In June this year, Dave Smith in his Skipper Mischief and I in The Genie, had a few days away to the west of our usual stomping ground. On Monday the 13th, we decided to return through the Wallet towards home. Dave had to be back at work on Wednesday and naturally preferred to be on 'our' side with a day in hand, just in case… Our start had to be early. The east-going ebb began after 0430, and we set alarms for 0400 and were underway 30 minutes later. It was nippy and I wore what I call 'winter rig', meaning two pairs of trousers plus two sweaters with a fleece on top, all underneath my waterproofs. Prepared for the worst you might say.

A light westerly breeze took us nicely down the Pyefleet, past Mersea Stone and out to Colne Point by 0555. "That's 5 miles covered in 1 hour 25 minutes", I said to myself approvingly. Here we turned east along the Wallet with the breeze rising, and made Clacton Pier 55 minutes later – another 4½ miles clocked up. Thirty minutes later, we were at the Holland Gap some 3 miles further. "About six knots!", I thought, 'that's pretty good!' Dave's GPS said 5.7, confirming my rough calculations. Of course it wasn't all us, we had a good tide under us, but still…..

We brought the wind abeam after passing Walton pier, going like the proverbial train, and still with 2 hours of ebb left to run. We'd already decided to head up through 'Arry Jarbour, and passed the breakwater, with the rigging still humming contentedly at 0930. And with no interference from ferry and container ships it was 1000 - just low water - when we passed the Ganges buoy at the Stour entrance.

From here it was tack for tack all the way up that river, our windward speed boosted now by the new flood, as far as Stutton Ness and anchored close under the shore, just in time for 'brunch'. What a passage!

Dave called me later asking if I intended going for another sail in the afternoon, but I felt more like a snooze to compensate for our early morning departure. He too thought that was a good idea. Anyway, I don't think either of us had fully recovered from the previous Thursday – our passage down.

Later, to get out of the rising wind, we moved into shallower water behind the ness, and eventually took the ground overnight. As if to complete a perfect day, the gods sent in a couple of families of young herons to fish, under parental guidance, in the shallow pools only feet away from where we were grounded. Wonderful sight and a delightful end to the day. I called across "Today we made one of our better decisions, Dave", and I saw him grin in response. We deserved it of course, if only to compensate for the beginning of our trip.

If that day's trip was one of our better decisions we were spoiled for choice picking the worst. Leaving the Backwaters at 1615 on the previous Thursday, we had a SE'ly that we thought would last and send us scurrying down the Wallet. It didn't of course, but neither of us judged it would eventually fall so light, or veer gradually into the west, heading us just at every turn of the coast where we had imagined ourselves easing sheets. We were kept close-hauled all the way. It grew dark and we got out of radio range and I had to telephone Dave to make certain he was still coming. Eventually, I made out the lit buoys at the Colne entrance and headed NNW – as did the breeze! The lights of Brightlingsea came into view later and I tacked westwards intending to anchor behind Mersea Stone. But in the pitch black, I couldn't locate it. It's not lit, although there is a red flashing buoy behind that I had hoped to pick up as a guide, but I didn't. By this time I was rather desperate to get the hook down and crawl into the sleeping bag, so I dropped the sails and motored into the wind for a short distance until I found shallow water, out of the main channel, letting go there. It was 0245 on the Friday by then.

Later that morning I phoned Dave and found him over on the other side of the Colne and we joined up to sail south, heading for the Crouch. The forecast was for a northerly (and nippy with it too), which we certainly had when we set off at 0915 but once again it faltered and varied in strength and direction. For a while, it even went into the south, and we were carried back by the strength of the tide. However, eventually the gods took pity on us and the northerly filled in. We swept through the Rays'n and up the Crouch, eventually anchoring to the west of Burnham at 1515. We rafted up after our meals for a beer and to swop experiences of the Thursday trip. Dave had fared worse than me. The ebb had started running as he came up the Colne, slowing him even more and keeping him from his anchorage at 4am! What's more, Dave, being a 'lark-person', was awake again after only a couple of hours. "Sailing when we did, must have been one of our worst decisions" I said.

