Chapter 20 The Call of the Reed Beds

Do you remember that warm, safe, secure feeling during childhood games when you were `home` or otherwise `out of touch`? I recaptured it in full measure at 0400 hrs on Monday the 13th of March when I pushed back the hatch of the little gaff cutter Shoal Waters and poked my head out into the night. The initial total blackness softened to reveal a very full River Bure, whipped into wavelets by the wind howling over the southern bank. Back over my shoulder, a faint yellow glow, almost certainly the loom of Norwich, silhouetted the heads of tall reeds bowing in the gale. Yes! I was back on the Broads once more. I shut the hatch and dropped back into the warmth of the radiant heater to make a cup of Horlicks and reheat the contents of the hot water bottle before crawling into my sleeping bags to contemplate the adventures of the last sixty hours. In point of fact the last twelve had been spent right here since the first splatter of forecast rain early on Sunday afternoon drove me to round up into this little dyke in the windward bank, chuck the anchor over the bows and rig the cockpit cover. After a disgustingly late Sunday lunch consisting of two of Mr Matthews turkey burgers, the last yoghurt which needed eating up, and a large hunk of gooey Danish swiss roll washed down with a cup of tea, it was time to catch up on my kip!

The prospect of even getting out of the home river had seemed slim when I left my mooring off the Blackwater S.C. at Heybridge at 1320 hrs Friday with a lively wind from between south and southwest under a sullen sky but long experience has taught me that it is always worth a look. It was the very top of spring tides as I sailed up to Maldon to view the barges riding high above the quay and then enjoyed a hectic trip down river to moor on the mud of Tollesbury Creek in the most sheltered spot that I could think of. I was already in my bunk by the time that the 1750 hrs forecast came over, SW 5/6 – 3/4 and didn’t even wait for more. The local waters forecast at 0030 was more encouraging, variable three or less and I got under way at 0210 hrs just before high water, to sail steadily into a long dreary dawn reaching Clacton Pier at 0510 hrs. Off Walton pier, the 0700 hrs local forecast gave W-SW 3/4, perfect for a run to the Broads. In spite of the disappointing progress so far, it was too good a chance to miss so I decided to press on over the flood that would set in soon.

Working the tides is always the main problem with our annual seventy mile trip between the River Blackwater and Yarmouth to enjoy spring on the Broads before the opening of the fishing season on the sixteenth of June draws the hordes of motor cruisers out of the yards. High water at Yamouth is three hours earlier than at Maldon (High water London Bridge, half ebb at Swin, low water Yarmouth Roads, half flood at Lynn). The sailing craft bound north will never enjoy the full six hours of ebb, in fact the faster she goes, the sooner she will meet the next flood. On the credit side when she returns south, she will enjoy at least seven or even eight hours flood tide. Having no engine, I am dependant on the flood tide to help me into busy Yarmouth harbour. The whole Broads area drains into the sea through here and the ebb runs out for at least an hour after the tide turns on the coast. A fair wind is essential for I cannot beat round Orfordness further than the first haven, Southwold , from the Ore or the Deben in one ebb.

One trick is to take one ebb tide from Maldon as far as Walton Backwaters or the Deben, sleep over the flood and then leave at high water. You are bound to meet the next flood well south of Lowestoft but can usually sail over it by keeping close inshore to reach Yarmouth before the ebb starts out of the harbour. The Deben sounds much nearer than Walton but it is not just a question of simple distance. A fair wind north up the coast is likely be a dead beat out of the Deben but a fair wind out of Walton. Thus you can leave Walton anytime, even sailing out of the wide entrance over the flood tide, but will have to wait for the ebb to start out of the Deben and remember that because of the narrow entrance, the flood runs hard and continues long after the tide turns outside. The Ore is even worse. In 1966 we stood on top of Orford Castle Keep in a south westerly breeze and watched the Shipwash light vessel swing with the ebb but still had a long wait for the ebb to start in the river. By the time we got out to sea, much of the ebb had been lost and we had to settle for Southwold for the night. Even if I had gone straight to Walton on Friday, leaving early on Saturday would have meant crossing the Harwich shipping lanes in the dark, which is to be avoided if possible.

