Tutak goes to Holland - Chapter IV.

Chapter IV - Tutak goes to Goes.

It was getting late in the day and as it was a Sunday the last locking/bridge opening was 2000hrs, we were the only ones going in so it was an easy job and we were lulled into a false sense of security. As we started to rise up the wet and slimy walls of the lock a forest of masts seemed to be in front of the exit gates. Odd I thought, checking that the little boat haven was on the starboard side of the canal when leaving the chamber; I wonder what that is all about. The gates slid open and forward gear engaged and the vista of a pack of wild boats baying for blood and the last lock home before work tomorrow befell us. What to do, they were everywhere, totally blocking our exit from the lock, a tight funnel driving forward like an angry mob. I thrust the throttle to max, worked up a bow wave and took ‘em on “British Bulldog” like. They somehow managed to avoid me, perhaps the bow wave gave a cushion but one poor chap did get his bow wedged the wrong side of the gate and the rest battled round him. Whether he got in or not I don’t know as I was away. No manners some of these Europeans, what.

The Havenkanaal to Goes is only 3.2m deep and has shallow sloping sides to boot but still has commercial traffic all the way up to the quays in Goes. It can be an exciting time meeting one of these wee beasties as they seem to be in the middle and push all the water up front of them before it rushes down their sides sucking in passing yachts so that one has to aim for the bank which is only a few feet away. The water has to go round the side as their tummies are virtually touching the canal bottom according to the draft indicators that are clearly readable an arms-length from the cockpit.



The locks and bridges in Holland are often controlled remotely and covered by CCTV with the help of the VHF wireless. There are speed limits and they know the distance between everything and I swear that if you have got there too early they delay the bridge until the correct time has elapsed. I was testing this theory one year whilst in company with some other boats from Blighty. They were a way behind keeping to the speed limit when over the VHF came a rather good facsimile of a Dutch accent describing my vessel and warning me to slow down. Suitably reprimanded I shut up and slowed down only to be greeted with howls of laughter when the other boats caught up. I had been well and truly had.

The Wilhelminabrug greeted us with sirens, lowered its road barriers and rose in salute as the tall TV antenna lined up in front of us.



The next and last bridge was the Ringbrug and it fell behind us corralling us for the night and we turned into the little haven of WV De Werf with its tiny lighthouse enclosing the toilet. Even the roof on the workshop has "De Werf" written in black tiles on red.



We had just made the curfew when the canal shuts down for the night and were all snugged up in the De Werf’s peaceful and quiet waters. Des was due to arrive on the train at 2100hrs so scouts were sent to sniff out his arrival, arriving back at the boat after the last train at midnight. We searched the town, the hotels and the town quay where yachts may also lie, nowhere was he to be found. He arrived, dishevelled and unwashed 31 hours later in a state of confusion and this is his story.

Des’s Tale.
I parked in the long stay in Dover, checked in my bags at the ferry terminal and went for a coffee whilst waiting to be called. Realising it was late I went back to the desk to ask about the delay, no delay, your boat sailed an hour ago, (with my bags). The next option was to take a ferry to Calais and then get a train to the original destination of Ostende. Seamless joined up travel on Sunday nights between two adjacent countries was apparently not possible and I went round half of Europe to get to Ostende just after the terminal had shut with my bags locked away for the night. With nothing but a credit card and a few Euros I tried to book into a hotel only to be asked how many hours I wanted the room for as they looked over my shoulder for the lady. I tried a different hotel in a different part of town but still had some problems with communication as the multilingual staff had all gone to bed leaving me to mime to the night porter. I eventually managed to get a room but not after he had served me drinks in the bar assuming that was what I wanted. The next morning I collected my bags from the ferry terminal and caught a train to the Hook of Holland via Gdansk, at least that’s what it felt like, then I boarded a slow local train arriving in Goes late afternoon. The whole “Inspector Clouseau” like tale at least made the crew laugh a little after all the worry of where I had been and never have I been able to live it down either.

So we drank some cool beer housed beneath the floor in the De Werf club house and left the money in the honesty box; how civilised, had some meals out in the sweet town and stocked up again at the big shops before heading off again.





Extracts from Bill and Doug's most excellent adventures, Bothy Press.

Tutak goes to Holland - Chapter III

We sneaked out of Middlesburg early in the morning mist and headed North up the Walcheren Canal towards Veere (pronounced Fearer).



The lock into the Veerse Meer (meer – lake) is a rough stone oval construction and is a little awkward the first time. It is not a fierce one and we dribbled out into the rather pleasant island strewn waters that used to be part of the North Sea. The massive rampart sea defences ensure that this brackish expanse of water now remains a sailing paradise.



Up went the sails and we headed East for a quiet sail downwind to find an Island for lunch time. The Dutch are most accommodating and provide staging to moor to in these tideless waters. Some islands have waste bins and toilets, some have BBQ sites and some are “forbidden landing” but still have offshore staging to moor to. We munched our way through enough Dutch delights of smoked eel and pickled herring that meant we would have to shop again. A sleepy afternoon beat had us off the Disney like entrance to Veere.



We were early or lucky enough to find a little space on the town quay. Despatching crew for supplies I sampled the grog to make sure it had not gone off in the heat. Whilst relaxing in the cockpit I heard the most monosyllabic conversation between four Nederlanders that I have heard. Ja (yar-yes) was the only word used after the first one liner. Guteral ja, squeaky ja, laughing ja, questioning ja, chortling ja, these sweet inflections I swear went on for ten minutes. OK the sun was out and I wasn’t wearing a watch and the grog wasn’t off, so......

I went for a short walkabout and found the remains of Fortress Fearer with its arrow slits (embrasures perhaps?), with the ubiquitous windmill in the distance.



The crew arrived back with supplies for a few more hours and had a couple of ne’er-do-wells in tow. This unlikely pair toted holstered side arms and swat uniforms suggesting a paramilitary theme. I thought it unwise not to invite them aboard. They refused the offer of grog had a quick look round. One unfettered his gun and started waving it about. I understood from this mime that he was asking whether I had any guns on board. Perhaps too emphatically I said “no”, and then he asked for “papers”. Oh pooh, you must understand that Tutak is registered in Guernsey purely because it is one of the last places that issue the blue registration book (I like the blue book). Tax and Vat issues mean that technically it is outside the EEC or whatever it is called these days. I always carry a full set of papers, duplicates, ship’s stamp, crew lists, passport numbers etc. just for this eventuality. After several fraught minutes of him poring over the documents he picks one out saying “this is very valuable paper”. It is the original builder’s ‘bill of sale’ stating that VAT had been paid upon the completion of the vessel. Heart rates returned to normal and the pistol was returned to its holster and then they had a beer. They tried to catch us at Vlissingen and tried again at Middleburg. There is some confusion as although the boat is from Guernsey the owner isn’t and is allowed free travel throughout Europe but they don’t know that until papers are inspected. I don’t know why I worry so, maybe it is growing up watching films of the Hitler war where escapees were greeted with the raised MP34 machine pistol and the command – ‘papers’.

Grog was issued to the crew and the evening meal eaten in the cockpit with awnings rigged. Silence had come to the busy street above our heads and the busy harbour was also getting ready for bed. Music drifted over the water, I say music, it may have come from that TV programme of yesteryear “The Prisoner”.



Further investigation came up with a “Carillon” consisting of at least 23 cast bronze bells. This tinky tink quite pleasant noise tumbled over the quayside every quarter of an hour. A veritable cacophony was to be heard on the hour which nearly lasted until the next quarter and I began to fear for my sojourn. Perhaps this was why this bustling quay been empty in the first place? Anaesthetised by the grog the night went well, in fact I think it turns off at midnight but I couldn’t be sure. I dreamt of white oblate spheroids bouncing towards me and sealing my mouth from the air like a big burst bubblegum bubble........

Owing to the crew having a lay in due to over indulgence breakfast was taken in the Zandkreeksluice some 18 clicks out of Veere (Fearer remember?). Zandkreeksluis is? You are getting fluent in Dutch now, yes it’s – Sand Creek Lock. This is where we enter the Oosterschelde, tidal it is, although not fully as it has a closable storm surge barrier at the seaward end which does limit the flow somewhat. Taking notice of the tide times can save a lot of time and worry over the shallow bits. More crew were to be picked up in a place called Goes (Hoos, as in Scottish house) so it was imperative that we arrived promptly, ha ha, more on that later. Hanging a right and hugging the shore line we avoided the profuse commercial traffic of these parts and made it round the headland to Sas Van Goes.

Stay tune for the next instalment - Tutak goes to Goes, another thrilling episode From Bill and Doug's most excellent adventures from the Bothy Press.

Tutak goes to Holland - Chapter II

Chapter two – Warship.

Tutak was going to take us northeast up the Belgian coast, round the corner into the Westerschelde and thence into the inland waterway system of the Kingdom of the Nederlands. But getting out of the pleasant town marina and its bustle was proving a little difficult. I had upset the harbour master when arranging a time to lock out by speaking French instead of Flemish, German seemed only to agitate him further and by the time I had got round to Dutch he was throwing his hands around and muttering. The crew, having partaken of the conveniences in the harbour office, arrived in his finely pressed Rolling Stones T shirt with some large lips on it. Well international relations were re-cemented as the harbour master opened his shirt and showed us his tattoo of red rolling stone lips. I was forgiven and given my locking time and we all shook hands.

Meanwhile war had broken out in the station car park adjacent to the docks. Water cannon and riot police were bashing merry hell out of a large group of likely lads. The odd thing was that the locals were cheering and generally having a good time behind a perimeter fence. Turns out it was an exercise in case they have to deal with football hooligans off the ferry, it being the season for Euro 2000.

When the lock is full it is unnecessary to tie up!



The wind and weather were good for a jolly up the coast and by the time we had negotiated the lock and the red light had been turned off the tide was just starting to turn in our favour as we cleared the Oostende moles. Tutak likes a nice bit o’ wind to get her five tons moving and a Beaufort 5 up the chuff was just the job. We had the big genoa poled out opposite the working jib to imitate a spinnaker, full main and mizzen with a watersail under the main boom. It is only 30 or so miles up the coast and our fair tide should get us there by early evening, we had had our lunch during the locking process and were now enjoying surfing down the lengthening waves as the tide really started to shift.

