Tutak goes to London

Another exciting adventure on the good ship “Tutak II” was undertaken early January 2010.   The reason for this voyage to the metropolis was to visit the Excel Boat Show; at least that was our excuse for a few days away with the whiskey anyway.

The tides dictated that the outbound leg would mean an early start to reach the Medway stopover in daylight hours, giving us an overnight anchorage before heading up the Thames the following day to reach St Katherine’s haven by dusk.  I only managed a few short hours of slumber before being roused by the ship’s clock some time before sailing.  Looking back at the log the actual time of awakening was recorded as being 04:00hrs.  The crew on this occasion were Doug and Taxi Chris and they expertly loosed the old girl (with her new shiny and smooth bottom) from her tethers at 04:50hrs an hour or so after high water, not wanting to punch too much tide up the Swin even though it was neaps.  If you remember ‘twas the time of the ‘big freeze’ with snow covering most of merry England and more was forecast.  Gales were expected at sometime during our time away so we were keen to get a move on and reach our sheltered anchorage in the Sharfleet Creek up in the Medway river.

Sailing was curtailed due to the Easterly head wind of around 13kts true but we reached the Spitway by seven and came around to the South West at the Whitaker for the Swin.  The wind came around as well and we just held on to the genoa for a motor beat to the Maplin buoy by which time the wind headed us and it was motor all the way.  Still the batteries needed a good charge anyway and the newly installed heating system meant that we were all toasty in the wheelhouse.  The wind tailed off as we neared the Cant by eleven o’clock and the snow started.  An inch or so adorned the vessels and Kiitaja looked for all the world like a polar expedition ship in the blizzard conditions.  There was not a lot of shipping in the Thames which was rather spooky and nothing was showing on the AIS (Automatic Identification System) but this turned out to be the skipper’s programming fault, soon rectified I am glad to say.  By 12:30hrs we were turning into Stangate creek and thence into Sharfleet and came alongside the anchored Kiitaja by 13:00hrs having covered around 40 miles.

Broken things being fixed and after a wee rest we all retired to Kiitaja to feast on one of Doug’s famous curries.  Beer was downed to ease the searing heat, not of the curry but the adjacent outlet of Alan’s rather efficient heater.  The temperature had fallen and the soft snow had turned to ice which made the late night ship to ship transfer somewhat hazardous, although it may have been the beer.

Nine thirty the following morning saw us breaking away, leaving Kiitaja to recover her anchor, by which time the snow had returned with a vengeance (tee, hee).  It took a while before Rex could feel his fingers again apparently.  He spent quite a time on the foredeck of Kiitaja trying to get the anchor chain do the pipe.  We had a tight schedule to reach Tower Bridge for the first locking so we set off at a fair pace in the near “white out” conditions.  It was a wet snow which stuck rather well to all surfaces including the vertical.  The AIS was now reprogrammed and told us where all the ships were as we negotiated the channel to rejoin the Thames.  Not wanting to waste time I kept to the shallows rather than take the longer route via the deeper water.  The crew found this somewhat unnerving as the echo-sounder did not register very much at times.  One o’clock had us off Mucking and by 15:00hrs we were approaching the Thames Barrier.  Shipping was quiet and the journey uneventful apart from the snow which had stuck to the mast and rigging had now turned to brittle ice and proceeded to fall in great lumps to the deck below.  As a responsible skipper I ordered the hard hats to be broken out and issued.   Doug’s no. 3 breakfast, bagel pizza lunch, Christmas cake and things kept us fuelled against the biting cold as the cabin temperature rose to +20C.  Kiitaja had materialised out of the snow which had by now stopped, she was not far behind.  We were just getting ready to pick up a buoy outside the lock at St Katherine’s haven when we were approached by a Police launch.  It came alongside and nimbly (well, sort of) disembarked an officer just as I was about to make a turn for the mooring buoy.  Naturally this was delayed until the launch had sheered off and I was questioned by the said officer whilst manoeuvring to pick up the mooring.  Being a man, I had some difficulty in multi-tasking; “Your name Sir is....”. “Hold on a sec, yeah, sorry, what?”  They were apparently concerned that Tutak’s port of registry (Guernsey) might be a failed State and thus a haven for terrorism.  Not that I minded in the least about being boarded, I think some folk give them a hard time for some reason.  We successfully locked into the basin and began ice breaking through the frozen water to our allotted berth and began making snowpersons on the pontoon.  Another feast was rustled up, again by Doug, and we all went to our bunks satiated.

