We enjoy sharing others’ cruises in the Bulletin; we hope you will enjoy coming with us in Tethys, our wooden Drascombe Lugger (Bulletin 87 tells you about the modifications we made).

As we had been to the DCA Meet at Walton Stone the week before and left gear aboard, stowage was simpler. Our outline passage plan was to go down the coast on the ebb, up the River Ore to Orford, possibly go on to Southwold, and, in either case, to go from there up the coast, southwards to the River Colne, possibly the Blackwater, the Crouch and Roach. In the end we missed out Southwold, and only crossed the mouth of the Blackwater, but it was nearly 120 miles of course made good.

We set out on 15th August, slipping our mooring at 1340, in a light south-easterly wind which had not heard the 1355 forecast, for NW 3 or 4. With rather over an hour of ebb already, we found ourselves having to tack about to get out of the harbour. By 1503 we were near the Landguard buoy and we soon altered course to cut across the dredged channel (now 8.2m and getting busier) at its narrowest point, under the stern of a ship leaving harbour. We logged that Jane saw more flotsam as well as more sails than when she was here in July finishing her Day Skipper course cruise. By 1525 the wind had dropped and we heard the foghorns of the Cork Lanby and the Sunk, although it was clear enough and no ships near us were sounding. This closing in called for a contingency plan in case it did get thick. The plan was that, until we got to Boathouse Point we would head for the mouth of the Deben, kedge near it till the flood began, and anchor inside. If we were at Boathouse then the Ore itself was the destination, but again we would use power.

It was now 7/8 cloud, the sea had become smooth, but the Naze Tower was still just visible. We were going down the coast under tide power, really! (‘Up’ & ‘down’ here refer to going ‘Up to London River’ in the old bargemen's language). It was somewhere at this point that we looked at one another as Jane was cleaning the decks, and realised that we had finally got away and had no more home worries for a week. We tacked out to get more wind, but found none to speak of at about 1½M offshore. Woodbridge Haven buoy appeared, ‘moving’ against a fleet of toy dinghies from Felixstowe Ferry SC who all seemed to have enough wind to make good speed against the ebb.

By 1630 a puff had become a breath of wind, and we were wing and wing heading for Shingle Street Martello tower, past Bawdsey and its landmark radio tower, the menacing looking rockets and their buxom radar directors. By 1732 we altered course for Shingle Street, the hamlet at the mouth of the Ore. It was lazy sailing and slow, but in fact it suited us with our long-term weariness and the immediate efforts of getting away.

Boathouse Point is nothing on the map, but a reality as you coast, though it would offer no shelter. We ghosted, apparently very slowly, yet when we looked at the time, we had arrived on schedule for crossing the notorious bar and going up the Ore on the flood. (Jack Coote's advice is 1 to 1½ hours after LW giving 2m over the bar). The sea was almost glassy, yet the overfalls were a-boiling as the last of the ebb from the river met the flood of the sea in the shallows with waves up to 18" — clearly a place to respect!

Foolish and sheep like, we went over to where other craft with activity on deck seemed to be making efforts to go in up some swatchway to the south. Had we re-read the pilot, we would have gone in on the transit of the Haven Buoy and the shore mark (Red diamond on post). It turned out that their efforts were directed to getting off the bottom, and they expected us to join them. However, with Jane smartly working the plate and then lifting the rudder, while I shipped a sweep over the stern, we ran in easily under foresails, chuckling while they stayed aground. The flood takes you in at up to 4 kn (spring ebb can be 6kn) but the fickle wind died as the rich red disc of the sun set behind a deep bed of purple grey cloud flecked with crimson, and so we used our nice new Seahorse 7.5, while Jane handed sail. Up the main channel (eastabouts) past Havergate Island, we ended up watching the withies against the reflected twilight. By 2000 we had landed just above the quay, phoned home to see the family were okay, checked church time for the morning (a nice convenient 0800!) and pottered just below the Quay to drop ‘Big Bro’ (the 5 kg Bruce anchor, not his ‘Little Brother’ 2kg) well in towards the bathing area posts, above the first moored craft.

