A winter on the Broads continued.

  Suddenly a great galleon loomed out of the night on the starboard bow. It was a red and white striped spherical buoy marking the Whiting Bank. I sailed close in to Orfordness but seemed to take a long, long time to pass it. The tides must run very strongly here. It was difficult to estimate the distance from the shore but the noise of the breaking waves on the shingle beach was very loud, far too loud for my liking so I eased of a little but in fact I need not have worried with an offshore wind for the shingle is very steep and I could probably have sailed within a few feet of the land. Now I steered north by the compass until I could use the lights of Aldeburgh to judge my distance and direction. The town was abeam at 2245 hrs and I picked up a red light which bore due north and must I assumed be Southwold. Now the tide was in my favour again and the miles slipped away astern. The moon sank behind the shore but the stars shone all the brighter for it. At 0045 hrs I was able to pick out the dim framework of the harbour entrance at Southwold and I toyed with the idea of going in. Thank heaven I decided to press on for I realised when I came back this way in daylight that it was merely the town pier and that the harbour was at Walberswick half a mile south. Once more I steered north by compass until a very bright light appeared due north which I guessed to be Lowestoft. Gradually a maze of lights opened up ahead of me. A dull blade of phosphorescence fanned out from the rudder blade and the night sailing seemed great fun. A small boat seems to be so much bigger at night.

An orange light and a blue light stood out boldly from the rest and I found the harbour entrance between them. Once inside the pier heads, I was met by an awful stench of fish, the steady throb of an engine somewhere in the middle distance and a strange atmosphere of captivity. Almost without thinking, I turned back out to sea and set off up the coast to Yarmouth. There was no obvious entrance so closed the high coast, steering on a likely light but found myself in shallow water and anchored at 0530hrs for the rest of the night, crawling under the tent over the bunk to drop off to sleep in seconds.

It was daylight when I woke to find cold hard clouds racing overhead and the harbour entrance about five hundred yards away to the north. The light on which I had been steering must have been on top of Gorleston cliffs. Up sails and into Yarmouth. The tide certainly runs hard through the three-mile long harbour. There was little wind among the wharves and warehouses but the strong tide soon carried me to the first bridge and I rounded up alongside to take down the mast, which was stepped on the keel. This was the first time that I had done it and it did not take as long as I expected. Within a year I would be passing under bridges in less than fifteen minutes. I moved on upstream under the bridges, paddling with one oar and steering with my knee against the tiller. The clouds rolled away and the sun shone down once more. Yarmouth Yacht Station looked a very uncomfortable place at which to stay so I pressed on to the first waterside village at Stokesby, which meant a hard beat but it was good to be among the reed beds of the Broads again. The tide turned against me for the last few miles but I moored up at 1315 hrs, hurrying ashore for some bread to find the shops closed for the dinner hour and I had a long hungry wait. Once fed, I slept the clock round.

Tuesday brought a typical autumn morning on the Broads, thick mist with a suggestion of blue sky above, the sure promise of a fine day. Of course there was not a drop of wind but the tide was flooding so I left the tent erect and paddled along gondola fashion, making steady progress to Acle bridge where of course the mast had to come down again. A chap I had met at Stokesby waved me alongside for a cup of tea and by the time we had finished chatting, the mist had gone and there was already enough wind to give me steerage-way when I hoisted the sails. This stretch of the Broads from Acle to St Bennets Abbey is one of the best sailing areas on the North Broads these days. At Horning Hall dyke a couple of people recognised my Little Ship Club burgee and waved to me. They were Roy Pike on Dawn Wind and Mrs Saunders on Butterfly, both veteran Broads sailors with whom I became firm friends over the years. They recommended a yard at Horning at which to leave the boat and I pressed on to make the most of the flood tide. The banks along the last few miles to Horning are very thickly wooded and sailing craft must have a fair tide. It was just 1500 hrs when I reached the yard near Horning staithe.