A ship was overhauling us to seaward, no ordinary ship this and the bins told us she was a warship and gaining fast. I dashed out of the wheelhouse, waking one of the slumbering crew as I reached for the red ensign. Fumbling with the rope on the cleat I brought the duster half way down the mast and looked at the warship. I didn’t have to wait long and all credit to her crew as a rating scampered to the Warship’s ensign staff and began to lower. So jubilant was I that protocol was forgotten as I began to raise my own ensign before his was again aloft, such shame. My first salute and the crew of the good ship Tutak all cheered.

Speed had risen to 7.2 knots now and with the tide gave us a ground speed of 9.6 knots, surely a new record for the log. I took us offshore a little bit for the crossing of Zeebrugge harbour entrance. It is a busy place and made more confusing by harbour works on the outer moles.



Nineteen thirty had us in the sea lock in Vlissingen after a tense time crossing the shipping channels of the Westerschelde in a now gusty force 6. Rounding up in the outer harbour to drop the sails and fender up for the lock had us dodging the ferry to Breskens but we managed not to annoy the Captain too much. All was calm once we had locked through into the industrial harbour and ship yards and we found our way to the first of the lift bridges just by the jachthaven. We were now in the Walcheren canal, a fairly peaceful waterway of Zeeland, with Middleburg as its regional capital. There are five lifting bridges in this section which take a while to negotiate before the left turn into the town harbours. We tied up outside the harbour office to get a berth for a day or so and wait for the opening of the Spijkerbrug (brug = bridge) to give us access to the box mooring outside the Arne yacht club.



Box moorings are devices thought up by the Dutch to confound the English and to remind us of the raid on Chatham in 1667 during the second Anglo-Dutch war. They consist of a pair of piles which one must simultaneously lasso whilst heading bow first into a harbour wall to attach the front of the boat. The lines from the back of the boat to the piles must be neither too long nor too short. Too long means you risk bashing the posh yacht next door and too short means you risk bashing the posh yacht next door because you haven’t been able to tie the front of the boat to the wall. Why can’t you just use your fenders to save embarrassment I hear you say? Well our cunning hosts have made sure that your boat won’t fit between the piles with your fenders out and, if you should try, the ensuing tangle ensures you are athwart the box with your bow embedded in the posh yacht next door and the photographers watching from the bridge have it all recorded for posterity and the lawyers.

Being a regular visitor to this part of the world I am fully conversant with the ways of the locals and had a good look at the adjacent boats before I even thought of an attempt at entry. Sometimes the residents of the box put side lines in place from the piles to the wall and one can simple pull oneself in with the said ropes. Some people, once in, deploy fenders upon which one can bounce off. The best way is to motor slowly in with the crew of two amidships with lines led outside. This ensures there is no lassoing involved and the ropes can be simply passed from the widest part of the boat around the pile and surged out until the wall approaches by one whilst the other goes forward to tend a bow line on the windward side first.

Extrication from the box is another military operation and must be planned, again with precision. The bow lines must be singled up and the leeward one removed. If possible the leeward stern line to the pile can also be dispensed with. One eases astern, taking in on the stern and out on the bow until the piles are reached by which time it can be assumed that escape can be made. Bow and stern lines are brought aboard and speed increased to gain sufficient steerage for the turn into the channel. All this supposes that you did remember to take in your previously deployed fenders otherwise you will be catapulted back into the box, now without bow or stern lines but at least with fenders, those that have not been torn off by contact with the piles of course. I have very nearly been in all of the permutations of the above over the years and will willingly offer ridicule to anyone wishing to take part in boxing, it is a rite of passage, particularly for those with shorter than the average boats.



That evening the crew with rosy cheeks consumed an excellent grill at the club, washed it down with several glasses of fine beer and slept the sleep of satiated sailors in a safe haven. The following day saw the crew of Tutak taking in the sights once again and revictualling the ship for the coming days ahead.

Tutak goes to Holland - Chapter I

Chapter one – Oostende.

Me and Tutak have been getting on quite well recently after getting off on the wrong foot. She would always make me sick, and, come to that, anyone else who ventured out in her. I have learnt to go to sea in Tutak with a full belly and to keep it full, don’t ask me why, I just get sick if I don’t eat. Now, if I feel iffy, on goes auto pilot and I venture below to stuff myself. So it was time to branch forth on my first North Sea crossing as captain. I had sampled the delights of Holland quite a few times before, crewing on other boats, so I knew what to expect, sort of anyway. So a trip was sketched out and a crew sought. Rex was keen; he’d been across before and wanted to do the passage planning. This was rather fortuitous as I reckoned I had enough on being skipper, having Rex do the passage and chart work eased the pressure. When he showed me the plan I was impressed and so was he and signed on as mate. Tony was coming for a jolly to see if he liked this sailing lark. Tutak’s hull is based on a fishing boat and is a capable vessel, well able to look after her crew so two plus one was enough to work her and give us some rest.

In deference to my first North Sea crossing as skipper we had decided to shorten the journey by heading for Ostend in Belgium. Potentially this would knock several hours off the journey time when I may have been tired and in the busy shipping area of the Westerschelde. So around midday on the 3rd of June 2000 Tutak shed her warps and headed east. The wind was from the East too so sailing was out of the question, from past experience there was no way I was tacking across the North Sea. The 20hp Bukh has two cylinders, each with a capacity of half a litre. It has a massive flywheel and balance shafts so it is very smooth and unstressed, unlike me. Its claim to fame is that it’s fitted into ships’ lifeboats and has good reliability, it needed to have as it kept us plugging on and on against the wind. Half past four saw the Sunk Head Tower slip by and by half past six the bell of the South Galloper light buoy was mournfully tolling.



South Galloper light buoy.

Tony seemed a bit bored but was well and Rex was sleeping like a baby so I called him on deck so I could get some rest before the start of the shipping lanes. Shipping lanes; well imagine trying to cross a busy motorway on foot. The ones we were due to cross were the continuation of the English Channel lanes, busy like. They are five miles wide with a safe bit in the middle and then another five miles of ships in the opposite direction. We only do about 5 nautical miles an hour so it’s not a quick dash. I was called up, there was a bit of a flap on, Rex was unsure of some ships closing down on us. Visibility had closed in and the lights of the ships were a lot closer than I would have liked. I shoved the throttle to maximum and took some quick bearings on the approaching vessels to determine the risk of collision. Rex had made a good call as Tony was inexperienced in these situations. Always call the skipper in good time, that’s his job. After exiting the North bound lane we were able to lay a course which enabled us to have some sail up and make good a course to pass close to the West Hinder big ship anchorage. I counted 23 ships waiting there. It’s a good idea to keep your eyes open near anchorages; ships have a habit of getting underway just when you think all is quiet, especially at night. Lightning was on the horizon so I went below to have some more rest, I would be up again soon I thought.

Half past four in the morning had us near Oostende East buoy and I was roused again to supervise some smaller shipping lanes and make landfall. Rex had given me a list of buoys that should lead me to the entrance moles of Oostende but they were not showing the right lights. This was starting to give me some concern, I knew where the GPS (global positioning system) said I was on the chart but the buoys were nowhere to be seen, what do I believe. Dawn was breaking and soon it would be necessary to make a dogleg in between some sandbanks, trouble is I couldn’t find the buoys that marked the channel but I could now see so landmarks. A quick check with the hand bearing compass showed that we were where we were. Some sail was taken in but not all; this way we would have some control if the engine failed in the busy commercial port of Oostende. The sea was calmer now that the wind was blowing off land and the banks were not making their presence felt so the dogleg was made with the help of the GPS. The port control lights showed it safe to enter so with the tide hustling across the entrance Tutak bade Good morning to Belgium. It was at that point that the skipper was put upon a charge for dereliction of duty and was sent scampering for the vertical black, yellow and red duster of the Kingdom, a good start. We had planned to lock into the Mercator harbour right in the city centre thus passing the North Sea Yacht Club to starboard on the way in. There was quite a scend in their moorings; good fenders would have been needed had we been staying there. By seven thirty in the morning the engine was finally shut down and Tony was put straight on a ferry for home. He’d had a good crossing but was keen to return to the trappings of urban life.



Mercator Yacht Harbour, Oostende.

After some food and a brief rest the boat was cleaned and tidied to receive the new crew member arriving late morning. Meryl arrived and was met at the handy terminal a few hundred metres from our snug berth near the facilities. I must say that crossing the palm of the lady in waiting at the door of the gents had me worried that I had got my West Flemish mixed up, but no, she always comes in after you’ve finished and cleans the toilet straight away. Afternoon had me planning the journey up the coast for Flushing as we Britishers say; the Nederlanders prefer to call it Vlissingen on the former island of Walcheren. The evening was spent indulging in the culinary delights of Oostende in a restaurant of the Visserskaii opposite the Montgomery Dock, surely a hangover from the Hitler war. The three of us had fish soup for starters; sadly it was the end for me as upon reaching the bottom of my bowl there I spied a mussel. I don’t have to eat them, just being in the same room will do, I left the others to enjoy their meal and went to bed with my favourite bucket and we spent a long and troubled night together. The poison was so bad that the crew decided to leave me to die peacefully and booked themselves into a hotel and the following day did Brugge. By the following afternoon I was able to take clear fluids and by nightfall I was in the bar doing what Belgians do best – beer.

Tutak goes North

Tutak goes North

Not to be outdone by Alan and his merry band, Tutak has invited me to come along for a summer cruise "Up North, like".

The little Fisher hopes to coast hop up the East Coast sampling the delights of rocky drying harbours and mining inlets before either turning left for the Cally Canal, time permitting, or just keeping on and going for Shetland and the longest day.

The basic plan is to circumnavigate Bonny Scotland but it is not laid in stone and if I spend too much time in the pub or get waylaid at "RockNess" (Scotland's answer to Glastonbury) I might have to return next year and finish it off.

I have allotted 100 days for my summer cruise this year as I always seem to run out of time. Tutak will be spruced up on the way, got to have something to do. Anyway the new radios, charts and pilots have severely dented my polish budget, every budget actually. Fortunately I blagged a liferaft of someone who isn't sailing this year.

I have been busy road testing my pilot chair: it swivels, tilts, slides, reclines, has adjustable lumbar support, seat belt, head rest, adjustable arm rests, wet weather cover, adjustable suspension. In fact the same company make seats for one of the lifeboats. I left out the heated seat and back but I might get that sorted as the pads can be retro fitted. I sometimes feel there is a little draught around the small of my back, how old I am getting these days. Sleep in it you can but I do need to set my alarms when at sea. Depending on where I am I allow between 4 and 10 minutes shut eye. Indeed it was a little difficult to fit it into Tutak's tiny wheelhouse but in it is and I am very pleased. You may often walk down the path and see me snoozing, hiding up from the boy "Jack", granddad, granddad, where are you, grrrr.





