The weather has been to put it mildly pretty dire since the New Year. Although in south Essex we haven’t had the wet rainy conditions ‘enjoyed’ by many across these fair isles, the wind at times has been ferocious. And there is more on its way with storm Ciara hitting the Thames area on Sunday!

So, we reorganised ourselves and did our ‘long’ walk of the week yesterday, enjoying the tranquillity of the Blackwater Valley, the river itself and the high country above Wickham Bishops (in Essex), thus clearing our ‘diaries’ for a sail this Thursday morning.

I was a little worried upon waking: there wasn’t a breath of wind…

Bacon and flat bread wraps packed, we hightailed it to our creek, passing the streams of ‘worker bees’ struggling to make their way off Canvey Island. It brought ‘sadistic’ smiles to our faces!

It was sublime down the creek, but a heavy frost encrusted walkway shouted for caution!.

Climbing aboard, I was exhorted to take care, watch what I was doing and … never mind ‘that’ camera … fat chance!

While my good mate got the bacon under the grill I carefully busied myself around the deck completing tasks as I went. Coming aft with one of the head sail sheets, a haze of sizzling bacon smells wafted from the hatchway – the ‘cook’ was hard at it reading whilst working. Hmmmmmmmmmmm!

Salivating over those sublime tastes to come, I slipped the boat out stern-wards and set Whimbrel on her course seawards, popping forward to hoist the mainsail.

As we cleared the creeks entrance beacons on the end of the club’s walkways, a gentle breeze slatted the mainsail and I swung it out to catch the wafts from astern.

Brent geese were swimming around the edges of the withered brown stalks of cord grass, dabbling for pickings in the food filled tide. A group, startled by a noise perhaps took of, honking in protest, only to alight a little further on.

As we finished our bacon in pita bread, the kettle sang and the first hot coffee was placed in my hands. Out in the main river a large cantainer ship was making her way seawards, as was a seemingly tiny little coaster ‘under’ her bow!

It was quiet … at that point not another small vessel could be seen on the move. We were alone. High above planes could be seen and several climbed away, above the Leigh shore. These were outbound planes from Southend Airport – engine ‘winding’ noises whirled across the water, then faded.

It was quiet. I went forward to tidy something … camera in pocket. Looking astern one would have thought I was alone … ah, but no, the mate was head down… Astern, the boat’s wake can be clearly seen as she curved round onto a broad reach.

The sky was so clear above. A deep blue. The water showed at the most a slight ruffling. Away to the west under the Hadleigh downs, a mist hung just above the land’s surface. Far beyond, the massed masts of ‘beached’ boats at the island’s other yacht club appeared as if poking from a gauze …

The boat’s course was right: these days during neaps, I take a curving loop round the Leigh Sands for it has become noticeably shallower over the past decade. Our centre plate grated as we sailed to the west of Leigh creek’s buoyed channel. I lifted it a turn or two, leaving a little for further warnings!

Along the front a group of school children were being walked in a crocodile chain herded by teachers and assistants. The mate chuckled, saying, someones let them out! (the current school curriculum makes such jaunts rarer than they used to be…)

Closing Leigh beach we turned and ran down past the Leigh-on-Sea Sailing Club’s west dinghy rack. A group of canoeists were launching from the slip – we chatted to a few awaiting stragglers … we were sipping coffee. One asked for three teas, one with two sugars … and was the bar open. I laughed and sniffing my mug, I said, yes to the last question! The mate had livened our second coffees…

Nearing the Ray Channel, the wind dropped then died completely! It was just on high water by then, so the iron topsail was stated, left on tick-over we stemmed the first of the ebb as we headed towards our creek.

The first of the buoys ranged alongside. I was designated by the mate to deal with sail stowing … while she chased geese.

Strangely, the creek’s saltings were quiet. We’d seen whirls of tiny ballerinas swooping over the water earlier, but coming home there was a silence as the ebb began. Surely, later as the mud reappeared, the dunlin, knot, redshank and oyster catchers would be busy feeding and arguing. It was clearly too early for ‘our’ curlews too!

Yes, it was a quiet sail, but we both enjoyed it. Two hours only, but such serenity to be remembered. ‘It was beautiful…’ my mate said, as we walked away from the boat.

It was my good mate’s first for the year as she was otherwise engaged when I slipped out during mid January, I am so glad she had such an appreciation for it.

It is a reminder of the joys of keeping ones boat afloat during the ‘off season’ but spring is but a whisker around the corner now and we are aware of some graft ahead when Whimbrel comes ashore for a little while … but not yet!

Going back through Whimbrel’s log books clearly shows the parsimonious nature of her travels so far in 2020. I have usually had between four to six sails in January alone. It shows up the windier conditions we’ve been having. I’m not enough of an expert to blame ‘climate change’ but changes are afoot…