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.