I hear Alan and crew had a rough crossing and sick was everywhere. I remember journey bringing Tutak back from the West Country and wondering if I had bought the right boat, so sick the tubby thing made me and the crew. We get on all right now as long as I keep my belly full, just like this fat little Eskimo, which is where the name comes from. Ahhhhh.

 

Tutak leaves North

The day came and lines were cast aside for a few months. Tears were shed and I was off, first stop - French Marine of Brightlingsea for some engine anodes. I wasn't feeling too enthusiastic with a sore throat and runny nose so I made do with the genoa. Dave and Maz were seen near St Peters as I sorted the last of the stores. Anchoring of the Stone at Mersea I took the dinghy to the hard in Brightlingsea and hobbled to the engine shop. With three anodes in my pocket the outboard was fired up again and the damp journey (wind over tide) made back to Tutak.

Rather sweet is the octagonal (or is it hex) residence of the Brightlingsea harbour master.


The all tide landing saves a squelchy walk up the hard.


Bateman's Tower overlooking the entrance to Brightlingsea creek.

Sailing out the anchor I took the last of the tide inshore by Colne point and past Clacton. By the radar tower the tide had turned and the iron topsail was used to help the dying wind. Took the tide via the short cut into the Walton Backwaters and found a pleasant anchorage in the Dardanelles, such a wonderful name don't you think. Do I recognise the name from one of Ransome's books?

The reason for choosing this pleasant spot is because when the tide ebbs it leaves a bank cutting off the entrance to the pool and leaves it nice and quiet with no swell to disturb my slumber. The next day was a bit of a rushed start as I had forgotten to set the wake up alarm. No breakfast for me, up with the anchor and out of my private pool before the tide cut me off from the outside world again. I took the same short cut that I used on the way in. I think it caused some consternation to the other boaters, I guess they don't see many yachts avoiding the buoyed channel. Perhaps they thought I had gone the wrong way. Trinity House's ship Galitea was towing in a lightship as I approached the Harwich deep water channel.

 
Being a nice sunny day I managed to snap the old Landguard Fort. Been around a long time by all accounts but I certainly remember some Hitler war gun emplacements from my childhood exploring days.


Once across the bumpy channel, not too busy for once, it was time to play lobster pot avoidance. I must confess to having a bee in my bonnet about poorly marked pots and gear. This years positions for the buoy marking the Deben and Ore entrances had just been broadcast by the Coastguard which was rather fortunate. I plotted the positions on the paper charts as well as the chartplotter for good measure. The Deben entrance is rather nice this year with no bits to make you need a stiff drink after.

 
So relaxed was the way in that Bawdsey manor managed to find its way into the viewfinder too. I do believe this was taken over by the war department, was it something to do with RADAR as there used to be a large mast here a few years ago?

Up the Deben I beached the boat near a place called the Rocks where the bottom was scraped and washed. Only the port side, the other side will have to wait as the changing wind had made the anchorage uncomfortable. I made my way down river and dropped the hook just upstream of the mooring at Felixstowe Ferry ready for leaving the river the next day.Once out of the way of the knolls on the bar the turn was made northwards towards Orford Haven. The pots are better marked round here and the route was not too stressful. Around Boathouse point there is one of many Martello towers with some adjacent rather colourful residences.
 
There is no beach here, the rocks line the steep to shore, I was going to investigate but there were folk fishing. Another couple of miles and the entrance to the Ore was visible with the red and white Haven buoy just where it should have been. From this buoy the next one to find is the red Oxley. In the waves and white water of the bar this is sometimes awkward to see but I spied it eventually and started to head for it. Things didn't seem right thought the bearing was wrong, I re-scanned and yes there it was and a very quick course change made us safe. What I was aiming for was a red fisherman's shelter on the beach!
 
Once on the right course the green Weir buoy was easier to find because it is the last one in the pattern and with the first two sorted.... everything should be fine just fine. I was trying to stay in line between the two buoys but the tide was taking me south at a fair lick. The depth was not good and the tops of the shingle knolls were only a few metres away, time for another sharp course alteration. With that sorted and the Weir buoy passed the next thing is to avoid the shoal patches in the middle of the channel by the point. The tide was hurtling in and the temptation is to slow down but this reduces your steerage way just when you need it most with the swirling waters over topping the bar. It's a toss up, slow down and give yourself more time or keep the revs on and wait to be spat out on the other side. I bottled out and cut the engine to tick-over but Tutak was still doing 9.4 knots, flippin 'eck. We managed to negotiate the troublesome bits and once in between the solid river banks things calmed down a bit, still fast, but OK.

I took the left branch round Havergate Island and dropped the hook in Abraham's bosom, rather appropriate me thinks. Stiff drinks all round then. The next couple of days had me taking the dinghy back down to the bar at low water. What a special place, beautiful on a calm day but a veritable maelstrom in a storm. I took the opportunity of the clean shingle beaches to spruce up the tender, dirty and barnacled she was. Tutak's teak bulwarks were also a mess and green to boot, I managed to get half of one side scrubbed and oiled. Mike Carruthers, Tutak II's original owner never used varnish, always scrubbed and oiled so I keep up his tradition. Anyway, varnish wouldn't last very long with what I make the old boat do.

A new day dawned and I was keen the take the South winds to the north and make for Great Yarmouth. I would need the engine to make against the flood in the river so I started it up and immediately something sounded not right. There was a strange but muted whine or hum but where was it coming from. Checking the gauges found the battery monitor not showing many amps charge and lifting the floor of the wheelhouse it became evident that the noise was emanating from the alternator. I stopped the engine and got the meter out and did some checks, which showed problems, off with the alternator for a more serious look. It was not something that I was going to be able to fix. What to do, carry on and try to have it fixed or run for home where I know I can get things done easily. Only a long day sail back to Tollesbury so off we set with the alternator on the cabin floor and three quarters of a battery to get me back. I sailed as far as I could to the bar and used the motor to the bar itself. Once out it was a fetch to Harwich and the Naze Tower and once round the corner the sheets were eased a little for the last bit past Clacton and Mersea Island and home waters. Made the berth, just, at a lovely 04.30 which was a little late on the tide. Tutak looked abandoned as I didn't even bother to tie up as the tide had already gone.

I spent some time in the sailing club the following day explaining my presence and having the Michael extracted. I managed to sooth this experience with copious quantities of ale, having not imbibed for a week, apart from the hard stuff of course.

Monday the 23rd had me running round to the repair man who will check and replace the diode pack and order me a new alternator too. I think a spare is a good idea as with no electric there is no TV, no internet, oh and the engine won't start either!

Stay tune for Tutak's next departure.

Tutak goes North part 3

So where was I? Ah yes the Ore, I was going to Iken Cliffs to do some more cleaning but time is passing but I did manage to reset my 100 days to zero when I left again. This time with a spare alternator as well as having the old one fixed up. So I ended up anchoring at the back of the spit that separates the sea from the river. Whatever went on here, those look like serious shelters and the Pagodas, weren't they something to do with the A bomb testing.

The lighthouse looks quite quaint here but on a stormy night it looks less so from the other side believe me.

The lovely village of Orford with its Keep and Church Tower.

The colourful houses of Aldeburgh at the far end of the spit, with the wind starting to pick up. We were due to have 5-6s from behind, wicked. So we left the Ore and were going to stop at Great Yarmouth but so well was the boat going that we decided to carry on for Wells next the Sea. So having left a 0745 we entered the tortuous Wells channel at 0400 the next morning some 21 hours later. What a sail, when the wind hit 28 knots and the genoa pole exploded into matchsticks, brilliant.

Tutak goes North Part 4

As we hurtled up the coast one of Rex's blessed golf balls landed amidst all the white horses.



And these cranes at Great Yarmouth's new outer harbour, synchronised lifting perhaps.





The familiar Wells harbour was a welcome site let me tell you. The wind might have been behind but once we turned the corner to do the North Norfolk coast bit it was on the nose, lots of it. Still being night you couldn't see the waves, they were only little if you sailed on the beach.

Never have I seen so many buoys marking a channel. Wind farm work boats use the outer Wells harbour now and the Commissioners have seen fit to mark the channel. Before you used to go over the bar. It has moved much since my last visit and there wasn't too much water to spare.



Good old Wells' beach huts, quintessentially middle class don't you think.



Sands on the bar, miles of sand on the bar, and talking of bars I went ashore for a drink and watched the Grand Prix while I was at it.

The wind was due to have some north in it so I wasn't keen to linger and get stuck in Wells, so off we went the following day for another lovely sail. This time for the seldom visited Wainfleet roads in the Wash where one can anchor behind the sandbanks for a night whilst awaiting for ones tide. Bright and early the next day I spyed this big tent. I recognised it as rather similar to the one I took baby Jack to last year in Bognor. I guess they are all much of a muchness and Butlins at Skegness was not going to be too different.



And then onwards forever onward to the Humber. I hadn't made up my mind what to do, Grimsby is a locked harbour and that restricts timings. In the end I decided to anchor behind Spurn Point after passing this little remnant from the Hitler war and perhaps before.


I anchored near the pilot station on a shelf out of the rushing tides of the great Humber. A survey vessel joined me for the night and we both set off together in the morning.

I don't know where he was bound but for me it was Flamborough Head.


The last time I tried to round this little beasty I had to turn back, refuel and try again only a little differently this time. Tidal timing can be critical to deal with this foe, especially when the weather isn't with you.

The lighthouse atop the chalky honeycombed cliffs. I was going to stop here for the night at the North Landing but I bottled out as the wind was gusting badly off the tops. I am now residing in the bay of Filey and rolling badly in the scend. I reckon I will have to put the kedge out to keep me into the small swell. Swell, it is barely a ripple but old Tutak likes to rock and roll. 

 

Tutak in Scotland - 6

I sit here with little to do as I cross the Firth of Forth. I crack on to reach the Shetlands if the weather lets me. Then the journey back can be more relaxed and I can spend a bit more time visiting places. I must say I was very impressed with Amble and the working harbour of Eyemouth was brilliant. The entrance after a night sail was rather daunting for me used to mud, sand and depths of a metre or so. To have sixty metres and then a rock ready to rip the bottom of your boat doesn’t sit too well with me.

