Friday 13th is a day traditionally avoided by seamen as a sailing date, but that was the day that Derek Wilkinson in his Cornish Coble, and Dave Smith and I in my 16 footer were sailing to join the East Coast rally at Stone Point.

We trailed from Leicester and slipped in at the Suffolk Yacht Marina, about half-way between Ipswich and Felixstowe on the north bank of the Orwell. It was a fine, warm, sunny day with a gentle easterly wind. In my boat, Gandalf the Grey, we rowed out of the marina and then hoisted sail. It sounds easy, but I had recently modified the hoisting arrangements and I now had an extra halyard; so with topping lift to ease off, throat and peak halyards, together with staysail halyard, there was a lot of string lying about and needing to be tidied up. By the time all this had been sorted out and we had way on, Derek had motored out of the marina, hoisted sail, and was a speck in the distance.

On reaching Harwich breakwater we had caught him up. Whilst Dave had worked out a compass course for the Pye End Buoy, Derek opted to skirt the shoals and travel close to the shore. Henceforth our courses would diverge until we met again in Hamford Water. Sweeping the horizon with his binoculars, Dave picked out the Pye End Buoy dead on the nose. After passing this we shaped a course for Crab Knoll — just as the pilots recommend — and sure enough they all came up as predicted. After Crab Knoll a series of cans and cones came into view marking the entrance to Hamford Water.

The breeze was dying off as the evening progressed so I set my large coaster, a sail I rarely use, but we were now fighting the ebb and I wanted to find an anchorage. As we entered Hamford Water we cut too close to the starboard bank and ran aground — up plate… down helm… and we skated off. Glancing astern we saw Derek following us. Eventually we crept up Kirby Creek and, seeing two sailing cruisers at anchor, we decided to join them. After setting up our new tent we prepared our dinner. Whilst doing this Derek arrived and anchored about 50 yards from us. Feeling tired but contented, we turned in and lay listening to the birds calling over the marshes. Strangely, from somewhere on Horsey Island we could hear the cry of a peacock!

Saturday dawned — about 4 am we were looking out on a sea like glass and a pink sky. It was a beautiful scene. Taking a chance, I photographed it with my cheap camera and fortunately it later developed perfectly, if a little tipsy. After breakfast of poached eggs we spoke to Derek and decided to make a circular tour of Horsey Island, calling at the yacht marina on the way.

With the pots washed up, tent folded away and all plain sail set we led the way, rustling gently through the calm waters between the islands — Arthur Ransome country this — might even be pirates around the next bend! Glancing astern to check on Derek’s progress I saw a buoy bobbing in our wake. On berating Dave for not keeping a sharp lookout he calmly told me it was a seal. Up helm and out cameras, but no — try as we could the seal stayed just out of camera range. Derek passed us as we jilled about, rather like a submarine chaser and its prey, but this time the submarine won. We squared away and followed Derek into Horsey Mere, only to meet him returning — the water had dropped too much and he could not get over the causeway. This meant we had to retrace our course and go the long way round via Hamford Water, Walton Channel and, finally, the Twizzle — grand names.

The wind was slowly increasing in strength as the day progressed, so we had a pleasant thrash to windward, then an easy reach up through the crowded anchorage until we reached the marina. After a brief walk ashore we decided to sail out to the edge of Pye Sands for our lunch, and to fish for a while before returning to Stone Point where the meeting would take place.

Underway once more. By the time we were out into Hamford Water the seas had developed into a reasonable size. So — by the time we dropped ‘old cold nose’ onto the edge of Pye Sand we were pitching and rolling quite a bit.

While Dave prepared lunch — ham sandwiches — I baited my hand-line with bread and sat waiting for some foolhardy fish to bite. I have been waiting for over 30 years, and I am convinced that one day I shall catch a fish, but what to do with it when caught is another matter. This time was no different to others and so, as we were rolling uncomfortably, and after consultation with Derek, we decided to run back and shelter in Landermere Creek. On the way we were surprised at the number of yachts out for an afternoon sail under motor! Once at anchor we spent a pleasant afternoon watching boats pass by and dozing in the sun.

As 5 o’clock approached — the time for the meet at Stone Point — we prepared for a hard tack up Hamford Water. The wind was quite fresh so we tied in two reefs in the main. This gave us an exhilarating sail. Passing Oakley Creek on the port side we spotted David and Gail McClellan at anchor in their Roamer. Taking a long board we sailed round them, gave them a shout and David poked his head up to call, “After 5 — high water!”. As we hardened in our sheets we saw him dive below for his camera — I hope he realized he still had his lens hood on!

