More Northumbrian Cruising

We have a number of ‘Heritage Coasts’, but the Northumbrian Heritage Coast arguably offers more of our heritage than any other. The great Saxon kingdom of Northumbria once extended northwards to beyond Edinburgh (Edwin’s Borough), and on this coast, in the so-called ‘Dark Ages’, a golden age of learning, culture and spirituality arose. Today’s Northumbrian Heritage Coast is limited to the part unspoiled by industry, from Amble up to the Scottish border and is in the most remote and sparsely inhabited part of England. It has a quiet and austere beauty, spectacular coastal castles and a wealth of maritime wildlife. It includes the Holy Island of Lindisfarne, considered by many to be one of our special places.

It is not an easy coast to sail. There are many isolated rocks, and between the many lovely deserted beaches long rocky reefs reach out from the shore. In strong, even fresh, onshore winds a huge swell builds up, and the rocky coast becomes a death-trap. However with experience, preparedness and awareness of hazards the risks can be reduced to quite acceptable levels. My Mk1 Leader is a fairly demanding but very seaworthy boat similar to a Wayfarer, but being smaller, is easier to manage singlehanded. It is easily righted should it be capsized by an extreme freak gust, and can be sailed on if flooded or holed. Admittedly with its generous sail area, the Leader could hardly be more different from the traditional heavy beach coble used by the local fishermen, but they know and can avoid every unmarked rock on their own stretch of coast whereas I had to be able to spin my light and handy boat round at the first sight of a suspicious-looking swirl in the water. Besides, the old-time fishermen had the strength and stamina to row their heavy boats for hours in rough conditions, but I am elderly and can only row continuously in a light boat and in calm conditions, so am largely dependant on my boat’s sailing performance. This was my second cruise on the Heritage Coast. My first, from Boulmer through the Farne Islands to Berwick, up the River Tweed to the Scottish border and back, was described in Bulletin 147. This time I started further south from Amble, took in the Coquet and Aln rivers, and explored more of Holy Island.

27 July ‘96 My single-handed cruise was preceded by a daysail with my son Ed. We launched from Amble public slip, which is situated immediately upstream of the marina, and is backed by a free car park with unisex toilets. There was no launching charge, but a notice stated that a harbour licence was mandatory For this, one was to apply to the Harbour Office, open Mondays to Fridays. It was Saturday. At 1025 we cast off with one reef in the racing mainsail and a working jib (which roughly corresponds to cruising rig), the light breeze pushing us easily out of the harbour over the strong incoming tide. I was for sailing round Coquet Island to the southeast, but as landing on the island was prohibited until later in the season, we decided instead to sail north into Alnmouth. The breeze enabled us to just lay Alnmouth’s offing close hauled, my son making well-founded criticisms not only of the cut of my working jib (home-made from another boat’s sail), but its luff-tension and sheeting position too. However the Force 2 breeze gave us a quiet but quite fast sail, passing through rafts of eider duck and guillemots, and the occasional puffin. The narrow entrance to the River Aln was unmarked, and not even visible until we had sailed well past the town. We tacked in with the last hour of the flood, but had some difficulty finding the deep water channel. As the pilot notes forewarned us, we had only the colour of the water to go by.

Once over the bar and abreast of the town, the ruins of the old church came into view among the dunes on the port side. (In the great storm of 1806 the river Aln altered course, cutting between the church and the rest of the town). As the tide was still rising, we took our chance to explore up the shallow river, and lowered our mast to negotiate the town bridge. A couple of canoes, both under lateen rig, were sailing ahead of us, one a Coleman Canadian, the other, in plywood seemed to be a hybrid Canadian/kayak type. They sailed quite well with the help of paddles at times. The river soon became even shallower and narrower, and at one point was straddled by a low power line, making it prudent to land and stand back to check mast clearance. Eventually, near the tidal limit at Lesbury bridge, we found rocks only an inch below the surface, so beat a retreat before we were stranded by the falling tide. Back at Alnmouth at 1230, we anchored on the beach at a bend where the breeze and the ebb current combined to ensure that the boat would not ground, and went ashore to explore the little town.

Alnmouth is a pretty little place, as yet relatively unspoiled by tourism. Stone-built granaries can still be seen, also the old barometric station, another indication of the old port’s former importance. However when the Great Storm changed the course of the River AIn it left the harbour entrance too shallow for boats drawing more than a metre or so. Nevertheless, despite the shallow entrance, we saw an all weather lifeboat moored in the river. It must have been the Amble lifeboat on a visit. Sailing back to Amble, the wind had veered northerly, so we were able to make easy way against the northerly ebb stream, even where it was sluicing out of Amble harbour mouth. Returning up the Coquet River to our launching site, Warkworth Castle, situated on a great rock outcrop a couple of miles upstream, formed a dramatic backdrop to the riverside scene.

