A week’s cruise in a Sunspot 15

Every serious single-hander needs an ‘Alice’. Mine’s a widow living down the road. She’s not the slinky, glamorous type, the stuff of soap operas and novels. Certainly not the kind to tempt you from the straight and narrow. In fact she’s quite elderly and simply likes to go abroad on holiday and she has the happy knack of persuading my wife to go with her. When they go — I go too. This time, I had a week.

Day 1. There was little or no wind so I motored down the Walton Channel and simply drifted once outside whilst the weather made up its mind. A light westerly kept trying its hand, came and went several times before strengthening by stages to something like a F4 and finally backing into the SE. As the wind came abeam, we had loads of spray and arrived, somewhat dampened, at Mersea Stone at 1900 — just after high water, where I anchored. We’d been 5 hrs 20 mins underway, covering 21 miles in all, using the engine for 2.

Day 2. I got underway at 0915 in a F3 WSW, bound for the Crouch. Hanging close to the breeze, we crossed the Blackwater and headed down the Rays’n Channel. Low water was about 1430 and I didn’t think we’d get through before the channel emptied, but we did, more by luck that judgement. The yellow buoy, marking the best water through the swatch, was hard to spot in the haze. I saw it dead ahead — once — but then it vanished, never to be seen again until we were well into the Crouch. We eventually dropped anchor close under Wallasea Island in the Roach at 1550. It had been a grand day, mostly with wall to wall sunshine. We’d been 6½ hours underway, against the tide for most of that, and covered 16 miles, without use of the engine.

Day 3. The forecast was for SW 3 or 4 possibly 5 at times and I got underway at 0800 with a reef in, heading up the Crouch. The wind went up and down continuously. One minute I’d ask myself why I carried a reef and the next, with The Genie over on her ear, I’d remember why. We were at Fambridge before the flood was done and battled on to the outskirts of Hullbridge where the water got a bit thin. On the return trip, the cloud rolled back to give us another brilliant day. Gradually, I peeled off waterproofs and then warm gear and finally went in for a little bare-back riding as we ran down the Crouch. Sailed on to the mouth before returning to anchor in the Roach again at 1600. We’d had 8 hours underway and covered 18 miles without the engine.

Day 4. Tides were right for a trip through Havengore and round the outside. High water was about 11am and I got underway at 0800 tacking down the Roach, through into the Narrowgut to reach the bridge by 0930. The red flag was up! The bridge keeper came out, pointed to it waving his hands to indicate there’d be no passage. On one close approach, I shouted to him that I’d already checked on my mobile, and been assured it would be OK. He went back, obviously telephoned, and shortly afterwards the bells clanged as the road barriers went down and the bridge went up. Coming out as I passed through, he called, “Sorry about that Guv, no-one told us!” Thank Heavens for mobiles!

I had kept yesterday’s reef in during my beat down the creeks since the wind seems to jump over the sea walls and pounce with considerable ferocity on a poor boat in the middle of the narrow channels. And at the bridge, I got the motor going since the wind varies around the structure itself. Once through, and safely over the Broomway — a road across the sands — in a breeze that had steadied, I cut it and shook out the reef. The visibility was good and I made for the western Blacktail Spit mark in a nice F3/4 from the W-SW to take us down the Swin with the ebb running by this time. We were off the Whitaker Beacon by 1350 and through the Spitway buoys by 1445. Heading back to Mersea, we had to beat into wind and tide for a while before the flood started to help us in. I really wanted to go on to Tollesbury, but it meant beating all the way and I was getting tired. So upping helm, The Genie headed for East Mersea. Taking a look at the anchorage and deciding that it was calm enough, we went in and anchored at 1800. However, high water close to midnight produced a procession of sand barges to and from Wivenhoe. Their wash gave us periods of anything but calm. It had been a good trip though, taking 10 hours, with 1 mile on engine out of a total of 31.

Day 5. I was up somewhat later than planned after the disturbed night, but got underway soon after 0730, heading towards Maldon. High water would be around noon and the forecast was for SW 2/3 rising to 4 later. How wrong they were! The Genie came out of the Colne with a full suit of sails and worked close hauled up the Blackwater. Very soon, I began rolling up a bit of jib. Then, near the power station at Bradwell, I hove to in lumpy, wind-over-tide conditions to pull one down in the main. Things got worse as I tacked on up and, approaching Thirslet, the anchor on the foredeck came loose, dislodged when we took some large ones over the bow. I tied a line round me, went forward and roughly secured it, only to have it break loose again soon after in worsening conditions. By this time, I realised we stood no chance of making Maldon and although I hated giving up, we needed a quiet bolthole, but which one? Finally, I remembered noticing the ‘footsie index’ was up that morning as I put on my socks, so Bradwell and their showers it was.