Some weeks later I moved her round to Decoy Broad for the winter where I nearly lost her over the Christmas holiday. She was left against a tiny wooden jetty under which the bank seemed to shelve gradually and I assumed that it continued at the same slope so that she was almost aground. In fact it was eight or ten feet deep and when I returned in the New Year she was only just afloat. Some years later a book was published proving that these broads were made by peat cutting in the middle ages and Decoy Broad was mentioned as one of the deepest.

With the first signs of spring I got busy on the boat with the intention of sailing the first week in March. In fact it came in so fine that I sailed for a few hours the week before. On the following Saturday I left the Broad after lunch and sailed down the River Bure and up the River Thurne to Hickling Broad where I anchored out in the middle of the Broad for the night returning to Decoy Broad next day. Apart from a few frost-biting dinghies, I had the Broads to myself, which I found much to my liking and well worth the discomfort of the cold nights.

Friday the tenth of March dawned dull and cloudy and the weather forecast was not encouraging. I had three and a half days holiday for half term so I planned to sail from Horning to Yarmouth, thence down the coast to Lowestoft and back via the rivers Waveney and Yare. Food was a problem, for strict rationing was still in force but a young lady sailing enthusiast in the village managed to get me a week,’s rations. I polled Zephyr out of the narrow duke at 1340 hrs and the northwest wind blew me slowly over the flood tide down to Thurne Mouth by the time the ebb started, which improved progress no end. The gold of the reed beds made up most of the colour along the banks. Ducking the mast got easier each time I did it. Below Acle the wind took off as the light faded and I continued on through Stokesby and past the Stracey Arms public house, the last accepted mooring above Yarmouth. The heavy tanned mainsail hung limp but the little boat just answered the tiller and I was able to keep her in midstream to take advantage of the rest of the ebb tide, which runs hard along here. It was a dark night but the lonely wind pumps stood out boldly on the skyline. Occasionally they sprang to life as the lights of passing cars on the main road illuminated them. The lights of Yarmouth glowed ahead, but I gave up somewhere near the five mile house. There is little traffic so early in the year and I moored to a single anchor in midstream with an anchor light.

Next morning, it was 0545 hrs when I got the stove going. Away half an hour later with a light breeze from the west that soon hardened to take me into Yarmouth at 0715 hrs. It seemed a long journey through the harbour and I wondered if the flood might set in before I got out to sea but luck was with me. At 0835 hrs I glided out through the tall piers and found a light sea with more wind than I needed. The little lady heeled over as I passed out of the shelter of Gorleston cliffs and gleaming white fingers of icy water began to reach up over the starboard bow and run across the foredeck. Presently Lowestoft loomed cold and grey out of the morning haze and ninetyfive minutes after leaving Yarmouth I entered the wide spacious harbour. To my surprise the locals wanted my name and port of departure! Then my problems began. There was too much wind for me to take down the mast and paddle through the bridge even with the aid of the little tide that flows here. It was impossible to sit down and row with both oars when the mast was down. Eventually a steamer came through and the chaps on the swing bridge gave me a tow through while it was open. Once into Lake Lothing, I got the mast up, close reefed the sails and beat steadily to Mutfort lock through which I could enter Oulton Broad. In those days the lock opened on demand and I was soon beating across the Broad to the shelter of the trees over on the western side where I had a meal and a nap.

In the warmth of the tent I suddenly felt very tired and weary. The sky was still dull and the wind seemed to be blowing even harder. It was quite struggle to suppress my more lethargic instincts and get under way again. Once out of the tail of the broad I found a fine breeze down the dyke connecting the Broad with the River Waveney. This was of course dug by hand dead straight. Originally all the Broads rivers drained out through Yarmouth which gave that port a monopoly of all the waterborne trade to and from this extensive area. What is now Oulton Broad was merely the head of Lake Lothing and not connected to the Broads navigation at all. The lock at Mutford was built to hold back the water in Oulton Broad, which together with the dyke to the Waveney, meant that trade would be carried on through Lowestoft as far as Norwich and Beccles. The water of the dyke was like a mirror that day, the reed beds on either side protecting it from the strong cross wind. One of the joys of the Broads is the thrill of sailing very hard and fast in still water, watching the wake rippling into the reeds on either hand astern. Once in the River Waveney, it was a hard beat all the way. For the first hour the last of the flood tide was with me but once the ebb set in progress was reduced to a few yards on each tack. I battled on until 1645 hrs when I moored in the shelter of some trees hard against the bank, assuming that the rise and fall here was as negligible as on the upper River Bure(six to nine inches). As the light faded the sky cleared for a few moments and the countryside was lit with a rich golden flush. I had a stroll along the bank to stretch my legs and then got back to find her aground with the tide already fallen over six inches. She would dry out completely and must topple outwards into the channel. A line from the masthead to a tree solved this problem but it was a rather worrying nights sleep after the lapping of the waves on the bottom on the hull died away completely. My bunk was on the outside and the wind shook both trees and the boat viciously all night.