There is a story about Warkworth Castle. Some years ago a historical pageant was held in the castle grounds. In this they recreated an attack by Scottish forces, who had breached the castle walls by blasting with gunpowder, then charged in and put the place to the torch. The Amble lifeboat crew had orchestrated this event, blasting polystyrene ‘stone blocks’ out of the ruined wall to allow the screaming ‘Scottish raiders’ in for their orgy of murder, rape and arson, the burning of the castle being realistically simulated by red flares. As the coxswain stood back, proudly surveying the effect, his pager sounded for a lifeboat call-out. He and his crew accordingly grabbed transport, and hurtled down the road to Amble, boarded the lifeboat and sped out to sea. Only then did they realise that the reported ‘ship on fire’ was in fact the glow of the ‘fire’ they themselves had organised!

Carrying on alone next day, I first had to find safe overnight parking for the car. I could not find anyone to let the car through the marina gate, so took a local’s advice and instead drove the car to Warkworth and parked it in the town square. The riverside walk back to Amble has considerable scenic and bird watching interest. I eventually cleared Amble harbour at 1230, and headed north with an NE breeze Force 2-3 in fine weather. First Alnmouth, then the tiny fishing village of Boulmer and then the walled harbour of Craster, famous for its kippers, were passed abeam, and the great ruined castle of Dunstanburgh loomed up on the point ahead. At 1600 the wind fell to calm, but the tidal stream was still northerly, and after a half-hour of easy rowing the breeze picked up and enabled me to sail again.

Passing Dunstanburgh, I had reached the area south of the Farne Islands said to be the best place in British waters to see killer whales, but the sightings occur earlier in the season. Nevertheless, when I saw two black dorsal fins ahead I eagerly sailed up to investigate. The creatures allowed me to approach within a few feet before swimming off. They were cetaceans all right, black and white colouring, but small, one about four feet long, the other less than three. Were they two baby orcas? No, they were far too small to be left on their own! Checking later with reference books showed that they were mother and baby porpoises, which come to the surface for suckling, something rarely witnessed.

Soon the Inner Farne island was to starboard, with a good view of the Staple Island pinnacles beyond, sheer pillars of rock rising ninety feet from the sea. In the distance was a glimpse of the Longstone lighthouse on the Outer Farne (the scene of Grace Darling’s epic rescue), and to port and far off inland was the great peak of the Cheviot rising nearly three thousand feet. Ahead was the finely restored castle of Bamburgh, built right out on the coastal rocks, and just discernible in the haze beyond that, Lindisfarne’s castle on its steep rock outcrop. The tide was still fair under me, and I glided along through more rafts of puffins, guillemots and eider duck, with sightings of porpoises. It was nearing low-water as I passed Budle Bay, which had dried out completely, leaving no trace of an entrance channel in the sand banks. I would have liked to have entered, but as I would have had to wait some six hours for the tide I carried on for Lindisfarne. Lining up on Lindisfarne’s great brick-built entrance beacons, which are sited on the mainland shore, I had to stem a strong ebb stream still sluicing out of Fenham Flats. One follows the line of the beacons until the spire of Lindisfarne church lines up with a marker at the cliff edge, then the course changes hard to starboard, taking a narrow channel between shingle-banks up to the quay. It was nearing low-water, and I grounded a short distance from the quay at 1915 but I was able to pick my way ashore on firm patches to stretch my legs while waiting for the tide to rise again so I could move my boat into The Ouse (an area sheltered by the harbour wall). Fortunately the forecast rain held off just long enough for me to get the boat in, anchor and erect my tent-cover.

In the morning I woke with the boat aground, so after an early breakfast I set about an exploration of the Holy Island, concentrating on the aspects not covered on my previous visit. Readers may ask what this has to do with dinghy cruising, but many people rate Lindisfarne as England’s most special island, and as such it is best visited by boat, rather than by car or coach, and to sail in without taking in ‘The Lindisfarne Experience’ would be a great pity. Lindisfarne was not only the first centre of Christianity in northern Britain, but also of a very attractive form of the faith, such as has hardly been seen since. Of the several great saints associated with Lindisfarne, my favourite is Cuthbert. Like the later St. Francis of Assisi, Cuddy, (to use his local name), was hopelessly in love — with all creation — and was happiest when living alone communing with the seabirds and seals. To me the Lindisfarne experience is something to do with this ‘tuning in to nature’, which to me is also an important part of dinghy cruising.

Cuddy built a simple hermitage cell on a rocky half-tide islet, where its foundations can still be seen. These few stones are now the only visible remains from Lindisfarne’s Golden Age. (The priory ruins one sees now are not of the Saxon building, but of one built many centuries later). Scrambling over the rocks, I reached Cuddy’s islet at about 0730, before anyone was about. I stood there for some time just looking at the tide flowing over the flats and through the runnels. Nearby, up a pretty little stone-walled lane specially planted with wild flowers, is Lindisfarne’s red sandstone church. It is well worth a visit, and contains a replica of the famous Lindisfarne Gospels. (The original, one of the world’s greatest art treasures, was produced here in the ‘Dark Ages’, no doubt in some cold, draughty and badly-lit cell. It survived the Viking raid, and is now in the British Library). By the time the priory and its museum opened, coach and car trippers were pouring in over the causeway, turning my Holy Island into just another crowded tourist resort. I nevertheless stayed long enough to check on one point which had bothered me since my previous short visit. Do the priory walls really lean outwards, or had I imagined it? Yes, they do, and an attendant gave me her explanation for it, albeit an unconvincing one!

