Part 1 — Amble to Eyemouth

My 1998 cruise was again single-handed and in my son Ed’s 16’ 9” Dockrell Goosander. The Dockrell is a traditional style GRP sloop with a light centreboard and some built-in ballast. A canopy hinged from the smallish foredeck covers a raised sleeping area, and there is a vestigial aft deck leaving a large open cockpit — see boat description in Bulletin 111 [111/08]. The Dockrell probably would not meet the DCA capsize-recovery recommendations, but is very stiff, the sails are easily reefed, and Ed’s boat has stood up to seas that swamped an expertly-crewed 15 footer. A 4 hp Mercury long shaft outboard motor was carried and often used.

As in ’97, my ’98 cruise again commenced at Amble in northern Northumbria, this time crossing the Firth of Forth to the coast of Fife before returning to Dunbar, where Ed took over for a more ambitious single-handed cruise to the Tay and Perth, returning to Amble.

Sun 19 July ’98

10.45: Casting off from the Coquet Yacht Club at Amble, I motored out of the river against a strong flood and set sail in an easterly F2-3, standing well out to sea to clear the reef off Boulmer. (I had no chart for this area, only the RNYC’s excellent pilot book, plus a set of 1:50,000 OS maps with the few buoys and lighthouses marked in.) Although the breeze was light, a considerable swell was rolling in from the north-east. Unusually for this coast there were several yachts in sight, probably sailing north for the Scottish East Coast Week.

By the time the impressive ruins of Dunstanburgh Castle were abeam the wind had increased to F4, so the genoa was furled. As usual the sea was rich in wildlife, puffins, guillemots, shags, cormorants, eider duck, terns, kittiwakes, fulmars and gannets, as well as seals on the rocks off Embleton Bay. The visibility was deteriorating but the rocky Farne Islands were all in view. Taking the inshore passage, the great bulk of the restored Bamburgh Castle loomed faintly in the mist ahead, and finally, the unmistakable silhouette of Lindisfarne Castle on its rocky mound came into view. I would have liked to have entered Budle Bay, immediately beyond Bamburgh, but as this is only possible around high water I pressed on for the Holy Island of Lindisfarne.

The tide was ebbing fast out of Lindisfarne’s entrance channel, which is marked by two huge brick beacons on the mainland shore, and I unfurled the genoa to power my way in. Unfortunately at the critical point where the channel turns hard to starboard, the wind already fresh, piped up to a savage squall and the genoa furling jammed. Not being able to furl the genoa I could not head up into wind, and therefore had to run between the shoals with the jib left flying, lowering the mainsail as best I could. Entering Lindisfarne’s harbour at 1700, about an hour before low water, and still moving fast under bare mast and flapping genoa, I managed to find a space between anchored boats to ground the Dockrell. After stowing sails, laying out anchors and raising the camping canopy, there was just time to wade ashore and walk out to ‘Cuddy’s’, St Cuthbert’s islet for a while, and take a peep into Lindisfarne’s lovely church, before returning to the boat as the incoming tide lifted it.

The great increase in tourist traffic over the low tide causeway has somewhat spoiled the tranquillity and remoteness of the Holy Island but it still has a great deal to offer those who go there in the right frame of mind. In tourist terms, the new visitor’s centre/museum, the dramatic castle, the lovely church with its exhibits, the upturned-boat boathouses are all musts. The abbey ruins however are not, as has been claimed the result of the historic first Viking raid on Britain but much later in date. I find Cuddy’s islet the best place to ‘tune in’. Cuddy was a Saxon monk of the Celtic church, following what has been described as the most attractive form of Christianity the world has ever seen. Like the later St Francis of Assisi he was in love with all creation, his example inspired the other monks, and the cheerful enthusiasm of these tough and earthy monks spread to the people. Even to this day Northumbrian people seem a bit kinder and friendlier and the wildlife tamer than elsewhere. The eider duck, being exceptionally tame, are still called ‘Cuddy’s ducks’ locally.

