Leaving my good mate at home I broke free of the Lower Thames and made passage down the Swin with my brother crewing … it was a partial darkness sail, well, light is relative and the dawn wasn’t far off for we could see the first signs lighting the tops of the low cloud that hung in the sky.

An easterly was forecasted, and sure enough it was there, but it was benign and feeble. We motor sailed with main up until reaching the Swin Bell we found we had a good slant. From then it was plain sailing to Bradwell. As is almost normal in the Swin we met one of Prior’s little coasters, deep laden with another cargo of sand or ballast for more concreting in London’s metropolis, other than her the water’s were quiet until we met several boats around the spitway crossing…

Down the Swin…

A buoy was ‘borrowed’ at Bradwell and two heads soon hit the sack! It wasn’t long though before our third ‘lad’ for the weekend neared: the good mate having collected our cousin at Rayleigh Station reported that she was on ‘passage’ to us … good girl eh! No sooner was he aboard and a cup of tea had, we set off for a quiet pootle across the Blackwater, by then sparkling under a bright sun, to West Mersea. After a beer and nibbles a supper was enjoyed at the West Mersea YC – fine it was too. My current crew said, “…quite right too…”

The Crew.

After returning to Bradwell on Sunday, my good mate did taxi service again … leaving us to enjoy a walk to St Peter’s on the Wall, a circuit of 7 1/2 miles…  We bought our dear old mum a post ard (not posted yet…). Now if you haven’t visited St Peter’s when in the area of Bradwell, you should. It is fascinating place, even after many visits. It was my brother’s first… We had an early night: a four-o’clock departure was planned (and implemented…)

Now this is a first for me … we had to motor-sail most of the way to Harwich to ensure the tidal gate was made. The winds were fickle to non existent. We did get around two hours of ‘sailing’ if that is the correct term: the tide was doing most of the work … but entering Harwich a nice gentle easterly wafted us up the pretty Orwell where we rounded to a buoy off the hard at Pin Mill.

Sun rise over St Osyths.

Bless his little cotton socks: no sooner had we finished a light repast, my brother was placing fenders and pulling the tender alongside … it was two hours before he returned. I watched as he crept around the sterns of several spritsail barges before sailing along the shore beneath those gorgeous woods … he’s just like me!

The crew captaining his own ship…