A tale of a relaxed cruise in Kandy, a 12ft Tideway class dinghy. Kandy (sail number TW100) was built in about 1960 by LH Walker and is of traditional clinker construction with ply fore and side-decks, an under-deck shelf for storage, with additional secure storage beneath the stern seating. She carries about 75sq ft of sail so is no racehorse, but she is very stable with a steel centre-plate and generous beam. A good single-hander for those learning to sail and ideal for exploring sheltered inland waters such as the Walton backwaters.

'Look out dad!' shouted Maggie as the steel centre-plate scrunched against something gravelly. 'Have we crashed?' she asked with a note of panic in her voice.

'No, it's just the old trackway that crosses here at low water, and we're safely past' I replied. I had already seen the line of weed that heralds the just-submerged wadeway that links Horsey Island with the mainland, and had wondered whether we'd cross it at this state of tide without having to lift the plate. Clearly, I should have lifted it but, no matter, we were across now and, with a couple of hours to run before high water, there was plenty of time to seek out a good place to land and to pitch camp for the night.

It was a fine June evening but, before leaving home a few hours earlier, the persistent drizzle had almost changed my mind about going on this weekend adventure. But with the boat on its trailer ready to go, the car packed with our camping gear and 9-year old Maggie excited about the prospect of exploring the evocatively named Walton Backwaters, I resolved to go, regardless of the weather.

It was a good decision. By the time we were half way to the Essex coast the rain had stopped, the sky was brighter and our spirits were lifted. Reaching the small town of Walton-on-the-Naze, I pointed the car towards Titchmarsh Marina and wasted no time in putting Kandy into the water at the all-tide slipway (£12 for launch/recovery including parking car and trailer). With the boat rigged and loaded with camping gear and supplies, it was just minutes later that we jumped on board, hauled on the halyards, and sailed down the last hundred yards or so of 'The Twizzle' before it opened out into the expanse of water that is Horsey Mere.

This was what I had come for; big Essex skies mirrored over large expanses of water and marshland, a place where the cry of the curlew and the flight of the oystercatcher are the only intrusions. Already, there was hardly another boat to be seen, save for the forest of masts reaching skywards from the marina behind us. But they wouldn't be going our way. Only dinghies and shoal draught boats could follow across Horsey Mere and beyond, and only then if the skipper keeps one eye peeled for shallows (like The Wade we'd just scraped over) and the other eye on the tides, for almost the whole area dries at low water.

This was a different world from the commuter-packed roads of just a few miles away and I soon found the stresses and strains of a busy week evaporating like mist in morning sunshine. The gentle breeze carried us westwards towards our destination. Destination? Actually we had no fixed destination. My only plan was to find some secluded spot where we could land and pitch our tiny tent amongst the sedge grass or, failing that, to find a sheltered anchorage where we could sleep beneath the boat tent.

I had noted from the chart shown in Jack Coote's 'East Coast Rivers' that a landing is marked on the mainland shore of Kirby Creek just opposite the south-west corner of Horsey Island. It seemed worth a look, for the shores hereabouts are renowned for the efficacious quality of the mud, making it hard to land at any time except right at the top of the tide.

In fact we had touched mud a few times already, but the centre-plate on a dinghy serves well as a depth sounder, and hauling it up soon got us moving again on the still rising tide. Traversing Horsey Mere takes a certain amount of patience, especially for those unfamiliar to the area, such as ourselves. It's only inches deep in many parts, and the myriad islands of marsh grass towards the north-western side makes it hard to establish where exactly the exit into Kirby Creek is situated. Feeling our way through the shallows amongst the reeds, sometimes almost surrounded by islands, we eventually emerged into the deeper waters of Kirby Creek.

It was now approaching dusk as we headed further west along the channel and the skies begun forming into shades of burnished gold, tinged with pink and orange. A flight of oystercatchers flew overhead, their distinctive cries so much a part of this lonely landscape. Moments later, my eyes alighted on a seal resting on an upturned hull. The grey-brown shape just lay there watching us with big curious eyes as we glided by in the fading light, a sight that made Maggie beam with pleasure.

This seemed a good place to be, so it was a matter of good fortune that a hundred yards beyond 'our' seal, the landing place that I had noted came into view. It was no more than a wooden staging with steps down to a concrete path or 'hard' leading out from the bank. On the shore was a flat area of fairly solid ground covered with marsh grass and with stepping stones leading to the sea wall beyond. Two or three tenders were tethered there and, a hundred yards or so further up the creek, a couple of yachts and a half-decked dinghy lay to their moorings, all of them wooden classics and somehow adding flavour to this idyllic scene. As a place to pitch camp, this silent and beautiful place would serve handsomely.

And so it proved. As the sun slipped over the horizon we put up our tiny tent, cooked a meal, phoned home and were at last relaxing with a hot drink. Gazing out over the still landscape, it struck me how quiet it was. No wind. No noise. A tranquil scene; the only sign of life, bizarrely, the lights of the cranes at Felixtowe freight terminal in the distance.

It was now almost high water, and I watched the rising tide with more than casual interest, for we were camped shoreward of the dyke. The tide was on neaps, but I wanted to be certain that our tent wouldn't float away! The marshy ground this side of the dyke covers at spring tides, but not today.

