Island Observations

Before setting off sailing we did consider that during our trip we might provide useful insight into the state of Britain during a period of recession, social comment on how the country is faring based on observation made as we moved around the coast of Britain. However the tell-tale signs of hardship that we thought might be obvious have proved less easy to spot in the places we have visited, or at least less easy to attribute to the country's current financial condition. For example, one observation that has struck us is that our own boat has become larger as we have moved north. To spot this it is necessary to be outside the vessel and in the proximity of other boats. It takes a few minutes to realise that this is merely a relative phenomenon and that it is the boats around us that have diminished in size. In the Southeast and all along the south coast a sailing boat must now be at least 40 feet long to be remotely seaworthy, so it seems, whereas in Amble our catamaran's 31 feet length overall dwarfs most other boats in the marina. Of course this is merely a sign of the north/south divide - hasn't it always been so.

Then again we wondered weather the seas would now be empty of luxuries like yachts, whether tourism would be at a complete standstill, enjoyment on hold. Until the last few days this did look likely but we now realise that it was simply too early in the year for most people to be sailing.

Now we are in a holiday week and there are enough people to fill the trip boats out to the Farne Islands, many times over, so like any other year the terns have plenty of human heads to attack on the path up from the landing - a hat is a compulsory item.

Selective layers of mist meant that we saw the tourists at Dunstanburgh before we saw the castle itself and even when it did appear it was just a ruined turret hovering in the cloud.

We had almost sailed on by before the full size of this spectacular seaside extravaganza revealed itself.

So it seems there is no shortage of tourists after all and of course no shortage of castles for them to visit here either. In fact castles are so thick on the ground in this part of Britain that it is difficult to take a picture without capturing one.

Although Holy Island has a perfectly good castle of its own, just across the way Bamburgh creeps into shot, two for the price of one, so to speak. But somehow Lindisfarne tops all the charts for total pointlessness as well as for sheer arrogance and I can well understand the attraction this place holds. What better use for an isolated lump of rock on a remote island at the edge of Britain than to build a castle on it - the tourists will always flock here to see it.

They even chance the tidal causeway that connects mainland to the island. Most will make it back safely but every year the tide catches a few out and pubs on the island showcase pictures of the rescues of those who don't, 4 x 4s with water lapping the tops of the doors with sad, scared figures sitting atop.

There is a time, of course, when the tide returns and this place becomes silent, no one left but the residents and just the one boat crew, ours.

Miles and miles of golden sand......

....Whitley Bay, Northumberland

To those who hail from these parts this should be an evocative sight; maybe enough to bring a small tear to the eye. The ruined castle on the hill, the blunt cliff and the line of hotels over looking the strip of beach that is the destination for many a Geordie on a hot summer's day.

Sadly this is not one of those days, despite the forecast, and the beach is empty. People around these parts know that when the BBC glibly announce a hot Bank Holiday weekend they are as likely as not talking about somewhere 'doon sooth, man' and on Tyneside it is as much use as a chocolate fireguard. They probably also originated the expression 'too bright too early', which aptly describes a day like we have just had where at 6am the sun blasts down from a cloudless sky, by 10 'o clock it is cloudy and by midday it is raining.

Still, on the bright side, this coast does have a decent stock of lighthouses for us to photograph, proper ones too with the stripes and the red top. It also marks the most southern extent in the North Sea of the range of two of our most colourful birds, the Eider duck and the Puffin, whose striped beak is on loan from the parrot family.

About a mile offshore from Amble lies Coquet Island, a rocky place with a small patch of green scrub and, of course, a lighthouse. The Eider nest only on this island - they presumably have it largely to themselves - and as soon as the chicks emerge from the eggs they undertake the most perilous journey they will ever undertake. Before they are a day old they waddle down to the sea and set out to paddle across the mile or so of open sea that separates the island from Warkworth Harbour. The Herring gulls are out there waiting for just this moment and many chicks clearly never make it but those that do survive are guided by their parents instinctively into Amble marina so they can gain protection from above by hiding beneath the very pontoons we are now moored to. The youngsters in this picture are some of the lucky ones, they will have made the passage within the last day.

Male Eider ducks proudly show their breeding readiness by the pale green colour on the back of their necks, this being enough to attract two or three ladies at a time and as many chicks as they can protect between them. They swim around the marina as if it were put here just for them.

