Having been to the Festival of Britain in 1951 I thought it appropriate to go to the Dome this year — and it was nowhere near as bad as they all said it was! And as I had to get there from Cornwall it seemed a good idea to renew my acquaintance with the Medway while I was in the area. I knew the river from sailing Thames barges 40 years ago, but this would be my first chance to look into the creeks and saltings that are only accessible by dinghy. Finding a suitable operating base was not very easy, despite seeking local advice, but I finished up at Gillingham Marina which provided secure parking for car and trailer for the duration, and a half-tide berth for the first two nights on a pontoon for Jady Lane, the old wooden 14 ft three quarter-decked yawl. But their slipway was not available (it looked all right to me, but not to their insurance company) and I did not care for the look of the public slipway at the Strand, but I did find a good wide sheltered slipway nearby at Gillingham Pier that was usable at most states of the tide.

I travelled east on Sunday and visited the Dome on Monday. After a second comfortable night at the marina, I stowed up Jady Lane ready for the tide to float her off the mud at 0700 on a clear and totally windless morning of 27th June. It was a last minute afterthought, but I was glad I had included the outboard motor, a Honda 2hp air-cooled 4‑stroke, as I took the inshore passage along the south side of the Medway Estuary, threading behind the saltings that border the main channel. I was surprised however at the scale of the place: what I had expected to be small creeks were, at high tide, a huge expanse of water and the salting so far from the shore that they were almost invisible.

In three miles I came to Otterham Creek and motored to the end where lurked that usual motley collection of never-quite-finished boats, some ashore and some afloat; but of the old brick yards and barge quays hardly a vestige remains. Out again in Half Acre Creek I found a tiny breeze from the north, so once I had rounded the point off Upchurch I stopped the motor for a bit of welcome quiet and sailed, albeit very slowly, towards Lower Halstow. By this time the tide had turned so I gave up the idea of going there and, more by luck than judgement, found the elusive channel into Twinney Creek, and from there drifted with the tide out into Stangate Creek. But I soon tired of such slowness and started the motor again.

Fortunately I did not have to motor for long as a nice breeze filled in from NNE, so I tacked out of Stangate, stood along the main channel of the Medway and turned in to Queenborough, where I had no difficulty running in over the strong ebb tide to anchor between the pontoon and the hard with a little shelter from the land. There I had my lunch and made my first mistake by resting and waiting for the tide to fall a bit more, thinking of the clearance under Kings Ferry Bridge. When later I got under way again and ran round the big bend into Long Reach heading for the Swale I found the wind had gone round more easterly, but, even though I had to long and short tack, I could make good progress over the tide until quite close to the bridge. I stowed the sails and motored through to find that Jady Lane’s 15 ft mast went under the closed bridge with more than ten feet to spare, in spite of my doubts. I motored on until I found a bit of a lee under Elmley Hill, the only significant land feature for miles around, and there I went ashore at low tide for a walk in that singularly wild and lonely spot — if you don’t look at the paper mills on the other bank. I then compounded my mistake by waiting for the tide to begin to flood, and only then sailing on up, or down, the Swale.

At first I made good progress directly to windward, but the tacks were very short as the channel is narrow and the edges a matter of guesswork; so I touched with the centreplate every third or fourth tack, which made it rather hard going. But gradually, as I got further from the tidal watershed — the tide comes and goes from both ends of the Swale ‘River’, so I made less and less progress over the ground until it was clear that only motoring would get me to Faversham in reasonable time. Having stowed up, and after a struggle with a broken sheerpin, I settled to what seemed an age of punching right into the wind and tide — to my mind no way to go dinghy cruising! At last I found Faversham Creek entrance and thankfully motored the winding three miles up to the town. There Jady Lane was in good and friendly company with many old boats and nice people; it is wonderful what a really good looking boat will do to encourage such friendliness. The night however was a bit disturbed as I did not place Jady Lane quite right and she sat down on the mud stern downhill, and that left me trying to sleep head downhill as well, which was not a success.

The next day started again windless, so having replenished the petrol can at Tesco which is quite close to the quay, I motored down the creek against the last of the flood tide, looking in at the yacht filled Oare Creek on the way. I was hoping for a repeat of the previous day with an easterly picking up to take me back to the Medway either outside Sheppey or through the Swale. But I was disappointed; out in the Swale I set everything, including spinnaker, to the light easterly, but the slow progress soon ceased altogether as the ebb set in. So it was back to motor against the tide; the only consolation this time being that the breeze stayed very light, and the tidal stream got less as I approached the watershed.

I stopped for lunch at Elmley Hill again, but not for long as a little north’easterly breeze picked up so I was able to sail on slowly towards the bridge. Again I motored under the closed bridge, but then resumed sailing close-hauled towards the Medway. By luck I was able to make just one tack at the sharp bend, and one more off Queenborough, to reach the Medway where I could free sheets and run up with the first of the flood to Stangate Creek. I selected Chetney Hill as place that might offer a bit of a lee, and found there another small boat that turned out to be DCA member Nicholas Birch in his Lune Whammel. After an exchange of greetings and local knowledge he departed for his mooring and I set up for the night.

But such was my luck that the wind went round to the west in the night, as I found when I looked out at 0330 and found Jady Lane on the mud a few feet from the lumps of rock that had rolled down from the bank that towered over the transom, so that was the end of my hopes for a nice run up the Medway. The day was overcast with the threat of rain as I got under way and sailed into Funton Creek, but knowing there was not much more flood tide to run I turned and headed north for Sharfleet Creek. I finally emerged into Half Acre and resumed sailing towards South Yantlet Creek.

But the wind was a dead header and not enough to make headway over the tide which had started to ebb. So I stowed up and motored towards Darnet Fort looking for a sheltered spot to anchor, but did not find anywhere that seemed suitable. Instead I motored across the main channel and through the narrow creek behind Hoo Island against a ferocious ebb tide, and anchored on the edge of the flats in some shelter from Cockham Woods. There I set up the tepee (modified fishing umbrella — see Liz Baker, 165/20) and sheltered from a sharp shower while I lunched. Before the boat dried out on the falling tide, I motored off upstream past the apparently lifeless Chatham Dockyard dodging close inshore where possible to cheat the strong tide. I reached Frindsbury before turning back to run on to the mud almost exactly where I had previously anchored, carefully lining the boat up head to wind as she dried out. Within an hour the wind had gone back to the north-east leaving me in no shelter and stern to wind. There followed a rather grim night with Jady Lane swinging and rolling about between wind and tide with much rain and noise. Mercifully the wind dropped at last as the tide turned again and I got some sleep.

The morning was reasonably fine as I stowed up while waiting to float off, and then motored across to Gillingham, and went alongside a fishing boat that was moored to the slipway while I went to collect the car and trailer from the marina. Recovery was easy and I packed up on the deserted slipway for the long journey home. I had thought I was quite good at planning and executing my cruises, but this one was a timely warning against complacency. I failed to manage my tides properly, so wasted time, effort and petrol getting where I wanted, and went to fewer places than I intended. I was perhaps unlucky with the winds, but it was an interesting bit of cruising variety which at least reminds me how lucky I am to have the West Country rivers as my home waters.