At Stone Point we found a lot of yachts at anchor, but as we were going to take the ground, that did not bother us. Threading our way through we attempted to land — this was to windward and it took us three attempts before my mutinous crew would leap over the side. Drawing the boat up the beach we sat on the shore watching Derek struggling singlehanded to make the shore. The wind was now so strong that every time he came head-to-wind he got blown away from land. From behind I heard Dave say quietly, “We’ve lost Gandalf.” Startled, I turned to look at my boat: she was about 10 yards offshore. With an offshore wind and rising tide she was heading gently across the creek. Jumping to my feet I ran down to the water’s edge and called to Derek, “I’ve lost my boat!” It must have been his 4th attempt when he ran forward and threw his small kedge anchor at my feet — I think he aimed at my feet. I stepped forward to retrieve it at knee level and my wellies promptly filled with sea water. Pulling Derek in I leapt at his bows, but my filled wellies had other ideas; the leap turned into a stagger and I rolled into his Coble. Sitting on his nice wide side benches I raised my feet to drain the water from my boots, but as I was sitting, readers can imagine where the water ran!

By now we were alongside Gandalf, so I could step aboard my own boat. Shipping crutches and oars was but a moment’s work, but we had meanwhile drifted close to some nice yachts moored in midstream. I managed to pull clear, but Derek said later that some owners were getting nervous of his bowsprit, which was threatening the odd ‘gin palace’. Eventually I reached shore where, this time, I ran out an anchor. Derek also made the shore and we sat down to await the arrival of other DCA members.

Three boats arrived in quick succession, Dave and Gail McClellan in their Roamer, Stanley Dean in his 14 footer and, finally, Ted Jones in his Mirror. After introductions we erected our respective tents and prepared dinner. Later we retired to David and Gail’s boat where six of us had an informal DCA meeting.

As an early start was required in the morning to sail back to the Suffolk Yacht Marina, we soon said our goodnights and turned in about 11 pm.

I awoke to a sharp crack; the wind was howling. A few seconds later a 2nd loud crack — maroons — some poor soul was in need of the lifeboat. Peering at my watch I noted the time — 1 am. It must have been 10 or 15 minutes later when I heard the throb of diesels as the lifeboat slipped down Walton Channel. From then onwards I slept but fitfully; the wind was howling and halyards were tap-tapping against the mast as Gandalf lifted to the incoming tide and started to roll. My stomach soon started sending out warning signals. Dave was awake now and he didn’t feel too happy either, so about 4 am we hauled ashore and had a brew-up. Meanwhile the lifeboat had returned with a motor yacht in tow and gone out again. I had watched her motor down-channel and, surprisingly, once clear of Stone Point she turned east and cut across Pye Sands; the spray was flying and she looked quite impressive. Were we really going sailing in that?! Derek was also awake by now and said the rolling had upset him for a while, so Dave and I thought our honour had been saved.

As morning wore on tents were struck and boat owners started to prepare for their departure. Someone said the forecast was 4-5, gusting 6. It was blowing from NE, the direction we had to go. Again Derek in his Coble and Dave and I in Gandalf would sail in company. Derek was off first as his was the slower boat. He had struck his staysail, moved his mast forward and tied in two reefs. We in Gandalf had reefed the main down to 50 ft² and set a staysail of only 20 ft² (normal sail area is 130 ft²). Waving goodbye to the other DCA members on the beach, we followed Derek out into the main channel.

Outside the shelter of Stone Point we felt the full force of the wind. The grey seas tumbling across the Pye Sands looked most disconcerting. The wind was blowing right across the North Sea and funnelling the water straight into Hamford Water. The ebbing tide added to the chaotic conditions. Gandalf seemed to revel in it, thumping and swooping from wave top to wave top, the occasional rogue wave catching her out and sending sheets of spray into the boat. The channel was narrow and the tacks seemed quite short. A yacht was overhauling us from astern under power; I kept her roughly centred astern, using her as an additional guide since it was difficult spotting the buoys marking the channel. The occasional breaking sea I took as a warning that we were out of the channel and caused me to tack.

After an hour we reached the Pye End Buoy, for which I was grateful since now the seas were less turbulent. I was becoming slower when we tacked and could no longer leap from side to side — a desk-bound job does not keep one athletic! Dave had not fully recovered from his earlier bout of seasickness and was feeling queasy. Poor old Gandalf had a lot of water on board and was not meeting the waves as well as she had done earlier. However, things became easier now, the tacks longer and less frequent. The cranes at Felixstowe were nearer and we could see Harwich breakwater. Derek was again following the inshore route and we could see him leaping from wave to wave. He told us afterwards he only bailed out two buckets full of water. I estimated we had collected ten times that amount: approximately 400 lbs in the wrong place.

Now that the seas were more regular the sailing became more enjoyable, and as we approached the lee of Felixstowe they calmed to mere babes compared to what we had experienced earlier. The sun was shining as we reached up the Orwell. We met some of the big yachts coming down the river for their Sunday sail. A big old fishing smack creamed past us setting a topsail — we wondered how she would fare outside.

The Suffolk Yacht Marina was reached some 3 hours after leaving Stone Point. Tired but pleased with ourselves, we just managed to sail through the entrance before contrary headwinds forced us to row the last 60 yards or so. The recovery was easy using the snatch block at the head of the slip.

It did not take long to get the boats snugged down on their respective trailers ready for the long haul back to Leicester. After freshening up and changing, we took a last look at the river, just in time to see Stanley Dean make the entrance to the marina. An interesting weekend; a bit hectic on the final day, but we’ll be back.