Ah yes. My good mate was off on a wander across country driving a cousin of mine to see my aunt. It was an errand to help out a cousin of mine, in the main, but the mate has a soft spot for her and my aunt too… Bless her.
So, when the cats away the mice come out to play, and boy did this little mouse have a good time. Shortly after being ‘left home alone’ I closed my files and stopped ‘work’ to put a lunch box together: forecast for the day was grand, in fact its grand for the whole week, and that means only one thing. Let’s go sailing…!
Dropping my bag into the back of the car with two 5L cans of diesel to go to the boat, I dropped the hood back on the little MG – its so spring like now. Reaching the creek I could see the tide caressing the mud edges with little ‘poppling’ wavelets. It was higher than expected – get a move on I urged myself.
Covers are removed and the jib is heaved up on deck, then the all important kettle is put on. It isn’t long before the burgee is shaking itself out and fluttering aloft. The breeze is north-westerly, barely force 3. Forecast said, W bec NW 3-5 … fine & dry. Sunshine 8 deg C…
Brent flying across my bow…
I have time for a wash around the sides of the boat to sweep away a modicum of mud splatters: we’ve had a shower since I was last out, a little over a week ago. Then, as the kettle burst forth into its ‘train’ like song, the boat lifted. I made my drink as a fellow club member called, ‘Going out…?’
Beating round the ‘cut’ – the deep water channel round Bargander Sand. A friend’s house is on the hill…
‘Want to come…’ I offered. He declined saying it was too cold. ‘Get away … feels like spring…’ I say, grinning at him. He heads for home. A burst of astern and we’re out into the creek … forward I go and its, up mainsail … back to correct the helm, and up jib. Back aft the engine ceases to rumble beneath my feet and I’m in tranquillity… There’s no one around, except upon the ‘heights’ of Canvey, astern to the west.
Oh, but I’m not alone: all around are Brent. Waders skitter on the remaining mud edges within the creek. Above gulls are in flight. A pair of deep black crows wheel about too and across the saltings the unmistakeable calls of pewits are heard. A small group lifts, their wide wings beating the air in that seemingly lazy fashion. I’m in bliss and I’m sure they are too…
Downs colours…
‘Where to…’ I ask myself as the boat creeps out of the creek. Letting loose a shiver in the breeze, I say, ‘Benfleet…’ for it’ll give me a workout with a little tacking. I settle to the task. The tide is running fast. I hear the radio mention something about 0.3m above prediction … not sure where: Bird Island is still uncovered liberally coated by bird life.
Over on the downs I see a multitude of colour. The sky has deep blues and cloud with whites to grey s to almost black within them. Those hills though have new life in them, soon it’ll spring forth in shades of green. Yes spring is nigh.
I head for home!
Reaching the Benfleet Yacht Club, once or twice needing judicious use of the engine, I bring the boat right round for a broad reach with the wind abaft the beam, down towards the open estuary… a friend calls out, I wave and salute the club…
Dunlin and knot cavort over the flooded Two Tree’s saltings while others wheeled in drifts around me…
Coming past the eastern end of Two Tree Island I round up, drop and stow the mainsail, before running off for my home creek. Its a down wind berthing, not advisable in the breeze blowing, so I start the engine and drop the jib.
I’m grinning from ear to ear as I walk away from my good little ship, yes, I’ve a feeling spring is in the air, even if we’re likely to get a bit colder first…