Yorkshire coastal

'Good sailing' is a term that has a number of interpretations. The wind has to be right, in terms of direction, strength and temperature. The sea state has to be suitable, not too rough, and perhaps strangely, the sky has to be right too. A dull, overcast day will never quite make it in the enjoyment stakes alongside a bright sunny one. We have now emerged from the Humber Estuary into the cool clear waters off the Yorkshire coast, a sea full of gannets and guillemots sharing the waters with grey seals.

Stopping overnight in Grimsby where the members of the Humber Cruising Association gave us a warm welcome into their little community by a night of entertainment in the club bar, we then sailed out past a wartime defensive fort and made another left turn around the spit of shingle they call Spurn Head. Once past this the swell begins to lengthen. The day started with fresh southerly winds, nothing stronger than force 5 was promised, so as soon as we could we dug out our brightly coloured spinnaker and hoisted it up the mast. This is the sail that makes Cirrus Cat really go and soon our log was reading first 9 then over 10 knots as we surfed down the waves, the white foam creaming out from behind us.

For us the sailing gets good when our wide white wake starts to roar out behind us, the stern waves from both hulls colliding in a 'rooster-tail' of foam. We began to count down the hours to our destination, imagining an early arrival, in daylight, at Scarborough, some 50 miles to the north. Such thoughts are presumptuous when sailing at sea. Within an hour or so angry black clouds with streaks of rain falling beneath them were rising over the land and moving across our path. Bright sunshine became mixed with deep gloom as the shadows darkened the sea around us and slowly our steady wind started to change direction and ease off. We have on board a limited wardrobe of sails which can be flown to suit most wind conditions. However I would not normally expect to have to change through all of them in the course of one day. At least this is keeping me fit, I reasoned, as I pulled down another sail as the wind rose around me again, the sky almost purple just ahead with a really evil look to it.

Then within the space of half an hour we had no wind and torrential rain followed by an incredible double rainbow with both ends dipping into the sea behind us.

Which brings me to another requirement of 'good sailing'. A steady wind, something our present weather pattern seems bent on depriving us of.

By Flamborough Head the last of the spectacular daylight cloud-shows was fading into darkness and Scarborough was still some miles off. Darkness had fallen by the time we crept into this small harbour and the castle ruins high above were just silhouettes.

Deep water beneath the steep cliffs guarding this coast enables us to creep in close and view Britain from an angle few will see. Avid readers of this blog will recall how in February this year we visited the Boggle Hole youth hostel in Robin Hoods Bay. To sail past this and view it from just offshore is what really makes coasting Yorkshire waters a delight for us. So this is the real essence of good sailing - the whole experience in all its colours.

Hull

So what, then, are the learning points from our stay in Hull?

Well firstly there is the fact that the marina in which Cirrus Cat now floats was once part of a large dock which some 50 years ago would have been thick with fishing vessels, mostly trawlers, unloading cod by the ton into wagons waiting alongside. This water is now sliced up by a 4-lane road (which explains the traffic noise) but originally the dock would have extended right into what is now the very centre of the city, a sign of the prominence of the fishing industry here. Only one 'sidewinder' trawler remains from this once extensive fleet, this being now little more than a tourist attraction, although interesting to view.

 

Then there is the fact that Hull contains a visually attractive mix of old and new buildings, like this church reflected in modern glass office windows. The architecture is bold and reflects the wealth extracted from the sea by the fishing industry, on a scale that is now hard to imagine. Hull was built on the profits from fish, although the port now serves other markets.

Fish swimming in water are difficult to photograph, even when they live in a giant submarium (The Deep) alongside sharks, swordfish and many other species. I'm sure this one was watching us as closely as we were him.

The water in the Humber estuary where it flows past Hull is always coloured brown, the colour of leather, like on a good pair of shoes. So when painting a seascape to hang in Hull's Ferens Art Gallery you'd better get this right - locals will soon know something is wrong.

And finally: A good measure of someone's character can be determined from the way they store their Christmas decorations. This piece of wisdom does not, as it happens, come from Hull but from further south where we have spent the last few days, having been invited to a substantial party to celebrate the betrothal of friends Rich and Gerry. It is not for me to explain the statement about the decorations, even if I could.

