The East Coast

S 20 J

Nancy Blackett had returned to Scarborough for the first time in 25 years. Her story has been told elesewhere (try here) so i won't waste space.

Now she had to be sailed back to Woolverstone. One crew member had dropped out and Bryan wouldn't sail with only three. So 'yours truly' stepped in at the last moment.

Yours truly chose to travel from Cambridge to Scarborough by train.

Waterbeach to Ely was short and fast and comfortable.

Ely to Peterborough was crowded, but he sat with two pleasant ladies and the young Scouts were entertaining. The long wait at Peterborough was boring and then he boarded the East Coast Main Line Express at the wrong end. He found his seat at Doncaster where the young lady in the next seat clearly found his presence annoying.

York to Scarborough was a delightful journey, the taxi driver to the harbour was chatty and helpful and the crew were welcoming when he arrived.

Scarborough marina, Andalucia in the background

S 21 J

0740BST. A bow spring levered Nancy Blackett’s stern into the harbour and she turned South by East toward the open sea.
All sails set and the skipper had decided that 4 knots all the way would get us to Wells-next-the-Sea at about 0700 the next day. The morning sun was delightful and, as we motorsailed past Flamborough Head and on toward the Humber it moved ‘round ahead of us and then sank slowly into the West.
Shipping around the Humber estuary was sparse and easily avoided. The anchorage, although huge, needed only a few minor changes of heading and then we were back on course for Wells.
Throughout the day Phil kept us supplied with tea and coffee and Bryan kept us on course.
The evening meal, as the sun sank behind layered clouds, was a delicious lamb tagine provided and cooked by Phil.

Skipper Bryan specified 3 hour watches overnight; Phil and John volunteered for midnight to 0300.

M 22 J

Midnight was cold, with the full moon laying a sparkling silver trail all the way to Wells. But, fickle seductress that she is, she moved her track to the West, ever faithful to following her faster consort, the Sun. We defied her wiles and continued South by East. And then she took her cold revenge.

The N Docking NCM was fine on the starboard bow, exactly where it should have been. Our course lay over the Docking Shoal, to the West of the Race Channel. Plenty of water over the shoal, although the ebb was racing North, slowing us down. The rise of the ebb over the shoal and its plunge into the channel combined with the Northerly wind to kick up a steep swell; probably not really overfalls, but uncomfortable, and awkward on the helm.
And there, dead ahead, was a large coaster moving North toward the cardinal. Assuming that she was constrained to the channel by her draft we moved East, away from our course. As she turned left around the cardinal toward King’s Lynn or Boston another came up channel behind her. And then another! Perhaps bound for the Humber.
Could we slip through a gap between ships?
Inspired by the AIS, the radio spoke. The unnoticed South-bound coaster, a mile behind us, asked very politely if we would move West to let him between us and the green N Race SHM. At its Northern end the channel is less than two miles wide, with a South-bound vessel to the East and two North-bound vessels to the West and with Nancy Blackett trying to cross!

That I’m here, typing these words, shows that we crossed safely and resumed our South by East course, the N Docking NCM flashing serenely astern and the perfidious Westering moon smiling balefully.

0300 Monday morning, and we roused Bryan and Robert for their watch. I slept the sleep of the exhausted mariner until roused, at 0700, by Robert, with Wells on the Southern horizon an hour away.We found the fairway buoy, and followed the tortuous channel on the last hour of the flood. The dinghy racing fleet, crossing and recrossing the channel, was a minor inconvenience. I firmly believe that racing boats should follow the Rules like everyone else, with no special priveleges.The skipper put the boat neatly onto the Town Quay pontoon, we snugged her down, and we strolled into town to look for breakfast.

T 23 J

0800 on Tuesday we slipped the mooring and Phil took Nancy Blackett out to sea and turned East.
The sparkling golden trail laid by the sun rising from the Eastern horizon is so much warmer and friendlier than the cold silver of the moon. But no less fickle. Having blinded the helmsman for an hour or two Sol rose toward the South and watched us sail East along the North Norfolk coast. His smile may be warmer than his consort’s, but his revenge is colder. He’s prepared to wait.

We passed Blakeney, where a dinghy race behind the Point looked for all the world like a cricket match on the green, and a text message from Margaret told me that we had thrashed the West Indies again, first at Lord’s and now at Trent Bridge. Roll on Edgbaston!
With a following wind we passed Cromer, and its obstacle course of pot buoys.
With a rising, following wind we passed Happisburgh (which I now know is pronounced ‘Haysborough’) and the gas terminal.
With half a gale behind us we surfed the swell past Waxham; and appealed for a reef in the main. The skipper and mate obliged, struggling on the foredeck with the boat plunging and rearing into and out of the breaking swell.
And I made a mistake.
The two reefs secure I turned the boat downwind, not to starboard, and deeper water, as I should have done, but to port. The turn completed, the beach was less than a mile away, the bottom was 8m below us and there was a ridge of shoal ahead of us. We fought the wind to the North-East, to deeper water, and again turned South and East.
The sun smiled again and the wind dropped. He was satisfied. For now.

By 1900 we were safely into the Royal Norfolk and Suffolk Yacht Club harbour at Lowestoft.
By 2000 we were tucking into fish pie and bangers & mash with beer and cider to slake our thirsts.
By 2130 we were asleep.

W 24 J

At 0600 the showers were clean and welcome.
At 0630 sleepy yachtsmen, English and Dutch, men and women, were singling lines and preparing to move out.
At 0650 three wind farm work boats gave way to us in the outer harbour
At 0700 we were outside the harbour, heading South, the workboats accelerating North-East.

The voyage South to Harwich started windless, but gradually picked up during the day.We’ve all experienced that feeling, on the last day, the familiar last few miles home. “Been there, done that; let’s get in and relax.”Southwold rose on the starboard bow, passed by and fell astern on the starboard quarter.A white sail moved North in the Ore, behind Shingle Street.The cranes of Felixstowe rose slowly on the starboard bow.Waiting for the DFDS ferry before crossing the Deep Water Channel was a little frustrating. We all felt that we could have crossed easily, with time to spare, but that is the very essence of “Get-there-itis”. And when VTS tells you to wait it’s probably wise to agree.The estuary was moderately busy, but we’ve seen them all before.And Nancy Blackett was back from Scarborough.

John Starkie

July 2024