The following day we trudged through the snow and ice and gained access to the Docklands Light Railway which, surprisingly, was working, probably due to the fact that, being automatic, no staff needed to brave the weather to make it function.  We found our way into the vast halls of the exhibition centre and split up to do some serious shopping.  Now I have heard it said that only girls can shop, but when a man is presented with hundreds of boating gadgets, well.......  In the evening we all met up and had another meal, it was Doug’s statutory night off so we had to go to Ziggi’s or something.  During the day the wind had blown a bit by all accounts.  We were somewhat immune from this but the forecast was still for gales from the North East, what joy!

Saturday was a day of rest whilst the goodies were fitted to the ship for the journey home.  New charts were catalogued and electronic gizmos fired up and tested, almanacs were bookmarked and annotated.  All was ready and Doug cooked us another fine feast and we were well on the way to finishing the second bottle of whiskey.  Taxi Chris and Rex said goodbye, taking the train back and Miriam and Paul joined Kiitaja for the trip back leaving me and Doug on Tutak.

Having woken up the keeper of the lock we eventually entered the Thames at 08:55hrs on the Sunday morning to punch a bit of tide around slack water before it turned in our favour.  I was again keen to keep the speed up in an attempt to beat the strong winds.  The Medway or the North side of the Thames was to be our bolt hole should it all get too much, but I thought that if possible I would carry on against the flood up the Swin.  My reasoning was that the wind with tide might smooth the seas a little and, being neaps, there would only be a knot or so of tide against us.  There must have been a lot of flood water in the river because we made very good progress at up to 9kts SOG, reaching Sea Reach No. 4 by 14:00hrs.  The wind had been a force 4 from the NE and it had been a bit choppy going into it around Mucking Flats, but it moderated to a 3 to 4 and I felt confident we could carry on in 17-25 knots of apparent wind.  Up the Warp we passed the Blacktail Spit still carrying the ebb to the Maplin before darkness fell and the horizon faded into the gloom.  Up to now we had had shelter from the drying banks to the North and East but as the tide rose and we entered the more open water of the Swin and the Middle Deep things began to get a little more exciting.  Saturday’s wind had kicked up a swell and we were heading into it with some feisty little waves being deflected off the banks.  I reckoned the deeper water of the Middle Deep would be more comfortable than the Swin but we had to cross some shallower stuff to get to it and those of you who know Tutak’s trawler tricks will empathise; roll 25 degrees to port, heave upwards on the bow, flick roll to 30 degrees to starboard, the bow dropping like a stone, water over the top, roll to port and so it continues.  We corkscrewed our way for three hours, sometimes taking water not only over the deck but over the top of the wheelhouse too.  Now, I know, as long as I don’t get injured during somewhat violent movements, that the boat is quite capable of handling it and I have been out in much worse.  For the crew it was a different matter, the rationale of knowing the capability of a vessel does not dispel the fear when you think you are going to die.  Doug is a stalwart sort of chap and was prepared to hang on; I had promised him it would quieten down when we turned at the Wallet Spitway for home.  I calculated that we should reach the turning point a 19:00hrs but the turn to the NW at the Whitaker and the flood tide meant that we started to surf at 8.4kts SOG and thus we arrived ten minutes early.  Turning for the Bench Head brought the seas on the quarter and still gave us a ride but running out the genoa slowed the roll and we surfed for home.  We still had the flood with us and with the surfing we made remarkable progress, still making 7kts SOG at the Nass.  We picked up a buoy in the Leavings at 20:20hrs having made a passage of 71.3nm in eleven hours and twenty five minutes at an average speed of 6.2kts.  I might even have got back onto the berth but it was a bit marginal with the tide and I didn’t want to be stuck in the back creek at a jaunty angle after all that, thank you very much.

