A week in politics is a age but a week away from the water is an eternity…
My old sailing buddy who skipped out of his booked sails last year ‘pleaded’ to be allowed to come back aboard … of course there wasn’t any problem with that for he has always been a good ship mate and from trip one, many years back, has been competent at the helm. So, some months ago it was arranged that when Whimbrel reappeared in home waters he could have a long ‘mid week weekend’ afloat. He got a bit of a ‘Finesse Fest’ too.
The crew had wanted to make it up Conyer Creek a place few yachtsmen bother to go unless berthed that way – which is a shame. We left Smallgains Creek a few minutes before eight on Monday morning last and as the crew helmed outbound sails were set and pulling by the time we were clear. The wind was light … a N-NW 4-5 had been discussed by the weather people…
Lazily across the Thames…
By the edge of the Thames deepwater channel the engine had been fired up – yes it hurt dreadfully – and we pottered in a slackish fashion towards the Grain edge chomping on bacon sandwiches. Ah … that aroma, the finest perfume in the world (when one’s ladies are absent!) that I know.
Queenborough Spit ahoy!
Crossing the Medway stream which by then had been ebbing for an hour we picked up a breeze. The genoa was rehoisted in a jiffy and boomed out to catch every zephyr. Gamely, our little ship stemmed that flow, forging into the West Swale. It wasn’t long before we had picked up the eastwards flow which follows on from the flood.
Down towards the Horse Shoal I picked up the radio mike and called the bridge … a lift was due in 20 minutes. On engine! We made it by a few minutes, did a couple of turns between the two bridges and then whooshed through. There wasn’t even time to get the kettle on…
The Swale passage towards low water…
Its always a joy to sail these waters: it feels like you’re sailing over the land. We ran towards Elmley, coffee, by then in hand, munching a piece of shortbread secreted into our stores by my good mate (Ah! xx) looking at the world around us. Along the mainland shore N. Kent’s new waste facility is nearing completion and down on the jetty a ship was being unloaded by grabs. Then, going down the long east/west channel we watched as a sparrow hawk chased and harried a tern. At times we thought the little thing had had it, but it escaped, we hope, a hunter’s luncheon…
The Medway and Swale are not considered by many yachting folk as ‘good sailing’ grounds. Why, I do not know, but for me it has everything. Wildlife, modern life, excellent anchorages, plenty of places to pop in for a pint – get stores even, and is full of industrial history peaking from so many patches od saltings and along the banks. So many other places have been cleansed, disinfected and prettified into twee des-res don’t bring any mud here type places – enjoyable to visit, but not so satisfying. There’s an article on its way about this in Yachting Monthly sometime soon…
Approaching Conyer early on the tide…
We sailed, for the sheer enjoyment of it, down to the Receptive buoy a little beyond Faversham Creek before turning back and fetching into the South Deep. On both passes we sailed close to the wrecked ‘fishing’ vessel off Uplees – its a spooky sight.
We waited a couple of hours in the South Deep for the tide before making for the Butterfly channel in past the withies (Beware, a red has lost its top mark … where channel is hard to sea wall…) up to a previously booked berth – there’s always helpful people at Conyer’s Swale Marina… We berthed nearly 2 hours before the top of the tide. On the way the salting tops still had a touch of colour from a profusion of sea lavender and out amongst the seried ranks cord grass fronds along the sweep to the east, sea asters were evidently about to burst into colour, it was delightful.
After berthing … chips, dips and a welcome beer…
A fine supper was enjoyed in the Ship Inn where we had a great natter with Paul Smeadley and his wife. Paul is the retired ‘boss’ of Swale Marina… He lives off site now but can train his spyglass on the world around!
The following morning we left with the flood still running – ‘always a good thing to do’ I tell my crew. Sail was set as soon as the creek fell behind and we bore away for Elmley in the distance. We were on passage to Upnor.
The bridge was cleared as a ship went through following in her foaming wake… Soon after, sailing serenely down towards Long Point, my phone buzzed. The owner of Mariette, a gaff rigged Finesse 24 had spotted us as he was tacking out of Stangate – we were meeting up later for the run up to Upnor.
Dick Smith’s Mariette joins us in Saltpan Reach…
It was an uneventful sail upriver … we jilled around a couple of times to await our sister boat, but I don’t think her skipper noticed … considering it a race!