Saturday promised a F2-3 occasionally 4 from a generally northerly direction. In fact it struggled to reach a F2 throughout the day. Most of the time it was far less. The temperature didn't seem to rise either and for best part of the day, I was in full or partial 'winter rig'. We started off in a good little breeze just before low water at 0855, our intention being to get as far as we could and return, against the flood – hopefully in a bit of that 'occasionally F4' - back through Burnham, getting to the Roach to anchor for the night. We had a plan, at least. The breeze did not!

We sailed to where the river turns south at Brandy Hole reach, and knowing we'd have the flood to counter coming back in the disgustingly light northerly wind, we turned when only a short way in. The breeze in this narrow stretch became extremely variable as it crossed or bounced off the sea walls. We needed quick responsive tacking on every shift to get north again – and luck – loads of it! I got my share, but Dave was denied his. The Genie caught the puffs and finally I hove to and waited for him. Watching through the bins, I could see Mischief reflected in the glassy waters and saw her drift back south again several times in the even lighter patches, losing the ground she'd so sorely won. I made myself a coffee and smoked a pipe whilst waiting the 40 minutes before we could set off together towards Burnham.

Progress was even slower against the flood tide, but we finally slid into the Roach and let go at 1755. It had been one of the most boring days afloat I can remember. I've often wondered what would make me give up sailing. Now I knew!

We decided the next day (Sunday) to forgo sailing the Roach since the tides weren't really right for it and that instead we would head back north to Mersea, the question being, by which route? We could return the way we'd come – through the Rays'n, or go outside, around the Buxey sands. The channel through the Ray might have ebbed almost to dryness by the time we got there. On the other hand, after our earlier experiences, we felt disinclined to get ourselves so far offshore in light and uncertain breezes. We came to a compromise and would try the first. If it couldn't be managed, we'd go for the second. The forecast was for SW of 3-4, becoming NW later – but we'd heard all that sort of thing before, hadn't we? In the event however, we did get a nice SW breeze, and an hour or so later, we had located the yellow buoy that guards the best water through to the Rays'n and were heading northwards. I suggested I go through first, and try it. Dave can lift his keels, so if I grounded, he might stand a chance of getting through since he'd see where I was, and know where the channel wasn't!

Ten minutes later, I was some way north of the yellow buoy, had begun to believe I was 'through' and was about to let out a loud 'Yippee!' when The Genie suddenly grounded. I warned Dave off and he went further east, but it did him very little good as he grounded in only a few moments. A few minutes later he radioed to say he'd got off and was proceeding as arranged, but a couple of minutes after that he stuck again. And so we both stayed there, drying out until the flood returned. We got underway again at 1140.

From there, the going was good. The breeze stayed up and we powered through, reaching the Colne entrance about 1400. As we neared Mersea Stone where we thought we might anchor out of the westerly wind, it blew up sharply, churning up the normally placid waters. This, combined with fleets of racing dinghies planing every which-way, made our sailing difficult. We had the wind free and were on port, so one needed at least two pairs of eyes in each boat! Consequently, I was rather glad when Dave suggested we head up the Pyfleet out of the traffic.

The lonely Pye is one of those great east coast treasures, and I thought a night there would be the perfect end of a day. We dropped anchor at 1630 and enjoyed the rest of the windy, chilly, overcast day there in its shelter, with a tantalising glimpse of a little evening sun later.

It was here that I noticed a small tear in my mainsail. I patched it with sticky tape hoping it would last.

As it happened, it did throughout the Monday on our journey down the Wallet and up the Stour, but with much stronger winds forecast for the remainder of my few days, I decided to cut them short, head back with Dave on Tuesday and get the sail to the repairers. Tears don't get smaller after all, do they?

As a result we left our overnight anchorage at Stutton around 0730, again in winter rig. With the last half of the ebb, we ran back through Harwich and close-hauled it into the Backwaters, and were on our Marina berths about noon. You could say it was another good decision to come back when we did since it blew hard that afternoon and for the next couple of days, during which my sail was in the repairer's. We'd had two good days among a catalogue of mistakes and misadventures. I can't make up my mind which was the worst. And, alas for Smith and Jones, we had only covered a matter of 107 miles in about 48 hours actual sailing time. But the company had been great, so had the craic.

The 5-day forecast we had before leaving was hopelessly out. It was supposed to be warm and sunny although they admitted it could be a little cooler on the coast with the predominately northerly winds. I'd even brought light clothing to wear and some salad for evening meals! The thought we were both left with was this. With everyone talking about Global Warming, why was it so blasted cold all the time?