There are, I suppose, only two good reasons for putting pen to paper: to entertain or to instruct. Writing of my experiences of attending the Alde Rally 1984 may do the former by intent, but the latter, I regret, only by example.

Owing to the traumas of moving house, Snufkin, my Roamer, had only been afloat this season once before, when I trailed through the Dartford Tunnel and up the A12 to Suffolk at the beginning of August. The plan was to sail on the Saturday from the Deben, up the coast to Orford Haven, and so up to the Alde Rally at the Oaks, a mile or so short of Snape, returning on the Sunday. I had no experience of the east coast further north than Brightlingsea so I looked forward to the trip. I was short on experience of river bars also, but that will become apparent as the story unfolds!

I had thought that with low tide Deben bar calculated at 10.55 and Orford Haven 10.45, to slip across the former before low tide, taking the last of the ebb up the coast to the Ore to catch the early flood into the river. I made much better time on the road than I expected and realised that I could have chosen a launching point much further from the mouth of the Deben than Felixstowe ferry, which I reached at 08.30. I was ready to launch by 09.30. A local sailing club member volunteered the information that low tide would be 11.30, which he thought would be a safe time to cross the bar. If I was early he thought I might be able to avoid the bar by squeezing through a gap in the shingle banks. I decided to go and have a look.

There was a fresh breeze from the south and I tied in a reef, but didn't set sail, deciding to go out under power. The LSCM's suggestion regarding the shingle banks was obviously not on, as a continuous line of surf was apparent on the far side of the only obvious gap. Then two cruisers came out and, heading straight for the bar, porpoised out without hesitation, so I thought, “Here goes!” On with the safety harness, then a quick check round revealed the lashing on the CQR to be undone; I just had time to secure it before we hit the first roller. Although steep and with the tops just breaking, the waves were regular and caused us discomfort only with an occasional acceleration from the engine as we drove over the crests propelled by four Evinrude horses.

Once outside I set sail and sped up the coast as, of course, I had more tide to spare than originally planned. Although I understood that the Orford Haven bar was no worse than the Deben, I deemed it prudent to heave-to for a spell. With the jib furled and mainsail loose we lay still in the water, but still appeared to make a knot or so in the right direction. Navigation was simple as I only had four Martello Towers to count off and I would be there. I was very relieved when my calculated low tide arrived and I could let draw, as I was beginning to feel distinctly queasy bobbing up and down on the steep swell. There had been some confusion in my mind when the expected green bar buoy had failed to materialise on the Deben bar, but instead only a red and white one which did, however, have the leading marks pointing straight at it between the port and starboard gap buoys. When I reached the Ore I was not altogether surprised to find only a red and white one again. Whilst there was only one leading mark, as expected, it conveniently lined up with an aerial mast some miles inland when sighted over the top of the buoy. I therefore confidently headed in, but left the jib furled. Unfortunately, perhaps, the wind was dead aft.

At first the conditions seemed no worse than the Deben, although the serried ranks of grey rollers stretching ahead of me were somewhat daunting. There was, however, a worrying cross sea which occasionally broke across the main run of the waves. Once past the buoy the waves started to become steeper and I was surfing from time to time. Being still well under control I was almost enjoying it when a cross sea much bigger than before broke across the stern and Snufkin broached; there followed an involuntary gybe, then water was pouring in over the side deck. The Roamer seemed to be pinned down and I realized that the mainsheet was caught around a corner of the transom. I stood on the rear of the centreboard case to clear it, as the transom appeared to be above my head, the dinghy still surging forward on the face of the wave. As soon as the boom was released, rolling upright, she answered the helm and we continued on our way, but now… bows first! From now on there was no further trouble as there were no more cross seas and the amount of water in the bilges did not seriously affect stability.

As we proceeded up river we passed half a dozen cruisers anchored waiting for the ‘right’ time to cross the bar. The skipper of the first one hailed me to ask how much water there was on the bar. I answered feebly that I didn't know. I felt rather inefficient as I remembered that I had left my lead line at home, although the chance to use it would have been a very fine thing!

