- a single-handed cruise from Edinburgh back to Lindisfarne, in my son Ed's 16'9" Dockrell (carrying a 4hp outboard). References: Ed Wingfield's Dinghy Cruising Guide to the Forth, Royal Northumbrian YC's pilot.

My title may sound presumptuous, but sailing from the Forth to the Tyne is rather like a channel crossing, because the little half-tide havens in between become death traps in onshore winds. It has been suggested that I exaggerate these dangers, but readers may recall that a year or two ago a round -the -world yachtsman attempted to take a party out of the Tyne despite the harbourmaster's warning. (It was only blowing Force 3!) While still inside the harbour walls they were knocked over by a massive breaking wave and two of the party were washed overboard and drowned. It is something to do with the shallow nature of the North Sea and its long fetch. Having an outboard engine is a boon in these waters, since it enables one to power out through breakers that would capsize a boat tacking out at an angle to them.

Monday September 3rd. 2001 - HW Leith 16.15 Forecast: winds W to NW, Force 4-5 increasing 6.

After looking round the fascinating old and new buildings of Old Leith (the commercial port for Edinburgh), I cast off from Granton, the city's yacht harbour. Will) the spring tide at full flood there was no point in sailing against it, so I headed up the Firth of Forth for the Island of Inchcolm. The entrance channel being far too narrow to tack in, so I motored to the tiny beach and anchored. Inchcolm is a National Trust nature reserve, with the ruins of a monastery built in attractive warm-coloured sandstone The monastery's tower, which can be climbed by very steep steps, (I am surprised that they allow the public up them!) gives a fine view of the Forth Bridge and surrounding countryside. By 15 00 the flood-stream had slackened and I weighed anchor and headed along the north coast of the Firth of Forth, bearing in mind that any of its more attractive harbours would have to be entered before halt-ebb. Wanting to try somewhere I had not visited before, I passed by the lovely village of Aberdour, and then Burntisland, which is a commercial port. Pettycur was next, but this open haven would be badly exposed in the westerly wind, so I rounded the point to Kinghorn, but then found I had time to push on a little further. Kirkaldy is a commercial port with a reputation for vandalism, but just beyond it was Dysart, which Ed (and the pilot book) had highly recommended.

At 18 30 I entered Dysart's tiny harbour, which is protected from easterly swells by high wails, twice raised since its original building A Uysart Boat Club member advised me to berth just inside the entrance, which seemed exposed, but as the tide fell had the protection of a shingle bar After helping me shift my boat he took me for a mug of coffee at the Boat Club. (Forth boat club members are like that!) Dysart is a fascinating little place; the harbour seems to have been quarried out of the high red cliffs. There is a castle and some fine old houses, and an especially interesting local type of boat These Dysart yoles are about 18 to 20 feet long with shallow full-length wooden keels. For stability they rely upon sandbag ballast which is shifted as required by a crewman. Some are quite narrow in beam, so with their tall masts, sailing them in a strong blow must be quite interesting

Tuesday September 4th. - HW Leith 04.19 (Note: The tide times I am quoting may not seem right, but they are taken from Reeds)

04.30 To ensure that I would not be stranded by the falling tide I got up in the dark, un-reefed the mainsail and cleared the mooring lines with some difficulty. At 05.15 I cleared tiny harbour in an un-seamanlike but effective way Rather than trying to warp the boat round single-handed in the congested little haven I motored her out in reverse against the mainsail filled by the light breeze. Under full sail I soon make good progress down the main Forth shipping channel with the springtide ebb, with the volcanic cone of North Berwick Law in view on the Lothian shore. (North Berwick should not be confused with Berwick, which is many miles to the south) By 06 00 the wind had freshened, and I sailed on past the islands of Fidra, Lamb and Craigleith, and the sheer Bass Rock, breeding ground of thousands of gannets I had been considering calling in at the offshore Isle of May, where Ed had been the first non-commercial boat skipper to visit for two years. Then the wind freshened up to a full Force 6 (I had missed the forecast) and I realised that I had put myself in an awkward position, since it was coming up to low water and all available harbours would be subject to the North Sea swell I phoned Dunbar Harbourmaster, who reported breakers in the entrance, but said it was just about manageable However by the time I reached Dunbar the wind had freshened and with the greater exposure to the fetch of the North Sea and a lower tide-level, really scary swells had built up. The Harbourmaster now said that entering Dunbar would be out of the question several hours, it at all, and advised me to return back east Unwilling to give up the ground I had gained, I stubbornly sailed on to Skateraw (once a small fishing port, now covered by a nuclear power station), where I knew that there were two buoys within the power station's breakwater. A close look however showed that with the wind direction there was only marginal shelter, so I reluctantly turned back, tacking to windward but with the new flood helping me.

