A rest before the Steward arrives.

A good friend had expressed an interest in spending some time on the good ship this year and I had arranged to pick him up in Newcastle by the bridges.  I had a pleasant few days in the sun doing a few chores: whipping some rope ends, running repairs and a bit of cleaning in the spare cabin.  Sounds posh doesn't it, 'spare cabin', what I really mean is the front of the boat that isn't taken up with sails, rope and the extraneous tut that one seems to find necessary when sailing.

Now, whilst I can pass my time at anchor for many days without the need for land, the same cannot be said for my imminent arrivee.  He would rather put foot on land every 24 hours and have a looksee, preferably in a comfortable marina.  Clearly a compromise had to be had.  I arranged for us to have a few stop offs on the way north to mitigate potential mutiny.

During my sojourn at anchor the entertainment was provided by the weather, a little rainbow sneaking into view out through the pier-heads.

And then of course the boys come out mob handed, but who are they going to play with?

Ah, that'll be him then, the Sapphire Ace, wonderful car carrier extraordinare.

They hook on and hog tie the behemoth.

 And as we head upriver for the rendezvous we find their lair.
 

A veritable den, snuggled up in the bight of the river.

At least one of the yards is working on something, looks like a production ship of some description, but look how far she from her marks!

We made it to the Millennium bridge again where there is a pontoon to which one can tie, so I did, and rather nicely too, even if I say so myself.  Then I noticed the notice suggesting that if I stayed for more than ten minutes I would be required to pay ten golden coins.  The rendezvous was not for another half hour so all the good work of coming alongside gracefully was undone and we donned a fender board and made for the wall.  At least it had a ladder. 

The Steward was piped aboard and his sea chest stowed and we took the ebb down river past the silent remains of the famous Tyne shipbuilding yards.  Heading out to sea we followed the ebb north and made for the Coquet river and arrived at low water.  Was this a good idea, the sea was from the south east and a playful chop had set?  Coquet island should provide a lee in theory but there is not a lot of water on the bar, believe me.  I showed nothing under the keel and any swell would have made a bump.  Anyway we snook in and the Steward, relived to have survived the motion of the good ship Tutak, stepped ashore for a rest and some serious food shopping.  The forecast wind was hideous, aftermath of hurricane Bertha or something so we hunkered down and ate, rather well, for what seemed like days.  The winds never really turned up, got a bit fearsome overnight once but it was offshore and Tutak would have coped well.  The wonders of hindsight......  I did have a rather surreal experience when a chap sidled up to me and said "are you the crane driver from Tollesbury".  Hello to Miriam and Peter and their ship "Sea Lark".  With all the nice winds blown away we set off north bound for Scotland and the port of Eyemouth.  Now whether this is pronounced Haymooth I am not altogether sure.  Needless to say my preferred and favourite berth was available but it was due to be the lowest tide of the year and we were warned, it being next to the outlet of the Eye water.  Got to be a pun there somewhere.

Here we have the Steward posing for the photo shoot at the bottom of the Knuckle.  We dropped lower and lower.  I had to reclaim the ladder steps from the weed, hacking it back as we fell forever downward.  Eventually even the ladder ran out.

Should the Eye water have been in spate the stream on the left would have been white water and very noisy.

Another few feet and I could have changed the masthead light.  As it was I was able to have a good look at the rigging and masthead to check for any worrying decay.  We had already lost the tri-colour in the blow.

I received a telephone call recalling me back home.  Death is never convenient, most times especially for the recipient.  Plans were laid  for leaving the ship and heading south but in the end we had time (possibly) to sail for home waters.  This was done with Tutak's plain sail down wind rig.  Twin foresails, 'a most gentlemanly sail' were the words of the Steward.

With the windward genoa poled out - it spills and fills the leeward genoa.  The slot in the middle allows the build up of air to escape and makes it more stable, well that's my theory anyway.

Many, many miles were dissipated under the keel and the Steward had to take to a book, occasionally thinking of the next meal he was going to cook and perhaps where he thought he was going to cook it.

