Chapter 22 To the Broads 1993

  The northerly gales behind the storm surge that tested the sea defences along the East Coast at the end of February and limited Shoal Waters first weekend afloat to her home river, the Blackwater, were obviously dying. A high was moving in and promised a chance for the little gaff cutter to slip up the coast to the Norfolk Broads. 1993 was to be a special year for the lock at Mudford was once again in full working order after a major refit. It was 33 years since I first used it in my old half decker, Zephyr and 26 years since I last took Shoal Waters through. Lowestoft is a much kinder harbour to enter or leave than Yarmouth and shortens the journey from the Thames Estuary by six miles. Between times, the lock had only opened on Wednesday afternoons or at 48 hours notice with a surcharge of £80! Thus I had been forced to use Yarmouth in order to sail among the golden reeds of the Broads in early spring. I had never enjoyed battling Yarmouth’s strong tides, and with advancing years, realised that I must hit trouble sooner or later. Homeward bound last year, I fell overboard while negotiating Southtown Bridge solo at five in the morning. Fortunately I took a piece of rope with me and got back on board thanks to a bowsprit and its bobstay. I have never been slow to take a hint!

  The Weatherline forecast on Thursday spoke of light winds backing N.W. and then westerly with smooth seas and I prepared to leave my mooring at Heybridge early on Friday morning as soon as she floated two hours before high water. In fact the winds stayed between north and northwest until Sunday when they went easterly. It was clearly topsail weather. A thick haze with a little drizzle kept me in oilskins instead of my warm ex R.F.A duffle coat as I tidied up the boat and put a hot water bottle into my sleeping bag. As usual when leaving before high water, I cut behind Osea Island to avoid the strong flood tide in the narrows. Off West Mersea the old Trinity House vessel Winston Churchill swung into the wind and then the ebb tide set in. Progress bucked up; Clacton pier abeam at 1225, Walton at 1330. The shore dropped away as I came on the wind. Now it was a choice of Walton, Harwich or the Deben for a stop over the evening floodtide. The Outer Ridge buoy came out of the gloom ahead at 1445 as a misty monster glided across way beyond my bows in the Harwich shipping lane. After some hesitation I sailed across the shipping lane to reach the Deben bar at 1615hrs and moored inside under the S.W. shore half an hour later. By 1730hrs I had had a meal and was tucked up in my new 52 oz sleeping bag with another over the top for good measure. By 1750hrs the forecast killed any hopes of the wind freeing so I knew I would have to fight my way north.

  When I woke at 2100hrs the moon was peeping through the clouds onto the smooth water. The snag of the Deben is that the tide floods in for and hour after it turns on the coast. I have no engine so by leaving with the ebb, I have already lost at least an hours north going tide. Things are made worse as the further north one gets, the earlier the flood sets in. In fact H.W. at Yarmouth is three hours earlier that at Maldon. Of course you get the benefit when southbound. It is said that a fast vessel can carry a fair tide from Lowestoft to Burnham. In view of the calm conditions, I decided to leave with the ebb and anchor for the rest of the night under the lee of the shingle west of Orfordness, which I reached half an hour before midnight. By getting under way at 0700hrs next morning, I was off the dreaded Ness with its famous light at 0815 hrs, H.W, to take full advantage of the ebb. I couldn’t quite point along the coast, which gradually fell away in the mist. Of course sailing close hauled is more tiring than with a fair wind when I can almost cat nap at the helm. (Never use self steering gear when alone. If you fall overboard you will feel very lonely as the boat sails on without you! I know of a least one case in which the lone sailor was able to swim back to the craft as it rounded up into the wind with the sails flapping idly).

Southwold passed in the mist at 1100hrs, very good progress, but a long board inshore at noon found me well south of Lowestoft towards low water facing a long beat over the new flood. Fortunately the wind backed up and somehow the northbound tide continued to help me along. As I entered at 1415hrs I noticed that the entrance seems to have been narrowed since I was last here. Massive wooden piling and beams by the bridge provide ample mooring at which to moor up to lower down. By 1500hrs I was beating through Lake Loathing, noting that it is much busier than when I was last here, much of the derelict, wreckage strewn mud having been reclaimed. Perhaps the biggest difference was the mass of small craft on all sides.