Sunday 16th August

As the music gave way to the synopsis at 0625 we bumped. I leaped out. It was true: we had dragged and were alongside the moored vessel below our original berth! Missing the forecast, Jane was soon on the foredeck hauling in warp while I got the engine going. A quick chug and we re-anchored, this time with the 2 kg for a kedge downstream. We concluded that the rising wind on the tent has compounded a circular eddy at the foot of the Quay to send us round and round and break out the Bruce. It is at times like that that we bless the windows Jane sewed into the sides and bows of the tent (off cuts of tent window) — as well as when we just feel curious.

Part of the fun of cruising is the people you meet: the other Lugger owner, off in a rush to ferry folk to a race; the man who, incongruously, stepped ashore clutching nothing but his briefcase as he abandoned the freedom of the waters for the slavery of the office. Another sort of fun is the kind of sail we had down the river. With all our gear and our heavy plate we were sailing with all plain sail, whereas others had to reef; Tethys just loves that amount of wind! We bought up at anchor just below the spit at Butley Creek because we were by now peckish, and we needed to debate plans for the day. The wind was rising and we were still weary, so we decided to eat and then make our way up to windward under power to explore Butley River, where Jane sails with Scouts and Guides, but I had not been. About 6 cables up the river there is an old (wartime?) quay built out, where I think one could lie alongside and take the mud. Soon Jane spotted the unique flagstaff of the 1st Napton Scouts, so we knew John would be in camp. As we dropped down after exploring, we therefore called, using the little hard there under Burrow Hill (or ‘Barrow’ — a dig is in progress), and had coffee and a chat before we anchored off, lower down, for a ‘make and mend’: (Sunday afternoon in HM ships is a ‘make and mend’, when no ship’s work is done). In fact we did both make and mend things, especially work on the fixing of our new tricolour masthead light.

The morning forecast had clearly been on the optimistic side, and we were g1ad we were not out in the open sea or trying to get through the entrance. Suddenly, at 1900, the wind took off; we veered all our bower warp, dropped the kedge, middled them and lay snugly all night. Far enough out in the stream one lies peacefully at all tides, though it gets narrow. The moon rose, red and huge over the still water, and the seabirds, probing about on the expanding mudflats, became more chatty in their conversations till the tide once more reclaimed its boundaries.

Monday 17th August

A noisy curlew woke me at 0500 to beauty and a flat calm soon broken as a FAST workboat whooshed inshore of us and shook everything with a huge wash. The passage plan for the day noted HW Harwich 0136, LW 0729 which meant 0700 at the Haven entrance, so that we reckoned we could get out by 0730 when the change begins to run into the river. We were lashed up and stowed by 0650. The inshore forecast gave N to NE 3 or 4 becoming variable 2 - 3, fair, visibility good.

Within twenty-five minutes we were through the ‘Lower Gull’ and into Long Reach, and none too soon, as the ebb in the river was slackening visibly. When we ‘stopped’ (in a swirling eddy) to photograph two seals taking the early sun, the meeting of the ebb and flood was churning the water in the river, but without breaking the surface. We met various craft lying there, till the bar had enough for them to clear it, but with full sail and a touch of power to give unquestioned steerage, we went out on transit with no difficulty at all, to be the first out on that tide.

So began a long day that was to see us cover a long distance and savour everything from a flat calm to a hairy run over the Colne bar. The northerly wind held until we got to about Wadgate Ledge Buoy: there followed a slightly anxious crossing of the dredged channel, almost becalmed, but managing to get astern of the Townsend Thoresen Ferry, and then let the flood carry us. We noticed a north-easterly swell, which was to be with us all day, joined by another wave train about 30 degrees more northerly in its course, both of them leftovers from gales at the top of the North Sea, no doubt. By 0830 we were off the southern Martello tower at Felixstowe Ferry, and I logged that the jib was pulling well, once it was trimmed properly in relation to the staysail, on our experimental bowsprit. By 0930 we were only at Platters No.5 buoy, and Jane was boiling water to make coffee rather than use the flasks, it was so calm — but progress was also slow. We watched the clouds forming over the land, the course of the smoke from stubble burning, and all the signs which seemed to suggest a thermal wind, but at 1055 we succumbed and joined the other boats on passage in using power to get an offing towards the Medusa buoy which marks the channel Nelson used to get out unexpectedly early for the French in HMS Medusa. In 45 minutes we were able to cut the engine and beat down the Wallet in long and short boards a mile to half a mile offshore. At 1150 the newly made log revealed a speed of 2 knots, which, with the 1.75 kn. of the tide, gave rather over 3kn. until the tide slackened. The sky then clouded over, the wind went south as the land forecast had said. We were just not quite able to lay a course parallel to the coast, even when it fell away more westerly, because the wind veered. By 1330, beating into the sea, we were wearing oilskins and practicing using our new homemade harnesses (ex old car safety harness from local car scrap dealer) rather than use them in earnest without any experience.