I was going to anchor in the bay next door but the swell, which seemed to get bigger nearer the shore, was driving me on so I bottled out and headed for the harbour. When I say harbour what I really mean is a reef and rock strewn bay where some gallant chap decided might be a good place to park his boat. The entrance leads you close past the cliff base with, and I kid you not, a rock called the “Luff Hard Rock”. This will hopefully ensure you don’t tangle with the Hinker or Hurkar reefs a few metres away and believe me you would not want to tangle with that pair. Next and right on the leading line is the Inner Buss. You will not get him mixed up with his bigger brother the Outer Buss Craig, never the less the sea will brake menacingly over it in the right (wrong) conditions.

There is an anchorage in here just before you actually enter the harbour proper but I for one could not face it being so close to the reefs and rocks, not to mention the beach and the cliffs. So onward into the haven and you pass between the breakwaters and the distance between the two is only 20 metres so don’t meet a big fishing boat coming out cause there aint much room. They call this the “canyon” for some reason. Once through the shelter is immediate, the high cliffs and ramparts kill the wind instantly and any swell that dared follow you in has dispersed on the surge beach. I tied up the old girl to a vessel moored alongside the east quay and scampered up the ladder to have a reccy. I was keen to see it there was any space in the inner leg where they have a pontoon. I don’t mind walls but I was tired and didn’t fancy staying up till the tide left us to settle in the mud. Fortunately a yacht from the Royal Northumberland was just leaving so I nicked his slot, right in front of a Fisher 34 and 25 rafted up. I left them bow to bow to get to know each other and slept the sleep of a thankful sailor, after, of course a rather large medicinal dose of Jura (a fine whiskey) to calm the nerves unsettled by the entry.

Luff Hard on the Left and Buss Craig on the right and the submerged minor Buss in the middle!

Close up of Luff Hard Rock!

Entrance locally called the Canyon.

I spied what I thought was a Ferro Cement Fisher.

This one is named "Spirit of Barclaycard" or something.

The local maritime museum opposite my berth. I was worried when the gun ports opened in the morning.

The next day had me out and about making ready for the few hours crossing the Firth. Bearing in mind that Eyemouth is a working harbour it is never the less quite clean. It is a Trust Harbour and belongs to the town, may it stay that way. They also seem to like having visiting yachts, unusual this as not all working harbours mix with leisure very well. To get to the point, as I was singling up I noticed my propeller. It is an odd thing to see when the tide is in at Tollesbury, in fact, I don’t think it has ever happened before. Anyway the reefs and rocks didn’t seem quite as bad in the daylight after a good sleep.

I made my way out and past St. Abb’s Head and out into the Firth of Forth, spying in the distance “Bass Rock”. Past the Ilse of May in the low cloud and by now the swell was getting the better of me and I decided to run for some shelter. Figuring the Tay would be the best bet I altered course and with the swell now behind things calmed down. I don’t like 22 knots on the nose with a 2 metre swell, oh no. A few hours later and here I am between the road and rail bridges of the river Tay, Dundee they locals call it, I call it bliss. With the hook down and buoyed I shall sleep tonight.

It was not a day for taking pictures, the front got lower and lower and eventually by about nine in the evening the sun came out to stretch his legs before saying goodnight.

Just enough time to snap the Tay Rail Bridge and a rather nice merchant's house.

Stonehaven tomorrow perhaps if the wind serves, it is supposed to come round to the SW sometime soon!

 

Tutak in Scotland 7

Well what a nice interlude was had between the bridges but the north forever calls so we set forth again in the morning bound for Ratray head. The wind still hadn't gone into the SW like it was supposed to for the last two days so a moderate easterly was out lot. We motor sailed past the castle.

The Tay tides run on the ebb and there were some remarkable overfalls or standing waves on the way out of the estuary. Enough to use the full travel on the suspension seat and the seat belt came in handy too. But punch out we did, eventually, and we took our tide up the coast. With the tide turned against us later in the day we put into Stonehaven to wait for the change. About a three hour stopover and an hours sleep and a two hour chat with the harbour master. The harbour was full of dinghies and sea kayaks and the sea scouts with there heavy pulling boats, girls too!

Next planned stop was an anchorage just behind Peterhead's north head and it took a while to get round to it as the tide was against us again. I didn't fancy it, last time I saw water like that was when I was into white water kayaking. Peterhead it was then but on turning into the south-easterly swell with the 3 knots of tide going into it, oh my. Off with the auto pilot and I stood at the wheel picking my way through, up and over the rather large and steep waves. So that's what it means when the pilot book warns of dangerous overfalls even with a moderate wind against tide. I got permission from Peterhead radio to enter the harbour and never has an entrance been so inviting. I promise I will never complain about the Wallet again.

Peterhead was once just a bay and they built some massive breakwaters and made it into a large harbour. There is a marina in the SW corner and once inside the secondary moles perfect peace is to be found. I fell asleep for three hours before leaving to catch the next fair tide to take on Ratray head.

Imposing isn't it! I was expecting towering cliffs not realising that some parts of Scotland look more like Essex. It's the reef extending seawards that is the menace together with the change in direction of the coastline. Even though is was slackish and fairly benign I still gave it a healthy clearance. A couple of more corners and Fraserburgh was in view.

With its imposing lighthouse. Around the next head and the swell from the SE turned into a swell from the West as we were now on the top with a few miles of fetch from the Inverness side. Of course the wind had now gone SW which made it a beat again and it was lively round the endless headlands. I was aiming for Buckie to see Chriss who was doing a bit of fishing on the Spey but enough's enough and Whitehills will do me just fine. So after 33 hours and 128 miles we crossed the threshold of Whitehills harbour and were met by Bertie (HM) and shown to a peaceful berth.

Dog tired I showered and got ready for a night on the town, feasting at the Cutty on Angus beef before retiring to the Seafield Arms and their second Thursday of the month folk and traditional music night. Guinness and Speyside scotch were copiously quaffed before bedtime. I slept well.

Next morning Chris turns up and we have a gut buster Scottish breakfast with lashings of black pudding before I have to think about the next low coming over and whether I can make it to Wick before it does. 

 

Tutak goes north - sea area "Fair Isle".

Doesn't the sun ever set round here, apparently not much. Well we left Whitehills with a tank full of fuel. I had thought about drying out alongside their wall to scrub off the starboard side but the weather seemed fair so off we went towards Wick.

The entrance is tight in Whitehills but it is very secure because of it.

Looking back to the lifeboat shed, but don't the levels look all wrong on this one, they are the same, believe me.

In the Moray Firth there is the Beatrice Oil Field, they are playing around with this one I think, pumping water into the wells to force the remaining oil out. There was a new rig on sight too.

Production Platform, Beatrice Oil Field, Morray Firth.

Jacky Platform with supply ship being unloaded.

I think it is doing something to a well head as the yellow thing is in the sea, bit difficult to tell.

Passing the oil fields off the north coast I spied a little "geo" or a slit in the cliffs where boats moor. They call it Lybster and a merry time was had finding the place as the Lat/Long were wrong in the pilot book! Never take anything for granted. I weedled my in, the entrance in narrow, with rocks on the starboard side and a 180 at the bottom or you hit the surge wall. Of course I was in a fisherman's berth and had to move but the Caithness boys are polite and chatty and sound like Ulster men, to be sure. They gave me a lift up the cliff to the village but there was no-one at home to take my dues so I wandered back down the decline to the harbour.

Lybster, what a nice place and the folk are nice too, they have an accent like Ulstermen but they would say it the other way round of course. I think we are in Caithness.

Up at seven to catch the tide for the Firth, Pentland that is, most important to get the tides right with this one. Used a lot of fuel for some reason, maybe it was a cold night and the heater came on! Managed to sail for a few hours but it is quite important to arrive at a certain point when the tide does not cause too much turbulence even though it's neaps. Having met the overfalls off Peterhead I did not want to meet the ones in the Pentland, thank you.

I managed to gain an hour and get to the turning point off the Pentland Skerries well before they became obnoxious so that was a result. The sea turned from black to aquamarine, pretty though it was it didn't feel right. Millions of cubic metres of water were moving where there was not room for it to move and it shifted in a mysterious manner. An hour or two later the island of Copinsay lifted itself out of the sea and showed me its lighthouse.

The lighthouse is in the middle of this shot, just to be seen.

The image agreed with the one on the plotter so on we carried, past Copinsay and its Horse.

The overfalls off Mull Head were not playing today.

But I still gave the old brute a good offing, just in case.

Round into the Sound of Deer.

Round the Mull Head and past the conspicuous Monument, Deer Sound.

Don't you just love the funny bits on the cliffs.

Twas a relief, to be honest, to get here in one piece and a large dram was called for as we made ready for the easterly gale that was due to arrive in a few hours time. The anchorage needs to be quite good as the wind was due to veer severe gale 9 later. Forty metres of chain out in 8 metres of water, well dug in, with another 20 metres in reserve. The other two anchors are made ready too, just in case! Oh, and don't forget to buoy the anchors 'cause of all the old fish farm stuff on the bottom. If I survive it will be Shetland next time, God willing.

Hopefully the tail of the front will enable me to catch the westerlies to the Shetlands in time for mid summer, assuming there are any spaces left! 

 

Tutak in the Shetlands

The wind blew for a couple of days and I kept my head down in Deer Sound. I did try to get ashore for a look around but the landings were rock or a beach that meant wading for half a mile.

Off to the North West now to a place they call Pierowall and low and behold there is a pier just like a wall. The day was misty with sunny intervals, not a day for the camera. The tides were coming up for springs so careful attention was given to the tidal stream atlas and I sailed along at a couple of knots in a light breeze. The tide was doing all the work as the ground speed was 4.5 knots. Then in the distance the water seemed humped up and had a few breaking waves on the top. What on earth is that I wondered, the ground speed had now risen to 10.8 knots. The tide was hurtling through some narrows, huh, narrows, it's two miles wide here. I wonder it there is a laundrette in Pierowall? It wasn't too bad, the waves were fairly well spaced for a wicked roller coaster ride.

Pierowall is on the island of Westray and has a few pontoons to tie up to. The shower is on the pier in the ferry waiting room. Had a nice wee chat with the harbour master and might go back there on the way back from Shetland.

