Sandweaver 16

The LS has bought another boat.

Sandweaver 16

He had become too old and fat and lazy for the Hobie Tandem Island.   It was an exciting and fast boat,  but not the coastal cruiser he had hoped for.   He resented the need to find a beach on which to pitch his tent.   Pitching a tent is something to be done overnight,  especially when coastal wild-camping,  and tides simply don't coordinate with day and night.   When cruising the coast in a dinghy it's necessary to sail with the tide,  and anchor,  sleep and eat when the tide is contrary.

So he sold the Hobie to a charming lady in Norfolk who knew exactly where and how she wanted to sail it.   She's about half the age (and girth) of the LS,  with ten times his energy.

The LS has bought a Sandweaver 16.   Sixteen feet (4.87m to you) of fibreglass with (alas) an aluminium Marconi mast and a Bermudan mainsail with roller-furling jib.   It's astonishing how a grown man can dream for so long about a varnished clinker dinghy with a balanced lugsail and then get a Sandweaver 16.   A triumph of common sense over romanticism?

The keel didn't rest on the rollers

One of the essential features of a cruising dinghy is that it can,  unlike most yachts,  be trailed from home to a launch site,  and then taken home from the same,  or another,  launch site.
The trailer,  and the position of the boat on the trailer,  are important.
The weight of the boat should be taken on all of the keel rollers.   The side rollers and slides are there to prevent the boat rocking side to side,  not to take its weight.   At purchase,  the Sandweaver was not fitted to its trailer:  its keel didn't touch two of the rollers  at all,  and its entire weight was borne on the two slides and the forward roller.   A couple of hours of anxious (scary) work with blocks,  jacks and spanners underneath the boat readjusted it all.

Break-back release pin & spring

The boat should be fore and aft on the trailer so that the weight of the tow hitch is about the same as a person:  no more than 7% of the weight of the fully loaded trailer:  in this case 35Kg (95lbs).   With the keel on the rollers the boat moved fore and aft fairly easily,  and the bow snubber of the trailer was adjusted to this.
It's important,  of course that the boat is easy to launch and recover:  a break-back trailer is one of the best ways to achieve this.   The pivot was oiled and the release pin & spring sprayed with easing oil,  and cleaned.   Sadly,  the outer arms of the trailer had been pinched tightly to the draw bar.   Adam advised that spreading the trailer arms might damage them or the weld,  and that it might be better to use the trailer without breaking its back for the time being.

The trailer was tested (to partial destruction) on the A14 and A1 for the Sandweaver's shakedown cruise.   It did not do well,  so it was taken to F S Trailers at Huntindon,  where Paul declared that "the bearings are shot:  the stub axle might be bent".   The tyres and mudguards need replacing,  and he quoted a very reasonable price for freeing the breakback mechanism.

The winch strap was at the wrong angle

The trailer winch,  which hauls the boat onto the trailer,  was in good condition and needed only cleaning and oiling.   The winch strap was sound and the carabiner which links the strap to the boat was not too bad.
But the U bolt in the stem of the boat was in entirely the wrong place,  so that the strain on the winch forced the bows down toward the trailer.   The best place for that U bolt is at the same height as the winch so that the boat is pulled straight onto the trailer.   The angle had caused the U bolt partially to pull out and had caused stress crazing in the fibreglass of the stem.
The U bolt was replaced with an M12 ring bolt through the stem band and stem,  and held with a shaped timber pad,  a large square washer and Nylock nuts.

The boat was described in the advertisement as "ready to sail":  an exaggeration bordering on an untruth.

The end-stop was missing from the mainsheet track,  and the mainsheet had been cobbled together with a set of blocks and jamcleats,  but no traveller car.   The first tack would have brought disaster.   A pair of blocks from the LS's bo's'n's* store and an endstop & car from Force 4 chandlery sorted out the mainsheet.   The shakedown cruise revealed that the mainsheet was a little heavy,  so the 2-part purchase was replaced with 3 parts.