With the two swells coming in at the top of the Wallet between the land and the Gunfleet Sand, and the waves coming from the south, the sea was 3 - 4ft high, I calculated. As the Gunfleet sheltered us more from the swells, the wave pattern dominated. Handing the jib in good time (easy with the newly fitted inhaul) we were more comfortable and sailed more upright than many others we could see. Soon we had a head wind and a following sea. Near Jaywick the wind moderated 3 then rose 4 - 5 and southwest, so a bit of motor sailing got us round Chevaux de Frises point and Clacton pier, to free off down the next stretch of coast. At times the Wallet can seem interminable — perhaps it was in one of those moments that we set course for Colne Bar Buoy, only to find, too late, that we had mistaken it and were in fact going across the Colne Bar to No.1 buoy with a southwest wind against the flood. It was grand surfing down the wave faces, less so climbing their backs; it was no place to be, and certainly not had there been any more wind. The wind soon backed a bit, so I struck the mizzen to keep power forward of the helm: first we broad reached and then ran, glad of the deep rudder on the Lugger, which kept its grip. Soon it was an exhilarating run up the Colne to Brightlingsea buoy, where we handed the main also, carrying on under jib and only motoring the last little bit to Town Jetty for the tap and the phone. Into the bargain we found fresh local kippers and a loaf of bread, which was to figure later on in the saga, from a fish and chip shop.

Thus stocked up we moved the 100 yards or so to use our club membership and tie up at the Colne Yacht Club pontoon, to go and have a shower with them. Their young dinghy sailors had used all the hot water, but we pottered up to the bar for a drink and to look at the panoramic view — only to notice that Tethys was now high and dry, even at their pontoon, and that until about 22.30. So much for our plans to nip up the Pyefleet for an early night! This was when we again canvassed the idea of towing a small dinghy of some sort, like the smart newly finished one from Agiliti which caught our eye on the mud alongside us, and was to figure later in our evening’s entertainment, as we helped (in my waders) the father, anxious mum and two daughters embark and get across to their boat.

The club had a barn dance, and couples at various stages of mutuality or romance came down in the gloaming to gaze across the water. Older hands rowed ashore and back gently, past revelling of that sort, and, like us, content in their own company. Old salts passed the time of day, commenting on Tethys herself, or on how far we had come in the day (some 32 miles). All the cruise people were interested in how far we had come, both this year and last, when we did nearly the same cruise. Meanwhile we had no option but to do all our living in full view of the club and the bystanders — all preparations for bed that could be made were made, so that when the water finally crept under the keel again we could be off. We first helped a busy man get off (who turned out to be the duty pilot going to a call) and then Tethys herself lifted. A push into the fairway, a pull on the cord and we motored off, with our old mustard-jar white light, as we are under 7m and you can’t use a tricolour. We set off down the channel till we picked up the leading lights at the turn in the channel. We became aware of a powerboat astern, with huge lights: then we read the lights and realised it was ‘our’ pilot. He was, we knew, in a hurry, but he did not ‘cut us up’ or risk being out of the channel till he had room to surge off to port abreast of the last buoy before the Cardinal S.

