There’s an old weather saw which goes, “Wind in the east — a month at least”, meaning that once the wind comes from that general direction, it’ll probably stay there for quite some while. And I’ve experienced it all too often. From my mooring, right up on the northeast corner of Essex, it’s a grand wind for getting down the Wallet to the Colne, Crouch, Thames or Medway, but when it comes to getting back again, well that’s another story. On the 25th July ‘99, I left Dave Smith (see his article in Bulletin 165) — who was heading south from our anchorage in the Roach — and started back homewards. The 26th was my wedding anniversary, and getting back was important. We’d battled down the previous day against a southwester, and of course, I was hoping this would stay to blow me back. The winds were light and westerly to begin with, but the forecasters predicted they’d gradually veer to a northerly. Then, by evening, it would go north easterly whilst remaining F2/3. I made a leisurely start, but before I’d emerged from the Roach to join the Crouch — a mile or so — the wind had already gone into the northwest.

Once in the Crouch, on an ENE’ly course, the breeze went a little east of north, putting us hard on the wind all the way down. Outside, I tacked The Genie, long and short, across the Ray Sands, up towards the Jaywick shore. Here the breeze freshened and we had a good F4, romping along, just able to hold a full suit of sails. I was convinced it would fall lighter as the day wore on and, since it was warm and sunny, the sea breeze would actually fill in from the south of east. I was wrong, of course, but at that moment the sailing was brilliant and the Wallet was full of yachts all bound the same way.

Near Clacton Pier the breeze flew into the northeast and rose to a point where The Genie needed a deep reef. With that tucked in we continued for a few more tacks, reaching Clacton Pier by 1540, where we came in for the full force of wind and sea with no shelter from the land. The Genie was crying out for a second reef by this time. However, the flood would soon start to run against us, and so, despite the rough going, I hung on, easing the sheets through the worst of it and making the best speed I could. The breeze was most certainly a F5 with gusts into the 6 and the going was wet. I dived below for waterproofs, found a top and put it on, but in my haste, couldn’t find the bottoms — a pity in the conditions that were to follow.

It took until 2015 before I rounded Walton Pier — almost 6 hours against wind and tide to cover those 6 miles. By that time I was cold, wet and hungry. Looking back, this was the hardest tussle I’ve had — and there have been a few — but The Genie tacked manfully on against tide and a very strong breeze and what seemed, at times, mountainous seas. At least twice she had scooped water over the bow, which covered the cabin top and found its way below, despite closed hatches. Sometimes, going on had seemed impossible, but going back had been unthinkable. Not so with the other yachts! Very soon after Clacton Pier, they had all turned back, dropping mains and starting engines. All must have been pinned down, wherever the found shelter, for over a week. Dave reported that he had had to recover at Tollesbury, unable to get back to Walton.

From the pier, The Genie plugged on, rounding the sands in the dark. Only the white foam crashing onto the shore told me where I was. By keeping a safe distance to windward we found the channel through into the calmer waters of the Walton Channel, and finally to the lights of the Marina at 2235. It had taken 13 hours to cover those 27 miles back.

This year I headed down for a week on the Crouch again. The wind had been in the northeast for 10 days already, and The Genie made a fast passage of it. The high causing it showed so signs of deteriorating, and lows were in the offing. This, I thought, might be that ‘perfect trip’ with a fair wind out and — assuming the low came — a fair wind back. Again, we were to be disappointed. On the Thursday evening before returning, the forecast had been for SE breezes. But when I woke at 0520 on Friday, a light NW’ly was blowing into the cabin. I wasted no breath on forecasters who got it so wrong, but got up at once, dressed, swallowed a cup of tea whilst I stowed everything, and was underway by 0605. My delight in the northwester was short lived, however, as the wind quickly went to the north, and, before I was out of the Crouch, into the northeast, as steady as it had ever been over almost 3 weeks. Normally, I wouldn’t have minded waiting for a day or so for a change, but my wife was coming back from abroad and I’d arranged to pick her up at the airport. So, once again, we plugged on.

This time we reached Jaywick by low water where I thought of anchoring and sitting out the flood, but there was a decent breeze and we seemed to be making over the flood. The six miles between Clacton and Walton Piers has been described as the longest six miles in the world when the wind and tide are not right. That’s how it was this day.

By about half flood, I’d only managed less than half the mileage to Walton. The wind had fallen light and had become tricky. The sail tell-tales rose and fell, and I bore away and then luffed every few seconds, it seemed. Eventually I had tell-tales before the eyes, and decided to anchor and wait for the friendly ebb. It wasn’t the quietest anchorage in the world, as you can imagine, but I needed tea and eats. By 1930, with the inner man fully refreshed, we were underway again in a breeze that had steadied, and an ebb that had started to run in our favour.

Once more we headed across the sands in the dark, feeling our way this time, stabbing the bottom with the jib stick. There was no friendly moon, no white surf to leeward guiding us, but there was enough water, thank heavens. We squeezed into our berth shortly after 2300.

The trip had been 17 hours, but probably less than 15 of actual sailing. Real sailing distance was just short of 30 miles, but since it was tack for tack all the way, I suppose we actually covered over 40. Which means a speed of between 2½ and 3 knots in lightish winds and a considerable portion of it made against the tide. So I wasn’t too despondent. But all these thoughts I left until morning. That night I simply went to sleep.

The northeaster continued for another two days before the lows produced a change.