Next day was a hard motorsail beat to North Ronaldsay where I had intended to lay to anchor or pick up a visitor mooring. It makes the jump to Fair Isle a bit shorter. The engine was working hard against the swell at 2500rpm but below max revs at 3000. I had the heater going as it was a bit chilly and I smelt smoke or something. I ignored it thinking it was the heater firing up but it got worse and then I saw the temperature gauge was off the scale. Oops, off with the engine and start tacking. I spied the mooring all alone in a windswept bay and it took me three goes to pick it up under sail. Of course the wind had piped up to 18 knots now and in the process I lost my lovely bronze ended boat hook. Drink, Feck as father Jack says.

For whatever reason, and I still don't know, the cooling water stopped. The filter was clean and I changed the impeller just in case but nothing seemed to be amiss. I had melted the waterlock and the short length of exhaust hose that joins it to the engine. I just bypassed this and connected the outlet from the waterlock to the engine. It's a bit loud and crackly but hey, it get me out of a hole.

I went ashore in the dinghy in the force 5 to see if I could recover the boat hook at the other end of the bay but no, I reckon that is in Norway now. The tide had turned and it was letting a rather nasty swell into the bay and Tutak was rolling like a good 'un. Getting back on board was interesting and required some exact timing. I put another line onto the buoy but by now the waves had started to break and water was coming over the side. Time to test the engine and get the hell out of here.

With the wind puffing from the SW I needed some shelter so I eased out of the bay and across the North Ronaldsay Sound into a lovely anchorage on Sanday called Otterswick. Wick means bay apparently. The engine was ok and everything seemed fine and after a good sleep so was I.

Next day had me swatting tides again and I somehow managed to make a mess of it because as soon as I stuck my nose out of the bay I was into the tide and away at a rate of knots. It is just not possible to go against it and in the distance the water looked dreadful. The next thing is that the auto pilot goes on strike and it tells me that there has been a "drive failure". I really needed to hand steer the boat through the maelstrom that was ahead of me. I shut the wheelhouse door and at first the waves were just big but minutes later they were not only big but breaking and coming from two directions. Tutak was getting rolled rather badly on the occasions when I didn't know which wave to steer for. I was taking a lot of water in the cockpit but luckily none was coming over the bow, just. I was lucky I think, if it had been a normal yacht it would have swept the deck and may have even swamped it, but Tutak's bow was designed to take that stuff, unlike me. There was another race off Dennis Head and I was keen to clear that and get some sail up. Imagine if the engine had died in that little lot.

I trimmed the boat to steer herself more or less in the right direction for Fair Isle whilst I tried to sort out the auto pilot. It's no good without that, I can't steer for a thousand miles, no way, I just sit in my comfy chair and let the machines work. Of course this mean taking the wheel off so the tiller had to be put to use for a change. Turned out to be a failed connection in the back of the drive motor. All fixed and back on course, turned out to be a bit of a hectic start to the day, let's hope it gets better.

That's Fair Isle in the distance and there is a bit of shipping but not proper lanes, just suggested courses. It was such a nice day with a good breeze that by the time the island was abeam I just carried on for the Shetlands.

A few hours later had the saw teeth of Sumburgh Head abeam and the anchorage of Grutness Voe about a mile up the coast. The book says give this gentleman a wide berth to avoid the race. I gave it three miles and I was still unhappy.

Grutness Voe at sunset overlooking the airport at Sumburgh. The eight o'clock to Edinburgh woke me up in the morning in time to set off for Lerwick.

The island of Bressay gives Lerwick shelter and this is the Light guiding you into the South Harbour.

The Navy were there to with two of their training vessels. They were off to Stavanger in the morning.


Of course I arrived on carnival day and a lot of the locals had dressed up, at least I hoped they had.

There are trees in the Shetlands, don't let anyone tell you different. They have school trips to come and see these from the outer islands. "Look children this is a tree".

A good time was had in the Lerwick Boat Club and at one in the morning I was eating a kebab after rather a lot of whiskey. The seagulls were having a rest on the Victoria Pier too.

They only give a weather forecast for 12 hours here with an outlook for the next twelve hours. Things can change rather quickly and apparently I brought the best sunny weather they have had in weeks, but it's gone this morning. Loads of boats from Scandinavia here and coach parties, packs of bikers. I will have to vacate my pontoon soon so that the cruise ship's tenders can come alongside to disembark.

 

Tutak still in the Shetlands

Due to the melting of the exhaust I thought perhaps it might be good to order some new bits just in case it happens again. Couple of days the man said. Of course I wanted something that had to come from Holland so it will take a week but I didn't find that out until four days later. I could have gone round the islands and had a looksee and come back but it's a bit late to do that now.

I moored alongside the cruise ship tender pontoons as there were not cruise ships in at the time but it was a bit tall and my fenders wouldn't work. All right for the bloke next door, so I moved to the small boat dock and then had a big cat come and cuddle up.

Well I made it here for the longest day, it was a bit overcast but you can still see how light it is.


Went to the Shetland museum and had a good look round. The boat section had some fine examples of their craft. This one is a Shetland Model.

I even managed to see this one sailing and a fine sight it made too.

Things got a bit messy when the boats from the Bergen to Shetland Race came in. A good time was had by all and my head is still a little sore to be honest. Boy those guys can drink.


They race back again tomorrow and the vans with the bonded stores arrived this morning. The seals were broken by lunchtime but I don't think the customs were that worried, they hadn't got the staff to take on 200 Vikings in their cups. Still, whiskey for £4 a litre, can't be bad.

Some boats are off to the Faeroes, some to Orkney, others will follow the race back to Bergen. There are some serious bits of kit here and Tutak is the smallest boat by far.

Of course I spent some time upside down in someone's engine compartment mending their auto pilot and didn't by a drink all day and night and got supper too.

Itching to get off as it is a bit busy for a Tollesbury boy but the tall ships come in next week with the cruise ships too so I might see a bit more before the bits arrive.

 

Shetlands - Muckle Flugga and the Out Stack

Well the bits for the exhaust arrived and I rushed off to pick them up and by late afternoon I was on my way again. This time headed for the Out Skerries, three islands almost land locking a harbour in the middle. One of the uninhabited islands was up for sale a while back.

Of course there is a lighthouse and the sun is reflecting of the reflector, it's not actually on as it is still too light.

After a restful night I headed north again bound for Bala Sound but not before I was disturbed by the inter island morning flight. I was anchored at the end of the grass strip runway and talk about short take off and landing!


Bala was a massive place in the herring times and the remains of the many quays can be seen. This was just a sleeping place before the next jump to Harold's Wick where Tutak could have a rest whilst I went ashore.


The reason for this stop in the very north of the isles?


Remarkable stuff they have here, local boats and ones from Norway. They used to import them from Norway as flat packs and we thought Ikea was modern!


Sadly a fishing boat was found near here with the engine running but the fisherman was not aboard. Opinion has it that he launched his creel and went over with it, caught in the line. Rather rolly and unpredictable. The coastguard asked us to keep an eye open for a body and there were quite a few boats looking.

These are the overfalls or Roost (race). Today was very calm and benign and still it was here. You don't come this far inshore on a bad day.


And here in the distance is the reason for the trip, to round the most northerly point of the British Isles before it becomes Scotland. Muckle Flugga and the Out Stack.



And here we have it, the Out Stack well and truly rounded. Apparently Mrs Franklin came here looking for word of her husband from the whaling ships out of Shetland. Why she went to the Out Stack I don't know unless she was looking for the ships.




How did they manage to build a lighthouse here I wonder. It is nice today but days like this are few and far between normally.


Well it's downhill from now on and Sullom Voe is next.


The Ramna Stacks at the North West end of Sullom Voe. Tide runs funny with this little lot. I was headed for an abandoned fishing camp. The boats used to pull up on the beach and rest up and resupply. An eerie place, you could still feel the inhabitants going about their business.


Off again around the western side of the islands and feeling the Atlantic swell. Out past the VE Skerries to avoid the races inshore and nearly out as far as Foula. After a very long day we make it into Skelda Voe. There is a small marina here, mainly for local boats but they do have a few places. £10 per craft - for a week, but I anchored anyway. This little tyke was checking me out.


The next stop will be either be Fair Isle or back to Orkney.  

 

Return to Orkney

So off we set south past Fair Isle, that will have to wait for another time as the weather was good for Orkney and in particular, Pierowall. I have already visited and wanted to return. The harbour and facilities have been improved with millions of euros.

Instead of flat sides to the extension they decided to have curved sections, presumably to act as a wave break. You can get much swell in the bay in a storm from the NE.

I actually found one of the famous white sand beaches right here in the bay and used it as a short cut back to the boat after finding a shop. The road had started to melt, such was the uncharacteristic heat. It wasn't that warm but the locals thought it was and were all indoors. I reckon they use low melting point tar for the roads up here.

After a pleasant rest and looksee it was time for the off again, this time north up through the narrow passage between Westray and Papa Westray. The Papa Sound has overfalls but if you get the timing right (and I was determined to this time) they are not too bad. I was so confident this time that I actually managed to get the camera out and here they are. I guess we were tossed about for around ten minutes before being spat out on the other side in relatively good order.

I guess they don't look much but these wee beasties were 2 metres high and had curling tops, but hey I have already survived much, much worse and I have the laundry bill to prove it.

Anti clockwise round the top and down the west side of Westray, across the Sound, passing yet another significant light. This one looked like it had been built out of Lego, not the light but the cliff.

Noup Head was the name of this one and lots of puffins live on the headland.

Further down the coast came this memorial named after Kitchener. There is a Military wreck just off the coast here and perhaps he went down with the ship, or maybe it's another Kitchener. More googling to do me thinks.

Light was dimming now and I was blessed with a North Atlantic sunset, truly magnificent.

I was coming up for the Sound of Hoy, a place you don't want to arrive in at the wrong time. I had been dawdling for some time now, pacing myself to arrive very near slack water. When I say slack I mean slackish as the tide turns from 6 knots one way to 6 knots the other in less than the time it takes for me to cover the six miles. In the end I was too late and had to open the throttle to max to make it in at all. Rather tired I dropped the hook off Stromness and would sort out the mess in the morning.

Stromness is only a wee village but its prominence comes from the ferry terminal from Scotland. It has a supermarket and a filling station that sells red gas. I also managed to get the Orkney flag at the rope shop. The local butchers sold Chorizo and they actually made it on the premises. Bit runny for my liking but all the same it went down well.

