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.