off the town, repaired the sail lashing and had some breakfast while awaiting the flood. She rode very well with the helm lashed only slightly down. By about 8.15 a mist was settling over the hills, the sun could no longer be seen, and the wind had freshened considerably. By then I had drifted some way to leeward of a suitable approach line and had to beat in. The fresh easterly, carrying a fine drizzle, kept the boat's lee gunwale well down on the water. As she passed round the end of the breakwater, however, the wind became less difficult to cope with; within the space between it and the east pier light and variable, and she was becalmed between the two main piers, except for an occasional fitful gust more useless than none at all - especially as I had yet to learn that a headsail is a liability under such conditions. After much useless beating, I therefore got a tow from a passing motor launch and tied up alongside the old coal wharf at 10 o'clock.