Pause button pressed - Part 2

I had left you all at Stonehaven, a really delightful harbour. We could only stay for one night for there was now an urgency to get on to somewhere where I could leave Vagabond and get south fairly easily. It was 06:00. Time to go. We nosed round the harbour wall and promptly disappeared into a hemisphere of visibility that had about a 50 metre* radius. There was a scraping sound under the boat and we stopped, despite Freddies’ best efforts. The depth sounder said we were in eighteen metres* of water, so we weren’t aground. I assumed we were snagged on some fishing gear that I hadn’t seen and lifted the centre board. We lurched forward a few feet** and stopped again. I looked over the stern and found a fishing float wedged between the rudder and the transom***. After a bit of pushing and prodding, we were free and resumed our noisy but almost invisible progress.

A positive squadron of Gannets flew past – the last couple having to change direction to miss us. I wondered how these birds managed to stay in stable flight in these conditions and how they navigated from place to place. Without the two GPS displays and the compass, we would have been lost within minutes of leaving the harbour.

Cleared for attempted take off

A puffin struggled to take off in front of us. In the flat calm conditions, it was having trouble reaching flying speed and skipped across the sea like a pebble. It occurred to me that they may rely on the upthrust of an ocoming wave to take off from the sea, a bit like the ramp that was used by the Harriers.

Gradually visibility improved but there was still no wind as we worked northward up the coast towards Peterhead. We crossed the entrance to Aberdeen, one of the centres for north sea oil and gas support vessels, so we were expecting some shipping. ....We only saw two ships. 

Aberdeen entrance

One was a large oil tanker, way off shore, and I thought the second one was similar until I suddenly realised that it was an odd shaped support vessel, not only under way but quite close too. There we were shaping up to pass (as I thought) well clear of her stern when in fact we were crossing close to her bow. 

Which end is which?

A rapid (and obvious) course correction followed and passed astern of her.

And on to Peterhead, where the yacht marina is tucked into a corner of the main harbour, behind it’s own breakwater and close to a chemical storage depot, marked ominously with danger signs.

Peterhead Marina

Off to forage for petrol and food and then back to bed, only to find that a large contingent of Dutch yachts had arrived. We first met them at Hartlepool, then at Amble and now here. They, too, are going round Britain but in much bigger steps than us. Their next port of call is Lossiemouth – I think it will take us at least two days more to get there.

Next morning (at 05:30) we cast off and followed the Dutch fleet out of the harbour. There was Haar (of course) and a light southerly breeze.

The Dutch cohort each hoisted their spinnaker***** and disappeared. We drifted along, goose winged on the calm sea. We passed Rattray Head,

the most easterly bit of Aberdeenshire and turned to the NW, drifting through swirling tide eddies. Eventually we picked up the slight west going tide drift along the north coast of Aberdeenshire. Then the wind went light northerly, so we had an unplanned gybe. We passed cliffs that were attracting the attention of a tourist boat out of Banff, so went to have a look. Serried ranks of Gannets clung with
their nests to the cliff and flew around the cliff faces. From a distance, it looked like a swarm of white midges across the cliffs.

Birds on the cliff face

Then across Banf Bay, past a group in a red rib watching a couple of dolphins playing around their boat. We round the last headland to look for the entrance to Whitehills harbour. There was no local boat to show us the way......

Entrance to Whitehills

Eventually we found it and secured to the visitors pontoon, which squeaked abominably. ‘Would you mind moving’ said the harbour master ' I’ve two yachts that want to come in and raft together and that’s the only space I can put them’. I accepted his alternative with alacrity. Whitehills is a gem of a place. The harbour is compact and well protected, there are a number of small useful shops and little tourist tat. Well worth a visit (from the sea). It was a perfect, sunlit, still evening.

Entrance to Whitehills

Which made the northerly force 4 next morning a bit of a shock. The forecast suggested it would die away by midday and then become SW –right on the nose. ‘Better catch the tide and get a move on’ I said to myself at 04:30 so we managed to leave by six. The chop in the bay was awful – short, steep waves about four feet from crest to trough so we pushed over (and under) them, through them to slightly less trying conditions offshore. The wind was still blowing at about 20 knots when I hoisted the main, leaving two reefs in it. Scarcely had we got settled on our course, with the sail drawing nicely and us moving at over 5 kn, when the wind fell away to about 12 knots and then to 8. With all the reefs shaken out we scudded along at just around 4 knots and made good progress for a couple of hours, until the wind dropped completly. We had an hour of Freddie and then the wind picked up, this time from the NW, which suited us fine and brought us into the lee of Lossiemouth harbour. 