Maggie snuggled down into her sleeping bag and was asleep in seconds, but before following suit, I sat outside for a while, gazing out over the moonlight reflected in the stillness of the water. Before turning in, I set my alarm for 4.30am, partly to see what this place was like at low water, but also to check that Kandy was comfortably settled on the mud. All looked fine when I was awaked by the alarm. It was just getting light, but it was also quite chilly and I soon returned to my warm sleeping bag for a couple more hours sleep. Saturday morning, 7.30, dry and fine, a light breeze from the SW. The tide still had further to rise before floating Kandy so we enjoyed the luxury of a leisurely breakfast and passed a pleasant hour or so trying to identify the many different types of shore bird. At breakfast, I heard a car draw up on the trackway just the other side of the dyke. Shortly, we were met by a black dog who leapt into the water then waited patiently while three elderly gents tramped across to their little clinker pram dinghy. 'Your tent didn't float away in the night then?' one asked good-naturedly.

They rowed across to 'Widgeon' a beautiful old cutter of about 40ft. Curiously, they left the dog ashore, and then motored away in the yacht towards Hamford Water. The dog just lay there, ears pricked, watching them sail away. We wondered whether they had forgotten the poor mutt or whether he was accustomed to being left on his own. Maggie gave him plenty of attention while I made Kandy ready to sail.

Soon, it was up with the sails and away, the aim of the day to explore as far as we could while on the rising tide, while keeping a sharp eye for seals and other wildlife. The light breeze was perfect for this, while the gentle conditions would also make it safe and comfortable for Maggie, who was a new convert to sailing. The last time she had sailed, when she was only five, she had been scared when the boat heeled to the wind, and it was important now to build her confidence.

Our exploration took us northwards up Kirby Creek to Hamford Water, where we crossed the channel to enter a shallow mere beyond. There was too little water so we steered westwards along Hamford Water and, when the channel divided, took the northern route.

This led us slowly westwards through a narrow channel and, not without frequent grounding of the centreboard, we eventually emerged suddenly from between two islets into another large expanse of water. On the shore opposite I could make out a few houses and some boats, which I judged from my map to be Landermere Quay. So this was Landamere Creek. It proved to be a wonderfully inviting stretch of water, for the most part very shallow, but just perfect for sailing a small dinghy like Kandy. It was deserted save for a couple of other dinghies under sail. All around us was marshland, so very quiet and secluded that I dared not speak for fear of shattering the perfect stillness of the scene.

We sailed across to the little quay but didn't land. The notion of seal-watching was still in mind, and with the water level now higher, we decided to head eastwards to again try entering the mere opposite Kirby Creek. Here, I had been told, we would find seals. Exiting Landamere by the more southerly channel, we passed Skippers Island to starboard before the entrance we were looking for came into view to port.

This time we made it through, to the vocal objection of a colony of terns who clearly considered us to be invading their privacy. We again found ourselves in another shallow mere, unnamed on my chart but situated west of Oakley Creek and north of Hamford Water. Another delightful setting, but made even more magical when, having crossed to the north side, I heard a delighted 'Look! Over there!' from Maggie, who had spotted a group of seals. Some were swimming in the shallows, their heads bobbing up and down as they regarded us with quizzical expressions, while others lolled on a small islet taking the morning sun. Maggie was enchanted with the scene, and so was I.

We landed on a nearby island to watch, and the crews from the two Wayfarers we had seen sailing landed and joined us too. A couple of them wore wetsuits and they went swimming in company with the seals, who seemed to enjoy all the attention. We watched, spellbound, as these inquisitive and trusting creatures came closer and closer to the strange seal-like human interlopers.

It was only the fear of being caught here on the now ebbing tide that made us drag ourselves away. So on we sailed, first into Oakley Creek, then back into Hamford Water and then westwards until we came to Stone Point, which seemed a good place to land and to eat lunch on the sandy beach. In fact, it seemed such a pleasant place that I decided to leave Kandy to dry on the falling tide and to camp here for the night.

Exploring the island, we added Avocets and Little Terns to our list of wildlife seen but, as the afternoon wore on, I became less and less enamoured with the place. It was just too busy. A constant stream of craft headed past, some anchoring just offshore and then coming onto the beach by dinghy. I decided to head back to 'our' landing at Kirby Creek for the night but it was a long, long wait before the tide returned to re-float Kandy. We killed some time collecting driftwood for a fire, then had a snack and brewed some tea, but it was 9.30pm and approaching darkness before we were sailing again.

I had never sailed a dinghy in twilight, and it proved to be a magical experience. The breeze was still light, but there was just enough to allow us to make ground tacking against the tide as it flooded into the Walton Channel. At one point, tacking to and fro and making little progress, I thought of breaking out the oars, but then a stronger breeze saw us clear into Hamford Water. From here, the current was with us and so was the wind.

It was now fully dark and I was a little concerned that I might miss the entrance to Kirby Creek. But I needn't have worried. It was a magnificent and utterly silent sail on this mild and quiet evening, and the darkness seemed to make the experience somehow more intense. I was relieved to find how much you can see at night, helped by the reflections from the water, and we glided past the half-dozen craft anchored here. No tacks were needed as we cruised down Hamford Water and turned into the clearly-marked entrance to Kirby Creek, but we had to drift the last few yards to our landing place when the wind fell away. 'Widgeon' was lying peacefully to her mooring again, and the black dog no doubt was reunited with its owners.

It seemed an appropriate end to the day when, having put up the tent and warmed ourselves with mugs of soup, we sat watching the fireworks of a Jubilee celebration somewhere far away beyond Felixtowe. The reflections from the lights in the sky twinkling in the water made a fine sight.

Sunday morning brought another dry day, but with the wind blowing very fresh and gusting to F5, I judged this a little too much for sailing in company with a little girl who has only just forgotten her fear of tippy boats. So I bolted the Johnson 4 to the transom and pointed Kandy towards Horsey Mere and back to Titchmarsh Marina - but this time I was rather more watchful when crossing the Wade.