The reefing lines were harder.   The mainsail had cringles for slab reefing,  but the boom had no cheek blocks:  it did have two tube cleats,  but they both faced aft!?   The LG's jury-rig involved 4 lengths of Hempex (and is too embarrassing to be shown in a photograph).
Later,  a pair of cheek blocks was screwed to the after end of the boom and 6mm Hempex used as reefing lines.   They are led forward to tube cleats on the boom.   The two forward reefing lines were led to nylon horn cleats on the mast below the gooseneck.

The main ha'lyard appeared to be OK.
The shrouds are held out by adjustable spreaders,  the ends of which,  being sharp metal and wire,  are covered by plastic or rubber boots to prevent the spreaders tearing or chafing the sails.   The boots had perished and cracked;  they were easily replaced.   

At purchase the jib had a wire luff with a swivel at the peak:  the tack roller lay on the broker's desk and was thrown into the sale.   The boat is now rigged with the Martin-Wykeham furling gear:  it can't be reefed.   A block at the stemhead and a 6mm line from the well through the block to the forestay ensured that the mast could be raised and lowered by one person.

Jib sheet fairlead and camcleat

The jib sheet sliders had been adjusted to be used by crew sitting forward in the boat,  but the LS will usually sail alone.   It was a simple matter to readjust the angle of the camcleats.

Rudder:  screw removed!

For a while the rudder was a mystery.   The vendor had pointed out that the uphaul didn't work:  had the bungee downhaul hardened over time?   No,  it hadn't:  to prevent the rudder floating up someone had driven a screw through the rudder cheeks into the rudder!   With the screw removed,  a spare length of cord as an uphaul and the fairlead moved to provide a fair lead the rudder lifted perfectly.
At the shakedown cruise it became clear that the downhaul bungee cord was not up (?down) to the job.   It was replaced with a downhaul cord and safety-release cleat.
The entire assembly was dismantled and given three coats of varnish.

Stainless steel engine mount
bolted to the stern deck

Electric outboard motor

The bracket for the outboard motor is something that the LS has not seen before.   Even though it's stainless steel it's lighter and smaller than most,  and it can be mounted and dismounted from within the boat.   It holds the Torqeedo 503 perfectly:  the long shaft projects well below the transom so that the propeller is in clear water.   The motor itself,  when not in use,  fits across the stern of the boat forward of the transom,  aft of the thwart.
If one must have an outboard motor an electric machine is a joy.   No petrol or oil,  no plugs to foul, no ignition to fail.   Virtually no noise,  and enormous torque from a big,  slow-turning propeller.

Rope tidies

The boat itself is spacious,  being nearly 2m in the beam,  but has little stowage space.   There are no lockers or lazarettes;  no bins or crates.   It's a day-boat,  with no attempt to provide sleeping space.   Curiously,  there was nowhere to hang lines,  but this was quickly put right with a set of rope tidies from Bayside Marine.   There is no galley,  no pantry,  no heads,  no tent and no bed.
There are two anchors:  one is a grapnel,  which most sailors don't like,  although it does have 2m of chain and 15m of line;  the other is a folding Fisherman,  which the LS doesn't like.   A coastal cruising dinghy is unlikely to anchor in water deeper than 5m (although Margaret Dye would have disagreed) so about 30m of line would be better than the 15m available.
The bo's'n's store has a Danforth anchor with 5m of chain and 50m of line,  but,  having seen a Danforth trap and ruin someone's fingers,  the LS is likely to use this only if nothing else is available. In the event,  he did use it.

There are two thwarts;  one aft at the helm,  the other forward across the centreboard case.   They are nearly 6 feet (2m) apart.   Two six foot planks,  resting on these thwarts,  alongside the side benches,  became an excellent bed.   Even better with the inflatable mattress and a sleeping bag.

*

For those who enjoy apostrophes this is a lovely word:  two sets of missing letters and a possessive!

Those who don't enjoy apostrophes can ignore my glee.

Out of Brancaster

Brancaster is a little village on the North Norfolk coast. The staithe is a gravel track and beach onto a tidal channel which, at low water, dwindles to a muddy creek winding through the salt marshes.

Sailing is alive and well. The higher parts of the bank, not quite reached by the Spring tides, has rows of sailing and rowing dinghies. There is a yacht club, and the yachts are moored in the creek. Across the road is a well-advertised RYA training centre.

