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.