I reached the lock just after 1600hrs but there was no sign of anyone in authority. More importantly, there was a fish and chip shop to hand. I had ducked my mast under the rail and road bridges and found enough space to get the gear up between the latter and the lock. In fact both open, as does the footbridge over the lock chamber. I was not worried by the busy traffic that night and slept like a log (this bridge, and the swing bridge at Lowestoft, are the only river crossings east of Beccles.).

  When the lock keeper appeared next morning, he told me that the new charge was five pounds and went on to say that a couple of motor craft had booked in to pass out at 0930 hrs, which time I agreed would suit me fine. Working the lock is a long business as there are double gates at either end because low water in Oulton Broad is three and a half hours later than at Lowestoft and it is possible at times of drought for the salt water to be higher than the fresh. As there was no room for the usual long beams to work the gates, they had rack and pinion operation, which made a lot of sheer hard graft. (When I went through for the last time in 2002 they had brought in power driven gates). Once onto the Broad, I sailed across and out onto the River Waveney with a light easterly wind. Somerlayton Railway Bridge opened for me at 1240 hrs and I sailed under the New Cut Bridge at 1345 hrs (just enough headroom for the topsail) to reach the River Yare at 1435 hrs and on across Breydon Water to the new bypass bridge at 1635 where I met the flood tide. It would have been possible to quant along the shallow north shore against wind and tide, in fact I have done it several times, but this day I was well content to anchor over the rapidly covering mud on the south side well out of the traffic with a cup of tea to watch the thousands of birds on the flats feeding franticly before the mud was covered up for the remaining daylight hours.

  I could have slipped across about 0400 hrs on Monday morning but preferred to sleep late. When I did stir, I sailed about the area and caught the last of the afternoon ebb into the Bure to take the flood to Stokesby for the night. Next day I moved on to Womack Water and my mooring for the next two months where I prepared for a very different sort of sailing.

  To the public at large, the peak of challenge and skill in yachting is a voyage across the wide oceans and in particular, sailing round the world singlehanded. In my experience there are two basic problems facing the sailor, starting and stopping. These are minimised by the ocean voyager while they came in abundance to the trading wherry with a cargo of sugar beet from Potter Heigham on the North Broads for the factory at Cantley near Norwich on the South Broads, powered by wind and tide with a bit of the armstrong system when those two powerful allies failed. Today the owner of a small sailing vessel can still enjoy the satisfaction of solving those eternal problems once more.

  The tide was already ebbing when I left Womack at 1400hrs and it was an easy sail down the narrow dyke to beat down the River Thurne to the wider River Bure to reach Acle Bridge an hour later. With a fair wind and tide, ducking the bridge was little trouble but the banks are crowded with large motor cruisers waiting for the busy season ahead so I anchored each side of the bridge to lower and raise the mast. In some ways anchoring is simpler than mooring for unless one is very careful taking in the mooring lines to move through the bridge, when you moor up again the other side it is easy to get them over the rigging and prevent the mast going up smoothly. The anchor and chain comes up on top of everything and goes back down again leaving everything clear. Had Joy been with me, we could have shot the bridge without stopping. The tide grew stronger as the river swung more easterly but it was already two hours after low water at Yarmouth and I knew that I must meet the flood several miles from the town and the junction with the River Yare. Both rivers continue to ebb while the level rises. The times at which the flood sets in varies with springs and neaps and the amount of fresh water draining off the land. Very roughly, the wide Yare turns about an hour after low water and the narrow River Bure ninety minutes later. Tidal speeds of two to three knots mean that engineless craft have to pass from one river to the other at slack water. Mooring up to the bank at the yacht station cost ten pounds at this time and was almost impossible anywhere else so a good anchor is essential. The importance of the time of low water in this area is shown by the fact that the local tide table shows only the time of low water. For a few pence, a small cardboard `clock` can be purchased. When set to the mark of low water at Yarmouth Bar, the times of high and low water can be read off for places throughout the whole navigable area of the Broads. Reedham is two and a half hours later and Norwich four and a half hours later. A windward reach just above the Stracey Arms windmill at 1730 hrs showed that the flood had started but the river runs easterly from then on, the sun was shining, and with a useful breeze from the south, I pressed on for another couple of miles before slipping into a shallow dyke just below the six Mile House to wait for the night ebb.