The Harbour Master is a laconic, friendly man who clearly knows the creeks and marshes well. He once knew, and sailed with, Frank Dye: that is testimonial enough for any sailing man. He gave the impression of ruling his littoral empire with a firm hand: he wasn't going to let Opal into his water until he was sure her skipper knew what he was doing.

She arrived fairly early, to a deserted staithe. As she was eased onto her trolley, her gear loaded and her mast stepped, sailors stopped to admire, to comment and to ask. The process of rigging takes twice as long at the water's edge as it does in her home driveway. Everyone takes an interest.

Eventually, with the car parked and the trailer padlocked, Opal slipped into the water. Her wheels were moved from under her keel and stowed above the stern locker. Her skipper made himself comfortable in the after seat, and she floated out into the moorings.

The Mirage drive is very deceptive. In calm water like this Opal glides along remarkably quickly. The muscular effort is far less than paddling a canoe or kayak.

East of the moorings, her sail was unfurled. Despite the absence of a boom Opal sails fairly close to the wind. Not as close, obviously, as a Bermudan rigged dinghy, but what she lacks in windward ability she gains in speed. Only in light winds need the sail be fully unfurled.

The channel at Brancaster curves in a long bend Eastward through Northward and then Westward, widening as it does so. North of the creek which runs East to Overy, the channel is exposed to the North Sea. At this state of the tide, about two hours before high water, the outer banks were covered; the wind turbines turned slowly in the haze.

A twenty-two foot Jaguar, under engine, turned abaft Opal's stern as she tacked to the North-West, the two crew calling a cheerful greeting.

A little gaff cutter with tan sails (perhaps a Cornish Shrimper?) followed Opal tack for tack, but falling behind. As Opal turned toward the West and over the bar, now safely under several metres of tide, the little cutter sailed N'East to play and tack under the lee of the banks.

Now clear to the North of the bar and the banks Opal began to feel the short swell of the shallow North Sea. She has a way of rising to the coming wave, climbing the face, cresting the ridge and then smacking half of her eighteen feet down into the following trough.

Roughly in the spot where the fairway buoy used to be, Opal's skipper noted the bearing to the Golf Club and its lighthouse, the angle of the approach channel and the breakers over the banks to the East. He furled the sail, broached the coffee flask and opened his packed lunch.

The early Autumn sun was warm, the breeze gentle from the N'East. The padded seat was comfortable, the motion soothing.

At the top of the tide a couple of yachts sailed in from the North and across the bar into the channel. Away to the S'East the tan sails tacked across the flat water in the lee of the banks. The wind turbines continued to turn lazily in the haze.

Smoked salmon and pastrami, with grapes. Black coffee. Cold, clean water. A chocolate biscuit. The sea curiously warm. The swell rising and falling like the heaving chest of a sleeping monster.

Lunch over, Opal turned South and East, bouncing over the short swell and then, in flat water, planing along, windward ama in the air, the hull and l'ward ama fast-skipping across the ripples. A crossing tack with the little cutter, Opal passed well ahead and hurtled onward. As the channel curved she bore away further under the N'Easterly breeze until she was running downwind toward the moorings. Reefing half the sail did nothing to slow her progress. Finally, down to a scrap of triangle, she cruised into her landfall.

Sail furled, Mirage drive out, centreboard and rudder up, and Opal scraped her bows onto the shingle. Her skipper stepped out into inches of water, hauled her dry and unstepped her mast.

Brancaster is a place to visit for a day on the water. Opal is easy to launch and recover, the staithe is quiet and friendly and the water is a calm expanse or the open sea. A perfect day out.



2 October 2015

In the August 2015 edition of Practical Boat Owner Andrew Simpson suggested using the Navionics WebApp for harbour planning.   It can’t,  he suggested,  be used for passage planning because it has no lines of latitude or longitude and none of the functionality of the full application.
It does,  however,  have a scale cursor which can be orientated North-South,  or East-West (or indeed any other direction).   Perversely,  it calls this orientation “Heading”, which it most certainly is not.
The bearing from Brancaster to Skegness is 311°T,  a little over 15 miles.   There and back might be a decent one-day cruise.