It is quite noticeable that the river’s two power stations are gradually disappearing, bit by bit, as cutting machines and planned explosions reduce these efficient destroyers of earth’s balance into scrap. ‘What will their site’s be used for…’ my crew wondered aloud – who knows just yet. A mix of housing and light industry is a favourite, surely. Or, maybe, the land will be cleansed and returned to marsh grazing … I doubt the last.
Mariette framed through Whimbrel’s aft end…
Passing Hoo Island huge earth moving machines were at work preparing the island for its next dose of infill material and away over amongst the mud moorings belonging to Gillingham Marina I thought of the two Finesse craft known to berth there. Above all, the bob of the pretty bawley Doris fluttered lazily from her topmast head. I’ve not bumped into her owner since the Medway Barge Match when he was crewing aboard the Lady Daphne, her mate in fact, which I (and my mate) had hope to achieve towards the end of our long stint afloat… Sorry Denis.
Mariette and Whimbrel moored at the Medway YC.
Upon arrival at Upnor, I’d popped ashore to ensure we weren’t taking up moorinsg of boat’s due back and paying our fees. Returning, I picked up my crew for a natter and a pleasant mug of tea aboard Mariette before leaving her owner to a snooze! Later, a good supper was enjoyed at The Ship…
Mariette’s owner posing for his picture…
The next morning we both departed as the flood lost its power and set to beating down river. After two tacks Whimbrel had gone past Mariette off St Mary’s Island, but being good sports and feeling we should keep together, we messed around in Pinup Reach only to see Mariette cut inside the beacon off Folly Point! We both looked at each other as I gathered in our genoa sheet to sail properly… Then, in Long Reach I changed to our working jib … whilst our companion sailed past – it seemed that we were being raced: he didn’t stop!
‘Right’ I said to my crew, ‘lets go after him … even without his other jib he’s more sail area…’ I added.
At the lower end of Long Reach a sea plane came down to say ‘hello’ as we tacked over the top of the Bishop Ooze. Bit by bit we ate up the ground between us. (Later he said, ”’you came down that last reach so well … thought you had you engine on…’) By the time we were heading for the West Swale we had him … sweeping over the spit and roaring into the harbour. I heard a shout, but couldn’t hear. Later my companion skipper said that the buoy was meant to be a rounding mark. ‘…didn’t realise it was a race,’ I said, ‘…I’d have left my genoa up otherwise…’ Cheek!
Mariette’s skipper is a good man and Whimbrel’s new and proper crew thoroughly agree on this … but we thought perhaps he was having a spot of fun – good on you mate!
We berthed on the All Tide Pontoon – for me a first, but expensive for what it is and water still has to be collected from quite a distance. Our sailing partner spent some time in trying to elicit a discount, tounge rather in cheek!
The moorings along the inner side of the pontoon have been turned over to permanent mooring holders – I stated that I though that strange for the inside is where smaller craft up to two abreast could be moored. For a large pontoon the mooring space is rather limited we all thought … along with this the outer end is kept reserved for a ‘school ship’ operating around the Medway areas… Hey Ho!
In the evening, after drinks and nibbles aboard Whimbrel and a fresh pint in the Old House at Home, we enjoyed our supper at the Flying Dutchman, a place just over a year ago my mate and I swore never to return to. It has, however, had a change of ownership. I enjoyed my meal and told the land lady, telling her what had happened when with my mate … she was flabberghasted! The good lady added that they have been working hard to regain lost trade amongst visiting yacht crews. The insides seem to have had a make-over, so, maybe, things have changed for the better. Time will tell.
Shortly after breakfast Mariette departed followed by ourselves, reaching out of the harbour and straight across the Grain flats, the tide lifting us all the way. The same reach was carried into the Ray Channel where we goose winged up past Chalkwell.
Mariette reaching across the Thames.
Off Chalkwell our main sail was dispatched with. Astern, we saw Mariette do the same, taking a little longer than us: he’d not a crew to deal with his gaff main. We jogged up under genoa and then no sail at all as Mariette came up astern for us all to wave and call a fond farewell … as Whimbrel puttered under engine towards her own berth in Smallgains Creek.
Mariette heading up Hadleigh Ray towards Benfleet Creek…
It was a damned good sail – my crew left the boat beaming, so was I!