We altered course a little to go into the Pyefleet, glad we knew the area, though it was Jane’s first time on the water here by night, silent and full of shapes, not all with riding lights. Night vision is vital in a crowded summer anchorage, but it is apt to be unready for fifteen feet of bowsprit, end on to you, though the smack at its root is clear enough. We hummed quietly up through the anchored and moored craft to our old familiar berth, just past the buoy that marks for most the limit of the anchorage, at the mouth of the old, blocked Broad Fleet where we used to camp with the family. Here came the test: how far from the dim shoreline is the low water mark for this tide?? Being tired we did not use our ‘Braille’ lead line (1 knot per metre because I cannot tell colours in the dark) but we didn't do a bad job — at full ebb we lay in two feet! There is a small, shell hard opposite the oyster shed on Pewit Island, but Reeveshall marshes are deserted, and the farm a long way off. You need to be independent of shore to stay here.

Tuesday 18th August

Our two anchors gave us another peaceful night, and we woke to rain and more wind than we like, so had another ‘make and mend’ day, starting with those delectable kippers we had bought. In the afternoon came the first actual twinkle from our tricolour and white lights at the masthead.

We kept the weather pilot going and decided that with the expected NW 3 - 4 possibly rising 6 plus, later, we could make the Crouch from the Colne, or, failing that, at least get round to another berth in West Mersea. Twilight brought a twinkle of masthead and riding lights, but as night wore on and the likelihood of traffic receded so did the lights. The saltings sighed and gurgled in the air as the birds returned to feast.

Wednesday 19th August

We woke to almost no wind, but there was enough to come gently down to Mersea Stone under full sail, hardly daring to disturb the cleanness of the new day as we took the last of the ebb to be at the bar, out where the streams divide for the Colne, the Blackwater and the Raysand Channel by the turn of the tide at 0850. In fact we were a trifle late, but it was still slack water, and there was now enough wind not to worry. I find I enjoy the navigation as much as the handling; Jane likes the helm, so all was happy. By the time we were at the Eagle Buoy the wind was against the new flood and the waves were rising 2ft. We passed the transit of the two outer Target beacons at 1014, course 2030 on the hand-bearing compass (as we found the steering compass wildly out). On a beam reach, the centreplate thrumming with joy, we paced along at 3 to 4 knots. Occasionally we ‘used our wheels’ over the ‘neck’ of Bachelors spit (shore side) as we took the inshore line, but found more water a trifle to port. With the wind f3+ we soon left the southern pair of targets, with an eye on the old Buxey Beacon, sporting its two new cardinal’s hats, towards the lattice towers on Foulness Island. Just before 1100 we raised the line of Foulness sands — say 2½M off — this was the cue for elevenses off some ‘highly compressed fruit cake’ (it got sat on) before we arrived at the bulbous yellow buoy that marks, for the likes of us shallow craft, the end of the Raysand Channel. We beat up the Crouch with the wind against the flood, but it was far, far better than last year, when we had to do it in a five plus after our Seagull fell apart as we tried to do the reverse trip, and had to return to Burnham. Despite the wash of the coasters, we made good long tacks and were soon at the mouth of the Roach, where a small boat held an angler who bobbed like his own float! We headed up the Roach and were amazed just before Horseshoe Corner, to meet curious, almost standing waves advancing on us, with the wind on our starboard beam now. Eventually we concluded that they had been born in Devil's Reach, ahead, come to Horseshoe Corner, and been refracted by the shallow inside of the bend, to come on in the new direction. One all but came in green over the bow, they were so steep.

Round the corner in Devil's Reach we met one — a boat, labelled ‘Pilot’ using FULL power to please a photographer! The wash nearly came aboard as he turned at full speed quite near us. As he had full power and I was having a hard beat now, I stood on, sail against power, ‘ignoring’ his clowning. He got the message. Soon we were disentangling a submerged rope from the rudder as we came up to Shuttlewood’s hard. We went ashore for water and bread, but had to have a beer in the pub to ask when the Trading Post (local shop’s name) opened, for our Brightlingsea loaf was now actually mouldy! (It made us really feel we'd been at sea a long time). Coming back we met a couple who had also wanted to shop. A lad had said, “She don’t keep no hours, just open the shop when she feel like it.”, but it was Wednesday, and on Thursday she opened all right. We met the other couple again when we had filled our water pots and chatted more. Wondering if there might be any bread upstream we set staysail and mizzen in the rising wind which was now nearer the forecast. When it kept heading us, we decided to motor and had an interesting time, going up to the Mills at the top where the tide was spilling over a sill into the marshes at Rochford. A passing woman told us there were no shops near, though we could see a village, so we turned and headed back.