My thanks go to my faithful crew and steward for keeping me fed and watered to Royal Yacht standards and for passing me the right thing at the right time before I’d even asked for it!  Should you wish to avail yourself of his services, please contact me for contractual obligations and tariffs?

I never dreamed it was possible to get from St Katherine’s haven to Tollesbury in one tide on Tutak.  The circumstances must have been just right perhaps, the floodwater ebb in the Thames, stemming neap tides and lower than expected head winds up past Foulness and the Middle Deep.  Add to that the extra speed of surfing and the bonus of catching the last hour and a half of flood up the Blackwater gave us the edge on what was an “incredible journey home”.

Extract from “Bill and Doug’s most excellent adventures”, Bothy Press.

Tutak Comes Home

Tutak Comes Home.

I had looked at a few, one had been sunk, another had had so much stuff added and taken away that there was not a lot of original boat left.  One gentleman purchased from new and now considered himself too old to sail so was buying a motor boat.  It was this boat that I eventually agreed to look after for posterity and parted with vast sums of cash for the privilege.  Noss Mayo – Plymouth way was the location of this fine example of a Fairways Fisher 25.  Ketch rigged with small sails and a heavy, robust hull and a shed sorry, wheelhouse.

I borrowed the work’s Volvo estate and loaded gear.  Extra anchors, rope, spare sails, fire extinguishers, starting batteries, water and food to name but some.  Along with the gear, two crew were loaded along with a driver to bring the car back.  So one dark February night, after work, the four of us set off for the ferry pontoon under the Yealm hotel.  Typically the M25 and roads west were busy and the winterish weather was wet and cold.

The long drive left me tired before I’d even organised the crew to unload the gear.  The idea was to leave two to unload and me and James to inflate the dinghy and find Tutak and bring her back to the ferry landing for loading.  I had only been twice before, both in daylight.  Now it was black, very black, in between the sides of the ravine but we found the rotund form of the Fisher, eventually.  It was one of the last moorings before the bar and sea and, with James as look out on the bow, fired up the engine to return for the Hotel landing.  Most of the moorings had been vacated for the winter and little was there to show us the way, except for a port hand mark which sadly appeared to starboard, which James spotted as we felt the bottom of the sand bar off Warren point.  We were going to be there for a while until the tide returned to lift us off so we put the anchor out and returned cap in hand to the others.

In order to facilitate the transfer the mountain of gear on the landing to the boat we conscripted one of the tenders that were tied up.  With three in the small inflatable and James on the heap of gear in the tender we set off again for Tutak.  Poor loading made the towed boat veer alarmingly but the water was calm and we lost no gear or crew.  Tutak was already starting to swing to her anchor as we swarmed over the sides like a “cutting out” party.  All of a sudden there was a ‘pop’ closely followed by a loud ‘hiss’.  Barry in the inflatable started flinging gear into the cockpit like a man possessed.  Alan was salvaging as much gear as possible before the craft foundered.  The only person doing nothing during the panic was James who stood motionless in the rigging of the mizzen mast.  With the tender empty and still afloat it soon dawned that the hiss was not the compromised tubes of the inflatable but the life jacketed James.  He was pinned quite firmly with his body and inflated jacket on opposite sides of the wire, the firing lanyard having caught on something leaving him seized to the mizzen shrouds.

Keen to take what was left of the east going tide, we were now rather late, James took Barry and the borrowed dinghy back to the landing whilst Alan and I made ready, well sort of.  When James returned we lifted the outboard off the tender, doubled up the tow lines and weighed anchor.  From between the steep sides of the river Yealm the bar opened out somewhat and gave light from the stars for the bar.  Avoiding the rocks and shallows Tutak felt her way into the deep water and took the east going tide towards her new home.  Once enough offing had been made to avoid the dangers off Prawle Point the course was set eastwards and I turned in, slaughtered after the hassle of grounding the boat in the first few minutes and the drive down.