Getting away from the crowds, I walked away from the village and around the island. I could have sailed my boat round, but in those shallow waters I would have had to have stood out too far from the shore to have seen much. Besides the great sand bar running north from the island has to be negotiated, and not only is the gap in it is hard to find, but furthermore, according to the guidebook, there are quicksands around the gap with unexploded nasties! The road to the mainland runs along the coastal dunes for a couple of miles, with heavy traffic racing for the causeway as the tide rises to cover it. From time to time cars do get caught, so raised refuge platforms are provided for the occupants should this happen. At least one car has been swept away by the current and lost!. The walk around the island takes three hours or more, and encompasses both sand dune and rock cliff environments, and flats covered with creeping willow. Around high water when the day-trippers have left, one may walk for hours without seeing another living soul.

A visit to the ‘castle’ is also worthwhile, if only for the views from the top. It is not really a castle, but a Tudor fort remodelled as a stately home by the great Victorian architect Edwin Lutyens. As with a number of Lutyens homes, it has a garden designed by the famous Gertrude Jekyell. This one is a small walled enclosure some distance from the house. The spectacular Bamburgh Castle, seen over the water to the south, is also an architect’s reconstruction. I should also mention that Lindisfarne has pubs, a public loo, phone boxes, a general shop, a water tap in the main square, and a launching ramp by the quay.

Next morning I decided to return. It was necessary to make an early start, firstly to avoid being grounded by the falling tide, and also to take the last of the ebb stream out to the entrance channels and to be offshore for the first of the southerly flood. I therefore cast off at 0730, anchoring again in deep water for a quick breakfast, then tacked out against light south easterlies and was off Bamborough reef at 0900. The tidal stream was still ebbing fast over the reef, but now the breeze had veered south-westerly, just enough to allow me to make ground over the current on a close reach. I was close inshore and had seen dark shapes over the reef ahead, but they did not quite look like rocks breaking the surface. Getting closer I realised it was a large flock of eider duck, every now and then diving for mussels. Soon after sailing over the reef the tidal stream turned southerly, and sailing close hauled, Seahouses harbour came abeam at 0930. I would have liked to have explored the Seahouses small-craft haven, but this is only accessible around high water, and the tide was still low. The town has little to recommend it, and pleasure craft are not encouraged in the commercial harbour.

Passing Embleton, where there were a few sailing dinghies in the bay, I anchored for a short rest under the great ruined castle of Dunstanburgh; seal song was coming from offshore rocks, several seals swam over to look me over, and a fulmar circled the boat for some reason. Meanwhile an Embleton sailing instructor sailed up with his class of four Wayfarers to greet me. They rarely have dinghies sailing all along this coast. By 1200 I was under way again, close hauled and making occasional short boards inshore in Force 2-3 breezes. These were ideal conditions for a single-handed Leader, and at 1500 I entered Amble harbour with the last hour of the flood. Passing the launching site I continued up the River Coquet and over the half-tide weir towards Warkworth. Coming into Warkworth there were attractive stone-built houses on the port side, then the castle rose sheer above me on its great outcrop, protected on three sides by the river. I lowered my mast to pass under the Norman bridge, which is fortified at the town end, and then the modern bridge alongside it which now carries the motor traffic. Romantic woodlands and red sandstone cliffs followed, and a ‘stately home’ with its garden running right down to the water. There is a ‘hermitage’ cut into the cliff on the north bank, but its history is obscure, and landing is forbidden. By now I was rowing against the land water stream, but pressed on. At 1615 I reached the second weir, which is the tidal limit and end of rowing boat navigation. The weir is built from double-curved pre-cast concrete sections, as commonly used for sea-wall lipping. It is apparently part of a small scale hydroelectric scheme although the fall did not seem adequate to me. The concrete construction spoiled the otherwise idyllic surroundings, but I suppose in the good cause of providing sustainable energy. Returning downstream I went ashore in Warkworth to check my car, still parked in the town square, taking in more of this attractive little town, then hurried back to the boat to return to Amble while there was still water over the half-tide weir.

Although sailing the Heritage Coast is demanding, and not for the inexperienced, pleasant daysailing or canoeing can be had around high water on the Coquet, Aln and Tweed and in Budle Bay. Embleton Bay also provides safe sailing in good weather.

Note: of the many books on Lindisfarne, Magnus Magnussen’s book of that name is outstanding. It covers the wildlife, historical and general interest of the whole area. ‘Northumbrian Coastline’ by Ian Smith, 40 Narrowgate, Alnwick NE66 1JQ £2.95 is a little goldmine of sketches and maps. The Northumbrian Yacht Club Pilot book, originally written by a dinghy man, is another must.