From all appearances it has rained ceaselessly here in Hull from the time we left three days ago until the moment we arrived back. What other conclusion can you draw when both our departure and return coincided with gallons of the stuff falling from the sky. Still, at least this has tested my repairs to the minor window leaks we were experiencing after our passage across The Wash. We returned to a perfectly dry boat, internally, although very well washed externally.

And after sitting out a week of easterly winds, finally there is a weather forecast for the next few days which suits us, wind from the south which won't blow our socks off. Soon we'll be leaving Hull and its rain behind, following those brown waters towards the sea before turning left (again) to head towards clearer waters off the Northumbrian coast.

Crossing zero

When men with boats started to cross oceans they very soon realised that a bigger hazard than the sea itself was coming into contact with land, this being so much harder than water. Thus it became important to know roughly where you were and to be able to navigate safely. Today we can thank such early navigators for the concepts of latitude and longitude, for meridians and rhumb lines and perhaps even for GPS.

Without these navigational concepts the line we crossed on our passage across The Wash would be meaningless. There was nothing to see except a heaving grey sea streaked with foam beneath an angry looking sky. Our own focus was more on the boat's wind speed indicator as we watched the numbers rise when a squall came in, 25 then 30 knots, and as we wrestled with sailcloth trying to give the wind less to grab hold of. Our thoughts were far from the achievements of famous historical navigators and why zero longitude is where it is. Nevertheless there was a moment, a single moment, on our passage from Wells to Hull when Cirrus crossed that line, thus moving from the Eastern to the Western hemisphere of the earth. Now having marked this moment we continue our travels, always west of Greenwich, taking it all for granted.

Wildlife moments

I have commented before in these pages on how, with her tinted acrylic windows, Cirrus Cat is ideally suited to watching wildlife; we can see out quite clearly but from the outside the windows just look black and shiny with no indication of anything beyond.

What I hadn't realised was that this feature could be useful not only for watching animal life intent on its business and venturing close but also for watching human life passing by. From our position in the marina here in Hull we have captured a couple of wildlife snaps, one yesterday evening, a time when these particular creatures come out in all their finery.

And then again this morning we snapped this one.

This picture probably requires some explanation. The men dressed in black are professional divers, dressed from head to foot in thick diving drysuits. They are working on a paved slope above the water using a strimmer to cut grass growing in the cracks which, so far as I am aware, is not a regular piece of diving equipment. The man on the slope also has a hard hat and protective mask and is roped from above by the other drysuit clad figure, anchorman. We thought that this seemed like a rather complex and expensive way to cut grass until we realised the role of the third man. He is not just a bystander, oh no. His role is the most important of all. He is Health & Safety.

So having arrived in Hull, sliding up the brown waters of the River Humber right into the heart of the city, we are spending some time visiting family and meeting with friends as we wait for the weather to decide to give us a nice gentle breeze to take us north again. This gives us the opportunity to explore and find out what makes the city tick and also to discover just how many of the city's many facilities we can experience without actually paying.

One such experience is just behind us in the marina, a wonderful piece of memorabilia in the shape of the Spurn Lightship, all freshly coated in matt black paint. Although some lightships do remain at sea, it is not uncommon to come across these tough vessels withdrawn from service and languishing in ports, usually converted to serve some alternative purpose - maybe a floating restaurant or a residence. Spurn (LV12) is preserved and maintained just as she was so that visitors can come aboard and marvel at the cramped conditions the keepers once enjoyed at sea. 

A stint on a lightship would last a month, but poor weather might make it too dangerous to leave which meant that the crew had to stay longer at times. Sadly all our lightship mariners become redundant in the 1970s, going the same way as lighthouse keepers, with automation taking the place of human control. Where lightships were once anchored at sea you may now find a Lanby (Large Automatic Navigation BuoY) bobbing about, serving the same function but minus the romance of course.

Next, the sea

I'd be prepared to agree with anyone who felt like arguing that to date our passages on this round Britain voyage on Cirrus have been relatively modest affairs. We have had so much sunshine whilst at sea that Kate and I are beginning to look distinctly cooked and the winds have generally either favoured us or been absent altogether. Our passage from Lowestoft to Wells has changed all that. This time we had wind, more than we wanted, we had waves, bigger than we wanted, and for much of the trip the wind was trying to blow us back instead of helping us along. Then by some serious miscalculation on my part we managed to arrive at Wells as the tide was going out instead of coming in, forcing us to spend most of the night outside resting on a sandy piece of Norfolk instead of tucked up snug in port.

