Tutak Comes Home.
I had looked at a few, one had been sunk, another had had so
much stuff added and taken away that there was not a lot of original boat
left. One gentleman purchased from new
and now considered himself too old to sail so was buying a motor boat. It was this boat that I eventually agreed to
look after for posterity and parted with vast sums of cash for the
privilege. Noss Mayo – Plymouth way was
the location of this fine example of a Fairways Fisher 25. Ketch rigged with small sails and a heavy,
robust hull and a shed sorry, wheelhouse.
I borrowed the work’s Volvo estate and loaded gear. Extra anchors, rope, spare sails, fire
extinguishers, starting batteries, water and food to name but some. Along with the gear, two crew were loaded
along with a driver to bring the car back.
So one dark February night, after work, the four of us set off for the
ferry pontoon under the Yealm hotel.
Typically the M25 and roads west were busy and the winterish weather was
wet and cold.
The long drive left me tired before I’d even organised the
crew to unload the gear. The idea was to
leave two to unload and me and James to inflate the dinghy and find Tutak and
bring her back to the ferry landing for loading. I had only been twice before, both in
daylight. Now it was black, very black,
in between the sides of the ravine but we found the rotund form of the Fisher,
eventually. It was one of the last
moorings before the bar and sea and, with James as look out on the bow, fired
up the engine to return for the Hotel landing.
Most of the moorings had been vacated for the winter and little was
there to show us the way, except for a port hand mark which sadly appeared to
starboard, which James spotted as we felt the bottom of the sand bar off Warren
point. We were going to be there for a
while until the tide returned to lift us off so we put the anchor out and
returned cap in hand to the others.
In order to facilitate the transfer the mountain of gear on
the landing to the boat we conscripted one of the tenders that were tied
up. With three in the small inflatable
and James on the heap of gear in the tender we set off again for Tutak. Poor loading made the towed boat veer
alarmingly but the water was calm and we lost no gear or crew. Tutak was already starting to swing to her
anchor as we swarmed over the sides like a “cutting out” party. All of a sudden there was a ‘pop’ closely
followed by a loud ‘hiss’. Barry in the
inflatable started flinging gear into the cockpit like a man possessed. Alan was salvaging as much gear as possible
before the craft foundered. The only
person doing nothing during the panic was James who stood motionless in the rigging
of the mizzen mast. With the tender empty
and still afloat it soon dawned that the hiss was not the compromised tubes of
the inflatable but the life jacketed James.
He was pinned quite firmly with his body and inflated jacket on opposite
sides of the wire, the firing lanyard having caught on something leaving him
seized to the mizzen shrouds.
Keen to take what was left of the east going tide, we were
now rather late, James took Barry and the borrowed dinghy back to the landing
whilst Alan and I made ready, well sort of.
When James returned we lifted the outboard off the tender, doubled up the
tow lines and weighed anchor. From between the
steep sides of the river Yealm the bar opened out somewhat and gave light from
the stars for the bar. Avoiding the
rocks and shallows Tutak felt her way into the deep water and took the east
going tide towards her new home. Once
enough offing had been made to avoid the dangers off Prawle Point the course
was set eastwards and I turned in, slaughtered after the hassle of grounding
the boat in the first few minutes and the drive down.
I left word for the crew to wake me at six in the morning. I woke to one of the crew retching into my favourite bucket, not a pleasant first sight of the day. Greeting the crew I said “first one eh?” “No” was the reply as the other crew rushed out of the wheelhouse to prostrate his body over the lee rail. Puke, an empty stomach and still pretty tired, despite a few hours sleep, I woke up not feeling too well myself. By mid morning one crew was dehydrated and very ill and confined to quarters, the other was getting on that way, leaving me to steer clutching my (now cleaned) favourite bucket. I began to wonder if this was the boat for me with its rather rolly hull form. I had taken off my nice watch and put it to one side so it didn’t scratch me as I wiped my forehead from the beads of sweat. We were well offshore in the middle of Lyme Bay with a gale up the chuff. Tutak was misbehaving like trawlers do, heave up to port, whip roll to starboard and drop like a stone leaving your stomach in the last century it you’re lucky. The long three metre swell made me feel very ill but I had no choice but to carry on as I was on my own. One particular wave caught me up chucking whilst trying to broach me. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed my (lovely) watch bounce off the ledge and fall below, strangely into the sick bucket of the comatose crew in the quarter berth. “I will sort that out later” I said, making a mental note to sift the carrots for the sunken watch.
I was on course for the Bill of Portland, laying well
offshore to avoid the overfalls. I was
in no state to work out tides or strategies for rounding close inshore to avoid
the race. I went round the bank and
headed back northwest for Weymouth taking hours longer than I should. Amazingly upon reaching the breakwaters of
the harbour the crew suddenly, as though redeemed, made a recovery. By the time the town quay was reached both of
them were running about with fenders and warps as though nothing had
happened. After I had placated the
harbour master with wads of cash I enquired after the sick bucket with my watch
in it. “Oh, I emptied that when we
entered the harbour,” a sad loss. In
reality one of the crew was sent home on the train, he was really too weakened
by the experience, despite having recently returned from Iceland upon and Open
60 racing yacht. The other one was
considered to have some use, being younger and plumper.
After some food and a short rest Weymouth receded into the
distance and the outside of the Isle of White was layed, Dungeness passed along
with the North Foreland. It was dark by
the time Tutak reached the Outer Fisherman’s in the Thames Estuary. The wind had gone round to the Northeast and
was puffing a bit. I couldn’t get a
bearing on the buoy, one minute it was ahead and the next it was almost
behind. Totally confused I decided to
call it a day and run back to Ramsgate.
The shallow water of the estuary was kicking up some nasty little
seas. Out of the corner of my eye I
could see the 6kg dry powder fire extinguisher break loose from ts bracket and
roll about the saloon floor. I was
making a 180 degree turn in awkward waters and could do nothing to sort it
out. In a flash there was a crack and a
fizz followed by mist. Realising what
had happened I rushed below to capture the recalcitrant extinguisher. Once caught, I rushed up the companionway and
tried to open the wheelhouse door. For
some reason this was jammed, the white powder continued to gush forth. James, asleep in the quarter berth, thinking the
boat was afire exited with remarkable dexterity from a tight space. I breached the wheelhouse door and deep sixed
the cylinder despite the monetary cost.
Just before dawn, exhausted and very hungry Ramsgate Port
control was contacted. “Enter” they said,
so I entered until a darkness blacker than the night we were in enveloped
us. I crashed to emergency astern and
held off, not knowing what was going on.
The shore lights has disrupted any sense I may have had left, I had
nearly hit the outer mole. Not wishing
to try again in my hallucinogenic state I called up and said I would hold off
for daybreak. Dawn saw us into the
harbour for a welcome slumber before we set off in a fit state on the next tide
for the estuary crossing and a home berth.
Extract from “Bill and Doug’s most excellent adventures”
bothy press.
©Bill Brannan 2010.
No comments:
Post a Comment