“We’re all going on an Expotition with Christopher Robin!” “What is it when we’re on it?” “A sort of boat, I think,” said Pooh.

It wasn’t our intention to circumnavigate the island; in fact we were having a deliberately lazy start to the weekend, as it was almost our first sail of the season. We’d been out on Derwentwater the week before to check out the boat (and ourselves) but the sea is to be taken seriously, so we planned a relaxed day pottering in the bay, declining Ed’s offer of help in launching with the rest of the DCA fleet so that we could have time to prepare Jenya on shore. This was the second Lindisfarne Rally organised by the Northeast Region. The first, a year before, had been a great success despite bad weather on the first day — or perhaps partly due to it, as not being able to sail, we explored various parts of this wonderful Northumberland coast. This year was a repeat, even better attended.

It was 11.30, almost low water, as we launched — in itself a problem solved as it confirmed our feeling that the two of us could get Jenya on the water at any state of tide, though Harry and Pauline, who were not sailing their West Wight Potter till later, came down with us to give a hand if necessary. Once afloat we started the outboard to ensure it was working. A couple of days earlier I’d just completed the pre-season maintenance when the summer Bulletin arrived. My habit of devouring it cover to cover paid off. After reading Tim Evans’ article on petrol/oil mixes, I hastily disposed of last season’s fuel and refilled with 2001 mix. ‘There’s no fuel like an old fuel’.

Eventually we felt it time to unfurl the sails and enjoy the light southeasterly breeze, so we ghosted over to the seals and spent half an hour encouraging these inquisitive creatures to come closer to the camera. Bill and Rachel’s Cruz was further into the bay, beating towards us, so we gradually closed them then decided to explore the wide channels leading into the vast area of sands to the west of Lindisfarne — Holy Island Sands and Fenham Flats. Low water is the time to be here to see the seal colonies, dozens of heads popping up around you and the probability of large herds basking on the sandbanks. About 1pm we had a protracted lunch, putting Jenya head to wind onto the nearest sandbank for a picnic and trying to spot the line of the main channel, as the filling tide created several possibilities, like an ever-changing maze. We sailed quietly to the favourite basking place of the grey seals, with perhaps a hundred of them sunning themselves as we passed by. After this point our channel became narrow and was hopefully the course of the fresh-water stream that flows under the causeway’s bridge — this we were able to confirm by fixes, as the northern part of the watercourse conforms to the chart, unlike the earlier sections.

I don’t know when the idea occurred to us; I think our gentle start had relaxed us and we felt ready for some aim to the day, but about this time I suggested to Jayne that we might try to sail round the island. Jayne wasn’t in the least surprised as she’s used to these strange ideas, in fact I think she half-expected it. But this would be a serious undertaking, so we had to take stock. Conditions were in our favour: the weather was set fair for the day, a light southeasterly enabled running or broad reaching as far as the causeway, so we could sail with centreboard and rudder up; our Cruz draws only about six inches with all our gear aboard, so few dinghies were better fitted for the trip; springs were a couple of days previous, so we had near-maximum depths; we carried plenty of clothes as we never trust the weather; it would be daylight till 10pm or later, giving us a clear four hours after high water; we carried charts, OS map, GPS, VHF and, more usefully, mobile phone. On the down side if we ran aground exactly at high tide we were likely to be neaped — and we were not kitted out to sleep aboard.

We rang Bill to let him know the plan and cancel our dinner at The Ship, where the other dozen DCA members would be eating, then sailed gently as the channel filled. Nearing the causeway, it occurred to me that we might be able to ‘shoot the bridge’, so arriving at 4pm with only two hours to high water and the causeway still well above water, we unshipped the masts and floated with the strong current towards the ever-decreasing gap. “It won’t fit”, said Jayne with the bow an inch clear, “the engine’s too high”. We tore off the engine, laid the rigs by the causeway and tried again. I had an optimistic idea that I would lie in the boat and ‘foot’ it under; Jayne told me later that she was very worried at this point as she had visions of my being trapped under the bridge, which was soon to flood! Luckily even I had to admit it wouldn’t go under, as the fittings were scraping bits off the mossy concrete.