I left word for the crew to wake me at six in the morning.  I woke to one of the crew retching into my favourite bucket, not a pleasant first sight of the day.  Greeting the crew I said “first one eh?”  “No” was the reply as the other crew rushed out of the wheelhouse to prostrate his body over the lee rail.  Puke, an empty stomach and still pretty tired, despite a few hours sleep, I woke up not feeling too well myself.  By mid morning one crew was dehydrated and very ill and confined to quarters, the other was getting on that way, leaving me to steer clutching my (now cleaned) favourite bucket.  I began to wonder if this was the boat for me with its rather rolly hull form.  I had taken off my nice watch and put it to one side so it didn’t scratch me as I wiped my forehead from the beads of sweat.   We were well offshore in the middle of Lyme Bay with a gale up the chuff.  Tutak was misbehaving like trawlers do, heave up to port, whip roll to starboard and drop like a stone leaving your stomach in the last century it you’re lucky.  The long three metre swell made me feel very ill but I had no choice but to carry on as I was on my own.  One particular wave caught me up chucking whilst trying to broach me.  Out of the corner of my eye I noticed my (lovely) watch bounce off the ledge and fall below, strangely into the sick bucket of the comatose crew in the quarter berth.  “I will sort that out later” I said, making a mental note to sift the carrots for the sunken watch.

I was on course for the Bill of Portland, laying well offshore to avoid the overfalls.  I was in no state to work out tides or strategies for rounding close inshore to avoid the race.  I went round the bank and headed back northwest for Weymouth taking hours longer than I should.  Amazingly upon reaching the breakwaters of the harbour the crew suddenly, as though redeemed, made a recovery.  By the time the town quay was reached both of them were running about with fenders and warps as though nothing had happened.  After I had placated the harbour master with wads of cash I enquired after the sick bucket with my watch in it.  “Oh, I emptied that when we entered the harbour,” a sad loss.  In reality one of the crew was sent home on the train, he was really too weakened by the experience, despite having recently returned from Iceland upon and Open 60 racing yacht.  The other one was considered to have some use, being younger and plumper.

After some food and a short rest Weymouth receded into the distance and the outside of the Isle of White was layed, Dungeness passed along with the North Foreland.  It was dark by the time Tutak reached the Outer Fisherman’s in the Thames Estuary.  The wind had gone round to the Northeast and was puffing a bit.  I couldn’t get a bearing on the buoy, one minute it was ahead and the next it was almost behind.  Totally confused I decided to call it a day and run back to Ramsgate.  The shallow water of the estuary was kicking up some nasty little seas.  Out of the corner of my eye I could see the 6kg dry powder fire extinguisher break loose from ts bracket and roll about the saloon floor.  I was making a 180 degree turn in awkward waters and could do nothing to sort it out.  In a flash there was a crack and a fizz followed by mist.  Realising what had happened I rushed below to capture the recalcitrant extinguisher.  Once caught, I rushed up the companionway and tried to open the wheelhouse door.  For some reason this was jammed, the white powder continued to gush forth.  James, asleep in the quarter berth, thinking the boat was afire exited with remarkable dexterity from a tight space.  I breached the wheelhouse door and deep sixed the cylinder despite the monetary cost.

Just before dawn, exhausted and very hungry Ramsgate Port control was contacted.  “Enter” they said, so I entered until a darkness blacker than the night we were in enveloped us.  I crashed to emergency astern and held off, not knowing what was going on.  The shore lights has disrupted any sense I may have had left, I had nearly hit the outer mole.  Not wishing to try again in my hallucinogenic state I called up and said I would hold off for daybreak.  Dawn saw us into the harbour for a welcome slumber before we set off in a fit state on the next tide for the estuary crossing and a home berth.

Extract from “Bill and Doug’s most excellent adventures”

bothy press.

©Bill Brannan 2010.