(Account of a cruise which took place in 1964, not published before)

Aurora, our 13’6” cabin sailing dinghy, was anchored in Benfleet Creek. It was 5am and time to get up, for our first objective was Havengore, and low water was at 6am. This meant only an hour of favourable east-going tide to reach the point on the edge of the sandbank from which we would work our way as the tide rose.

No time to pack up bedding, cook breakfast or wash (no hardship for me!). Up with the sails, a light SW breeze and we were taking the last of the ebb out of the creek. Ahead was Southend Pier and, in the cabin, I was industriously packing away clothes, bedding, air mattresses etc. so that nothing could come loose or get wet if we met bad weather.

Passing the pier, we noticed the wind increasing, so it was not long before the barrier was behind us, and we then turned towards the shore at about 6.30 am. The sun was beginning to warm us now, but we had other things to think about. The wind was rapidly increasing, and as we grounded on the sand the waves slapped against the hull, so that spray blew into the cockpit and the boat lurched at each impact. It was an uncomfortable position, but all we could do was to drag the boat up as far as possible towards a shallow pool and wait for the tide to rise. Before long, the water had risen the inch or so that we needed, and we pushed Aurora into a pool which was now seven inches deep, enough to enable us to drag the boat out of reach of the waves. However, it was not long before they were again reaching the boat but, with the rising water, a channel appeared linking the pool with another a few yards inland.

By now, the sea was dark green, and the waves rows of white fangs reaching towards us. It became an exciting game to see if we could keep ahead. Sometimes we found channels a hundred yards long, leading towards the shore two to three miles distant, and then we would push Aurora along, the crisp sand tingling our feet, so different from the usual Essex mud. Sometimes we would leave the boat and explore ahead to find the most likely route, and each time we became stuck those fangs would creep nearer.

Finally we found a vast channel leading inland. Clambering aboard, we steered with the oar towards the distant shore, no sails being necessary in the fresh breeze. The roar of the waves died to a distant hiss and the white crests became flashes in the strong sun. We finally ran aground just to seaward of the sunken road. Out with the anchor, and then the thing that was uppermost in our minds — breakfast! (at 10 a.m.)

Such was my appetite that I did not look up till it was finished. At last, peering out of the cabin, I was amazed to see all the sands had disappeared before the stealthy advance of the sea. The waves were still breaking out to sea but, after travelling over miles of shallow water, they were robbed of their force to become little wavelets.

Soon we were able to scull over the road, lower the mast, duck under the bridge and sail through the sheltered channels to Paglesham where, after exploring a creek, we anchored for the night, tired but happy.

As far as we and those like us are concerned, life does not come better than this. We fear, however, that when the Foulness area is developed, humanity in its headlong progress will block the creeks and rivers. The demands of commerce are steadily gobbling up our play areas, but our standards of living give us more money and time to spend on leisure. We feel that the Essex coast is such a fine area for sailing, as well as for bird watching, that the nation should resist transforming it into a concrete jungle.

What would the world be, once bereft Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left, O let them be left, wildness and wet; Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet. G.M.Hopkins.