20 July ’98 HW Lindisfarne 1300

I decided to sail back to Budle Bay, which can only be entered around high water. At 0950 I weighed anchor, tacking out of the entrance channel against a strong flood stream and winds of F1-3, eventually having to motor to reach Triton, the entrance buoy. I then sailed back south along the very shallow Budle Bay to its narrow entrance channel, close to the southern rocks. Finding my way in between the breakers, I anchored by the stone quay at 1150. Budle Bay was once a busy commercial harbour but it has silted up so badly that the tide rarely even touches the quay. It is now quite deserted and hauntingly beautiful. After a meal I motored further up the channel past Kiln Point, navigating by the look of the water and the sketch map Ed had made for me. By the time I reached the old mill at the head of the harbour the tide was already starting to ebb so I had to return to deeper water right away. Going ashore briefly at Kiln Point, a notice informed me that this was now the agreed limit for watersports. I considered staying the night in the bay, but as I could have been trapped in there by adverse conditions I returned to Holy Island. Before entering the harbour I went ashore for a walk at the beacons at Guile Point. This is a huge dune complex on the mainland shore which I find more tranquil and isolated than Holy Island itself. Parts of this shoreline are restricted in the breeding season.

21 July ’98 LW Lindisfarne 0800

I was roused at dawn by the clatter of inshore fishermen loading their boats, which they leave anchored and then wade out to them in chest-high waders. The 0535 forecast gave winds SE3 or 4, ‘5 for a time’, which seemed ideal for pushing on up the coast, so I prepared to take the last of the ebb out of Lindisfarne’s entrance channel. It had been flat calm at first but the wind was rising and as I weighed anchor under sail at 0620 I was hit by a savage squall and torrential rain, and was very nearly driven on to the rocks before I managed to anchor again and start the motor. Once clear of the haven I sailed under storm jib with the mainsail 50% reefed, still being pressed hard in what was still a full F6 westerly. Once clear of Holy Island’s off-lying rocks I sailed as close as I could to the wind but buffeted by the waves and with the drastically reduced sail found that I was not closing the northern coast but heading for the Arctic! I therefore tacked in before I lost sight of land in the poor visibility, but finding that this was taking me back to the harbour, was left with no prudent option but to motor on a compass course inshore. Fortunately the wind gradually eased and backed, and visibility improved with even a little sun. I set sail again, but by 0930 was becalmed off Berwick, so now with the tidal stream in my favour, I took the opportunity to have breakfast. When the wind returned conditions at last resembled the forecasts, which at midday upgraded the forecast wind strength to Force 6. With the fresh breeze and the North Sea ebb stream in my favour the tiny fishing village of Burnmouth, nestling below the high cliffs, soon came abeam. There was a bright mauve field on the cliff top which puzzled me. Lavender perhaps? (Flax is a pure blue). At 1230 I entered the crowded fishing harbour of Eyemouth for shopping, refuelling and a lunch break. This little port is well worth a visit if only you can find somewhere to berth. The harbour was being enlarged during my visit, but whether they will provide more room for pleasure craft is doubtful. At high-water a large fishing vessel was launched from the shipyard situated some way up the tiny river. It was such a tight squeeze in the narrow channel that a gang of some eight workmen had to gingerly ease the vessel downstream with warps. The Eyemouth museum is well worth a visit, one room being devoted to the disastrous ‘Black Friday’ when half Eyemouth’s fishermen, virtually half the male population, drowned in a terrible storm, which blew up after they had rowed out in a flat calm. Many died in the harbour offing, within sight of their families waiting fearfully on the quay. The survivors were mostly those who stayed out at sea riding out the storm, some being blown to Norway before limping back under jury rig. At 1650 I sailed on across the bay for the little haven at St Abbs, entering at 1750. A friendly fisherman showed me a good place to moor in the inner harbour which dries out.