When Gene Kelly did it, it was magic. When Morecambe and Wise did it, it was hilarious. But when I tried, it was an old man attempting to keep his spirits up, and sounded awful. Normally I wouldn’t choose a rain soaked week for a spring cruise, but from Friday the 20th April, there would be no one at home, so why not?

In fact the first hour or so was good. We were underway with the last of the ebb and a nice SE’ly breeze pushing us quickly out of the Backwaters. But this soon dropped and we crawled despite the tide’s help. The flood kicked in, the sky clouded over and we eventually passed Walton pier at 1600, some 3 hours after our start and with only 7 miles covered. At that point, I thought of jagging it in, returning and trying again tomorrow, but a beautiful breeze sprang up. The Genie began to move and reached an impressive speed — so much so that I pulled out the GPS and found we were making 4.5 to 5 knots. “No problem,” I remember thinking, “we’ll make it comfortably.” By now, I really should have learned not to do this.

Past the ‘point of no return’ the sea gradually took on an oily look as the breeze died, leaving us tossing about. The sails slatted, unable to catch any drive from the light airs. Return or continue? Either meant hours of motoring so I chose to continue. Every now and then the wind would return with some drizzle and I’d stop Sooty, but soon had to recall him to duty, and we finished up in the River Colne tucked in behind Mersea Stone. The wind came up then, bringing heavy rain, but at least I was under cover, singing in the rain. Doody-doody dum — dumma… the tune went round and round in my brain.

It had taken us 7 hours to cover the 21 miles, about 9 of which were under power.

Next morning, Saturday, there was very little wind — just sufficient to carry me over the ebb, up into the Colne, but it died before noon and I returned, to be greeted by earlier than forecast rain. We were alternately motoring and sailing as conditions allowed, when I suddenly realised I had left both cheese and eggs in the ‘fridge at home and decided to go into West Mersea where there was a landing stage and a shop nearby. Both sun and a little wind returned from the south about 1400 and after collecting my stores, I motored back out into the Blackwater and sailed up. The breeze rose and soon the flood began to help us westward, giving us a cracking sail up to Osea Island. I found the Goldhanger buoy — a tiny wee thing, no bigger than a Mexican’s sombrero — went round and sounded my way behind the island, dropping anchor there at 1725. Rain returned that evening, but we’d been 7½ hours underway, covered 16 miles with about 5 under power.

The sun’s in my heart

On the Sunday morning, the forecast was for a SW 4-5 and again with showers. The breeze on Monday was going to be very strong meaning it was important to finish up at a sheltered spot, but perhaps I could get to Maldon today.

It seemed prudent to get underway with one reef in, but hardly had I cleared the end of the island when I began to feel its full weight. It was fresh to strong and I wound down my second as quickly as I could. This wasn’t an easy job amid the many moored vessels hereabouts and little clear room to heave to, and even when this was done, the breeze seemed far stronger than I had imagined. The south side of Osea on which I intended to pass, is a popular anchorage in the summer, but in anything more than a F4 there always seems to be a considerable sea running and it can be hard going. I soon gave up Maldon as a destination in consequence, bore away and we surfed along.

I don’t think I am easily scared, but I remember thinking, as I looked down into the trough of the seas, that if I had to jump that far down from the top of a wall, say, I would be a little apprehensive. And bearing away had put me right before the wind, so it wasn’t easy sailing. After a couple of near broaches and worries about an accidental gybe, I scragged down the main and ‘pootled’ along on the reefed staysail. ‘Pootling’ for the next 45 minutes meant we covered a further 3 miles — all against the tide. Impressive speed for a short canvassed boat!

We carried on like this back into the river Colne, raising the double reefed main as we brought the wind more on the quarter. The Genie took me first into the Pyfleet, and then, back up into the Colne, until the water begun to get a little thin. Then, after returning, we finally dropped anchor about three in the afternoon just inside the Pyfleet Channel — a snug anchorage for tomorrow’s blow. Uncharacteristically, it had stayed dry throughout the day and we’d covered 17½ miles in 5½ hours under sail.

Last of the stackies

Interestingly, there was a small barge called Cygnet anchored nearby with a deck cargo of straw bales. Who said that Stackies went out with London’s cab horses? Also, coincidentally, before leaving I’d snatched up an old copy of the Boatman magazine to read on the trip. Inside was an article about the Cygnet.

On Monday, having heard the forecast, with gales for Dover and very strong winds for us in Thames, I stayed put. The barometer reached its low during the day, with heavy rain most of the morning, and just showers in the afternoon. “Let the stormy clouds chase everyone from the place…” I read, puffed at my pipe and listened to the radio. Swinging round the anchor isn’t a happy time. In addition it became cold. In the cabin, I wore everything I could find and still wasn’t warm. The forecast ahead was for some fairly strongish winds and I wondered what to do for the rest of the week. To go home or to tough it out? I used to think indecision was a terrible thing, but now I was not so sure!

Stackie barge in the Colne

Tuesday’s forecast was cloudy with yet more showers; SW winds backing SSW later, F4 or 5. High water Burnham would be about 1230. Could I get there? It would be touch and go… I still had my 2 reefs in when I got underway at 0910 — later than intended. The Genie had taken a sheer over onto the mud during the night and I had to wait for her to float.

Salt caked

Speed down the Colne which was against the flood was about 2½ knots and I was hopeful. After crossing the Blackwater estuary, the flood would push us first further to the west and then to the south. I imagined I should be able to cross the Dengie Flats and sneak into the Crouch at, or perhaps a little before, high water. The breeze however began to back and getting into that corner was a matter of tacking.