‘Woolpack’ PHM is part way along the bearing line,   6 miles from Brancaster and about 10 from Skegness:  well situated at the centre of a GPS web for the little hand-held Garmin GPS.

Opal arrived Brancaster 0900 and was rigged and afloat by 0945.   Half a mile down the channel,  the skipper realised that the bungs were not tight and that the hull was taking on water.   He put ashore to drain the water and tighten the bungs.   Was this an omen?   A superstitious sailor might have had second thoughts.

Leaving Brancaster was easy:  East down the channel through the moorings,  North to the channel markers,   West to the golf club and then onto a heading of 315°T toward Skegness.
The presence of the wind farm made bearings and headings almost redundant. It was huge,  and it's presence dominated the Northern skyline.

The morning shone and the sea sparkled.   The slight state of the sea provided a popple which made Opal lively,  and the gentle Easterly breeze kept her moving at 4 to 5 knots over the ground.

A white patch on the horizon might have been buildings on the Skegness coast,  so was kept on a constant bearing.   It turned into a ship,  which was not moving,  but needed to be avoided.   In any case,  the SE corner of the windfarm was kept fine on the starboard bow.
The ship became Stril Explorer flying "restricted in ability to maneouvre" above and abaft the helicopter landing platform.   Either the tide was pushing hard to the North (bearings on a couple of buoys made this seem unlikely) or she was moving sideways to the South?
A crane on her port side was deploying something that might have been an ROV.
Opal passed her to the South,  having found 'Woolpack' PHM exactly where it should have been.
Then a heading of 315°M picked up the Special marker on the SW corner of the wind farm.

Calculation of the tides suggested that Opal should turn for Brancaster at about 1330.   In the event (perhaps a mistake) she  pushed on until 1400,  about a mile and a half from Skegness beach,  before turning SE close hauled.
Was this success or failure?   The objective had been to reach Skegness:  did that mean landing on the beach,  or was a mile away good enough?
The skipper didn't really care:  it was a wonderful day,  he was warm and the boat was behaving beautifully.

On the way back he kept the little boat close hauled,  steering between 120° and 150°M:  this kept Brancaster on a constant bearing of 140°T.   But then the skipper needed to pass water (again!).   This meant furling the sail and the complicated ritual with the dry-suit.   They drifted downwind,   West and a little South,  until,  when the sail was set again,  Brancaster had come to 120°T.   Close-hauled and with significant leeway Opal could not now make the harbour on this tack.

The North Norfolk coast is fairly featureless,  especially in the gloaming,  but a building on the shore looked very like the golf club.   The chart suggested it had a lighthouse?   At what time would the light be lit?   How far East should Opal go before looking for the channel?   Which would come first;  darkness,  the channel or the lighthouse?

As the golf club came abeam darkness fell like a slowly lowered blind.   Random red or green lights,  sometimes long,  sometimes short,  often absent,  hinted at the channel.   Opal crept forward,  against the faint breeze,  with the tide and controlled by her pedals and rudder.   The surf crashed somewhere to starboard (perhaps the shoreline),  and a long way to port (perhaps Scolt Head?).   Now the channel markers became more consistent.   Heading East gradually became heading South and then West.   The Staithe ran South from the East-West arm of the channel,  but the blind of darkness concealed everything.   A yacht,  moored in the channel,  wisely showed an anchor light at the top of the mast.   But it dazzled Opal's skipper and ruined his night vision:   the darkness was deeper than it need have been.
The Staithe could not be found and now Opal was too far West and the flood was running fast.    Turning East,  the Mirage drive made desperately slow progress,  and Opal turned into a pool amongst the marsh grass for a pause,  a rest and a meal:  time to think.   And to wait for the moon.   She would reveal everything.

As the last quarter rose from the Eastern horizon so did the clouds.   Nothing was revealed.