Lossiemouth Harbour Entrance

The phone rang with a timely message from the Lossiemouth Harbourmaster, telling me where to berth and where to find the keys. It was Saturday and neither he, nor his deputy would be on duty until Monday.

We found our berth, tied up and did all the things you do to tidy ship after a 7 hour passage. Now I had to find a mobile signal to find out what was happening to Mega Gran, how worried the elder sister was and how to get home. The best bet seemed to be to get Vagabond to Inverness on Sunday and take the train home on Monday. The weather forecast looked benign.

On Sunday, the weather had not read the forecast. SW, force 4 to 5. Inverness is SW of Lossiemouth. Anyway, I thought we’d give it a go. After a couple of hours butting into an increasingly white sea, I gave up. We had a lovely downwind sail back to Lossiemouth and then ran aground in the entrance. Up came the centre board and the rudder and we crept back to our original berth.

The harbourmaster turned up in the evening – he’d been to Wick and back for the weekend (by sea) and I explained my predicament. ‘No problem – we’ll move her to a quiter berth when you’ve gone. I hope all is well and give us a call when you can.’

And so the pause button was pressed......


For non metric and non boaty people

* 1 metre is about 3'4" Imperial
** 1 foot is about 300 mm
*** The transom is the flat bit of wood / metal / glass fibre that forms the stern****
 of most small boats
**** the back end
***** big round sail that makes boats go really fast when sailing downwind - can be dangerous.

Pause Button Pressed at Lossiemouth - part 1

Attentive readers (there are some of you, so you assure me!) will have read the recent, misspelt and picture free dispatch. Magrat * has been temporarily out of action and communications have been very difficult in the small harbours on the south coast of the Moray Firth – the idea of a free Wi Fi being a means to lure customers to your pub or cafe had not yet penetrated these parts of Scotland on a large scale, and Vodofone’s coverage also leaves much to be desired. It’s been a major task to find enough signal to download a weather forecast, let alone all those facebook pages that people keep recommending me to open. This definitely puts me the 'Grumpy Old Man' category.

You will also notice that the pause button has been pressed. At the moment, I have no clear idea of when our wanderings will resume, for  I am writing this on a very full East Coast mainline train south from Inverness (only 4 unreserved seats in the whole train see GMO above!) as I rush south to see Mega Gran (as she is known to the family) who has become ill some two months short of her 100^th birthday.  As well as that, the plumber is attacking our “new” home next week, followed by the kitchen fitters and the builders.

Enough of this personal stuff, let’s get back to the wanderings.  Last week, after a foggy motor from Anstruther to Arbroath and the encounter with the dredger in the outer harbour, Vagabond and I wanted to move north to Stonehaven. The snag was that we couldn’t get out of Arbroath harbour to catch the morning tide north, not because the dredger was in the way but by a combination of tide times and council working hours.  The depth in the inner harbour at Arbroath is controlled by a gate, held open for a couple of hours either side of high water. Except that when we wanted to go, high water occurred so early in the morning that the gates weren’t manned. We had an enforced stay in Arbroath – it was a wonderfully sunny and warm day with a southerly breeze as I played tourist and watched attentively as the dredger worked the outer harbour.

 She was one of those ships that it was difficult to imagine ever having been new. Her black hull was liberally spattered with mud and dents, in almost equal proportions. Her draft marks were in feet so she must be at least 40 years old. Mounted on the bow was a mechanical bucket digger that looked as if it should be powered by steam and could have seen service digging out the Panama Canal. The bucket was controlled by wire and winches and was dropped into the harbour, apparently as random, remerging drippingly full of dark, smelly mud. In her centre was a well, into which the bucket deposited its’ noise-some load. This seemed already to be full to the brim as more was piled in.  A bridge and accommodation structure completed the stern of the ship, originally white but now spattered liberally with mud and rust. I, and other loafers, watched as she rammed the jetty a few times (to get in the right position, one assumed, ran aground in various places and slowly worked around the harbour. The crew all looked to be about 18 (but that’s probably a jaundiced view see GMO above) .