Several times a day the Hamna Voe RoRo turned up and the place livened up for a while before returning to its sleepy self. Just to the right of the picture is Hoy, the island across the sound.

Hoy is big and quite a few metres high and I was to have some fun with him in a day or two. I enjoyed my stay in Stromness and had my first lobster. Island drifter purchased three lobsters and a big crab from a local boat and with the help of Utube managed to cook 'em up real good and I would like to thank them for a wonderful experience.

Most people were holed up in Stromness waiting for the SW sixes and sevens to blow through. This was a good wind for me I thought as the wind would be firm but off shore for the north coast of Scotland towards Cape Wrath. Yeah, right.

So I set off and timed the race in Hoy Sound just right and tipped my hat to Hoy's old man on the way out.

Don't you think that he bears a striking resemblance to Bart Simpson?

That was the last picture I took for some time as things were to become a little hectic for the remainder of the day but more of that later. 

Across the top.

I didn't bother with the mizzen and had a few rolls on the genoa with a full main. I reckoned that would be enough for the forecast winds. A mile of so past Hoy and in its lee we were creaming along in 24 knots of wind. There was the odd gust which made her round up and these started to become more frequent. Then the wind speed alarm started to go off, just the odd beep at first. This is set for 34 knots and things were starting to liven up. Then the alarm went off and stayed going off, Tutak bravely held up for as long as she could but then said "bugger this" and dipped her cabin windows in the water. This happens at about 45 degrees on the compass inclinometer and it has never happened before. We were into new territory here and water was leaking in through the seals on the opening windows and the cockpit was rather full of water. There was nothing I could do about it as I was hanging on for dear life. Trouble was that she wasn't coming back up, you would have thought that once the wind had tilted the boat then it would skid off the slanted sails. It might have done it the wind had been horizontal but this wind was coming from above, off the top of Hoy and curling straight down having been accelerated over the top. She did come up, eventually and the wind topped out at 36 knots. I made best speed away from the island and its lee, preferring the open sea any day.

I wasn't feeling so good and the wave action was making me feel a bit queasy. Normally if I eat something I am OK but not this time. I had frightened myself sick and hugged my favourite bucket for an hour or so. After several hours of constant 28 knots on a broad reach surfing down the waves I was still miles off the north coast of Scotland and wasn't that keen to get too close either. Just in case there were more down-draughts of the mountains. The autopilot couldn't keep a good course in these rather extreme conditions and it was down to me. I found this rather hard work as I rarely do any steering at all. I had another session with my favourite bucket but as the day wore on and I hadn't died yet my confidence was starting to return. As we got further west the waves did even out a bit which allowed the autopilot to take over for a spell. In one of these periods of rest-bite I played with the video function on the camera to see if I could capture the essence of the sail.

As we neared our destination the wind actually dropped below 26 knots, a positive zephyr compared to earlier. Loch Eriboll was our destination that day, make it we did and thankful I was.

 

Loch Eriboll and the Cape.

After a day like today you can imagine I was rather pleased to see the Whiten Head which guards the entrance to Loch Eribloll.

This Loch is a stopping point before or after the Cape. It is a long way from anywhere and quite remote. The tides have to be worked round these parts as it is very lumpy off the Cape in anything of a wind over tide even in moderate conditions.

Sea caves further in and I wished I had brought the kayak with me again. It would be wonderful to spend a day or three exploring places like this.

The best anchorage for the wind and conditions was going to be the south Ard Neakie where an isthmus joins what would have been and island to the shore. On the island is a limekiln, behind which is the quarry and in front is the loading pier. I guess it was fired by charcoal from the wooded hills nearby.

A trip ashore found me looking down the top of the kiln.

And then up the bottom.

It occurred to me that there are two different types of arches on the kiln, perhaps from two periods with the flat arch being a later addition. There does appear to be a join and different stone where one would expect it this were so but.... And what did the locals want with industrial quantities of quicklime?

By midday two other boats had joined me having made the Cape from the South.

As I investigated further and found a gaggle of old Listers that were once in a shed, the roof and walls having long gone.

What I would have done to get this back to Tollesbury.

I suppose I could have cut some trees down and rolled it onto the jetty and waited for the tide but it is still a fair old lump. Hey ho.

Soon it was time for the Cape, for some reason it instils fear and dread into mariners and I was no exception. I made a good offing of about five miles and when I found the conditions to be not too bad I cut inshore a mile or so and eventually rounded about a mile and a half of the West corner.

You can just see the light and the ship underneath it. This was from the north. Don't forget you can click on the picture to enlarge it and then some if you click again. I hit the back button to return to the blog page.

Choppy but the seas not as big on the west side with the tide now in my favour to smooth the water a bit.

The landscape was so different on the West coast.

The entrance to the maze of islets and fiord like inlets with odd looking volcanoes in the middle distance.

And as the sun began to set the pink glow spread all around.

It was my intention to make for Inlochbervie but with a nice wind I headed further south for the landlocked fiords of Loch a' Chadh-fi, where Cape Adventure has its set up. English Rose VI, the big ocean ketch was out of the water.

Wow, nice boat and we had made the Cape.

Portree and beyond.

I awoke early the next morning for some reason. I felt all right so I tested the legs and they seemed to work too. A slug of caffeine with a large tot of whiskey (well I am in Scotland) and we were away. There were some magnificent cloud formations over the tops of the big hills and the sun rose and rose again after each peak as we went into its shadow.

Once back out into the open sea we passed by the usual plethora of lights, this one being Stoerhead.


Followed by the Rhubha R`e'dh Light. I think we're now talking the Gaelic here and I've done my best with the accenty things.

Again it was my intention to make for Loch Ewe. Having been before I was keen to see it again and explore a bit but the wind was once again keen to have me south. So Loch Gairloch it was and the next one down almost. The wind sent us to Flowerdale where I was going to anchor but a large ship had its generator going. It was not going to be a quiet night so I made for Loch Kerry a mile or so away and dropped the hook there instead.

Flowerdale from the anchorage in Loch Kerry, you can see the offending ship. I took the dinghy to shore in Flowerdale to have a look round and possibly arrange to get some diesel. The day after was the Saturday and the Harbour Master was taking his yacht racing so no chance of any fuel that day or the next. Nay bother I said in me best Scottish accent. I'm almost taken as a local now my red beard is a foot long. I'll be taking to my kilt soon! Had a problem with the dinghy on the way back to the boat and almost capsized it. I have the habit of winding the outboard to full throttle and sitting forward and getting it on the plane. Steering is done by gentle leaning or heavy leaning on one corner of the transom for sharp turns. We were doing just fine and about 10 knots when the bow just fell into the water and I just managed to get aft before too much water came in and we sank. Two pesky dolphins (Flippin' and 'Eck are their names) were playing under the boat and upsetting the hydrodynamics somewhat. Gave me a turn I'll tell you. They followed me back to Tutak (who I swear was chuckling) but got bored as my speed had slowed.

Off again the next day after a quiet night and Flippin' and 'Eck saw us out of the Loch before returning to bother someone else. Rona was the next light for us to see, on an island of the same name.

The echo sounder went on the blink here as it doesn't like it when it gets deep. Anything approaching 100 metres and it shuts its eyes, bit like me really. The only disconcerting thing is it comes up with random numbers occasionally and sometimes it say things like 2.3 metres and shelving. This causes some panic as I double check the chart and the plotter just to make sure. This is also a submarine exercise area and it is prudent to listen to the "sub facts and gun facts" on the wireless in the morning.

I had decided to have a look at Portree as I had run out of beer and crisps and it looked a likely place for restocking. No diesel though as it comes by can from the depot and it was shut for the weekend. I rate Portree, almost as pretty as Tobermory and a damn sight less crowded and far less pretentious.

Looking back I spotted a large pod of dolphins this time off Rassay and they were mobbing old Tutak on every side. I spent an hour trying to get a good photo and only partly succeeding. I completely forgot about the video function on the camera.


The entrance to Portree's harbour is between some pretty high bits of land and just before this cleft the internet said it was on. Great, there is a "3" hotspot in the middle of the Sound of Rassay just outside Portree. I managed to download some emails but that was it before we lost the signal. I have been out of range since Orkney.

Portree from the visitor's moorings, paid for by honesty box at the lifeboat station and only £10

A view of the harbour from the main street over the roof tops.


The next time will tell of the water covering the cabin sole and me in the deepest part of the loch at 129 metres!

 

Portree to Oban

Portree, yes nice place Portree and a lot of other people thought so to after the C Columbus turned up. I left just in time, bound across the sound for Rassay.

I was supposed to be meeting a fellow from the Navitron renewables forum at his croft on Rassay. He powers it by micro hydro turbines and a wind turbine. He is experimenting with other things to like pigs and stuff. Half way across the sound I glanced below to check the barometer only to see the cabin sole was under water. Oh dearey dearey me I thought to myself, 350 feet under us and not a fine shelving beach in 20 miles. It is going to cost a fortune to salvage this one. Turning on both pumps I checked the salinity of the offending wet stuff - fresh, that's OK then I definitely only have 50 gallons of that. I had of course just filled up and the commercial hose only just fitted the filler and was rather powerful. Not really designed for filling up yachty tanks and mine is a bag made by Air Cushion of Southampton. I had managed to un seal the seams, stitching was fine.

Anyway I had a lovely day on Rassay looking at the Lister Startomatic and the hydro site. He keeps himself very busy by working week on week off for CalMac on the local ferry, running the croft, sheep, pigs, chickens etc and keeps a rather good blog going called http://lifeattheendoftheroad.wordpress.com/

in case you can't sleep one night.

Spent the night in a safe anchorage about a mile away in a geo, a cleft between the cliffs. Getting in was a bit tight as the chartplotter did not agree with my eyeballs and guess who won? Next day it was off to the Skye boat centre to find an engineer to cure my leaky injectors that were starting to cause a stink.

On the way I passed the conning tower of a Sub.

The I spied another one and I reckon they are engine houses and food stores for the fish farms for the more open stretches of water.

Then it was the Dam Busters and a C130 or derivative as it came low following the course of the sound.

The Skye Boat Centre was where it was supposed to be which was a relief and the dilapidated pontoon may have seen military service somewhere. The engineer came down and I explained the problem and that I didn't have spanners large enough, we are talking of 1&1/2"and 2" here and not even I carry those on board. He went off and came back with a bucket full of all the large spanners he could find. It was obvious that he was not confident with the job so I showed him what to do and I got the job done and he learnt something and we had a good chat. No money changed hands and that is fine by me. You do have to be rather self sufficient up here and I wish I had spent more time planning for breakdowns.

