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.