Keeping close to the shore

The sunny day gave way to a chill evening and the Haar thickened off shore.

Overhauled us from the south

Glistening cliffs

None the less, as 0700, as soon as the gate was opened (and the fishing boats had gone out) I took Vagabond out to sea. The gloom was not as bad as I had expected and we were able to sail slowly north, keeping the coast in view (most of the time). The wind dropped. The sun came out. On came Freddie and we motored north towards Stonehaven. A large yacht slowly overhauled us from the south and eventually overtook us. The cliffs ashore glistened white – was it with seabirds or their guano? We didn’t go to look.  Stonehaven castle looked down on us as we rounded the last point and there was Stonehaven harbour and town. Just as well, because for the last hour or more, we had been breasting the tide and it was going to get stronger for the next couple of hours.

Alongside the wall

The harbourmaster was on the wall, waiting for us, holding a pair of heavy mooring wires – ‘The trawler’s not back for two days’, he shouted. ‘Use these, they’ll hold you against the wall – there’s a 4 metre tidal range today. Is there anyone following you?’ Now I knew why he was expecting us – the people in the yacht that had overtaken us, now tied up alongside the wall, had told him we were on our way.  We tied up – my head was just about level with the top of the wall. Four hours later, the tide had gone out and I could examine the upper rigging from the jetty without having to look up. It was a long way down the ladder to the deck.  Two hours after that, the other yacht came to life and sailed – none of this staying overnight stuff, they  were just waiting for the tide to turn favourable again.

Painting the coach line

Once alongside, the harbourmaster dragged me off to look at his pride and joy – a traditional wooden yacht with a long keel that he was patiently restoring – ‘I used to work in the shipbuilders’ he remarked. Clearly a labour of love: as the tide receded, he was seen on a step ladder lining in the coach line on her side.

I told him about the dredger at Arbroath - apparently she had failed a survey a year or two ago and had been sold for scrap. Someone had bought and put her back into use. He wouldn't use her.......

A shower in the portakabin loo block, followed by a seafood meal (I’m not generally a fan of this but when you’re on the coast there seems to be little else on offer!) it was off to bed for another early start.

 

Comments, translations and conversions

*the elderly shipboard computer **

** her name is NOT misspelt – if you thought so, you are clearly not aware of the Disk World dreamt up by Terry Pratchet

*** 1 metre = approx 3’4”

**** 1 foot = 12 inches, 1 inch = 25.4 mm

 

 

Whitehills and no pictures

Three or four days have passed since the last entry and it's possible that my regular reader (s?) may be wondering what's happening. (On the other hand, they may be much more interested in the current test match or the state of protests in  the Luis Vutton cup *). You may also recognise that my  typing is even worse the usual - I'm using the ipad.......

Vagabond and I are now at Whitehills, a pleasant little fishing harbour converted to a Marina with some European ( eg ours ) development money.We arived at about 15:00, having left Peterhead at the eye watering time of 05:30. We left the marina, Freddie doing his stuff, hoisted the sails in the harbour and left.....into thick fog.This was the fourth day of sailing (well, motoring really) in fog.

You'l have read about the first day from the pen of the motoring corespondent. He is now under lock and key in the forepeak, pending a management decison on the size of his pay off and whether we can get away with not telling the board of trustees about our plan**

We left Arbroath at 05:00, in haar, so that the tide whisked us to Stonehaven. by just after midday (it's springs and the currents on this coast reach almost two knots, so you have to make sure you catch them in the right direction). We nestled against the harbour wall in Stonehaven, using some spare fishing boat ropes to cope with the 4 metre tidal range ***.

It's a lovely harbour, one part dries out, the other doesn't. It has a deep stone wall, inset with ladders, against which we were held by these long, thick and heavy pieces of rope.

A five o'clock start for Peterhead, to catch the tide and the fog. Another day of Freddie.

Peterhead has a well founded Marina, surrounded by industry. Not a place we wanted to linger. Hence the early start today.

Now, I've not told you about the Dutchmen, the author and his motorboat, or the harbour masters and their hobbies or hosts of other stuff, but my main course has arrived and you will all have to  wait for a further installment....

And, of course, for the pictures.