On Sunday I left with the first of the ebb at 0545 hrs for one of the finest days sailing of my life. The sun appeared bold and clear over the reed beds as I ran past Burgh St Peter church and soon the world began to look very good. There were only the smallest of clouds in the sky bobbing along merrily in much the same happy carefree fashion as myself. The wind had more north in it and I had to beat most of the way to Breydon Water after the first few miles. At St Olaves fixed bridge I reefed and snatched a couple of slices of bread and cheese while lowering the mast to pass under the low structure. The two swinging railway bridges were open for me for which I was thankful for I was worried about saving my tide across Breydon Water. At that time there was a great iron bridge where the new bypass bridge now stands. If I could not make it by the midday low waster, it would have to be done twelve hours later just after midnight. This was my first trip across Breydon Water and I found the channel well marked. The wind was free now and Zephyr made a record passage of fourtyfive minutes although she creaked and groaned in protest as the spray leaped up from the lee bow to be blown away in a fine mist and I looked at the rudder, tiller and rigging and wondered what, if anything, would go first. The gigantic swing bridge was open and I rounded into the River Bure to get the gear down again for the three fixed bridges. Once clear of Yarmouth I found that I could just lay the east/west stretches and reached Acle at 1700hrs. The wind was dying now and after shaking out the reefs, I moored in Upton Dyke as the sun went down. A fine days sailing by any standards.

Monday the 13th of March could be an anti climax. There was frost on the tent and the yellow sun rapidly disappeared behind heavy cloud. A wind built up from the west during the morning and I went up to Potter Heigham see Roy Pike at his boat shed where he kept Dawn Wind. In the afternoon I beat back to Horning in bitter cold that seemed to penetrate my very bones. It was 1830 hrs when I moored in Decoy Broad after a round trip of ninety miles in seventy hours.

Many coastal types laugh at the idea of Broads sailing but it is a real art. Of course there is not the element of danger that one finds in the open sea but there is a tendency to carry on when the sheer size of the waves would force one to reef at sea and I am sure that the strain on gear must be greater. There are times in gusts when one would normally luff up to ease the load on the sails but in the river this often cannot be done for it would mean ramming the bank. Another point that bewildered me at first was that, at times the boat came about easily and at other times she was distinctly reluctant to oblige. It all depends on the tides, which flow much faster in midstream than in close to the banks. Thus the boat beating with a fair tide should stay well clear of the banks, for if put about close to the reeds in slack water, the blow will be pushed back to leeward as it turns out into the stream. There is a temptation when doing long and short boards to carry on to the last possible moment on the long leg but this must never be done with a fair tide for you will end up blown beam on into the reeds. On the other hand when beating against the tide, carry on as long as you can, for you make most progress in slack water. When the boat has all but stopped, put the helm over, reach out for a handful of reeds and help her round if necessary. As the bow comes out into the faster water it will be helped round and you will soon be off on the other tack. There is another phenomenon here called bouncing off the lee bank. Somehow the wind seems to change near the far bank and having started a board at about fifty degrees across the river, one gradually points higher as you cross and just off the lee bank can sometimes carry on for many yards seemingly pointing almost into the eye of the wind. Perhaps it is a case of the water between the hull and the bank pushing the boat to windward. I understand that the wherries, the traditional trading craft on these waters, could do this for hundreds of yards at a time.