Coasters of several hundred tons come up here, and last year when we were stranded on Shuttlewood’s hard by a freak low high tide, the crew of one came ashore for a pint. We chatted, and off they went. On their return we had the tent rigged and the electric light on, they were intrigued so we said, “Look inside!” “Cor, mate, look at the accommodation! — better’n ours!”. There are several spots up this river where a dinghy cruiser could lie up snugly for the night. Our choice is in Paglesham Pool, just below the yard, under the old pillbox. As we came down, our lunchtime acquaintances waved a teapot from their cockpit and we happily accepted. In no time Jane had done a neat turn 180 degrees and brought up with polished expertise for what proved a very pleasant time, before we dropped down to anchor in the Pool. The forecast was not good — just like last year, high pressure and high winds: we came to compare the two weeks and found them very similar, weather wise, just as they were date-wise.

We anchored with the Big Bro ashore towards the pillbox and Little Bro in the channel of the Pool, middled at 30m of warp plus the chain and the two secured to our stem ringbolt. Soon it BLEW — and then it POURED! Unfortunately our tent had chafed on the frames, and so it leaked onto poor Jane. Thus began an uncomfortable night, dodging the drips, which I did by sleeping in my oilies on her side, while she subsided eventually into her bag on the drier port side, too chilly to care if it got wet.

The gale continued all day. We were invaded by fishermen, so we buoyed our warps and went to see our friends of the day before. They had been very worried, as they could not see us behind the promontory from their berth.

Our week was well into, if not past middle age; the question was, do we go tomorrow, early, on the last of the flood — which changes at about 0500 or less at the Outer Crouch — if there is a ‘window’ in the weather, or wait? We settled for an early start. As we would have to accept a foul tide part of the time, but needed a fair tide for getting into Harwich, we decided to set off by 0600.

Friday 21st August

We woke to a flat calm, with haze on the water and fishing boats making their way out too. It was beautiful! Jane cooked as we made our way down Devil’s Reach — bacon and eggs, marmalade and tea, and she filled the flask also for later on. We were glad of our reliable engine, but also glad when the wind returned as we entered the Raysand Channel again at 0715. We tacked in the widening channel: in to the NW Knoll and the Bench Head buoys, and at 0859 were at the Eagle. We took this course to enable us to bolt for the Colne or Mersea if the weather looked bad or to go on up the Wallet if the risk seemed acceptable. Soon, however, we were running happily down the Wallet a mile or so offshore, heading for Clacton Pier. The wind died with the ebb, and when the tide turned the wind piped up. We continued out towards the Medusa, while Jane had a nap in the bottom of the boat, but it was uncomfortable out there, so we turned. ‘Man overboard’ drill was tried out as a beach ball blew by. Jane got her hands to it, but it was too slippery, so we let it ‘drown’ and headed round the Naze towards the Backwaters. As we turned at Crab Knoll into the channel, we were beating hard — so hard that we did not fancy lying somewhere like Walton Stone, so we turned and headed in to Harwich Harbour, and past Shotley Spit new beacon to come to anchor at Stoneheaps, the old barge anchorage opposite No.1 buoy, under the lee of Shotley in the Orwell. We came up smartly and anchored well and set up the tent about 50m from another vessel. Imagine my horror when, in a few minutes, I saw her receding! I thought we had dragged, but it turned out that it was they who had dragged as the tide rose and their short scope CQR broke out. It was good to be out of the wind; we ate a huge meal, wrote up the log and mulled it all over, making plans for next year (to Scotland perhaps, where our son is teaching sailing!) and for the long pondered cabin top modification which we think will pamper our lengthening days. With a scrub up and the packing done, it is only a mile to our mooring and the end of another happy cruise.