I stood in to North Berwick harbour, but there were breakers right across the entrance channel. However even if I carried on to the shallow Aberlady Bay there would not be enough water to enter, and that further on Port Seton's entrance would be made hazardous by the strong onshore wind. I therefore sailed in through the breakers, and then opposite the harbour checked that there was just enough water to get in. I dropped the mainsail and started the motor, swinging in for the narrow entrance. The harbourmaster and a club member were watching me anxiously and were waiting to take my lines Fortunately there was one vacant berth in the harbour, (naturally it was the worst berth) but I was glad to be safe and in an attractive resort North Berwick still retains much of its Victorian charm and otters superb coastal walking. It is also very proud of its award-winning loo, noted for its flower arrangements. As is customary in the Forth area, I was given keys to the sailing club and use of the showers. Getting up the harbour wall from the boat was however far from easy. The regular berth-holders used falls of rubber tyres chained together, but I had to scramble up using a rusted and suspect chain, and only just made it.

Wednesday September 5th. - HW Leith 04.49 Forecast westerly Force 4, becoming variable.

In the morning I asked the harbourmaster's advice about entering Dunbar (only some ten miles down the coast) in the prevailing conditions He said he had never entered that harbour! While waiting for the tide I took one of the lovely coastal walks from North Berwick Returning to the boat at 14 30, I found that it had become tangled inside a number of other lines and buoys, so turning it was not easy. A considerable swell was entering the harbour and the moored boats were swinging wildly, blocking my exit track with every swing Adding to my problems, the Dockrell's rudder fouls the outboard when turning to starboard, so the outboard tiller has to be operated in sequence with boat tiller, and sometimes having to be lifted over the rudder, facing the wrong way while doing so! Almost inevitably I hit one boat when the gap closed, then as it opened again I blasted ahead, bouncing boats clear, only to be swung round to port by a hard gust before reaching the harbour entrance Turning with my back to the entrance and lifting the outboard tiller over the rudder I managed to power the boat's head back on to course, opened up the throttle and shot through. Outside I found that the wind had risen to nearer Force 5 than the forecast 4, but I first cleared the rocks under motor before reefing Even with reefed mainsail I made a fair speed against the springtide flood, and by 16 30 Dunbar church was abeam. A seal passed me close by, too busy hunting fish to give me a glance, great rafts of guillemots confirming the presence of fish shoals.

By 17 50, off Fastcastle Head the winds fell light and veered against me. I sailed into the bay to avoid the new flood but had to motor to get round St Abbs Head (which is where the Forth tide-streams separate from the main coastal flow). Skirting the rocks in the gathering dusk, I failed to pick out the St Abbs main leading marks so just felt my way in between the rocks until the harbour entrance was abeam. On my previous visit to St Abbs the harbour was so full that I had to raft up on the end of a dozen or so boats. This time the haven was almost empty. Unfortunately I could not remember where the foul berths were, so picked the one spot I knew to be clear. In manoeuvring in, overhead lines impeded my mast, and I greatly missed having oars, which Ed refuses to carry After I was at last moored up, two trawlers steamed in and politely but firmly requested me to move along In all this I was hampered by shortage of warps long enough for the considerable tidal range and high harbour walls, and was tempted to use a rope hanging down into the water. Fortunately I didn't chance it; it later turned out that there was a lobster pot on the end! One of the trawler- men yelled out something to me that I couldn't make out, and then there were two thwacks on my boat. Investigating, I found two fish, so accurately thrown that both had landed in my anchor basket. After a while the trawlers left and I had a quiet calm night.

Thursday September 6th. - HW Leith 05.20 Forecast: Winds west/southwest 4, gusting 5, possibly 6.

