On a recent trip down the Forth from South Queensferry, Madog and I had spent the night at Inchkieth (see pilotage notes below) and continued on towards the east the next morning, getting away about 06:45 (high tide 07:00, 2 days after springs). The early morning was clear, but the forecast was talking about fog patches and easterly or south easterly winds, force three, occasionally four. The report from Fife Ness was north easterly, force two, with fog patches. This wasn’t ideal for sailing in an easterly direction, but certainly wasn’t too threatening, all I expected was a generally frustrating time beating or sailing close hauled towards Fidra, and on east towards North Berwick, my intended next port of call. The early weather was easterly, force 2, but only slightly misty except to the west and north, where fog banks were blotting out Edinburgh. No bad thing, according to some.

Setting a course of 090° (approx) from the south end of the Long Craig (the rock at the south end of Inchkieth), I reckoned to pick up the Narrow Deep buoy and then the South Channel Approach buoy in turn, which would leave me about 5 miles to go across open water to the Lothian shore at about Gullane Point. Two large moored tankers in the distance were more or less in my path, and acted as aiming marks for the slow, close hauled sailing that followed. The wind fell away, and became calm at about 08:00 hrs., returning about ½ hour later at ENE rising to force 3. The new wind brought the fog, and visibility decreased to around 200m, and the course became alternate legs at 030° and 120°.

A further increase in wind speed to around force 4 had the jib down at about 10:15, when the fog horn of one of the moored vessels was easily audible, quite nearby to windward. I never saw him, but the horn was confirmation that I was on course and nearing the shore. Madog was going well and except for the wind direction and the fog, it was quite pleasant sailing in two to three foot waves.

At about 11:00, the fog to the east and south lifted slightly, showing a clear horizon, but before panic took hold, the ceiling lifted further revealing distant trees above a sandy beach. I held my course of 120 and closed the beach, which trended about north east. A couple of folk out for a walk were most surprised to see me loom up out of the fog, and then tack away as the water depth reduced. The second tack a few minutes later brought me back in sight of the beach, and a rocky headland a little further along. A glimpse of the chimney at Cockenzie power station seen under the fog and behind the next southerly headland allowed me to get my position, approaching Redhouse point, about 1½ miles short of the northernmost point of the Lothian coast, and within six miles of North Berwick.

There is often increased wind around headlands, so I wasn’t too concerned when the wind got up a bit as I approached Redhouse point, on short boards so I could keep an eye on the shore. The wind continued to rise, however, and I set onto the starboard tack (about 030) ready to double reef the main, using my jiffy reefing system. To reef Madog, it’s best to let the boom swing out to leeward, taking the pressure off the sail, whilst scrambling forward to the foot of the mast. Once there, the main halyard is slackened, the gunter yard tugged down if it needs encouraging, and the reef cringle of the sail made fast at it’s new position with the end of the mast lashing, which is left long for that purpose. The main halyard is then swigged up again and made fast, and the heel of the sail is pulled down to the boom with the long jiffy line, which makes fast to a jamming cleat under the boom. The sail sets better with a couple of reef ties tied in, but on this occasion I only managed one.

I then changed tack again and closed the shore, with the wind probably at the bottom end of force five, and waves building towards four feet. This is pretty definitely my limit for Madog, but I still thought that the increased wind was a local effect due to the headland, so I carried on, closing the shore at a rapid rate, and soon sighting it.

I tacked once again, and the boom immediately came out of the goose neck fitting. It’s never done that before, and I was surprised, alarmed and concerned, very quickly. I once again scrambled forward, grabbed the inboard end of the boom, and stuck it back on the gooseneck. I then started to unhitch the kicking strap from it’s cleat, assuming that it had worked loose and had allowed the boom to jump off the gooseneck tang. The kicking strap was fairly tight, but I tightened it anyway, but before I could make my way aft to take control again, the boom jumped off again, hitting me in the chest as the forward end came inboard. Again I grabbed it, and this time had a closer look. The timber at the end of the boom where the gooseneck tang fits in was crushed, and effectively not there. There was no way I could repair that at sea. I was in trouble.

Hoisting the jib and back winding it put Madog hove too, and temporarily stable, and I was able to drop the gunter yard into the lazy jacks (/double topping lift around the boom), get a couple of sail ties around the gunter yard, sail and boom to reduce the area of flapping canvas, and cock the whole assembly up above head height out of the way.

By this time, something in the order of three quarters of an hour had passed since I had last seen the shore. The wind was now definitely into force five, and the waves were enthusiastically piling on the height.

When Madog is hove too, she lies at about 90 degrees to the wind and waves. We had already had one or two close calls with some of the larger waves, and had some water onboard. I certainly didn’t want to stay like this waiting for an inevitable swamping and capsize from a breaking crest. Something had to be done!