By now the tide was high enough for me to take the channel out of this otherwise dead end. I think we got down to 1.2 metres under the keel and it was rock underneath. I still can't get my head round it and wished I had a steel bottom. By evening the Skye Bridge hove into view and some folk still bemoan its building, and I for one don't blame them.

I anchored just behind the bridge and had a pleasant sleep but not before the fantastic light enabled me to catch these two.

I rather like this one and I spent too long looking at the sky that night but it was rather splendid.

Next morning I hauled up the anchor and went to the landing pontoon at Kyle to sort out some fuel and see if I could find some water containers for the use of. The hardware store thought they had some but no, sold out. Fuel was arranged for the afternoon at 13oohrs. Fuel can be a problem, many places are commercial and not open at weekends. Other places the minimum tanker delivery is 500l or by container which can be a fag hauling those around.

This one looked promising I thought as I hauled myself up the 20ft ladder to the top. Once secure I went back aboard and changed into dirty clothes as I had a feeling......

Donald, the relief HM, did his best and turned the pressure down and put a thin nozzle on the hose for me but even he couldn't stop the drips (DRIPS) as the hose was lowered down to the deck. That was before I had pulled the trigger on the nozzle. I had three 25l cans to fill up first and then about 100l to fill the main tank. The nozzle was a bit sticky and didn't shut off straight away so that was 2 litres of diesel all over me and the cockpit. The pressure once I had opened the valve again made the fuel hit the bottom of the can and it came straight back out over me and the cockpit again. Feathering the trigger gently had the job done and we were all set for a few more miles apart from me reeking of diesel.

There is a NATO pier at Kyle and this little thing just came and landed somewhere and then it just disappeared, perhaps they rolled it into a shed or something.

I drifted down the loch on the little wind as I cleaned the boat and myself before having a proper dip and a walk ashore as I waited for the tide in the narrows. I found some amazing flora clinging onto rock and some vivid colours.

I met the Glenelg Ferry going through the narrows. I had thought this was now a museum what with the bridge but no, the cheeky monkey came straight for me and I had to fire up the motor and get out of his way.

That night I dropped the hook near Armadale Bay, I say near because the bay was full of mooring and it was getting dark and I was tired so I confess I chucked a heap of chain over the side and went to bed having set all the alarms. Those being, deep water, shallow water, if I move more that 60 yards from charted position. I didn't and we set off to find Ardnamuchan Point made famous by the shipping forecast.

Ardnamurchan Light in all its glory, I don't know what the wind turbine is doing there, it is not a big one. Once round the point we made for Tobermory and the Training Ship Pelican of London was doing the same thing.

I took a look round the congested harbour and headed out. Quaint it may be but it has been ruined by too many moorings and not for me. I took the high water channel out as it saved a bit and I was now keen to get to Salen and some peace. I spent the next day in Salen bay and quiet and peaceful it was too.

Off we went now heading for Oban after much dithering. It was now so busy with yachts, it seems like Ardnamurchan Point is a barrier preventing most of the boats going north. It feels more like the south coast now and one has to keep ones eyes peeled. The route led through a gap between a point and a reef further out. Plenty of water and everyone else seemed to be doing it. I kept a bit off the shore as there were some tidal swirls going on and I didn't want to make a hash of things. One also has to keep an eye open for the ferry traffic out of Oban as they use this route and hurtle about. So right in the middle of negotiating this and not checking for ferries, I hear this noise, a deep booming noise and I think something is happening to the engine or prop shaft. It gets louder and I can feel the vibration now and for some reason I look behind. I wish I had done this earlier because overtaking me not a hundred yards away is the Caladonian Macbrayne "Clansman" doing, according to the AIS, 15.4 knots.

This is the Isle of Mull but it is the same size and this one is 1/4 mile away.

He didn't have room to give me any more space because of the reef and I couldn't get out of the way because of the rocks off the point. I turned into his wake as soon as he had passed and rode the waves.

On entering the north channel in Oban Bay the same problem occurs but this time the width is even smaller and very twisty, I made sure I was the only one this time.

I borrowed a mooring for a few hours and resupplied and managed to find a couple of 25l water containers. I did consider stopping in the bay for the night but no one seemed to obey the 5 knot speed limit so the wash from all the traffic set old Tutak a rocking. Off we went to find a quite spot to drop the hook. We ended up in Sawmill bay in Loch Creran not too far away. I stopped the next day and did some more teak scrubbing and cleaning. Isn't it amazing how dirty boats get even when surrounded by water.

I also made up this camera mount for Blad who wants me to video all the heart stopping bits. Well here it is dude, fully adjustable, and no the camera is not on it as I am using it to take this picture. I did consider using the phone and fiddling about with blue teeth or something but I'm not really up on that yet.

Caledonian Canal

Forgive me for the break in transmission. I have had a holiday in the Canal and my beloved had all my attention, and rightly so.

By the time the excitement of the Corran narrows had passed dusk had appeared between the big hills as I approached Fort William. I went close inshore near the railway station and considered anchoring. Book said it was uncomfortable with much traffic, not at this time of night with no wind to speak off. I would consider it next time perhaps as it is close to the shops and town. Next option was the waiting pontoon outside the canal sea lock but this was crowded with local children and I didn't fancy trying to communicate. In the end I dropped the hook on the other side opposite the jetty and quay of the pulp mill where the tide is a problem, depends how much chain you put out. I had a lovely night.

The next morning T was due to arrive and I called the sea lock for entry. No sooner was in when the process of processing began. My lines were taken and we locked efficiently and into the basin whereupon I was divested of huge sums of money for the privilege of 8 days in the canal. I said I was awaiting crew but that did not stop my ascent as they were keen to have no dawdlers in the lower basin. I stamped my feet and said I am not ready to mount the staircase until the afternoon locking and that was that. T arrived and we went shopping and got to know each other again after a long absence. Steam trains crossed the bridge and we had a good gleg at the ways of roping up the locks. If I were still a smoker I would have had three on the go at this point. I have never done top roped locks, let alone a staircase of them but the staff and other crews are very helpful and are used to novices.

It takes hours to make it to the top with a few boats in the chambers as they can't open the sluices too quickly but it was a hot sunny day so what did I care. Once in the bottom chamber we got off and just walked the boat through the rest and re-embarked at the top for a berth.

We had a look round Fort William and the next day took the train to Malaig. This is an expensive steam train for the tourists but you can arrive at the same time see and smell and then get the normal diesel railcar for a third the price. The driver even stops at the world famous Harry Potter Bridge and invites you into the cab so you can take a picture through the open window. I should point out that technically it is a viaduct and not a bridge.


Malaig is a bustling fishing and ferry port but the books said there was a pontoon section for visiting yachts now, where you used to be able to anchor. That's why I didn't visit by sea but as it was due to open in July....... I think they have remodelled and are going for an Olympic diving venue instead.

Walking past the working yards by the harbour I came across this vessel having some planks replaced. How they have updated the old hull to keep pace with modern fishing, whatever it now does, creels perhaps?

The seagulls were rather noisy whilst waiting for the train back. I located on source where the young were rather camouflaged in the track ballast between the lines whilst awaiting the parental food delivery.

I won't say too much about the canal except to say that I was rather delighted with it. I was not too busy, the staff were attentive and polite and the scenery was just stunning in its variation. See it if you can, we had sunny weather which helped, bit miserable in the rain and mist perhaps.




This craft was attached very well with a mooring and an anchor and a rope ashore, maybe because of the windage of the foliage. Location - by the well of the seven heads. A bit further on is the harbour in Loch Ness where there is a pay and display machine for boats. Just outside are these delightful old boat houses.

From Loch Ness we continued to drop down towards Inverness where we stopped and did the town for a few days and restocked my food and drink locker.


This liveaboard is called Loch Ness and I thought of Fran and Pete.


Such was my delight I actually overstayed the 8 day license by three days and could have spent a lot longer there really. You don't have to pay to stop at most places and there are good facilities everywhere on the canal sections which actually makes it reasonable value.

Locking out of the Clachnaharry Sea Lock with the rail bridge and the Works lock can take a couple of hours but you need to time it right so as the tide is not against you as it runs hard under the Kessock Bridge.

The white house is the lock keeper's cottage with rather nice facilities too. Extensive shoal areas abound so pay careful attention to the chart and watch the tide as you approach the entrance moles. The Kessock bridge has less clearance that the canal but not enough to bother Tutak's 11 metres.
There are supposed to be a load of dolphins round these parts but I only saw one as I approached Fort George. I guess this was a bit rough way back with all the forts along the Great Glen.

Wind over tide and on the nose had old Tutak nodding her head and smacking the waves good and hard sending sheets of spray over the roof and making pretty rainbows as we clawed to windward under main and genoa. 17 - 22 knots was not the gentle reintroduction to the sea I had hoped for and I muttered about getting a narrow boat. We bashed along the South coast of the Moray Firth until I had had enough and dropped the hook in Burghead bay and had a feast of sprouted beans and salad with a rather nice dressing of some decent olive oil and balsamic vinegar from Moderna.

The following morning the wind had veered somewhat and the sailing a little less boisterous which was good. After passing the Covesea Light I had thought to anchor in the Sandend bay but as there were people surfing I thought better of it and continued onto Whitehills.


Now this is where I set off north for the Orkneys some weeks earlier and my outward track had now crossed the homeward track. A dram was drunk to celebrate the circumnavigation of Scotland via the Out Stack and the Great Glen. As I entered the harbour, Bertie the HM and some Dutch Folk I had last seen some time ago were on the pontoon to take my lines. This was fortuitous as I had managed to get a large piece of fishing net around the prop from somewhere which made stopping problematic.

I shall adjourn here whilst I await some favourable winds for Ratray Head and the South. 

After a couple of days and a load of washing I sadly left Whitehills and the lovely Spey Whiskeys and set off for the Head of Ratray and beyond. Hazy sun and a fair wind were with us but as we turned around Ratray the fog rolled in. Peterhead is just round the corner and it is used by rig supply vessels, quite busy as was I in computing the AIS plots to see if they were going to miss me. The tide remained fair so onward past Peterhead and Stonehaven, still with less than 300 metres vis. In the end I had to stop in Bervie bay where I could hear waves breaking and kids hollering on the beach but could see nothing.

