In 1996 I cruised my son Ed's Dockrell 17, a heavy traditional open boat, from Amble in Northumberland to Cramond near Edinburgh, for him to take over and cruise further. Bulletin 161 contained my account of the cruise from Amble to Aberlady Bay in the Forth estuary, but for some reason Part 2 was not published. This is it.

I had anchored in the bay off Aberlady village, which had been a small port at one time. The warden of the Aberlady nature reserve had told me that boats were no longer allowed to enter the Bay (a claim later disputed by one of the villagers) but I had promised the warden I would leave next morning. Heavy easterly winds were forecast so I needed to get to more sheltered waters as soon as I could.

The morning high water was early, and the ebb had set in, so after snatching a quick breakfast I raised sail and weighed anchor. Aberlady Bay is wide and shallow, with only a very narrow and winding unmarked entrance channel, but I was confident of finding my way out under sail, over-confident as it turned out! All went well until, when I had almost cleared the shallows, I touched bottom. I pushed the boom over, hoping she would pull off on the other gybe, but she had driven on too hard. I next dropped the sails and tried to reverse out with the outboard motor but she would not budge. I then whipped off my trousers and jumped in the water hoping I could push the lightened boat clear, but that did not work either. I was going to be stuck there for eight or nine hours, with heavy weather on its way. There was of course the option of sailing back into Aberlady for shelter as soon as the boat refloated, but I had given my word that I would leave. (Taking the line from Gullane Point to Craigielaw Point I was in fact just about clear of the reserve.) Being kept waiting for the heavy weather preyed on my mind, so I busied myself with various tasks.

Once the sands had dried I decided to spend my waiting time exploring the area. The two wrecks marked on the chart were above low water level, so I set off north to seek them. They turned out to be small rusted iron vessels of an unusual shape, I could only guess that they had been midget submarines. (I have since made enquiries but have still not found out what they were and how they came to be there.*) Skirting a tern colony by a wide margin, I made my way up the steep Gullane headland. The tussocky grass was dotted with the blue spikes of Viper's Bugloss, handsome enough to be a garden plant. (It gets its name because in more superstitious times the plant was supposed to relieve snakebites). At the top of the headland I was surprised to see a row of wartime tank traps. I could well understand the flat sands of Aberlady Bay being a possible landing point for a German invasion, indeed on the sands there were the remains of great poles which would have held wires to stop troop-carrying gliders landing. But why would tanks try and storm such a steep sandy headland when they could easily take the position from the rear? Anyway I was concerned with enjoying the nature reserve rather than the tactics of the invasion that we had expected but fortunately never came. A long footbridge crosses the sands at the head of the bay, but I found the south side of the Bay, which borders a golf course, is less interesting, so I walked the sands, fascinated by the water-formed patterns eroded in them. Eventually I returned to the boat and busied myself with making and eating a good meal and preparing the boat for the rough sail ahead.

* see http://www.morrice.info/galleries/x-craft.html which confirms these wrecks as X-craft as Len suggested and shows some excellent photos. Part of their story can be found at http://www.undiscoveredscotland.co.uk/aberlady/aberladybay/. These 2 craft were towed here in 1946, anchored to the concrete block and used for target practice. DH

At long last the rising tide reached the boat and swung it head to wind so that I could raise the fully-reefed mainsail and be off. I had gone aground only three or four yards from the deepwater channel, so now I knew its exact position. Anyway, I had almost reached deep water, so I was not going to get caught a second time! At first, under the shelter of Gullane Point, it was easy sailing, but once clear of it the strong wind coming unimpeded all the way from Norway hit me. I needed desperately to get into more sheltered waters while the tide was still with the wind and smoothing the waves, but I was glad that I had reefed right down. The boat was sailing at near its maximum speed, there was no point in risking a broach and a capsize. The weather was grey and gloomy; I was far from land and could see nothing around me except threatening waves advancing on me from astern.

It later occurred to me that the old-time fishermen would have often been out in such conditions, and would have regarded it as a routine day's work. However they had to take chances to make a bare living. Too many died within sight of their wives and children waiting apprehensively on the harbour wall.

After an hour or two the flood tide had ended and the ebb running against the wind made things worse. There was as yet virtually no shelter from the far-off Fife shore, and sometimes the waves would break just astern with a great roar, throwing the boat round. It was rather scary. Fortunately there was little shipping to contend with. I saw only two fishing boats and a pilot boat in four hours. It was misty, but I could just make out my marks as I came abreast of them, Craig Waugh Buoy, which I left well to the north, the diffuser head marks off Leith, and then Leith approach buoy, all well to the south. The great rocky island of Inchkeith would have provided a night's sheltered anchorage, but by that time I was getting some shelter from the Fife shore, so I ran on up the Firth, making good time, and a chance of getting to Cramond's haven with enough depth of water to get over the bar. Failing that Cramond Island has two anchorages, one of which should offer some shelter for the night.

Giving the island's northerly rocks a good berth, I came to the point of gybing to enter the Cramond entrance channel. Not caring to gybe in those conditions, I attempted to go about, but with so little mainsail and virtually no foresail twice failed. I then lowered the centreplate and this time she went round. The island's northerly anchorage gave little shelter, so I moved on to the southerly one which proved better, and dropped the kedge while I took in all sail and made fenders and mooring lines ready.

The channel into Cramond Quay does not follow the island's causeway but winds through the sands. At the beginning of the season it is marked with perches with makeshift topmarks, but as the season progresses the topmarks, and sometimes the perches too, tend to disappear. Now it was well into the ebb, and I was doubtful whether I would read the remaining marks correctly. Even if I did, it was touch and go whether there would be enough water over the bar. At last a mark on shore indicated that I had cleared the bar and was into the little River Almond. On squeezing through the tightly packed lines of moored yachts, to my relief I found just enough space to moor at the end of the little quay, with just about room to turn into it. It was a great relief to moor, raise the hood and brew a hot drink.

Waiting a day for Ed at Cramond was no hardship. Although it is only three or four miles from Edinburgh centre (and only half a mile from a problem housing estate!), the village retains its old-time charm. It was once a busy little trading port, where ketches loaded cargoes of iron nails. In Roman times, in the days of the Antonine Wall (which went from the Forth to the Clyde), it was a Roman legionary base. A little museum in the village has a number of interesting finds from that time. The river is tidal and wooded for the mile up to the weir. (On a later visit Ed anchored tucked into the woods, and spotted an otter swimming the river at dawn.) A rowing ferry that crosses the river from the quay provides access to a fine coastal walk skirting the grounds of Dalmeny House, a 'stately home'. It passes a huge rock with a sculptured shape on it, which is believed to be of a lion, carved by the Romans, but it is now too eroded for certainty. The path leads to South Queensferry, an interesting little town of ancient buildings under the Forth Rail Bridge. All in all I had an interesting day while waiting for Ed to come up and swap places with me.