Half an hour earlier and we’d have made it. As it happened, the causeway flooded by 4.30, so shooting the bridge wouldn’t have gained us much time. With the rigs refitted, I left Jayne with Jenya and climbed up to the refuge to better view the filling channels. To the south the sands were covered, but the north was a different kettle of fish. Vast areas were still uncovered; the obvious chart channel tight by the north shore was not visible. We later realised that it didn’t exist; our second option — to follow the stream for 400 metres then cut east — wasn’t yet showing a channel eastwards, but to the NNE a channel was forming and further on the North Sea appeared closer than at any other point. This was it. Turning back to the boat, I saw Jayne challenging a motorist for right of way. The car was tackling the newly flooded causeway, creating an impressive bow-wave, as Jenya floated gracefully across!

Jenya sailed steadily on, briefly north, then 30°M towards the watershed. We could see the sea beyond the broad sandy ridge, and another factor came into the equation. A long line of surf, due to the North Sea swell, was breaking in the shallows and guarding access to the open sea. Now 5pm, we had only an hour to decide, as turning tail after high water was courting a night stranded. Looking west we realised that the coast-hugging option could be better, for that area was covering much faster than our long sandbank. With this possibility tugging stronger every minute, we were now walking less than wellie deep, though occasionally deeper, gently pull-pushing Jenya in her six inches of sea and continually glancing over our shoulders, envious of the now flooded western area. The slight breeze was almost ahead, making sailing impossible without centreboard or rudder. Anyway, our being out of the boat allowed it to float further up the now broad channel.

We were tiring and perhaps we’d also had enough of searching for the best channel and evaluating the time factor. We hauled towards the least-uninviting surf, glad to find it not as fierce as it had looked half a mile away, but anxious to see if it was passable in time to try the other option, now much further round. By 5.45 we were close to the surf and decided to have a go. But first we made a definite stop to enjoy Mars bars, have a drink and gather strength. The engine was not a possibility as it could easily bottom, so at 6pm Jayne took the oars and, with me steering to avoid broaching, we set off into wind and surf. I’d like to think it was real Grace Darling stuff, but five minutes of concentration and hard work on Jayne’s part, with Jenya lifting and dumping her bow over the larger waves, saw us out into the North Sea. What a beautiful evening. The light air allowed us to sail at first, although close hauled. We kept on starboard, till well out, then tacked to sail parallel to the shoreline. Grey seals surfaced inquisitively and kept us company, as we ghosted along the north shore. Soon the wind died, but it was too peaceful to start the engine, so we took turns rowing with slight sail-power assistance. A white-sailed yacht, apparently stationary on the other side of the headland, perhaps aground (the possibility forefront in our minds at the time), turned out to be the beacon on Emmanuel Head when we consulted the chart.

Just after 7pm we rounded the stationary yacht and headed along the east coast, sails set for a run. A very slow jog would better describe it, especially as our speed over the ground was negligible, which we ascertained not from an electronic log but by looking through the clear water at the rocks about six feet below. This was a rare and delightful experience. One is not often able to see the bottom so clearly when sailing against the current. Delightful it may have been, but it took us an hour and a half to draw level with Lindisfarne Castle.

Now the wind freshened from the southwest, which promised an exhilarating beat back to harbour. But we found ourselves barely holding our own against the strong half-tide, which channelled out of the vast bay we had entered nine hours before. In fact with Jenya close hauled we were ferry-gliding away from the bay and the other tack would have taken us onto Long Ridge. So that was that. Suzie, our trusty 2.2hp outboard, was commissioned and she powered us through the strong current with its fascinating swirl of standing waves and whirlpools. Just on 9.30 we beached, dug in the anchor with a tripping line above high water, and cooked one of our ‘emergency’ meals — a rare outing for the tin opener. Before leaving the island, we called in The Ship to find the last of the DCA diners still swapping yarns. We couldn’t have had a better welcome had we just returned from circumnavigating the world. Driving over the causeway at dusk we saw the remains of our channels, glad that we were heading for our comfortable campsite rather than spending the night out there, huddled under Jenya’s cuddy.

The following day Jenya took us along the coast to Bamburgh, a thoroughly pleasant trip involving ice cream on the beach, but with a sting in its tail, as a brief Force 5 gave an exhilarating beat for the final three miles home. Our last day farewell to Lindisfarne was a guided walk taking us along the SW shore past St. Cuthbert’s Island and giving panoramic views of the first stage of our exploration. We were just now starting to learn something of this fascinating island. The Northumberland coast is an area we’ve long felt deserved our attention both afloat and ashore and with the added incentive of a gathering it’s likely that this rally will become one of our DCA fixed feasts.