Explanations of jokes etc


* originally the Americas Cupa sailing competition
** sounds familiar?
*** range = the rise and fall of the tide

To Arbroath - from the motoring correspondent

Hullo there, youse  no hearrd from me before, it’s cos that posh yin wurrent let masel’  git a worrd in. But he’s awa to his bed, as he didna git much sleep last nicht. He tells meself that he was worri about the watter goin awa an trappin us all in the harbour. didna ken this sailin’ lark was as a prison sentence but then he shown me these photos like and there’s na water aboot the place where them boats are meant to be floatin. Anyways, that’s his excuse, I ken better - it was all them light ales he sank whilst celebrating wi’ us Scots the victory of our man Murray at tha' Wimbledon place. Although wha he’couldna have done in a real place like Glasgie I dinna ken.

 Anyway, whur was I. Och, yes, I have to tell you aboot our journey fra Anstruther to Arbroath this mornin’. What with worrin aboot the water and what not, our lad was awak at four o’clock (wuld you bleeve it?- on a guid nicht out you’d barely be in yer bed by thin) anyways he was up and rarin’ to go. 

Vagabond on the mud at low water

The motor (why he calls it Freddie is beyun me) wus fired up and we wur off. Inta the haa* I couldna see muir than aboot a hundred yards all round and it went on like that for hours and hours. The watter was flat calm. We had the hood up but  I couldna see through it becos the haa was landing all over it like midges on yer face in the Heelans in August. ‘It will have to come down’, he said. So it did and the haa landed on us instead, it wus so dreecht.

'Do youse ken whur  them heedlichts are, cos we ned those, it's sa bad' . 
We don't have headlights but you can turn on the navigation lights, if you like. Top switch on the panel.' 
'does yu mean them sparkie red, grun an whit things at the end o' the beeg stick?'

’Steer for those ripples’ he commanded and set about readying them sail things for raising. ‘Whas the point of them’, I asked, all polite like but tha wud nae stoppin  hisself. Oop tha wunt, leavin' all these bits of string lying aroun’ in the cockpit. ‘Wha’s all them for?’ I asked.

‘They are the reefing lines and we’ll have to coil them up, or else they might garrotte one of us’, he said.

The ripples came ta us and the sails all shook theselves an filled. ‘You can turn Freddie off now’, he said, so I did and I could na help noticing how quiet it all became.

The ripples went awa an I had to start Freddie again. For a wee little thing, he doesna do a bad job. Och- it’s only a single cylinder four stroke but it gives us a guid push when it’s needed.

I hope my regular reader will forgive me for allowing the motoring correspondent to say a few words – he’s been under control up till now but today he was in his element. We covered 26 miles, in fog most of the way, with Freddie barking in my ears all the time.

AIS warning of collision

The fog cleared every now and again. Once, it cleared in time for me to see an approaching vessel before I was frightened by the AIS system telling me of a danger vessel.

The gap!

Then is cleared as we need the northern coastline of the Dee estuary and I could see the ends of the harbour wall and the leading marks. We were no where in line with the marks, so had to steer away to get the correct bearing. We’d just got line up with it, when down came the fog again and we had to rely on the GPS to show us the way. Just before the bearing became really critical (for the entrance to the Arbroath harbour is through a narrow channel of deep water) the fog lifted. I called up the harbourmaster to ask permission to enter and he warned me to take special care as there was a dredger in the outer harbour.  He was right – there was just room for us to squeeze between it and the harbour wall and we were in, snug on a pontoon in the inner harbour. The Haar stayed with us all day and only disappeared around six o’clock in the evening. I don’t fancy going out in it again tomorrow.

*sea fog that is particulary prevalent on the east coast most of the time **

** he lies – only when an on shore wind occurs in late spring early summer. Quite where this fits in mid July is any ones guess

mmm

Anstruther , sun and tennis.

I met another reader today – that’s at least five who I know personally! Anyway, we’ll come to that later. My other four regular readers will know that Vagabond had reached Eyemouth on Friday; a small fishing town tucked down a ravine on the coast of Berwickshire. Our next port of call was originally going to be Dunbar but I had hear d that the entrance to the harbour was tricky. ‘Why not go for it’, I thought, ‘and cross the Firth of Forth to Anstruther directly from here.' On the chart it was only about another 10 miles to go than Dunbar would have been.