As the tidal stream lessened toward high water Opal again moved East,  searching for the elusive Staithe.   Five times she ran aground on the marsh grass exposed by the falling Spring tide,  and five times the skipper dragged her off into deeper water.   He was exhausted.   It was 1115,  and he had been awake and navigating,  by road and by sea,  for over eleven hours.
A mooring buoy appeared between the hull and the port ama:  he grabbed it,  and made fast the painter.   Time to rest.

The tiny cockpit of a Tandem Island is perfectly shaped for sitting.  The seat can be adjusted to sit upright or to recline.   From it the boat can be sailed,  paddled or pedalled in complete comfort.
It is the worst place in the world in which to sleep.

Shivering is good;  it keeps your muscles working and your body warm.   The time to worry is when the shivering stops.  They kept shining that light,  faint but soul-searching,  across his face.   Was this some kind of cruel joke to keep him awake as he tried to sleep . . . . ?   And that hideous screeching racket,  like seabirds fighting over scraps of fish and chips?  And the smell of stinking East Coast mud.

Two o'clock in the morning.   The seabirds were fighting over worms and shelled things in the mud.   The last quarter was shining through the thinning cloud.

With the tide ebbing,  and the banks exposed,  the Staithe might now be easy to find.
Sitting up and persuading cold,  cramped limbs to work was hard,  but ultimately successful.   Released from her buoy Opal responded to the fierce ebb,  being swept along with no chance of entering the Staithe,  even if it could be seen.   Which it couldn't.   Eventually she came to rest on a sandbank,  and the water became little chuckling channels which dwindled and dried. 
Back to the curled,  cramped,  confined cockpit.

That light is too bright,  but the air smells fresh and clean and the screeching has turned into vigorous honking.

Five o'clock.   The Eastern sky began to glow rosy pink and gold.   The sand was firm (in places).   A fisherman trudged across the estuary,  waded through the river and crossed the marsh on his way to his boat.   The tide probably turned at five and might lift the boat at seven-ish.
He dragged the Hobie into the river and began to haul it upstream.   Every hundred metres or so it had to be pulled across sandy shallows bedded with soft silt (quicksand?).
And finally dawn.   And then the Staithe,  clear and obvious with all the familiar land- and sea-marks to guide him in.

He pulled the boat up onto the shingle,  unstepped the mast,  collected the bag of instruments and guided his groaning legs to the car.   Removing the dry-suit (he'd worn it for nearly 23 hours) was a profound relief.   Comfortable shoes,  and then back to the boat.   Day sailors were preparing their dinghies and outboards.   A small group was helping a newcomer rig his Wayfarer,  and park his road trailer.   An efficient-looking sailor carried a bundle of boat cover from his dinghy to the clubhouse.   The Staithe was waking up to weekend watersport.

At the shingle he watched in disbelieving horror as the Hobie drifted up-channel on the tide.

A group around a Wayfarer confirmed that they had no safety boat to help and would not themselves be on the water for another hour.   Two men with an outboard dinghy pondered on where a drifting boat might end up,  and whether it would be accessible,  and that the channel upstream would be too shallow,  and that it might end up neaped on the marsh.   Perhaps it would float back on the ebb?
The efficient-looking sailor was just that.   He and the Hobie skipper embarked in the tiny dinghy and set off after the errant trimaran.   Twice they ran out of water,  and had to look for another way.   Eventually,  with the Hobie entangled in a mooring line just twenty metres away,  they stuck fast on a bank.   The skipper stripped off his shoes and socks,  jumped in knee-deep and ran toward his boat.   He was barely 5 metres away when it untangled and drifted off again.   And now he was thigh deep in a rising tide. 
The efficient-looking sailor had shipped his oars,  found a deeper channel and caught the runaway!
As he brought it back the skipper was waist deep and preparing to climb onto a moored boat.  Instead he boarded his Hobie,  and steered it behind the tiny dinghy back to the Staithe.   The efficient-looking sailor  brushed away the profuse,  embarrassed,  inadequate thanks:  "You'd do the same for me;  I know you would.   Anyone who wouldn't isn't worth knowing."