At this point I could regale the reader with a moment by moment account of each large wave that Cirrus' broad bows bashed into, each 25 knot gust that whistled through the rigging, each groan from the straining sheet winches, but I won't. Instead it seems appropriate to write about the delights of this port of Wells that we eventually made it into.

Close to the sea, beside the channel that leads to the town of Wells, seals disport themselves. We think that the light brown may be an adult and most of the others juvenile versions of the common seal, here on the north Norfolk coast in considerable numbers. Someone reading this will be more expert on the local mammalian wildlife than me in which case they can pass comment if they wish. The next beast, however. might be more difficult to place.

We came across this tank whilst wandering off for a short walk along the beach, strangely strategically positioned close to a line of huts. Kate couldn't resist going up to it and patting its flanks and the tank didn't seem to mind so why not.

If I were asked to guess a reason for the full name of this town being 'Wells-next-the-Sea' I would have said that it might be due to the fact the for most of the day the sea is in fact notably absent from the port. Visitors need to be reminded that this is a seaside town when most of the boats in the harbour lie about on their bottoms for hour upon hour. It is only when, all of a rush, water suddenly emerges from the winding channel leading north from the quayside that the seaside illusion becomes real. To be fair though, there are other things here which sort of give the game away. Like the black-headed gulls, for example, who enjoy nothing more than standing around in mid air waiting for someone to throw them a piece of bread.

The recession that most of the world seems to be living through at present seems to have entirely missed the town of Wells. Shops around here are well stocked and have a prosperous feel to them (Wells never had a Woolworths). The houses are tidy, a tasteful mix of modern and very old and the port itself has none of the sad, tired fishing boat debris lying about; it is clean and well managed. Best of all, the town has no less than two chandleries, places where they sell spare parts for boats, these shops being noticeably absent from other places we have visited, one of the many victims of internet purchasing. The Wells harbourmaster so wants to encourage visiting boats into his port that he takes his own launch out and is waiting offshore for you on arrival, to escort you back along the winding channel into to where new pontoons and shower facilities are waiting for you. So long as your boat can 'take the ground', a nautical expression meaning to stand upright without the benefit of supporting liquid, then this is a really nice place to put into.

Catamarans like Cirrus are made for this kind of port. There is, however, a slight slope to the firm sand onto which we gently settle twice a day as the tide goes out and this puts our normally level world inside the boat at the same slight angle. Curiously this tends to affect our sense of balance and we find ourselves staggering about inside as if inebriated. But this is a small price to pay for being safe inside a good harbour.

Having spent a few days here looking around, cycling out to Blakeney beside the marsh checking out the bird life, then browsing the art galleries in the town, we are moving on north again early tomorrow morming, taking advantage of a few days of fair wind. We have a simple plan to get Cirrus up to Yorkshire where who knows, we may stay awhile to give our land legs some exercise.

Marina life

Here on board Cirrus we are pretty much self-sufficient and carry everything we need with us for day to day living. Food and water we carry and stock up with when we need to, we carry gas for cooking, diesel for heating and for making the engine go, sails to suit most conditions, all the clothes we need and I even have a pair of nice fluffy slippers for padding around inside the cabin when the weather is like it is now, not as warm as it might be. We also have gadgets with us to enable us to send and receive emails, check various websites for weather information and keep the blog up to date. All electrical equipment on board has to run on 12 volts, powered from two large batteries which are charged both from the engine, when it runs, and from the wind-powered generator which lives atop its own mast at the stern. If other voltages are needed then we carry various devices for converting up or down and the usual assortment of plugs to cope with universal non-standardisation. In fact we want for little, it has to be said, but it is having all this that enables us to anchor in remote locations far away from modern facilities. Electrical power on board does need to be regarded as a limited resource, however, and must be used with care most of the time. It is never taken for granted.