Life was now gloriously placid and coffee and doughnuts were consumed as I passed Havergate Island westabout. A Sonata which was circumnavigating the island was catching us up rather rapidly so I was reminded that we had some water to get rid of. The speed differential was drastically reduced after the bilge pump had done its work. Past Orford and onwards to Slaughden when a yell from starboard revealed a couple of DCA members brewing-up attached to a mooring. I joined Stanley Dean in his green 14 footer and John in a Mirror and we yarned away and watched Fireballs capsizing until a Dragon fleet started racing by. Previous experience had taught us that the wash from these craft at speed could be unpleasant; the racing mentality plus a narrow river and three dinghies strung across the course completed a hazardous set of circumstances. We therefore got on with our sailing and, troubled only by the shoals adjoining the aptly named Troublesome Reaches, reached the Oaks in the early afternoon.

Several family parties, protected from the wind by the low cliff and the ‘Oaks’, were enjoying the sunshine. Near to the shore there is a car park provided by a benevolent local authority, so that the populace may enjoy the ambience of the sandy beach without owning a boat. The local farmer, not having the same concern for his fellow humans, has placed a ‘pig unit’ behind the oak trees over the bank. This became only too apparent with the southerly breeze, and the centre of the beach remained untenable whilst the said wind held. We therefore moved the dinghies up one end before they took the ground and 5 boats eventually settled in. First Ted Jones arrived, having been waiting to float off the mud, and then Charles Proudfoot in a 2nd Mirror completed the score.

After supper had been prepared and consumed in the evening sunshine, three of us set out to walk the mile and a half into Snape for a few beverages at a licensed bar. The pub remained calm, but later the riverside path seemed distinctly unsteady as we rolled home in the pitch darkness.

In the car park by the beach the family cars had all gone, but the light from our torch revealed several powerful motorbikes in their place. Oh dear — when we arrived at the beach a Hell’s Angels’ party was in full swing, with close on a dozen leather clad participants. A bonfire, a cassette player of the type generally described as a ‘Ghetto Blaster’, and a stock of beer sufficient to see them through the night. And see them through the night it did. Our dinghies were already aground, so we and the crews of two cruisers, anchored to that fateful spot by their keels, were the unwilling audience of rock music of a type generally described as ‘Heavy Metal’, played at maximum volume until after 6 am the following morning! The peace of that place was destroyed utterly for the whole of that beautiful, starlit night. When the music became bland to them they accompanied it with their ‘singing’. Later on they added to the cacophony by throwing full beer cans into the flames, which then exploded with loud bangs, met with delighted shouts by the participants. Their conversation revealed that it was not the first of such parties, nor presumably the last, so let future ‘Oaks’ rallyists beware.

The early morning weather forecast, which of course I didn't miss, said ‘Variable winds increasing to f4-5 NW’, which sounded just right for the sail home to the Deben. We started downriver in light westerly airs, and so it continued to Orford where I waved goodbye to Stanley as he sailed in to the quay. The wind had now backed to SW and I beat on downriver against a rapidly increasing breeze. First the working jib replaced the genoa, then a reef. By the time I had got to the bottom of Havergate Island I had difficulty in sitting the Roamer up and a 2nd reef was inevitable. Where was that NW wind? Maybe it was sheer funk, but the thought of beating down the coast against a south-westerly that might increase still further, and then wind against tide conditions on the Deben Bar, convinced me that I had had enough excitement for one week-end. So I turned tail and ran back against the ebbing tide to Orford.

I was lucky enough to catch Charles still packing up his Mirror, and he most kindly gave me a lift to Felixstowe to fetch my car and trailer.

All experience teaches — what had I leant? Firstly, that in doubtful conditions it is essential to wait for the flood before entering Orford Haven, and also the Deben. Secondly, that the tide continues to run out of the rivers after the apparent low water. The LSCM was wrong about the time of low tide, but right about the time to cross the bar. Thirdly, that the ultimate stability of the Roamer saved me at least a ducking and possibly a drowning. Here’s another with reason to bless her designer’s memory. Thank you, Eric!