Morning broke and I was where I thought I was and it was not a place to have got things wrong especially with the onshore wind. Onshore winds are a problem on this coast as there is no shelter and a lot of the harbours are drying. The only option is to head offshore, it was an option I did consider but the wind moderated in the evening so I took a chance after 81nm. As soon as we got offshore again the fog enveloped us and stayed with us until we reached the south side of the Firth of Forth. I was aiming for Lindisfarne but Eyemouth seemed a better bet as the light faded. Only 65nm today, not much help from the tide crossing the Firth. An early start from Eyemouth had us off the Tyne entrance by the evening and I chose to anchor in the entrance between the moles on the north side. Free innit, and busy it was with lots of shipping and movements.

This jackleg barge arrived soon after a rig was towed out and the ship "Sinbad" came out of one of the dry docks. The welcome from Tynemouth was ecstatic as depicted by this picture.

In actual fact I had a pleasant time there for a few days entertaining the passing fishermen who were bemused at a yacht in there midst. Much tea was drunk, I didn't think hard stuff was in order.

I took the opportunity to go upriver to Newcastle to see the blinking bridges or whatever they are called. On the way I passed the old ship yards and sadly Swan Hunter was cutting up old rigs.

There is a pontoon just before the bridge but as it was the weekend I decided not to stay overnight but it was good to get there and looksee.

Shepherds is the new business here and is vast, working for the oil and gas offshore. This large crane even had a crane on a crane which took my fancy.

In the end it was time to leave but I could have spent a month there with the industrial archaeology just surviving. Soon it will be gone and it will survive only in a dusty archive.

We were due to have some 6s and 7s offshore which is good, no waves and a thundering sail. It was different when we got out there, less than 10 knots and then it was behind so the engine was on all day. The forecast was for rough sea and I couldn't understand why as the wind was almost offshore. Sadly I didn't have the full picture and the swell just kept on getting bigger all day. Moderately sized ships were slowing down to 2 knots heading into the waves, showing the bottom of their bulbous bows. I was having a great time until it dawned on me that I was going to have to stop sometime. I had planned on Whitby but the entrance it in the north, the direction of the monster swell, it had reached 4 metres by now, technically it was rough. A call on the VHF to the harbour master in Whitby said it all, the lifeboat was out sorting some unfortunate in the outer harbour and he advised not to attempt an entry muttering something about swell.

Scarborough has a south entrance but was a further 20 odd nm by which time the light was going and the tide had turned, steepening the waves. Up until then the waves have been high but long, now they were high and getting steeper by the hour. In the end I was concerned that the plank bowsprit was going to break as it spent too much time dug in the troughs. I worry too much and I entered Scarborough to a plethora of arc lights and TV cameras, they were filming and scene for something, Emerdale perhaps. Anyway I couldn't see where I was going but that was irrelevant as I didn't know where I was going anyway. The HM called me and gave me a vacant finger, if he had said otherwise I would have given one myself, bushed I was.

The entrance looking outward, arc lights blazed from both sides, pooling in the centre of the entrance. This little pirate ship has made someone a fortune I reckon, it plied its trade from dawn till dusk. They have one in Bridlington too.

Scarborough is a useful haven, very useful but it is not for me, too many kiss me quick hats. As soon as I had recovered enough I was off for Spurn Head, tides and the lightless evenings (compared to Shetland) meant that night sailing was becoming inevitable. With all the creels around the coast it is not a welcome choice.

This tanker was north of the Humber for some reason, I saw it for most of the day anchored, so vast it is. When I get to within a mile or so plumes of smoke erupt as he fires up the engine and hauls his anchor. Wide isn't it.

Luckily it takes him a while to get some way on so I was out of his way pretty damn soon. Night fell and I was fighting the tide into the Humber but by going really close inshore you can mitigate the force. Humber VTS gave me a call and wanted to know what a small boat was doing a night against the tide. I said I was ready for my bed and that was behind Spurn Head thank you. He laughed at my reply to his " how many persons on board".

I was keen to have a closer look at the Tetney Monopile Moorings. The Ultra Large Crude Carriers tie up to these things to off load their cargo of crude. I thought they were attached to the sea bed like a piled jetty or something but no the are a buoy and tilt when the ship is attached by an rather large umbilical. The mooring is just that, pipes are craned out of the water and fixed midships to trans-ship the oil. Large pipes they are.

I saves all that hassle of tying up a large ship in a port somewhere. One tug is permanently wired onto the stern and one other is in attendance. I don't think they allow it to swing with the tide as this would put too much stress on the pipeline perhaps.

The Donna Knook firing range was hot this morning so I had to go right round which is a pain but the noise of the jets coming in for their bomb run is not good even at 2 miles let alone overhead. The windfarm boats with their speed are sometimes allowed to transit between runs but I am not fast enough. A pleasant enough time was had crossing the Wash outer bits and the flats off the North Norfolk coast but as the Blakeney fairway buoy gets within range the wind pipes up on the tide. Now 24 knots and kicking up an unpleasant steep sea making it difficult to pick up the buoy, especially as it had been moved! I managed to pick out a green buoy and hoped it was the first one after the safewater mark. It was and I allowed a fishing boat to overtake me and lead me in if only I could keep up with it. He was surfing better than I was able and raced ahead.

Blakeney moorings had bred like rabbits since I was there thirty years ago. Where one could anchor was a raft of boats and no space at all. This meant that I had to pick up a mooring and I managed to find one that looked heavy enough to take Tutak with Blakeney's fearsome tide. Speaking to Stratton Marine the next day whilst shopping for supplies it appeared I had chosen right and the mooring was heavy and not being used. The reason for this was one of the legs of the mooring was missing, I made my way back moderately quickly and stayed alert whilst the tide did its thing.

We had a lovely sunset and the noise of the funfair was lost on the wind as peace reigned once more over the Blakeney Pit.

 

 The tides do funny things at Blakeney because of the bar. They don't come in like normal God fearing tides, oh no, they wait until the last moment and then flood with such a pace you are knocked off your feet in the current. That is if you are walking in the almost dry channel towing the dinghy with the beer and food, wondering how you managed to get the tide so wrong. We had sufficient depth at last, after walking 3/4 of a mile, to start the outboard. Thank goodness, it was beginning to feel like a desert with all that sand about. Rapid progress was made back to Tutak and I was looking forward to another beer having been waylayed at the pub trying to consume enough Guinness to last me to the boat. I always turn the fuel off just before I get to the boat to run the carburettor out of fuel. Stops a lot of that lacquer building up in the float bowl. With the humugous tide it ran out a few feet short and before I could turn the fuel back on and restart the engine I was 100m down tide. It didn't start anyway so I broke out the oars and a cartoon situation developed with me trying to row against a 2knot tide and only just making headway. I kind man in a rib took pity on me and gave me a tow.

I spent the next day, Sunday, doing chores and enjoying the splendid weather. I did not want to turn up at Great Yarmouth at the weekend in case there was no room. As it happens I needn't have worried. Charlie Ward's barge "Juno" is still here. He makes the Norfolk Oysters and Smugglers if I remember rightly or maybe not.

This sunburst tells of the day we had.

Up with the sun in the morning and out over the bar about two hours before high water and away with the tide to the east. Being springs we romped along making Cromer Light just after eight.

I was astonished by the beauty of the Norfolk cliffs, sculpted by the weather and sea, resplendent in their summer foliage, then I realised I had my rarely worn polarised sunshades on and things went back to normal once I had taken them off.

The last time I saw the Trinity House Patricia was off the coast between Spurn Head and Bridlington and here she was again, sitting around doing nothing.

How I quite managed to get three boats in the picture I will never know.

They have been trying with artificial reefs along this coast in an effort to mitigate the erosion. At Sea Palling there is a gap in the reef marked with east and west cardinals just so you know it is clear. I went in and I reckon it would be an acceptable stop to wait out for a tide and a bit of sleep. Far better than anchoring off the beach with the swell. I might give it a go next year.

Such was the progress that I thought we might make Yarmouth on this tide. A few computations and a 'phone call to the HM to see if there was space and what the ebb tide was likely to be we closed the coast. As always the wind bends once the coastline does its thing and we were headed, managing to just keep the main until the entrance. The cranes in the outer harbour were gone, replaced by wind farm vessels and their Airfix kit turbines.

The inner harbour with miles of quayside seems to go on forever, especially with a spring ebb. Quite large ships make their way in here.

Eventually Tiny Tutak made it to the Town Hall Quay in the midst of the town centre of good old Yarmouth.

I did manage to clean off most of the starboard side and there were some fine specimens, large too.  Some folk from Tollesbury were supposed to be around this week so  I dropped down to my favourite anchorage in Harwich Harbour under the old HMS Ganges.  We were treated to a spectacular sunset.  Check out the plating detail on the Stena Ferry.

 

 The CSCL Zebbrugge ultra large came in to unload some boxes, I am fascinated by this and can spend hours watching them being unloaded. 

So here we go the last day and up to catch the last of the ebb out of Harwich Haven down to the Naze tower and into the Wallet for the Colne Bar and the River Blackwater.  It was a Friday and the high water time of 1600 ensured that I would be in good time for the bar opening at the Sailing Club.  Bunting draped the bits of timber I call home.

As I got closer and was recognised out came the cake and beer, nothing else was required.

Two thousand one hundred and forty two nautical miles and I counted wrong and it was only 98 days.  Perhaps  I will add it onto next year's allotment.

50 nights at anchor.

5 alongside a quay.

5 on a buoy.

18 alongside a pontoon in a harbour or canal.

19 in a proper marina.

20 scheduled days off for sightseeing and another 19 days for weather, waiting for visitors or parts.

Fuel for the engine and heating amounted to nearly £900, more than I had hoped for but hey.  When you are on your own and you have to make a tidal gate or stay out for another tide the engine wins.  Fuel was not a problem as long as you were prepared to fill up on commercial fuel berths.  Tukak's 200 litre tank meant I could motor for 100 hours before I needed the 65 litre reserve I kept in cans.

It can be a bit remote in places and I did just about manage to coble things together when things went wrong or broke.  I will pay more attention to spares next time.

Most of the sailing was done in the daylight even when it was late in the day due to the latitude and season.  The highest latitude was around 60deg 51.7m N when rounding the Out Stack, the most northerly point of the British Isles.  I only did a couple of 100 mile sections and they could easily have been broken up but the weather was good and the tide fair so why stop?

Would I like to do it again?  Do you really need to ask?