As we move around the coast, anchoring out is not always possible so we find ourselves coming into marinas where, for a fee, we are provided with another set of facilities, toilets and showers, fresh water (through a hose pipe), and usually these days electrical power as well. Most marinas charge by the night and the cost of this will vary depending on the location (and whatever the market will stand). Generally marina berths in the UK cost less as you move further north but there are exceptions to this rule and again there may be 'add-ons' to the basic charge. Electrical power often comes as an extra but with marinas being, by their very nature, quite sheltered from the wind our ability to make our own electricity from the windmill on the stern is usually seriously impaired so when we stay for more than a few days we may have to pay whatever it costs. Usually this will be a fixed amount irrespective of use, so it can be expensive if all we need is to charge up a phone battery.

Lowestoft is the first marina we have stayed at for a while where electricity and free wifi access to the internet is included in the nightly charge, all this for less than we paid, for example, for a basic night in Woodbridge. The effect on us since we arrived here has been a bit like having new toys to play with. When our waterproofed orange lead is plugged in to the socket on the pontoon beside us then things start to come out of lockers that we can only use when we have mains power. The boat gets a good vacuum clean, for example. And then there is the breadmaker. Just like on Desert Island Discs we have allowed ourselves one luxury item to take with us and this is it. There is, of course, no smell more tantalising than that of bread just when it emerges from the oven and begins to cool. We know this and we know the effect this smell will have on those on board boats all around us.

So we have the breadmaker.

Late one afternoon a large motor yacht rumbled in to the marina looking for a berthing space. We lay alongside a long pontoon which could (just) accommodate his 55 foot length provided we were prepared to shuffle Cirrus along a little. But this presented a small problem. Our mains lead was plugged into a socket quite close to us and if we moved along we might have to disconnect it then re-attach it again closer to our new position. Normally this would not be a problem but at this very moment it so happened that we were using the breadmaker and to disconnect would interrupt the program, almost certainly causing the loaf to fail. Explaining this to the motor yacht owner and the marina manager was met with some amusement although, being nice understanding people, they did agree that the bread was far too important to put at risk. As it happened our dilemma soon attracted a small crowd of volunteers who graciously assisted with ropes and paid out more of the all important power cable so we could take up our new position. Perhaps I should go round offering them all a slice to show my gratitude for their assistance, after all they will get the fresh bread smell soon enough.

Northward again

In total contrast to the River Deben, we are now safely tucked into a yacht marina in Lowestoft, some 35 miles further north. This is a busy port, all bustle and businesslike and

with a marina just inside the entrance run by the Royal Norfolk & Suffolk Yacht Club, an august body rich in tradition where the dark blue blazer is almost certainly mandatory at the bar. How we got in I'll never know but they certainly regret it now as their rooftop webcam has captured us two loonies standing on Cirrus Cat waving madly (Click the picture for a larger one. Cirrus is on the far left.).

Before leaving the Deben we popped over to the Sutton Hoo viking ship burial site. 

This picture shows how they buried King Raedwald back in 625, himself probably from a family of a European immigrants, a curious link with today as many Dutch sailors still come to this area, particularly at this time when their queen's birthday is a public holiday for them. As I write I hear Dutch spoken on the boat next to us and yesterday evening we participated in a mild adventure when another Dutch boat came to anchor where it was too shallow, just as the tide was dropping. For anyone who doesn't know, a yacht with a single keel simply falls over when you take away the water, not a nice thing to happen. Some last minute pulling on ropes sorted him out eventually but at the expense of some national pride, I fear.

It was with some sadness that we left the Deben early this morning, creeping out to sea in the mist when nobody else was awake. Us sailors must always have tides and currents in mind when putting to sea so 5am it was, just in time to catch the shipping forecast then away down river. Turning north (our first left turn) we caught the express-train of a tidal current which sucked us on past Orford Ness, another slight left turn,

and past Aldburgh where the colours of the sea facing houses, visible even in the mist, led me to speculate that they might have become energised by radioactivity from the nearby Sizewell B power station. Foolish thought. This was not a good sailing day, however. The promised wind failed to materialise leaving us no option but to motor most of the distance. The sea heaved gently under us with scarcely a ripple on the surface although beneath the water the silt disturbed from the bottom swirled and churned like milk poured into tea. Rarely does the water drop clear here. It is quite shallow some distance off, no good for ships, but deep enough for our shallow draft to pass close to the shore so we could peer at remote villages perched vulnerably close to the sea and beach fishermen braving the early morning chill. No exciting wildlife here on view; just a few gulls chasing a fishing boat trawling nets across our path, but we are a little further on our way none the less.