The earliest surviving pilot book for the Mediterranean and Black Seas was written in Greek 2300 years ago by Scylax. I have a copy of rather later date with a parallel text in Latin. While struggling through it I came upon the phrase ‘remis velisque’. Literally, it means ‘with oars and sails’, which was the Roman idiom for ‘with all one’s might’ or ‘hammer and tongs’ and suchlike. By sail and oar, with this implication, exactly applies to my sort of dinghy cruising. Should I ever rise to a coat-of-arms, it would have a sail and crossed oars with the Latin legend.

Many years back, after taking a Blakes weekend course in sailing, I hired a 2-berth yacht at Upton and sailed it, single handed, about the north rivers of the Broads. At first it was exciting enough, particularly getting under way and mooring single handed, but soon I could make the boat go where I wanted and the problem then was where to go next. One day, I learned of some newly dredged peat that was available for the taking. I found a couple of plastic fertiliser sacks, sailed to where the peat was, loaded up and took it back to the car. On the way back I realised that things felt different and better: I was not just sailing, I was doing a job in which the sailing was the means.

Similarly, in dinghy cruising, I prefer to have an objective. This cannot always be achieved, but it gives point and extends the pleasure into the advance planning of the previous winter. Each May the Otters have a meeting at Hickling which I attend, for all or part of the events, and follow with a cruise. Bit by bit I have covered all the Broads waterways to their uttermost limits. Last year I had, technically, completed the lot. Yet there was a nagging possible remnant. In the old days the Waveney Navigation went right up to Bungay. The authorities closed it with a dam at Ellingham Mill and put a chain across the river at Geldeston with a notice ‘End of Navigation’. I wrote to the Commissioners about the right of access but they chose not to reply. So this year I resolved to cruise from Martham to Ellingham Mill.

On the Saturday afternoon of the Hickling meeting, I sailed down to Acle against a cool breeze and found a berth just opposite the Bridge Inn where the Otterites were to dine. Sunday morning I set off early, tacking against a hard south-east breeze, supported by the thought that at Stracey Arms the river turns east. But when I got there the wind had backed to east, so the tack-tacking went on all the way to Yarmouth. Here I tied up to a fishing boat to lower the mast and for a rest until an hour before low water. Then we drifted out under the bridges and tucked in by the mud bank on the right, where an eddy allows one to anchor in calm water while the river still ebbs fast.

Low water neaps was at 3 pm but, given the commanding easterly wind, I could sail over the last of the fast ebb on Breydon. Because it would be 4 miles of a gybing run, I set off at 2.30 with four turns of the mainsail on the boom. I had no jib. With this 40ft², Windflower (Otter 206) surged along, surfing with the following waves. A couple of times I went about through the wind to save a gybe. Once I was just too slow and she gybed all standing, with myself finishing up on the bottom of the boat. I was mighty glad that I did not have a whole sail up. The first few miles into the Waveney were downhill but then the course turned to windward. At 5pm I stopped at St. Olaves for the night.

On Monday I went on up river with the morning tide, still reefed down because the wind was augmented by the onshore breeze. It took just four hours to get to Beccles. Here the mast had to come down again for the bridge so, after some refreshment at The Ship, I rowed under the bridge and kept on rowing — just for a change — the last couple of miles to Geldeston Lock, the idyllic spot in the marshes where my good friend Walter is landlord of The Locks Inn.

On Tuesday, Windflower went through the derelict lock, past the chain barrier and sailed the two miles west through lush, level meadows to pretty Ellingham Mill. I say ‘sailed’ but all the spars were down. The wind just pushed us along at a knot or so. In one meadow, young bullocks, curious as ever, trotted and frisked along the bank to keep up with the strange phenomenon gliding by. Rowing back against the wind was a fair slog. Halfway back, I had elevenses for an hour, while Windflower swung to her anchor.

Had the weather been dismal, I could have sailed back to the car at Martham. But the weather was glorious and I opted to have a spell of walking and sketching in the locality. On the last day, three country buses and a short walk took me back to fetch the car and trailer from Martham. Friday morning I pulled the boat out at Geldeston Village staithe.