The tides looked auspicious. If we could get out of Eyemouth as the tide was falling (at the last minute before the harbour became to shallow for Vagabond) we could ride the tide flow north, and cross most of the Firth before the tide changed. I consulted the harbour master about the latest we could leave in the morning. ‘No later than 6:30’. I set the alarm for 5:30.

And so we were off. To be confronted by a large fishing vessel coming in on the last of the tide for him. He was much bigger than we were, so we pootled round in anxious circles waiting for him to come in. 

Leaving Eyemouth

Then another fishing boat full of anglers dashed in front of us, so we followed in her wake.

Out to sea. Away from the protection of the land, I found a strong SW wind blowing at 15 knots. Vagabond chortled along at 7 knots as I anxiously waited for the wind to increase. Sure enough, it did. As we left the protection of St Abbs head,

St Anns Head

the wind speed was inching upwards, so I put in both reefs to save time. I was pleased that I done this as the wind increased to 24 knots for a time. An island came into sight ahead – it must be the Bass rock, we were off course to the left, so turned more to the north.

The wind gradually died on us. The reefs were shaken out; even so we were eventually drifting along at 2 knots, at least half of which was tide. I phoned the harbour master at Anstruther to find out the latest we could arrive to still get onto the drying pontoons. ‘Ach, aboot three thirty’, was the reply, ‘I’ll leave you a key for the gate.’ (Sorry I can’t write in Fifie).

I called the harbour master at Eyemouth to apologise for leaving without paying. He sounded relieved ‘ Just send me a cheque for £20 alright’ he said.

I texted the Scottish herbalist, to invite her to lunch at Anstruther on the following day. She rang me to say she’d be delighted and did I mind if she brought her familiar with her.

Communications completed, it  was time for Freddie. On went the head set and I tried to find Radio 4. Of course, we’re in Scotland and it didn't seem to exist (I found it later). I gathered from Radio Scotland that the Lions had won and the betting was on their man Murray (gosh, two topical references).

Squadrons of Gannets flew past.

A flight of gannets

One flight swooped low, close by and I had the camera ready.

Then I felt a breeze on my right cheek. A sea breeze had set in, easterly up the Firth. This steadily rose to about 10 knots. Freddie had long been silenced.

As we approached the Isle of May (a bird sanctuary, which probably accounted for the gannets) the wind cut off sharply and then returned, this time from the West. As we were going roughly north it was just right. It was steady and the sea was calm, time for the elastic autopilot to do it’s stuff as I moved around Vagabond.

Look, no hands!

I even took a photo of the boat steering herself (from within it, of course!)

The Fife coast was becoming clearer now and I altered course slightly as the harbour came into view. As usual, I was greatful for a local craft to come out and confirm the way in.

Soon we were alongside the pontoon and I looked up to find a crowd gathering around this ‘pretty boat’ I don’t know whether it was the effect of the gloriously sunny weather, if the Fife people are particularly friendly, but this arrival was the first where anyone had taken any interest!

Let’s see what happens in Arbroath – our next stop.

Any way, that’s for Monday. In the meantime it was clean ship, play tourist and prepare for visitors. I was intrigued by the possible familiar.

She was a Jack Russell.

Oh, I forgot the tennis. Murray won (again).

Escorted to Eyemouth

It was bright and still early morning when Vagabond and I slipped over the cill at Amble to avoid being locked in for the day by the tide. We motored out into the bay, turned into the slight breeze off the land and hoisted the sails. Then we set off NNW to follow the coast, past the Farne Isles, past Holy Island and on, across the Scottish border to arrive, we hoped, in Eyemouth before the next falling tide locked us out.

The surface of the sea was calm and we picked our way through a puzzle of fishing floats and resting  puffin.

The breeze started to freshen. What had been a 5 knot waft, which barely moved us had become a 10 knot breeze. Vagabond loved it and our speed rose to a consistent 5 knots.

The wind (it could no longer be called a breeze) freshened further. Soon it reached 14 knots and Vagabond was now surging along at six and a half knots. Water broke over the bows as the sea state changed and a gust of wind reached 18 knots. ‘A reef is overdue”, I thought and turned into the wind to take in the first reef. This reduced  the sail area to about half the normal size; even so, our speed did not diminish much, for we were on a more consistent, even keel.

The sky became overcast and blotted out the sun.

The shore line of the unspoilt Northumbrain coast went past  with it's history written in the ruined castles.