Options, however, seemed to be pretty limited; under jib alone, Madog won’t point better than ninety degrees to the wind, and that meant broadside on to the still rising waves. The safety of the shore somewhere nearby was unobtainable. I had to run down wind to a greater or lesser extent. Running off on the port tack at say 30 degrees to the wind direction would eventually put me onto the lee shore between Musselborough and Leith, and it would be nice to avoid that if possible. Running off directly downwind would fetch me up on the Drum Sands or Crammond Island, further away but still potentially fatal. The best option was to try to run in as northerly direction as possible, to close the west Fife shore, which would provide a lee as long as the wind remained north of east.

Up came the dagger board, and off we went under jib alone, but it quickly became obvious that I couldn’t both control the jib, which meant looking forward, and set Madog at the right angle to the following seas, which demanded that I look backward. A couple of alarming broaches down the faces of the waves forced another rethink. Down came the jib, thankfully without drama, and I was sitting drifting in the water under bare poles, being blown down the wind. The oars were readied, and I sat keeping her stern to the seas by dipping one oar or the other in the sea and braking her progress, which was still about 2 knots.

This was relatively comfortable. Madog showed no sign of being overwhelmed by the seas, some of which were now about five feet high and breaking, and the only time I got sea water into the boat was when I allowed my concentration to lapse. Better, we were headed in more or less the right direction, and as confidence returned, I experimented (gingerly) with exerting more control. Firstly, I decided to steer 270°, which meant a quick lunge to get the hand bearing compass off the top of the dagger board and onto the seat cover aft, and then keeping the lubber line on 090°, as the compass was pointing backwards by now.

It was obvious that the waves were coming in very definite trains. Looking generally upwind, I could see the first bigger wave approaching, and if that broke harmlessly short of me I knew that the next one or two would break on me before smaller waves re-appeared. There was time to swing her stern round before the dangerous waves reached me. Wave heights, incidentally, were estimated from the fact that my eyes are about four feet above sea level when sitting on Madog’s thwart. Any wave that’s immediately adjacent to me, when I’m in it’s trough, and cuts the horizon must be four feet high. Minor increases on this, to around five or six feet can easily be estimated.

At 14:00 I passed a solitary east cardinal buoy in the fog, but as there are no east cardinals on my chart in possible positions, I still don’t know where I was!

Later I increased the northing, rowing forwards instead of just braking our progress to steer, eventually pulling her round to 320° (reading 150° on the compass) during the flatter parts of the wave trains, dropping back to around 270° (er, 090°) for the steeper, bigger waves. At 16:00 hrs I sighted a pair of buoys, which I now think are the two off Leith sewer outfall, and finally at 17:00 sighted in the fog ahead the Oxcars lighthouse.

The Oxcars Lighthouse is on one of a line of reefs and islands across the Forth, from Crammond in the south, then Inchmickery, then the Cow and Calves, Oxcars itself, and finally Car Craig off Inchcolm. Once past them, and the Firth narrows, and the waves can be expected to decrease. I passed about 200m south of the Oxcar light at about 17:10, and by 17:30 the wind was moderating, the waves were definitely decreasing (most of them anyway, there’s always one or two that haven’t read the instructions!), and visibility was improving.

It seemed that I was going to live, and I hoisted the jib again to give my blistered hands and straining muscles a rest. The only worry was an odd booming noise that sounded like artillery, which I had first noticed near the Oxcar, and which was getting louder and more frequent. Just visible, looming through the fog still lingering around the Oxcars was a red supertanker in ballast, with attendant tug, moving very slowly.

The wind dropped still further, out came the oars, the sky darkened, and the flashes of lightening explained the booming noises, thunder! The storm was intense, and the rainfall reduced visibility back to a couple of hundred meters. It was so intense that I had to stop rowing and bail, not that there was enough water in Madog to directly swamp her, but there was enough to slosh about alarmingly and make her feel very tippy. Where is that tanker?

Well, eventually the storm passed, and the tanker reappeared astern still a good distance off, but by this time I was off Hound Point terminal, and had to keep going at full speed as that’s where the tanker was going, and I didn’t want to get in her way. As far as I am aware, there’s a prohibition on approaching within 150 m of the terminal, or of cutting between it and the shore when there are tankers ‘in residence’. This can make life difficult.

The last two miles back to Port Edgar seemed to take an eternity, the fitful wind under the Forth Bridges had the jib up and down and the oars in and out like yo-yo’s, and the tide had turned by this time, making progress even slower. When I finally touched the slipway, I was bursting for a pee, desperate to phone home, and had to go and collect the car and trailer from where I’d parked them, so that when I got back to Madog she was high and dry, and I had to reward her saving my life by dragging her down the concrete slipway back into the water. Sorry, girl.

When I finally got home that night, I slept from 23:00 to 14:00 the next day, and it took three days for my hands to stop aching and the fingers to straighten out properly. The blisters and raw spots still hurt.

Lessons learnt

• Dories are wonderfully seaworthy craft. This one is an Ian Oughtred design, and the hull form is exquisitely fitted for steep seas.

• The original failure of the boom is entirely my responsibility, the design of that component was my own (see note and sketch below).

• Running under bare poles should be considered where circumstances permit.

• Do not trust weather forecasts.

• Your boat is probably more seaworthy than you are. Find a comfortable position for her and you’ll be surprised, and possibly very relieved, at what she can do.