Now turning away from the wind in these conditions, in a light racing dinghy, would push it into a screaming, mind-blowing plane. But The Genie, weighing in at 900 lbs, is a little heavy for this — at least, so I’ve always thought. Consequently, what I describe as her ‘planing’ is actually a series of ‘bunny hops’ from each crest, coming down again with all the dignity and grace of a fat lady on a bus seat when the driver lets the clutch in a bit sharpish. However on this occasion, a heavier gust than usual hit us as we turned and she took off and really planed! It was magic, but a little frightening! Heaven only knows what the wind speed was, but it certainly wasn’t the 4 we’d expected. I was rather glad to tie up in the marina consequently. Amazingly, on reporting to the office, there stood two old friends I hadn’t seen for all of 15 years. Just as astonishing was that my name had come up in their conversation just a few moments before. How’s that for coincidence? Anyway, it all made the stay more pleasant and the showers and the evening meal were both good. Apart from motoring into the marina, we had covered 11 miles under sail in 4 hours.

Day 6. The wind remained strong all night but was dropping rapidly when I woke next morning. By the time I cleared the marina at 0900 it was only a F2/3, and I headed, in brilliant sunshine, towards Maldon. It’s the home port of much of the east coast’s traditional sail and a Mecca in consequence. The wind became even lighter on the final approaches around noon when the tide turned. I continued to try, but in an almost glassy calm we were carried astern. That was 1300 hours.

I nudged The Genie through Southy Creek on the southern side of Northy Island in the lightest of zephyrs. Once outside in the main again, at 1430, a nice little breeze suddenly sprang up from the east. Very quickly, it veered round to the SE and then the SSE and The Genie began romping along with eased sheets. If this continued, I thought, we could make the passage back to Walton that night rather than tomorrow.

By 1520, The Genie was off the Bradwell Power station, going like a train, blustering her way through the short chop with the rigging humming. I timed her to Colne Point, making the 6 miles in 1 hour and 8 minutes! At this speed, she’d make a quick trip of it, so I gave The Genie her head. Sure enough, she brought Clacton abeam on cue, but soon after, just as the tide turned against us, the wind dropped and backed easterly — bringing it on the nose. No-one cherishes a long beat in light winds against the tide, but I felt too well committed to go back. Cursing and swearing didn’t change anything so, ‘push’ having come to ‘shove’, we came close on the wind and did our best for almost an hour. However, we yachties must never underestimate the power of a really good swear as shortly afterwards, the breeze did get up again, giving me a long and a short tack along the coast to Walton. We passed the pier at 2020 with a rising wind, too near to home to bother reefing. The seas off Walton became larger and when later I was able to ease sheets and head north they seemed positively enormous, doubtless because they were being driven into the shallows of the sands that lay close under our lee. We finally located the buoyed channel and wound our way southwards to pick up a spare mooring at the entrance to Foundry Creek at 2220.

It had been a long day. Apart from my lunch time sandwiches, I’d had nothing but a packet of peanuts and a can of beer. Now I was almost too tired to eat, but I made the effort and slept the better for it. We had been 13 hours 20 mins underway, covered 44 miles and used the engine only to exit the marina. In particular, those last 33 miles after the wind picked up off Northy, had been covered in slightly less than 8 hours. Since that period contained some light winds, some adverse tides and a beat, I was well pleased. The Genie’s an old lady, but when she picks up her skirts, she can certainly move.

Day 7. Motored to Bedwell’s yard in Foundry Creek so they could look at a job I wanted doing later and left again at 1115. Once into the Walton Channel, I sailed for the Stour and my last night. The local radio said they were planning to raise the wreck of a WW2 American bomber near Wrabness that day, and I was curious to see it.

The wind was SE’ly when I started out but rapidly backed into the east. It was high water as we sailed through Harwich Harbour and we then ran up the Stour against the ebb, reaching Wrabness at 1500. The work was still going on and I learned later that the plane wasn’t finally raised until the next week. My original plan was to stay in the Stour that night, but with the breeze in the east, nowhere was comfortable. So after heaving to for some refreshment, I put The Genie back onto the wind and beat down to Harwich. Even the Orwell under the Trimley shore was in a restless mood and so I turned her south once again towards the Backwaters. We arrived shortly after low water and wound our way through the exposed sandbanks. Managed not to go aground although it was touch and go a couple of times when large yachts, under power, insisted on barging past me in the narrowest places. However, one poor bloke hadn’t fared so well. High and dry on the sands was a Cornish Crabber, still flying the Norwegian courtesy flag at the cross trees. If that was indeed where he’d come from, it must have been galling, to say the least, to end up there, so close to comfort and safety. As for me, I finished up in the marina, had a meal at the Harbour Lights and a couple of pints, feeling I’d earned them! The Genie got a good clean the next day as her reward, before heading to the airport to collect my wife and Alice. But on that day, we’d been 7 hours underway and covered a further 28 miles (using the engine for about 2), bringing the total for the week to 169 in just over 54 hours of magic sailing.