Lutine Wayfarer Peter Small and Mark Wakefield Aurora Topper Cruz George Saffrey and Joan Abrams Caracara Norfolk Gypsy Geoffrey Osborn

Why do I sail a Norfolk Gypsy on a DCA rally? Firstly my sailing mate flatly refuses the discomfort of camping from Dipper, our eleven foot Gull dinghy; so a two berth sailing cruiser has improved immeasurably my enjoyment of sailing trips together. Secondly, and in explanation for not using Dipper, she is in the process of having some repairs to the woodwork, including a re-build of the centreboard case.

On Saturday night Lutine launched around noon from Orford, dropped down to the Butley River for lunch before heading upriver to arrive at the rendezvous at The Oaks, just short of Iken Cliffs, by around 5pm.

Aurora, with her unusual cat-ketch rig also launched at Orford, but lunched upriver at Slaughden, before continuing on to meet up with Lutine at The Oaks.

Caracara left her home port of Shotley Marina just before 9am and left Harwich Harbour under full sail with a pleasant F3. She was safely inside the River Ore by 11.45. The wind was now astern and began to ease. After picking up a mooring for lunch I continued and passed Slaughden at 16.00. Here the River Ore becomes the Alde and turns towards the west, and so the gentle west wind was now a headwind. The wind became lighter and lighter; the boat speed became slower and slower; the well-named ‘Lower and Upper Troublesome Reaches’ became ever more twisty; the centreboard and rudder needed to be raised from touching the bottom more and more times. And still Caracara continued to beat on under sail.

At last we landed at The Oaks, fairly close to Lutine and Aurora, at 6pm. Unfortunately this was a sign for the heavens to open; how I wish I had swallowed my pride and started the engine back at Slaughden! I saw no point in delaying the other folks while I stowed sails etc so I said I would catch them up at the Plough and Sail about forty minutes walk away at Snape Maltings. I pulled Caracara up the beach so I could climb down off the bowsprit with dry feet, and so avoid inflating the dinghy. After conscientiously locking up the cabin I had been walking for fifteen minutes or so when I realised that I had left the key in ‘the ignition’. So back I went to find the tide had continued to rise. Feeling rather clever I heaved the boat right up, climbed aboard via the bowsprit, and was soon on my way again — still with dry feet.

Here we all met up at the Plough and Sail, including Caracara’s mate who had had another engagement during the day, and Joan’s daughter Frances (Joan was to stay with Frances rather than camp in the dinghies). After a most pleasant meal in company, as it was raining again, Esme and Frances ferried the sailors back to The Oaks by car. Here we found that despite Caracara having settled at about twenty degrees of heel all the sailors squeeze in to the cabin for a nightcap before settling down for the night in our respective vessels.

On Sunday I had expected to get afloat around 7am, but no. What I had forgotten the night before when I so cleverly pulled Caracara up the beach was the fact that the tides were taking off from springs to neaps. At 7am I needed nearly another foot of water. No problem, still another three-quarters of an hour for the water to rise, so no need to delay the other folks bound for Orford to haul out their boats before any serious weather set in.

At 07.45, by my reckoning, it was now the top of the tide and Caracara needed at least another three inches fore and aft before she would float. Pushing one and a half tons of boat was not so easy as dragging a dinghy down; perhaps I should have stuck to proper dinghy cruising after all! If she did not float this tide she would have to stay for at least another week. The inflatable was assembled in double quick time so that I could lay out the 20 lb anchor in the deeper water of the channel. The anchor bit and held; Caracara showed no inclination to move. I started the engine and ran it in reverse while I pushed and shoved on the bowsprit end. Next I unshackled the mainsheet and connected it between the anchor warp and the mast. Jamming the mainsheet tackle as tight as I could the anchor warp could be plucked like a violin string. Still she would not move. Just then two people came along to help. Anchor warp tight, engine roaring in reverse, three of us pushing on the bowsprit and rocking the boat from side to side; Caracara moved nearly one inch towards the water. Inch by inch she edged backwards.

It was now 08.30. Thank goodness for the ‘stand’ at high water; afloat at last. Under a threatening grey sky I lashed the inflatable alongside as we set off under power trying to follow the very twisty channel with the water level now dropping noticeably. When the twists had eased to the extent of allowing twenty seconds between course changes I hauled the dinghy on board to deflate and stow. I picked up a mooring in Westrow Reach at 09.35 where I slipped below out of the rain to have my breakfast.

At 10.25 under a grey, but dry sky, we set off again with a reef in the main against a stiff headwind, tacking continuously. I passed Orford Quay at 11.50 and was much heartened to see a small group of DCA people waving me on my way. And so the seriously short tacking really started; some of the tacks were as short as fifteen seconds. The exercise certainly kept me warm, and it looked as though the weather was improving.

We cleared the Orford bar safely by 13.25 and headed out to sea. Once again the ‘DCA tiller restraint’ held a steady course. In strengthening sunshine I took my time over lunch. However going below to write up the log and plot the GPS position on the chart it was necessary to close the hatch to keep out the spray from boisterous waves. We were now a mile and a half east of the Cutler, perfectly positioned to lay the Woodbridge Haven Buoy on port tack. The wind was still F4-5 SW. The remainder of the passage to Shotley was relatively uneventful with increasing sunshine and reducing wind strength.

Levington Marina, River Orwell — 21/22 April

At last it seemed as if winter was over. The endless rain, the numerous depressions and near gale force winds seemed to have gone and allowed us to hold our first meeting. But where was everyone?

I left early Saturday from Walton, went north through Harwich and bore away before a gentle easterly, up the Stour. Then at about 3pm, I turned and tacked back down to enter the Orwell, arriving at the marina about 6.30. At about 7.30, in the Lightship, drinking my lonesome pint and having a meal, in walks Peter Small, so although he’d come by car, at least it wasn’t a rally of one.

Next morning, in a fresher breeze, I sailed north as far as the Orwell bridge before turning back to head home to Walton. On the way back I met Richard Crockett in his Tideway. He’d launched at Wolverstone Marina — at a cost of £15 would you believe! Conditions weren’t right for a long jaw, but I caught up with him afterwards on the telephone. He could only make the one day, and spent it on the Orwell, having lunch ashore at the Butt and Oyster in Pinmill. Even fresher winds gave us both some excitement before the day was out. Ted Jones