This time he dragged the boat out of the water completely,  and up the bank.   He ran to the car,  hitched on the trailer and hurried back to the boat.   It's stern was already in the water!   As he loaded it onto the trailer the Wayfarer sailors launched around him,  oblivious to the ending of the dangerous drama.   The efficient-looking sailor had loaded his passengers into the dinghy and was taking them down-channel to the boat.   Saturday morning,  and life was perfectly normal.

Back in the car park,  he secured the boat,  the trailer and the car for the journey home.   He was aware that,  in his exhaustion,  he had made dubious,  dangerous decisions.   Now everything must be checked and double-checked.   Every part and component must be touched and confirmed.   Today the sea had teased and then forgiven;  the road would not be as friendly.
Even so,  he had to stop after half a mile to fasten his seat belt!
At the little cafe the coffee was hot and strong:  he drank three cupsful,  and then sat in the car to get warm and to let the caffeine do its work.

The road journey was totally uneventful.

Days on the Deben

22 September 2014

Titchmarsh is a good place to launch.
It's just over 90 minutes from Cambridge; not quite the nearest piece of tidal water, but better than many.

There was a new regime at Woolverstone, on the Orwell. The new manager was a nice, friendly chap, prepared to let Opal launch for half price: just £16.00. It still seemed like a lot of money for a few hours on the water. The next time, he was off-duty: his accomplice (sorry, assistant) charged the full £30.00. That's £1.67 per foot. Somewhat bank-breaking. On the other hand, the crew gets access to the heads and showers: quite necessary after a few hours on Opal. The Buttery is pretty good, too.
But Titchmarsh charges half that rate. It has excellent showers and a good restaurant. The slipway is a little bit easier, too.

Opal always takes longer to rig than she should. People stop, and talk, and ask questions.
That's all very pleasant and friendly, but the tide had turned at 1140, and the channel was long and winding.

By 1230UTC she was on the water, wheels stowed, Mirage drive fitted and skipper settled with his laminated charts, VHF and coffee flask.

The Eastward branch of Twizzle Creek was downwind; a fast, smooth run between the moored boats. Walton Channel was a fast reach. At Island Point NCM the channel had become tortuous: the Mirage drive again showed its worth, making the transition from sail to "power" effortless and smooth. The channel across Pennyhole Bay was straight, NE by N, and Opal was making for Landguard Point. The only danger was being carried too far East by the tide ebbing from the Stour and the Orwell. And, of course, the ships in the deep water channel out of Felixstowe and Harwich. With the gentle breeze and the North-going tide Opal made 6 knots over the bay and across the channel: not a moving ship in sight!

By 1535, off Felixstowe town, a small chop had developed. Opal began to leap from crest to crest, hurling clouds of spray and volumes of water to drench her exhilerated skipper.

At 1600 Bawdsey SWM came into transit with W Knoll PHM, and Opal hove to. She was nearly 2 hours too early for the first flood into the haven. In all probability, water would continue to pour out of the Deben long after the new flood had started.

A small trawler moved South, turned at the SWM and moved North. It turned again, coming South a mile to the East. North again, on its endless search for bottom fish. Finally, it turned into the Deben, demonstrating to Opal's skipper that, at slack water in the open sea, the river basin was still draining.

The dilemma began to crystallise. Opal needed a friendly beach before nightfall. She must go in soon, ebb or not.
The mile or so between W Knoll and the anchorage seemed endless. Not directly upwind, it was still too close for the sail to help much. For an hour or more the skipper's legs pumped at the pedals: the occasional spasm of cramp had to be ignored: to stop pedalling would mean being swept back to sea. Opal slowly gained ground.
In the breakers, outside the shingle, a young man paddled his board out to sea, then rode the crests in toward the bank. At the end of each run he was hurled head over heels by the tumbling breakers. Then he emerged, stood on his board and paddled out to sea.
He was still there, still playing, as Opal passed the ferry and slipped into the placid waters of the anchorage.

As the sky darkened the tide began to help. But there was still light enough to see that the banks were wide expanses of mud. East Coast mud. Black, stinking mud. Thigh-deep, sticky mud. Mud conquered by Charles Stock, with his long wooden planks.
Mud that an exhausted old man could not cross hauling his boat, however light.

