16’, moulded hull, gaff rig, cabin

This was the month of June in all her glory; long hot days, light fickle winds and short warm nights. The Dinghy Cruising Association had a rally planned for Paglesham on the Essex river Roach for Saturday the seventh but this was far too modest a task for the little gaff cutter Shoal Waters (Fairey Falcon with a lid on) as she waited on the deep mud mooring at Heybridge, twenty-five miles away on the river Blackwater, for the Friday evening tide that would free her to roam the wide estuary for fifty hours. The forecast was light NW winds. The NW wind is the offshore night breeze in the area and the onshore breeze comes in from the SE during the afternoons. Thus the forecast wind PLUS the night breeze would be stronger than I really like and the SE verses NW during the day might lead to long calms at midday and early afternoon.

A trip that I had had my eye on for some years was the idea of leaving Heybridge with the ebb out of the Blackwater to the Spitway, the flood to the Medway and into the West Swale at high water where the tide going east for the first of the ebb would sweep her through to Harty Ferry ready to take the next flood tide back to Essex. What better route to the rally! Little did I know that other minds were working along another route that would take them in over the Maplin sands and through Havengore Creek. Most important of all for dinghy cruising, there were plenty of alternatives if the going got tough or the crew just got fed up. We could slip down through the Rays’n channel to the Crouch, go into the Crouch after passing through the Spitway, take the morning tide into Havengore or even anchor in the Medway and sail straight back to Essex over the afternoon flood.

HW was 1900 hours on Friday and a light air from the NW carried her smoothly down river with the ebb tide. I had a snooze while Joy steered. She was worried at our slow progress but at 2100 hours I pointed out that we had made good four knots to the Power Station breakwater at Bradwell. As night closed in we found ourselves in company with several larger boats set for a night passage. Just before midnight Shoal Waters passed slowly through the Spitway and pointed her bowsprit south. The 0015 hours forecast gave light airs continuing from the NW.

Suddenly wind arrived, up to the top of force three, and the boat went down the edge of the sands with the young flood like a scalded cat. Joy peered out at 0200 hours to see the great cardinal buoy at Maplin Spit sweep by and stayed until three by which time the Blacktail Spit was abeam and dawn was well on the way. The great chimney on the Isle of Grain power station (at least it makes a good lighthouse if nothing else) beckoned us into the Medway and it looked an easy leap but the chart showed that we had a good eight miles to go and were now on the wind. I would have liked to see the Thames a little smoother but progress was grand and at 0500 hours Shoal Waters swept through between the Medway forts and headed down to the Swale as I eased the sheets and made a quick breakfast of Alpen, glad to be in smooth water again.

Queenborough with its crowded moorings of sleeping yachts flashed by and at 0600 hours the traditional bucket went up to the masthead for the bridge keeper at Kingsferry. The sun came out from behind a cloud bank on the eastern horizon and Joy appeared from her sleeping bag to brew up as I jilled about for half an hour waiting for the massive bridge to rise up between the tall piers and let us carry on with the flood tide eastwards. Joy took the helm while I got an hour’s sleep to wake as the moorings at Harty Ferry came abeam. Half an hour later I dropped anchor a hundred yards NW of the Sand End buoy, enjoyed a breakfast of bacon and eggs and then we crawled into our sleeping bags for more kip.

At first the tide roared by but when I checked the position at 1030 hours only a sluggish stream kept Shoal Waters pointing whence she had come and a great whale of a sandbank loomed to port for we were right out of the main channel which is over on the south side here. The sun scorched down and was killing off the wind. With low water at 1400 hours I judged that it would be possible to leave as late as 1300 hours if the wind held but it pays to be in plenty of time. We set full sail, including topsail, and joined the procession of yachts leaving the East Swale to find a dying wind, a few moments of very local northerly onshore wind and then a long glide out onto the broad Thames, juggling with the ghoster to woo each cat’s-paw until the wind gradually came in from the east at about 1600 hours. Then the little lady got weaving and danced across the main shipping lanes and over the covering sands reaching the Broomway, the watershed and the ancient road across the sands to Foulness island, at 1800 hours to find just enough water under the keel for her to slip across into the deeper water of the channel up to the bridge. It was too early for the bridge keeper to be on duty and we anchored a hundred yards or so from the bridge for a steak supper. Suddenly two more sails appeared at the entrance to the creek from the north. I recognised Wellington, the 14’ Skipper owned by David and Gail McClellan, and a Mirror dinghy sailed by Stewart Duncan. They had launched at Hullbridge on the upper Crouch and, in view of the good conditions, sailed round the Whittaker beacon at the NE corner of Foulness sands at low water, a trip to the rally of some 32 miles. Of course, if conditions had not been suitable they could have merely sailed down the Crouch as far as the mouth of the Roach and got to Paglesham direct. Bold plans, with safe refuge if things turn nasty, is the essence of dinghy cruising.

We threw them a line and there was just time for tea all round before the bridge keeper appeared. When the old iron road and rail bridge went up we had to beat through, for the wind was still westerly inland, to give us a lazy sail through the creeks that divide the islands of Rushly and Potton from the mainland, as the sun went down. The ebb was gaining speed as we reached Paglesham at 2100 hours to beach on firm mud near the hard. Joy and I fell into our bunks as soon as we had made a hot drink, for it had been a 70-mile trip over 26 hours.

Sunday dawned warm and sunny; we said an early (0600 hours) goodbye to Gypsy, a fine 23½’ sharpie (four sheets of ply long) from Harwich owned by Eva Gotto and built on whaler lines. They wanted to make an early start in view of the light airs forecast. Then we gathered at the top of the yard to be joined by Eric Coleman, the founder of the DCA in Rebell, his own design for small boat cruising. Joy fried some sausages (bring your own bread) as we chatted away the rest of the flood tide in the warm sunshine. I calculated that the five boats had covered some 200 miles between them getting to the rally.

Shoal Waters and Rebell had to leave on the top of the tide for the river Blackwater. Now we never race in the DCA but it has to be admitted that whenever two or more craft sail in company from point A to point B the respective owners seem to have a clear idea of the order in which craft should arrive at B, particularly as so many of them have designed or adapted their own boats. Someone gave a sacrilegious shout of “Bang!” as the two boats left. In fact in varying winds Shoal Waters saw alternately the stern and then the bow of Rebell until a wind shift and near thunderstorm off Stone put her ahead for the last reach up to Northey Island where we anchored for a last cup of tea while waiting for the tide to cover our moorings. As the saying goes, “the smaller the boat the better the sport!”

Weekends like that one I really believe it.