10.20 I cleared harbour with a quartering breeze, with one reef in the mainsail and the storm jib set for better balance Having 'turned the corner' at St Abbs Head, I was no longer working the ebb-streams out of the Forth but the southerly flood-streams down the coast. Off Eyemouth I saw a small yacht, the first I had seen since leaving the Edinburgh area. (It was to be the only one seen all the way to Lindisfarne.) The coastguard station was rounded at I I.00; I was now heading south. The tiny haven of Burnmouth, nestling beneath the high cliffs, was passed well offshore, then the even smaller St John's Haven. (It seemed to be simply a man-made cut in the high rocks) Then came the great sea-caves and a projecting reef before I came abeam of Berwick harbour light at 12.50. I had been checking in daily with the coastguard as is recommended practice, and so took the opportunity of asking the latest forecast. The coastguard reported that a Strong Wind Warning had just come through at 1310 the wind was already increasing and I put in the second reel with some difficulty.

Distant sand dunes and low-tide Hats north of Lindisfarne now replaced the cliffs and rocks of the Scottish coast Conditions had worsened by the time the white triangle of Lindisfarne's Emmanuel Head was abeam, and I took even the small jib down, finding that going to windward the Dockrell behaved better under without it. At Lindisfarne's Castle Point I took a short cut, motoring in via Hole Mouth half-tide passage, inside Stone Ridge. (I reckoned that the centreboard touching the shingle would warn me if it became too shallow) By 15.10 I had anchored in Lindisfarne's haven, though not as safely as I thought. The wind was now shrieking in the rigging, and a large yacht and a fishing boat out in the deeper anchorage were both roiling horribly. An hour later the homemade anchor (usually very reliable) dragged, and before I could start the motor I was swept across the harbour, nearly hitting a moored yacht (which like Ed's Dockrell was also named Goosander!) I then motored back to the most sheltered spot in the haven, which was fortunately vacant, and here dropped both the homemade anchor and the 5lb Bruce. Jumping out to wade ashore I realised why the sheltered spot was vacant. The mud was so deep and sticky that even in waders I barely made it to the shore! To my surprise the DCA's favourite pub, The Ship, was closed, but the Crown and Anchor provided bright lights and warmth. The wind eased during the night.

Friday September 7th.

As in the morning conditions were reasonable I hoped to press on to Amble, but a check with the coastguard revealed that the wind was expected to increase to Force 8 by mid-day. In fact by noon the wind dropped but rain was fairly continuous. I did my usual rounds, walking over the rocks to St Cuthbert's Isle to look at a scene which has probably changed little since England's saintliest saint (and a Patron Saint of seamen) meditated here over thirteen centuries ago. From here I could see a fine two-masted lugger in the offing. I was later told that it had been converted back from a powered fishing boat that had the original sailing hull-form. Next I walked up to the pretty and welcoming church with its displays from Lindisfarne's Golden Age. As it was still raining I then went on again to the St Cuthbert's centre, a former Methodist church now with displays featuring of the island's wildlife walks, and children's toys and games, as well as religious material. At the back of the centre the tiny former stokehold is now permanently open for meditation. It features a cross made from ancient broken pottery (bund nearby. Despite the Foot and Mouth epidemic, which had hit Northumbria so severely, most of the footpaths remained open, so I took a route new to me, round by the Lough (which has a bird-watching hide).

I had timed this walk to get back to the boat just as it floated with the incoming tide. It was as well I did so because shortly after I got on board (with the wind back up to a full force 8), both anchors dragged. I started the motor, but with the windage of the mast and erected canopy I could only with difficulty reach a buoy to moor and sort things out. At this point I lost my nerve and phoned my son Ed at North Shields to come and help me cope. He was willing to come right away but the Holy Island causeway would have been covered before he could reach it. After a bit I pulled myself together, brewed a hot drink and carefully thought out every detail of how I would drive the boat ashore. This may sound wimpish, but in one’s late seventies, with the usual disabilities things are not so easy. The moment I touched the beach I would have to be over the side and up the beach with the heavy Dantforth anchor and bury it securely before the wind took charge of the heavy boat. I could not afford to trip or get caught on anything, so I removed a jib sheet that might have impeded my dive over the side. I lowered the canopy to reduce windage, put all three anchors and warps within easy reach. The motor was run long enough to ensure that it was at full running temperature, then the buoy was dropped and I raced for a firm area of shoreline, slipping the motor into neutral just before it touched. Within seconds I was up the beach and had the big Danforth firmly buried in the marram grass.

Ed arrived sooner than I thought having driven over the causeway in the dark before it was fully uncovered. We stripped the boat, put out all three anchors and left it. It was several weeks before the weekend weather improved enough for Ed to sail his Dockrell back to Amble.