'Round the bend, in the gloom, was a miracle crossing all the mud into the water. A floating pontoon. Opal moored alongside, and her gear was carried to the shore. In the wind-lee of the flood bank a few square metres of grass was perfect for the tent. The tea was black and bitter and hot. The meal was tasty and varied and hot. The sleeping bag was warm. The geese and the curlews sang a cheerful lullaby. The crew slept. 

23 September

The engine was quiet, but getting louder and closer. They would discover him trespassing on their pontoon, confiscate his ship and leave him marooned on the desert island. Pleading for his life would be futile. At least, the dishes had been washed . . .

Six thirty. He watched the two anglers motor slowly upriver. Behind the scudding grey and black clouds the sun had risen high. Again, the tea was hot and welcome. The porridge was hot and laced with condensed milk. The washing-up was easy. Striking camp was swift.

By 0830 Opal was drifting upriver on the tide. The wind on the water, though strong and driving thick clouds at altitude, came in fits and starts, now and then. Sometimes drifting, occasionally pedalling and often fast, brisk sailing. The anglers had anchored their dinghy below the moorings at Ramsholt: Opal swept past, ignored and ignoring. A couple of barges moored, or laid up, in the corner above Hemley, and then toward Waldringfield. West of the island, the village and moorings at Waldringfield were from a picture book. The water was sheltered from the Westerly wind; pedalling gently was enough to maintain steerage way with the tide. A long reach up toward Martlesham Creek, the little island almost covered by the Spring tide. Again, the mooring was sheltered, and the Mirage drive made easy work.

By midday Opal was gliding into Woodbridge. Pottering around the anchorage, she irritated a single scull teaching a very scared girl.
It's never really clear whether Opal is sailing or 'motor-sailing': the transition is easy and smooth, and she carries no cone. Most sailors are not irritated: more fascinated and questioning. The instructor was irritated, but probably had no concept of sailing or motoring. Other vessels were simply in the way, and he wanted to get his frightened student back to the boathouse ramp. Ferry-gliding is a sophisticated technique, difficult to teach even when on the same boat.

Opal moved out of their way.

The skipper knew Woodbridge well, but not from the water. The boatyards and boathouses were all there, but different. Most of the boats were there, but closer, more intimate, more real.
Luncheon afloat, drifting in the slack high water. Boat-watching. People-watching. Part of the scene, but detached, alone. Relaxed. Content. Cold pasta bake and water.

Then there was enough ebb to create a sailing breeze. Toward Martlesham Creek the wind strengthened. Flat water and a strong wind are the conditions for which Opal was created. The hull and l'ward ama hissed across the surface. Five times Opal skimmed along the reach, to and fro, flashing past the moored yachts, her skipper's heart singing with the wind and screaming with joy.

And then on down the estuary.

The moorings at Waldringfield were sheltered by the hill from the wind, which then swirled around the sailing club and sent Opal flying on again.
Past the moored barges the river turned South and a little West. Then Opal was drawing long boards across the water, changing tack in the shallows close to each bank.
Then South and East, with the wind on the beam, and Opal lifted her windward ama and hurtled on.

By 1500 she had reached her isolated pontoon and moored alongside.

Teatime.

A long walk along the flood bank to Felixstowe Ferry, and a cup of tea and slice of cake at the cafe.
A stroll around the boatyard and then a chat with the Assistant Habour Master.
"Take the flood down to the Backwaters." said he.
"Catch the last of the ebb out of the river: you'll have plenty of water for that little boat. Watch the buoys and keep away from the shoal opposite the tower."

At 1800, back at the campsite, the skipper pitched his tent and cooked supper.
A seal surfaced close to the water's edge, and surveyed the domestic arrangements. Satisfied, it slipped below the surface and vanished.
Low water would be at 0607UTC.

24 September

If the Autumn leaves continue to fall at this rate the bivvy will be completely camouflaged and no-one will ever know. Heavy, fast-falling leaves like storm-driven spray on the coachroof . . .

At 0330 a sharp shower rattled on the tent.
Breakfast, as always, was tea and porridge: hot fluids and slow-release carbohydrate: warming and 'wakening.

