Saturday, 19th October 2002

I crossed The Causeway with the boat in tow about 90 minutes before it was due to cover by the rising tide. The Harbour Master could not be found so I continued on, dues unpaid, to the ‘Ouze’, a semi-circular inlet on the south facing side on the Island. Cuddy Duck a Walker Bay 10 could be launched across the sand from there, no need to use the slipway. The forecast had given NW 4-5 decreasing 3-4. It was dry and bright. Sailing the boat in a force 5 would be a little foolhardy but I did not mind taking a chance as the island is pleasant enough to visit as a tourist.

There was a chill in the air and I was wearing doubled clothes covered by a full oilskin suit, cold wind and spray were inevitable. I had in mind a beat to windward using the tidal stream, I had only been over that side of Holy Island Sands once before and wished to take a look at that unexplored part of the mainland shore. Pouring over maps previously I had noticed a granary and a mill. It seemed reasonable to suppose that grain would have been shipped in small vessels in olden days. I intended to look for an old jetty or maybe a firm track through the mud where horse and cart could get down to a boat. My return trip would be direct to the ‘Harbour’ with wind astern or on the quarter.

I set off, cursing those that moor using floating polypropylene rope. Once into the ‘Harbour’ the sail was set to close-hauled and I could gauge the conditions. The wind strength was the top end of a force 4 but the boat managed well. The strong flood tide was underneath me, two tacks later I was off St Cuthbert’s Is. Now the fun started as I left the sheltered water and was exposed to a wind over tide situation. By now all the channels were covered but they could be detected by the steeper chop. Crossing the channels produced airborne spray, some of which caught me slap in the face. It took close to an hour but eventually I arrived at the Causeway.

There are two routes of access to Holy Island: The tarmac road and the Pilgrims Way. The road is narrow but straight, all kinds of warning notices confront the approaching driver. The presumption is that s/he has no common sense. And sure enough, every year cars get stuck in the rising tide as they chance splashing through. Mid-way there is a smartly painted refuge, a cabin on stilts in which is an emergency telephone. For those walking the pilgrim route they simply stick to the line of stakes. Two roofless refuges are provided, similar to shooting platforms. Previously I’d eyed these as good dinghy cruising rest points. I’d imagined taking my picnic and binoculars. A good view of the area could be enjoyed.

It was getting shallow, the rig was dropped into the boat and I rowed to the pilgrim refuge. Access to the vertical ladder was awkward as the wind direction forced me to tie up the wrong side of the ladder. After a short struggle I got myself up the eight rungs and on to the platform. I imagined it a summer’s day, a camping chair, I was picking at some picnic delicacy with a glass of wine to hand –dream on! The reality was a little different, away to the north beyond the watershed of Goswick Sands the North Sea swell was crashing on to the beach in spectacular fashion. It wasn’t a place to dally in the cool wind and the time before HW was short. I re-boarded the boat and rowed out to a buoy whilst setting the rig, only to find when looking around that the mooring buoy was not attached to the ground! It had broken free from God knows where and washed up here, I’d drifted downwind.

On a fine reach I closed the mainland shore of low lying farmland. Dry land was still some 100m away across the saltmarsh. Between myself and the shore was an extensive area of Sea Arrow-Grass. Then in a synchronised fashion maybe 100 geese of unknown species took fright at my proximity. I don’t suppose they are used to sharing this grazing with human visitors. I turned south and parallel to the edge of the saltmarsh, the daggerboard was half raised to retain some control in the blustery quartering wind. I passed a creek and was sorely tempted to explore but my original destination was close and I landed where the saltmarsh was temporarily absent, and where I could step ashore on a beach close to higher ground. The few buildings here were shown on the OS map as Fenham.

No sooner was I ashore when an elderly gent came towards me over the foreshore. Mr Ramsey lived in the first house; he said he’d been watching my progress for some time. He told me how, as a young man, he’d adapted a small rowing coble for sail, he told me of Island circumnavigations. He informed me that the creek I’d passed led to the Granary; he’d navigated beyond and up to the limit. Looking south he pointed out the mill above the shoreline. There was no mention of the mill in the Domesday Book as it was in the ownership of the Prince Bishop. He said there was no sign of a jetty or a firm track across the mud. So, it was most likely that milled corn was transferred to the granary, then by local craft to Holy Island or beyond via seagoing vessels in the ‘Harbour’.

He returned to his leaf-burning duties, I made a sandwich and drank a bottle of beer.

It was HW and time to get away. The return, 2½ miles direct across Fenham Flats was a simple affair with a quartering wind although the bigger waves did have me close to broaching once or twice. With wind any stronger I would have had to sail bare poled! Naturally I made for the lee of St Cuthbert’s Isle where the water was smooth. I must have annoyed a clutch of telescoped birdwatchers as suddenly 100's of roosting redshank took flight.

Beached at my launch place in The Ouze it was an unrushed job of packing the boat up as the causeway would still be covered for a while. Time to make another sandwich.