Seas were running fairly high and it was a wet ride. Near the bottom of the Rays’n, I found a fisherman had laid nets and I was forced further out. High water came and went and I finally crossed into the Crouch further west at the usual yellow buoy.

With the ebb running out, the wind in our teeth and the high seas, we made almost no progress. Time and time again we tacked within sight of the Yellow Buoy and a decision had to be made. Soon after half ebb, the passage through to the Rays’n from the Crouch dries and I would either have to remain at the Crouch entrance, tacking back and forth, waiting for the flood to help me in, or go back through whilst there was still water, return to the Blackwater area and forget Burnham. I decided on the latter. So at 1420, I stormed back past old yellow, heading north on an exciting ride. The Genie surfed along kicking up the spray. By the end of the day, my salt encrusted face felt like sandpaper and my waterproofs were quite white with the stuff. You could say we had a wet passage — in both senses.

At the top of the Rays’n, I brought her closer to the wind, bound this time for West Mersea rather than the eastern end of the island. The ebb from the Blackwater seemed to make no difference, so fast were we going. I nosed The Genie into Salcott Creek, spied several vacant moorings and decided to gaff one at 1630. Picked it up perfectly. Obviously, no one was looking. With an audience I can always be relied upon to make a bog of it. The evening in this quiet spot was beautiful. The rain had not materialised during the day, although heavy showers came again overnight. But I had never regretted my double reefed sails throughout the sail in which we covered 21 miles in 8 hours, all under sail.

Laughing at clouds

The forecast for Wednesday was for more SW winds but only 3-4 with just a possibility of 5. In addition, we should be free of showers until the late afternoon or evening. High water at Maldon was about 1300 and I hoisted full sails at 0925 for the first time in what seemed ages. This time I did make Maldon, taking in all the traditional sail there before returning via Southy Creek, crossing over to go behind Osea, taking a look up Goldhanger Creek and then heading for Bradwell. It was such a pleasant afternoon that I even contemplated making the trip back to Walton that night, but I decided against. The morning forecasts had suggested that Thursday would be a ‘nice’ day and would do to return home. So, when I finally anchored again at Mersea Stone at 1610, you can imagine my feelings when the forecast now gave SW5-6 for tomorrow!

A rainbow at Mersea Stone

No sooner had we anchored than it rained with great ferocity, pounding on the cabin top and drowning out my voice as I sang in the rain. It was followed by a vivid rainbow, but the day had been free of the stuff — plenty of threatening looking clouds, but none actually brought any. It had probably been the ‘nicest’ day of the trip and we’d covered 26 miles in just under 7 hours sailing.

That Wednesday night, I turned in early intending a prompt start next morning, but no sooner was I asleep than a breeze came up, roughing up my snug anchorage. I was shaken awake and lay there tossing about, unable to drop off again until after high water when the sea calmed down — about 1am. The 0045 forecast gave 5-7 in Thames and inshore as 5-6.

I woke about 4.25 and since it looked relatively lightish winds out there, I decided to stay up and got underway at 0500 — soon after first light — with one reef in the main, sailing close hauled down the Colne. By 0535, we had Colne Point abeam, and after a little, bore away east. Almost immediately, The Genie began moving fast, and I mean fast. I would love to have measured it on the GPS but had my hands too full to go fishing in my bag for it. I didn’t appreciate the rise in wind speed at first and just thought it was some of The Genie’s magic — until she became wild, requiring the tiller hard over one way then the other.

On one gust, I found I couldn’t hold her and let her round up before pulling the main down. From there she jogged along on the reefed staysail and reached Clacton pier by 0640. It’s some 4½ miles from Colne Point to Clacton pier, and we had covered this in 1 hour and 5 mins. So what speed were we doing before I reduced sail? And all this was against the spring flood! It took us only until 0810 before we were at Walton pier, meaning we had taken 2 hours and 35 minutes to cover 10½ miles — against the tide. I was quite proud of her.

Immediately after Walton pier the rain started again — heavily — getting into the cabin since we were dead before the wind. Eventually, with the Naze tower more or less abeam, I spotted a smooth area well inshore, headed over towards it and let go in about ¼ fathom, rolled up the sail and went below. The Genie lay to the wind and I was able to brew up in the dry. I’d only had a mug of cocoa before starting out, 3 bananas on the way, and now the inner man needed satisfying.

The rain lasted a good couple of hours. Winds became vicious during this time and it wasn’t until about 1100 that I felt the squalls had passed and that the wind had eased enough for us not to be caught out in what was going to be the trickiest bit — crossing the narrow and shallow Swatch and sailing through the moorings at Walton.

I hoisted the main, rolled in the second reef and we were off, following the coast round to the north-west along the edge of the sands, eventually finding the Swatch. The breeze here meant some smart tacking to get through this narrow channel, but it was all good practice for what was to come since the lay of the Walton Channel itself meant we’d have to tack all the way down. The moored yachts lay crossways, caught between wind and tide and I thought I would have to call on Sooty, but from the weather side of the channel, I saw a clear line down and continued sailing, right up to the marina entrance before motoring in and tying up at 1215.

We had covered the 25 miles back in about 6 hours of actual sailing. And for the week, we’d had almost 41 hours sailing time, covered 127 miles of which 15 had been under power.

I remembered a Spike Milligan piece of doggerel. “There are holes in the sky where the rain gets in. The holes are small. That’s why rain is thin.” Some we’d had was thick, I could have told him!