  It was flat calm when I looked out at 2230 hrs but I was almost aground, so I slipped out onto the smooth water already sweeping towards Yarmouth. The sails just gave steerage way. Half a mile above the yacht station, I dropped the sails and lowered the mast under way, watching carefully that the craft did not drift into one of the many posts marking the shallows each side of the river. The River Bure is very narrow for the last few hundred yards and in daylight, alive with large motor cruisers passing, mooring or leaving in the strong tide. It is a hazardous place for an unpowered yacht and I prefer to pass through at night when I have the place to myself. There are massive dolphins at the junction with the Yare to which one can tie up to wait, for the main river was still going out to the sea under Southtown Bridge like a mill race. I knew from long experience (since 1949) that if I kept to the starboard bank, I could quant over the spit between the rivers and along the shallow north shore of theYare to anchor above the new bypass bridge and get my mast up while waiting of the tide to flood. The whole secret of lowering and raising the mast and its gear singlehanded is to disturb the lot when it is down as little as possible. Once you start crawling under the rigging to get into the cabin to brew up, things soon get in a muddle, which can be the devil to sort out on your own in the dark. By 0130 hrs the massive bridge was behind me, the gear was ready, and I dozed until the dragging of the anchor chain at 0400hrs told me that the flood had started. The red and green painted posts marking the channel across Breydon Water (over a hundred of them) slipped by as dawn broke and a warm sun killed the light northwesterly breeze. The rail bridge at Reedham swung open promptly for me and I paddled furiously to help her through as quickly as possible.

  The broad River Yare wanders widely but the general trend is northwest. By noon the sky had clouded over, heavy rain was falling to the west and when the ebb set in, I passed down the southern dyke into Rockland Broad for lunch and an afternoon nap as the rain poured down. By 1730 hrs it had cleared and I sailed out of the northern dyke into the Yare where the first of the flood carried me to Surlingham Broad for the night in warm evening sunlight. I anchored near the old wherry graveyard. Each year more of the bones are smothered with reeds and scrub. At one time you could paddle over then at high water and gaze down on them. I even bought an expensive Polaroid lens with which to photograph them, but when I returned next year they had been chained off from visiting craft. Sleep, sleep and more sleep!

  Wednesday came in overcast with light drizzle. I shopped at the little waterside store at Brundle at 0900hs and then drifted with a rising easterly air to Thorpe on the outskirts of Norwich. Most of the banks are heavily wooded but there is plenty of interest from the old ferry staging at Surlingham with its restored pub, to the old fashioned boat yard west of the new Norwich bypass bridge which towers a comfortable thirty two feet above the river. I turned when the ebb set in and I helped the boat along among the trees with the quant and paddle. It took three hours to reach Brundle again but by then the ebb was powering down, the trees retreated and the westerly wind rose to a useful working breeze. Much of the next few miles run south and with the wind free, progress was good. The sky cleared, the sun came out and the reeds turned to gold again. When I met the first of the flood I ran into the mouth of the little River Chet and tied up to the weather bank a few yards from the Hardly Cross, an ancient monument that marks the jealously guarded boundary between the ports of Norwich and Yarmouth. I was well pleased with my progress so far and knew it would be an easy leap to Yarmouth on the night tide. Just one nagging thought crossed my mind as I slipped into the arms of morphus; the wind had died; a mist was rising.

  When I looked out at 2230 hrs, the other side of the narrow River Chet, barely forty feet away, was only just visible through the fog. Overhead a nearly full moon shone boldly, showing that the mist was not very deep. Hopeless though it was, I never had any doubts about setting out for Yarmouth. The forecast at 1800 hrs was east going northeast and gave a no hint of the gale warning to come for the afternoon low water next day but I just had a hunch that I should go. A slice of bread chucked onto the smooth water showed that the River Chet was still flooding but very slowly. With the Hardley Flood to fill, I guessed that it must flow up for some time after it turned in the main river and this proved to be correct. I put the sails up just in case a zephyr came along and tried to quant along the south bank against the steel piling but the Yare is a big river and the water was too deep so I used one paddle. By keeping the bank in sight, I knew where I was, but the first problem was to avoid a large white motor cruiser moored as a houseboat on the southern bank but, fortunately, he still had his lights on so that was no problem. Then it was just a case of picking the outside of each bends to benefit from the strongest tide. A few revellers were still awake in the cruisers moored at Reedham and one had his engine running! This is one of the snags of Broads Holidays. Craft tell me that they can only get hot water by running the engines. Last year I got fed up with a boat astern but up wind after thirty minutes and asked him why he was running his engine and giving me his fumes.

Continued