As the sun blazed down from a cloudless sky, Popatop (Wayfarer 3687), weighed down by all her cruising gear, was gently launched with the aid of several members of Creeksea Sailing Club. Our original intention had been to slip away quietly one morning, but the word had got around and there we were, tacking slowly down river, waving goodbye each time we approached the northern shore. After the third tack we started to move away more quickly as the wind freshened to force 1 and the tide finally started to ebb. Even so, although we started from Creeksea at 10.30, we were not clear of Burnham until 11.30.

Gradually the noise and fumes of outboards died away astern as we headed out into the Raysand Channel, and as the day wore on the wind strength increased to force 4 easterly. This meant that we were close-hauled all the way and taking a lot of spray aboard as we bumped over the short steep waves. We were making progress though, and by 14.00 the Knoll buoy was abeam. At this point we decided not to put in to Brightlingsea but to carry on to Walton Backwaters.

By 15.00 we were passing Clacton Pier with the wind still keeping us going in grand style. As part of our equipment we were carrying two multi-purpose buckets, one for each of us. These doubled as bailers, wash basins and the well-known ‘bucket and chuck it’ arrangements. There cannot be many Wayfarers with the luxury of two loos! During the course of the trip we had consumed the occasional beer and we had been making use of our ‘facilities’ from time to time, and therefore hygiene demanded that before we ate our sandwiches we washed our hands. This we did in the sea off Frinton, about 100 yards away from a black and white buoy, of whose purpose I was ignorant. As we slowly sailed towards this buoy, for the wind was now dropping, we munched away at our sandwiches feeling at peace with the world. Abruptly the peace was shattered. It became apparent that the white paint on the buoy was, in fact, yellow, and that the buoy marked the sewage outlet for Frinton. As we looked over the side of the boat we could see the sewage welling up from the depths and creating a ‘two level’ effect in the sea. The top six inches was clear sea water, and underneath it, flowing in a different direction, was the effluent provided by the worthy citizens of Frinton and their guests. The sandwich which I was holding in my newly-washed hand ceased to titillate my appetite. In fact I felt nauseated, and by the look on his face I could tell that Harry was having the same trouble in consuming his repast.

By 17.30 we had reached Walton with the wind having died away to almost nothing, and the tide setting against us. We paddled and took advantage of every zephyr until at 20.00 Naze Tower was abeam. After that we had the faint breeze more aft and we picked up speed to at least ¼ knot over the ground. After hugging the shore and cutting across the shoals we finally anchored at Stone Point at 21.30, tired but delighted with our achievement. I am not sure that you can go anywhere from Stone Point by land, but it is a recognised and popular anchorage with a sandy beach.

For the next two days we explored the Walton Backwaters, and on the third day we decided to set out for Harwich. So by 10.15 we were sitting, ready-rigged, in a mud berth at Kirby-le-Soken, an ideal spot with easy access to water and shops, watching the water creeping higher and higher up the saltings. Harry had said that we would have water at 10.25. I considered that it would be very bad for crew discipline if we had the water a moment before 10.45, which just happened to be the time I had set for its arrival. At 10.30 precisely we floated away from the berth without any fuss. As we hardened the sheets I made a few pointed remarks about how well I had organised the departure, how smoothly it had all gone, and hoped that Harry would not notice the exact moment at which we floated. I might as well have cried for the moon! He waved his disgustingly ornate watch, complete with moveable bezel, in my face saying, “I told you so.” So much for crew discipline.

The wind was freshening all the time as we crossed Dovercourt Bay, and outside the Harwich breakwater Popatop hit a very rough patch. Up, down, splash, sit out, sit in, up, down; it seemed to go on for a very long time, appearing, as it usually does at such moments, more dangerous to take positive action, such as reefing or altering course, than just to hang on and hope that nothing carried away. Gradually the sea calmed down as we passed the breakwater and very soon we were able to gybe smoothly on to a course for Harwich Town S.C., where we hoped to stop for the night. Alas, the beach was too steep for us to be able to drag a laden Wayfarer up, despite our boat rollers, and so we abandoned the attempt and headed up the Orwell.

At 13.45 we entered Levington Creek, and carefully felt our way up it under jib alone, using the centre board as a depth gauge. As Levington Quay was blocked by a barge we wriggled Popatop into a nearby gutway, from which we could get ashore with some difficulty. Within ten minutes we were aground, a consequence of our arrival at any place which we were now taking for granted. On the next tide we moved to a more convenient part of the gutway, with easy access to the land, and spent the next two nights there owing to adverse weather conditions (it blew force 7 outside) and our inclination to remain in a pretty, quiet village.

Eventually, despite the shipping forecast mentioning hail and sleet with north-westerly winds up to force 7, we left at 13.00 for Walton Backwaters. As soon as we were out into the Orwell, where the actual wind had been about force 4, the wind dropped and we drifted through Harwich on the tide. There were, however, several sleet showers and we were very cold and glad to have the exercise of paddling. Eventually, the wind piped up again and we finally ended up in Landermere Creek feeling very miserable and sorry for ourselves. Once we had our big anchor over the side, the boom tent up and the Primus going we felt much better, but these operations took much longer than usual owing to the exposure from which we were suffering, and I resolved to bear this in mind when assessing our endurance in the future. It could have been serious.

The next day we moved to an old barge berth near the sea wall and there we sheltered from the renewed strong winds for another two days. The nights had been very cold for all the cruise and the strong winds had shown up one or two weaknesses in the tent so we decided, upon hearing a forecast of a northerly force 5-6, with a further outlook of stronger winds to come, to go south before the weather became worse. We therefore moved from the mud berth to an anchorage so that we could leave at the correct state of the tide.

And so, on a gloriously sunny day, we set out for the return trip. There was no northerly force 5-6. There was no wind at all until we had paddled and drifted out of the Backwaters and clear of the land, when we found a steady south-easterly force 3, and once we had Walton abeam at 11.30 we settled down to a close-hauled sail on the port tack. There was no need for the compass, which was just as well, as it had been packed in the aft buoyancy compartment; we just pointed Popatop as close as possible and by 14.00 we had watched Point Clear disappear astern into the haze. Wherever we looked we could see sails, most of them white and reflecting the strong sunlight, and the splashing of the water round the hull and the rocking were very soporific. I think that Harry was asleep at times, but he denied this. At 16.10 we bore away up the River Crouch. It had been a fast passage, done entirely on sea breezes as we found after a very short time in the Crouch, where the breeze died away to the merest whisper. Nevertheless we arrived at Creeksea at 18.10 to be greeted by those very same club members who had seen us off 8 days before. They helped us to pull Popatop out of the water, and even presented us with a photograph of our departure.

Before lowering the burgee I looked at it; there it hung, limply. I looked at the river; it was fast assuming the aspect of a high quality mirror. I recalled an expression used by an old Dutch singlehanded sailor long departed the sea of life: “No one can sail without good fortune.”