Thus I faced a long plug over the flood along the Suffolk Coast. With the wind between east and south, this can be minimised by keeping close inshore but if there is much west in the wind you loose it if you sail too close to the high parts of the coast such as Dunwich cliffs. A further complication at weekends is the popularity of beach fishing. Hell hath no fury like a fisherman whose private patch of water (as far as he can cast), is disturbed by a boat dodging a foul tide. I have been stoned on several occasions and heard fishermen boast of casting a lead through a boat’s mainsail. Nevertheless, some sort of compromise can normally be worked out and there are certainly very useful eddies on the flood south of the Deben and Ore bars. The latter was astern by 1120 hrs and Orfordness lighthouse looked pleasantly close in the warm sunshine, which was now taking over from the clouds. Sad experience told me that this trip over a foul tide is one of the longest and most protracted voyages in the world. The shore is five miles of never ending bare shingle moulded by the tides as regularly as the moulding on any picture frame. It is very steep too and Shoal Waters can sail within ten feet of the shore to dodge the tide. Many years ago I sailed this stretch in thick fog with only the lightest of airs from the south, just enough to carry me over the flood tide. It was an eerie experience, just me, the boat and twenty or thirty yards of steep shingle, ten or twelve feet away to port. The only benchmarks with which to judge my progress were the occasional items of flotsam on the seemingly endless shingle. Another experience here that I will never forget was on a warm summer night as I neared the lighthouse. There had been an explosion of black headed gulls about this time and the sky was full of them diving and wheeling overhead in protest at my intrusion into their private nesting area. Every five seconds the beam of the lighthouse swung round, lighting them up like flashes of pure silver in the black sky.

I swept the shoreline with my glasses looking for the green umbrellas which are so essential for fishing these days, and noted just a few, far away near some old concrete bunkers left over from the war. The bunkers are within half a mile of the Ness and most important, a useful eddy starts there close inshore. In fact by the time I reached that eddy the nearest of the dozen fishermen were almost out of sight astern. Nothing goes on forever and at last the radar towers at Bawdsey vanished and Aldeburgh came into sight by 1300hrs. I was depressed to see that these lonely shingle banks are being invaded by fourwheel drives. Later visits to the neck of shingle at Slaughden, the only way they can enter the area, shows a barrier of massive concrete blocks have been installed to preserve this unique area for wild life. The little fairytale town of Aldeburgh was abeam by 1400 hrs (forecast Humber going south to force six), and I was surprised to see them launching the lifeboat, presumably just for practice.

Then at long last the ebb set in. Sadly the wind eased and I too lazy to decide to put the topsail up, used the excuse of stronger winds forecast. Walberswick drew abeam at 1555 hrs but the wind fell even lighter. Lowestoft came into view but with the wind and ebb tide dying, it was slow progress and hopes of reaching Yarmouth tonight began to recede. Oh for Mutford lock and easy access via Lowestoft. Ever the optimist, I pressed on past the harbour entrance for it would be easy to come back, if necessary, once I met the flood. With a glorious sunset as a background, the lighted buildings of Lowestoft passed by until the entrance was astern and still the dying ebb carried me north. The headland here, Lowestoft Ness, is the most easterly part of England and forces the tide passing up or down the coast to speed up to get by. If only I could get well beyond it into the next bay, I would be happy to anchor and wait for the next ebb tide or for the wind to pipe up. So often the wind returns once the sun has gone to bed and there was a slight improvement but off the red can Ness buoy, I realised that I was beginning to drift backwards so I anchored well inshore of the buoy in over twelve feet of water and hung up the anchor light.

