One of the joys of winter sailing is the huge flocks of birds encountered. These come in many forms in my neck of the woods ranging from tiny little grebe to, unfortunately, Canada geese, but of those I saw none on a stolen sail at the end of this last week.
It was an age ago, it seems, when I popped down to the boat and ran out all the halyards and main sheet for washing. A spare old set of halyards have long been kept to do this little job … and I always feel it a pity that more sailors don’t also do the same for a halyard looks ‘tatty’ through airborne dirt long before they’re worn out. I’ve often left the ‘old’ ones in use: they’re perfectly serviceable. However…
Having completed the task – well nearly for I’ve the cruising chute still to do – I found the tide bubbling around the rudder, as if to say, come on, lets go! I’d left my good wife at home, asleep. She’d picked up a bug from me which resulted in temperature and hacking cough. I’ve been recovering from a good old dose of flu that laid me out for a week and am still not fully fit. So, I did hesitate, but only for a fractional moment!
Reaching up Hadleigh Ray, thinking of my Mate, asleep at home and a little unwell…
The wind was a pleasant south-westerly with no hardness about it. The sun shone pleasantly, but a bank of cloud loomed. Clearing the mooring the jib was run up and the boat kicked her heels and slipped nicely over the flood. It was a nice feeling as I entered clipped details in the log book – which is unusually blank for much of this current year.
Along the edges, Brents paddled here and there awaiting the tide’s turn and over the creek’s outer mud flats a couple of minuscule little grebe popped up. Before the camera could be focussed, they had slipped below in search of food again. So difficult to catch…
Clearing the creek entrance the mainsail was hoisted and Whimbrel hummed with satisfaction as a gentle thrum from her partially lowered plate bit the tide. Overhead swirls of knot, dunlin and curlews wafted about.
Bird Island, liberally coated…
The wind direction dictated my course – up towards Benfleet. Out in the open bird life is minimal, but with a wide margin of saltings along the Canvey Island shore and wide open fields below the sea wall under Hadleigh downs bird life is plentiful. Passing Bird Island its surface was ‘iced’ completely with a copious layer of waders. They took of, wheeled round and alighted once more squabbling over the receding mud.
A wader swarm…
With only a couple of tacks I fetched up towards the lower end of Benfleet Yacht Club’s moorings and spun the boat for a broad reach homewards. I was concious of a certain level of tiredness and felt it best to heed it!Without meaning to ‘harp on’ I don’t do being ill. Christobel says it must be nearly two decades since my last bout: apart from an occasional sniffle these things have passed me by. Getting old!
Walkers, joggers and cyclists flowed along the sea wall. One chap stopped and took pictures: something clearly caught his eye! The tide, on the neap side, was at such a level to only just cover some mud banks and the cord grass saltings fringe was like a flooded forest and amongst the old stems from last year I saw culews poking about. Some small duck were there too, teal possibly. I thought I spotted a pair of shell duck…
Wafts of waders…
Approaching where I usually drop sail and ready fenders wafts of waders swished across the blue sky, weaving and darting as they danced the air. It’s kind of mesmerising and although boat numbers are low currently, buoys pop up quickly and after one ran close down one side I decided to place more of my concentration into where I was going, sadly, all too soon, sails were stowed!
I was soon on my way home to make my Mate a coffee (she doesn’t like tea) and warm a scone: she needs building up…
Finding her awake, she said, ‘…glad you had a sail…’
I looked at her. But it was written all over my face!