The wind had not  finished with us. It rose further and a after it had been consistently at 20 knots for a few minutes, I took in the second (and last reef). These things never happen at convenient points in a trip, for we were just approaching the passage between the mainland and the Farne Isles at this point, and we were having to manoeuvre between a couple of fishing boats, whilst reefing and avoiding the hard bits on either side of the (admittedly wide) channel. In the middle of this, a screw in my glasses went ping and they (the glasses) fell apart. I couldn’t retrieve the spare pair from the locker (or the bits of the broken ones until the boat had been attended to....

The Farne Islands

Even with both reefs in, we passed the Farne Islands at 7 knots (admittedly helped by a bit of tide). Shame.  I thought we might have had time to have look at them.....

We charged on, driven by this demnted wind off the land – it was now reaching a consistent 23 knots and I was vaguely wondering what to do if it got any higher....

Lindisfarne or Holy Island

We surged on, passing the entrance to the Holy Island anchorage. I had considered going in there for lunch but in the present circumstances it was out of the question. The wind would have been blowing straight down the anchorage and it would have been untenable.

Inland, the sun had come out.

We were half way across Berwick Bay, at about midday, when the wind started to drop. In the space of about half an hour, it went from 23 knots to 10. I shook out both reefs. 10 minutes later, the wind had died completely and Freddie was on pushing us forward.

An hour or so later, I noticed a dorsal fin drifting alongside us. I shut down Freddie – then we were joined by two other dolphins, one smaller than the others, presumably a calf. They weren’t swimming parrall with us, but criss crossing ahead and astern of us, and diving under the bow. There were a couple of bumps below, which I assumed was one of them hitting (deliberately?) the centreboard. Three other dolphins joined us and we drifted along for a few minutes. But this wasn’t getting us to Eyemouth, so I started Freddie again. To my surprise the dolphin stayed with us and we were joined by three others.

They escorted me for a couple of hours in total and only parted company with us when we commenced our approach to Eyemouth harbour.  The rudder suddenly lifted, as if it had hit a rock. As there were no rocks in the vicinity (we were still in 30 metres of water) I concluded that one of the knocks I had heard from the dolphins was when one of them hit the rudder.....

We scraped into Eyemouth with just enough water under our keel to reach the pontoons along the south side of the river, where, with the help of a dutch yacht (which I used as a big fender) and its crew, we had our own space on the pontoon. As the tide went out,  with centre board and rudder lifted, Vagabond settled in the ooze.

Time to phone the Owners Agent to discuss plans. The snag with Eyemouth harbour is that it's down a deep ravine. No trace of a mobile signal.... Getting a weather forecast for tomorrow is going to be difficult.

To Amble and an unexpected snap

After a predominately wet Wednesday,  Thursday 3^rd July was forecast to be dry with a F3-4 wind from the SW – just right to waft us along the coast in a generally NNW direction.  I wanted to get from Hartlepool to Amble as I suddenly rrealised that some time pressure was  now looming. We had to be at a place where I could leave Vagabond for a few weeks whilst I went south to supervise building works at the new home. I first became aware of this when I received a text from the Scottish Herbalist demanding to know when I would be on the Fife Coast so that she could (a) do the washing and (b)whisk me to an airport to return me to the Owners Agent.  I’d thought I had another two weeks. The Owners Agent put me straight on this – I have to be present at the new home by break of day on the 15^th July at the latest. Cripes. Anyway, that’s a problem to resolve in a couple of days time.

Now to get to Amble. We left the lock at Hartlepool at 10:10 and puttered out into the bay, turning into the wind to raise the sails. Good, it was from the SW, about 8 knots. It’ll do. We puttered round the point , turned Freddie off, and proceeded on course at a slow walking pace. After a couple of hours, with Hartlepool still in site, the wind failed completely. On came Freddie and off we went again. Then the sails shook and a very cold wind came from.. the north.

Looking around I could see that some sort of front had passed through, moving us from warm air flow to cold airflow – hence the wind shift.

On came Freddie; he stayed hammering away for the next three and a half hours during which we weaved out way through a veritable forest of fishing floats and went past Sunderland and

Newcastle.