After a cup of tea I decided that it was no place to stay unless I kept an anchor watch which I didn’t fancy, so I got the sails up and drifted back with the growing ebb into Lowestoft Harbour. A trawler came belting in with no green sidelight and as I passed between the pier heads, I saw a large vessel coming straight at me with no lights at all! It was the lifeboat. I have regulation side and stern lights but waved my anchor light just to make sure. Someone must have swept a hand over a board of switches for the lights and spotlights sprouted everywhere and they swung to pass me on my port side slowing to ask,

  “Have you seen anyone in trouble north of the harbour?” I replied that I had come from Maldon but been unable to get passed the harbour because of the lack of wind and flood tide so I had returned. They swept out into the night and I glided into the yacht basin, almost empty so early in the year, and tied up to one of the many vacant buoys. A steak was soon sizzling in the frying pan while I spread out my sleeping bags. Somewhere in my slumbers I remember hearing the vessel return and have a horrible feeling that they had been looking for me!

I left at 0430 hrs to make certain of enough ebb tide to carry me to Yarmouth. There was little wind and I narrowly missed being swept onto the red can buoy on the Ness as it swung back and forth in the strong ebb tide. Even in these calm conditions there was a rare old popple, which shook what little wind there was out of the sails. A mile on, all was calm again and sitting to leeward, the little green cutter glided on smoothly towards the lights of Yarmouth as the groynes along the shore became visible and then patches of sand and grass on the low cliffs. The sun was up by the time I neared the harbour entrance and anchored close inshore of the south wall. After awash and shave and a couple of eggs for breakfast, I laid on the bunk and waited for the tide in the entrance to ease. The southerly breeze was up to force two when I got under way to look in between the piers. Too early first time, but fifteen minutes later at 0800 hrs I got through the short east /west stretch where the high walls take most of the wind, and started the long drift north through the busy harbour. Now 0800 hrs on a Sunday morning is not the best time to enter Yarmouth harbour. There must be between one and two hundred small craft of all types and ages there used for line fishing. Engines varied from modern monster outboards snarling under the speed restrictions to ancient industrial monuments bonking along in clouds of black smoke. I met them all and bobbed about in their wash almost helpless for the steep shore and buildings took most of the wind. Add a gas rig vessel backing up the harbour followed by a Norfolk Line RO RO ferry and life becomes full of interest! Nevertheless, the growing flood knew its job and by the time that Southtown Bridge came in view, I was alone in smooth water and able to lower the gear without stopping to moor up. Had I succeeded in reaching Yarmouth last evening, which must have been after dark, I would have attempted to moor for the night on the visitors` moorings along the eastern bank just below the bridge. In fact new piling is being driven along the bank here and it is a no go area! In the entrance to the River Bure I met my first broads motorboat, but once under the next two bridges, I was able to moor on the comfortable, free, eastern side to raise my gear instead of the western `No Mooring` side, the only place with any room in high season. By 0950 hrs I was under way again with prospects of a fair wind most of the eleven miles to Acle and beyond. The sky was already overcast and darkened as the last buildings of Yarmouth gave way to the open reed fringed marshes and the old familiar landmarks such as the Three Mile House, Mautby windmill and the six Mile House slipped by. The abundant wild life is my main reason for coming here each spring and I like to log the first heron, grebe, coot and moorhen I meet. This year all four greeted me before I reached the Stracey Arms, the first acceptable mooring place above Yarmouth. It was still shut for the winter but at Stokesby, the first traditional Broads village, I found a shop open where I bought a pint of milk and, in appreciation of their being open on a Sunday so early in the season, a large Danish swiss roll. Acle Bridge was little trouble with a fair wind and tide but both the waterside shop and more important, the toilet and water tap were closed. Now the wind was piping up. After Thurne Mouth, the little boat began to tear along and the inevitable gybes on the winding river became distinctly exciting. As the ruins of St Bennets Abbey came into view, the first drops of rain began to fall and by 1435 hrs I was moored up safe and sound in as snug and private a spot as anyone could wish for; safely `out of touch` from the worst that the wind and water could chuck at me.