Time for a few hours rest was had behind Flambourgh Head off Bridlington.  Having been before I was certain of some respite but Tutak had other ideas and started jigging about.  I played and played with the mizzen and could I settle her down?  In the end the Steward said "why don't you just let her have her way".  "It will never work, Tutak doesn't behave like that" I said.  Anyway I did what he said just to placate him and guess what, it worked!

Later, when the tide served we set off into the night and made the Humber in the morning light.  The Steward was perhaps astonished at the malevolence of the waters that drain a fair proportion of England.  Up to 1500 metric tons of water per second can pour out of this mouth and with the tide advancing can produce some interesting manifestations, particularly with 20 knots plus over the deck and on the nose.

We crossed the shipping channel and started the trudge inland.  The estuary is vast and it is easy to forget just how far one has to go.  We bashed for some time, often standing on the transom, before we made the levelled lock of the fish dock of Grimsby once more.  There we stayed until another weather system took its toll on the local yachts.  From the warmth and comfort of the clubhouse we watched as one dishevelled yacht after another limped back home.  The Humber lifeboat towed one in, one was towed into Wells next the Sea.  The journey from Lowestoft into the teeth of a fearsome wind had been daunting.  I think I would have turned back with my tail between my legs.  The later it got the worse it got and we stayed put for a while.

Monday came with the worst of it blown through but the forecast still suggested 6s and 7s with gales offshore.  To me it didn't seem like it so we ventured out and had a brisk sail with the 22 knots behind us.  I did almost reconsider when the only other boat out there was the Humber lifeboat again and the rescue helicopter having just lifted two off a 32ft yacht.  It was left abandoned as the lifeboat crew had said it was too dangerous to attempt to get a tow line aboard.  The Steward and I did have a passing thought of "Salvage" but the co-ordinates put it 100nm offshore in a gas field.

It was pretty uncomfortable in the estuary but the seas smoothed as we got away from the clutching tempestuous  torrents tumbling out of England.  I always find it difficult to take a decent vid of the sea, never seems to come out quite right.

 On and on we went, out of the mighty Humber, past the tidal havens of the North of Norfolk.  Past Great Yarmouth and Lowestoft and the tide was with us again so we slipped past the enticing entrance and headed on southwards for the Ness of Orford, keeping close to the beach to avoid the chop.  The wind had come round when we circumnavigated Norfolk's great corner.  We had the tide past pretty Thorpeness with 17 - 20 knots over the deck, Tutak was thundering along and spray was aflying. 

A bit further up the beach we passed Maggi Hambling's scallop rising from the gravel.

But by the time Orfordness arrived the tide was again foul and we crept round a few yards off the beach trying to pinch a bit.

  
By the time Harwich was made the tide was once again favourable and would be with us for the last few hours.  The Steward spotted a pig's tail off the back of this cloud.  Looks like there may have been more than one.  Must be a vortex there somewhere, they do say a big cloud weighs in at hundreds of tons.

We rounded the Naze and into the Wallet.  As ever there was the wind over tide Wallet chop and an unmarked drift net to contend with.  This had already disabled a catamaran so I was quite keen not to become its next victim.  I was getting a bit tired by now and thought I was starting to hallucinate when I saw this apparition.

Yes it is the "Ross Revenge" of Radio Caroline fame.  Now moored in the Blackwater, viewable with trips from the town of Maldon.  Now that's what you call a mast.

So we fetch up on a buoy in the Leavings of Tollesbury to await the tide and a comfy berth on the mud once more.

We managed Grimsby to Tollesbury, 168 of our nautical miles in 30 hours.  Good going for the Steward and me, not to mention Tutak.  I was fed with three cooked meals a day with copious snacks and delicacies in-between.  Served a variety of tasty treats and drinks and endowed with a few extra pounds for the privilege: Sparticus might say "Gratitude to the Steward" and leave it at that, I however, might say " Stuffed Mate, cheers"

Yes, for one reason or another this year's adventures were not long ones.  What with the birth of the Grandchild and the unfortunate demise of a loved one not to mention the promise to be back for early September anyway, it was doomed from the start.  But, get away we did and made it across the border once more and covered 760 odd miles in the process.  The worst thing was that the heater broke, new one for next year I reckon.