0530. The night was black. The all-round white on Opal's pole was blinding. The river was black, the anchorage was dark. No useful lights near the ferry: the entrance was invisible. The buoys in the channel were all un-lit. This was impossible: to leave in these conditions would be folly.

So back to the pontoon for a second breakfast, and more sleep.

At 1030 another shower of rain rattled on the tent. Again, the little camp was struck, the boat loaded and embarked. Slack high water would be around 1240, when the channel should be calm and, in daylight, visible. It would mean sailing South against the ebb, but the wind had strengthened again from the West.
At the ferry crossing the water was calm. In the channel the water was flat and calm, while the wind over the sea wall pushed Opal along. She was half reefed so as not to overtake the yacht ahead: it might show the way to the SWM.

At sea the wind had backed into the S'West, and freshened again. Opal bounced across a short chop, now and then slicing through in a shower of salt water. The yacht ahead stayed close inshore. Unable to sail as close to the wind Opal moved further out, heading South but making leeway to the East.

As the sea built Opal began to leap from crest to crest, often plunging through the next wave, never stopping.
A big yacht came close to the port quarter, its crew apparently anxious about Opal's intentions and safety. Satisfied, they bore away to overtake, then thrashed away through the chop on a fine reach to the South.

The ebb out of the Stour and the Orwell again became a worry. Opal's leeway threatened to take her East of the Wadgate Ledge beacon which, in these conditions, was too far. She needed to be close inshore as she passed Landguard Point to have any hope of reaching the Backwaters.

On the port tack she began to lose ground to the North. In 5 minutes she seemed to lose 15 minutes of ground gained, but she closed the shore. Now she could brave the deep water channel.

Onto the starboard tack again: a wild, wet, bouncing ride over the white caps: where had they come from? Again the wind had strengthened. Then the channel.

A vast container ship, leaving Felixstowe, was turning the corner at Landguard NCM. Opal would be swallowed by the bow wave and shredded by the screws. Onto the port tack again and close Landguard Point. Then onto the starboard tack to cross as close behind as possible.
Past Beach End SHM and there, approaching the corner, an even bigger ship.

No stopping now.

Opal flew across the channel, drifting downtide as fast as she moved forward. For a full minute, as it turned to port, the ship pointed its bows directly at the little canoe. Then they were clear, Opal South of the channel in the lee of Deane PHM, the ship presenting her vast starboard side.

Pennyhole Bay was a maelstrom. The ebb from the Wallet meeting the mixing ebbs from the Backwaters and from Harwich was turned into a cauldron of white, breaking water by the S'Westerly breeze. This was not exhilerating. This was hard, concentrated work. Keep the boat as close to the wind as possible, but keep her moving as fast as possible. This was frightening: a long, cold, hard fear that focussed the skipper's mind, lifted it above the thrashing breakers, and allowed it navigate and sail the tiny boat. Transits on the Gunfleet Array showed that she was moving up to windward, but not fast enough. She would make landfall a mile to the East of Walton Channel, a little North of the Naze. Time to tack again. Five attempts failed. The sixth, with speed and hard pedalling, succeeded. Once again, Opal was losing ground to the North. Close to Pye End SWM she reached the channel, and again changed to the starboard tack. Now, in the lee of the land, it was plain, fast sailing.

Four o'clock, with the tide still ebbing out of Walton Backwaters. Titchmarsh Marina would close the inner gate at five thirty and Opal would spend the night in the dinghy compound. The campsite would be flat and fresh mown, the restaurant would be warm and friendly and the delights of Walton would be 5 minutes away. The tide of life was flooding again, even as the ebb of water slowed the boat.

Island Point NCM appeared on the starboard bow, the dogleg was easy with the wind on the beam and Walton Channel was a fast smooth fine reach through the moorings.
The Twizzle was hard work against the breeze and the tide, and then Opal slipped into the pool, the port ama was folded and she came alongside.
Fifteen minutes later, with five to spare, she was on her trailer, through the gate and into the car park. It took the exhausted skipper a further 90 minutes to load her gear and to secure the car and trailer.

Three days of high tides and low, high emotion and despair, exhileration and naked fear; the little boat had conquered it all and come home.