Then another front seemed to come through and the warm winds were with us again, this time at about 15kn. Off went Freddie and we went crashing along at 6.5 knots. The wind increased. By the time it had reached 18 kn, I thought I had better put in a reef.  This immediately made Vagabond more stable but made little difference to our speed. The wind grew in strength, eventually settling at a fairly constant 20knots, with the occasional 23kn gust. Rather than out in another reef, I moved closer to the shore, until we were running only about a quarter of a mile of the sandy beaches. This reduced the fetch on the water and gave us calmer water conditions but made little difference to the wind speed.

We continued like this for about five hours, by which time our destination hove into view and the wind eased off a bit. I could have taken the reef out but I was relishing a bit of a rest and, if reached Amble too early we would have to hang around for the tide to rise before we could get into the Marina.

Suddenly, wild life appeared. Gannets plunged from the heights, seeming to dislocate their wings as they enter the  water. A porpoise surfaced shyly on the starboard side and then was gone. Puffins erupted either side of the bow, coloured beaks full of sand eels, heads down and wings threshing the water like a demented breast stroke swimmer, before they claw their way into the air and flourish their orange feet in triumph.

Then we passed the island marking Amble and eased into the entrance to river. It was just after low water and my reading of the chart and tide tables suggested we would just have enough water under the centre board to get into the harbour. I watched the depth gauge intensely as we went in – the lowest reading was 0.4m clearance between the centre board and the bottom. It was a good thing there was no swell....

None the less, there was not enough water for us to enter the marina, so I tied up alongside an old gaffer that was tied to the harbour wall. I found the local pub and had my evening meal whilst the sun and moon did their work. An hour later I was able to cast off and glide into the Marina, mooring in the first available berth. Having secured  Vagabond and found an electric point that worked, I looked around and had a shock. On the pontoon berth opposite Vagabond was a familiar looking boat. Another Bay Crusier 23, also in Grey!  

 

Snap.       

Hearty Hartlepool

Just before midday on Monday, I called the Whitby bridge contol to request an opening at midday. 'Thtat's fine, but be aware there are 3 trawlers coming in, I'd keep out of their way...' came the reply. I cast off and backed into the pool, where we went round in circles until the bridge opened. The bridge contol wasn't kidding; the tralwers charged through the bridge opening like ace tennis serves at Wimbldon (hey - a topical reference!).



The bridge swings shut



After they had passed, Vagabond went sedately through the gap and the bridge swung closed sharply

behind us.

It was high tide, so there was much more water under our keel than when we came in and the swell had completely died away. Soon, we were out through the entrance, and had turned left.

Up went the sails and we were off, just touching five and half knots. Whitby and the  imposing church and abbey ruins (as well as the tourists and fish and chip shops) were behind us.

The wind was just off the port bow and  Vagabond heeled strongly to starboard as the wind suddenly picked up to 15 kn. It seemed determined to stay that strong, si I put a reef* into the mainsail.

We continued at 5.5 knots. 'This is great', I thought, 'We'll be in Hartelpool by 6 ish'.

The wind stayed at 15 knots but slowly shifted to the north, so we veered East, out to sea, following it. Of course, we actually wanted to go slightly West of North, so this couldn't last. After about half an hour, we tacked and headed back towards the shore. Now our course was North West, more or less, but still not quite in the right direction.

So we zig zagged again. Then the wind died. On came Freddie for an hour or so, then the wind came back, still in the wrong direction, but it slowly shifted back to the West. That was better.

The coast of North Yorkshire looked pretty in the afternoon light and Redcar passed by.


As did the old and new industries of Teeside.










A pilot boat rushed out to an impatient skipper and then rushed home again.

Shipping happened

Shipping happened just as were were trying to cross the channel into the River Tees.

By now the tide had turned against us and, as usual, the light was making our landfall difficult to find. Also as usual, a local boat rushed in ahead of us and effectively showed us the way. I called the marina lock control and, as usual, was told to wait abit. We finally go into the lock at about eight o'clock. Freddie was shut down at 20:30, when we were alongside our berth.

A day off tomorrow, there's meant to be a good maritime museum, as well as a restored early 19th century man o'war.


The log on the bulkhead



But that's tomorrow. Now is the time for bed, after I have written up the log and cleaned it off the cabin bulkhead.....

Then outcame the sleeping bag and the pyjamas and I was lost to the world for eight hours.

Translations etc

* Made the sail smaller by folding it up a bit