Whether or not it is complacency with one’s surroundings or just a little bit of bad luck, nothing can excuse the person in charge for going aground: it is the skipper’s fault…
Here I have to take full responsibility for a little happening that overtook us upon tacking back down from Manningtree today: I sit, perched up upon high. I sailed the boat onto the edge of the sand/shingle patch, much loved by Mistley’s resident swans, opposite the quay.
Realising my touch of madness and getting no response from the power of Whimbrel’s prop, I stripped of my life jacket and jumped over, barely up to my knees on the ‘up-side’ and tried in vain to get her off … the mate joined me, bless her: it wasn’t her fault!
During our efforts to sail/motor/heave off a lady kept shouting out across the water to us … I waved calling that we were alright … I was scrubbing the by then canted starboard bottom when I realised that he Harwich inshore lifeboat was hovering close to us … a chap jumped out and came over. The Coastguard then appeared, well we heard their sirens screaming along the road first … after much assurances from us that we or the boat wasn’t in any danger, not sinking, damaged or anything else the authorities departed … they’d been called by a lady in one of the flats amongst the waterside conversions. Bless her!
The view from Whimbrel’s cockpit…
The number of times I have sailed this way always noting in my mind the ‘hidden menace’ as we have gone up stream are many, it just goes to show. The importance of vigilance and concentration are two lessons long ago learnt that need heeding at all times… I’m mortified!
The tide in the morning, high water at 0400, is a little higher than this afternoon’s. We went on around 40 minutes after, so are fairly confident in getting off! Anchor has been laid, long scope, hard off the bow … now we wait…
Postscript…
I awoke around 0200 with the first slap of the tide as it tickled Whimbrel’s clinker planks … outside the moon shone mistily through a haze over Mistley’s quayside buildings. On ‘our’ patch of sand a group of swans were deep in slumber with a number of geese honking amongst them. I looked for a while at the incoming tide watching its speed of advance over the rippled sand… The mate appeared, pulling on her coat, whilst nonchalantly looking overboard, bravado I think: I was a little apprehensive … we exchanged our good mornings!
I went below and put a kettle on … coffee was needed. I’d slept for good four hours … the mate had fidgeted, bless …but the beverage was needed. Coffee came and went. The tide, crept relentlessly upwards. Our patch of sand and shingle diminishing rapidly, it seemed. The boat murmured, then began to ift the first sigh of relief left my body…
At 0240 the boat stirred, tensioned the anchor cable and waited … it went slack. The engine was started. The mate took my place forward (her choice) while I put the control ahead, “she’s coming…” the mate called from the bow. Indeed, we slipped into a metre of water.
later pottering down past Mistley boat yard the mate called up Thames CG to report that we were free of our prison sentence … the CG officer commiserated … and said, “At least you’re out sailing…” he keeps a boat on the Crouch. Around 0330 we dropped anchor off Stutton Ness in the company of the TSBT barge Pudge and I set the riding lamp. After a mate’s special coffee we retired again … triumphant, but still very chastened!
Even though we hadn’t called them out, we were thankful for the interest and kindness shown by the RNLI and CG – what a good job they do…
Final on this: Popping into Titchmarsh (from a mooring outside), a very kind chap who runs the ‘metal bashing shop’ lent me a length of 1/2″ steel rod to rech the top of my centre plate … it is free again and Whimbrel can get a good grip, like me…