In September 2016 the Grain power station chimney tumbled in a huge ball of dust and 2018 was the final year for the chimney upriver at Kingsnorth to come down. The ‘tumbling’ was delayed due to a bout of heavy snow some two weeks ago, but even after another lesser dumping, all was ready…
So, on Wednesday last (21st) I abandoned my good Mate: she decided to enjoy the comforts of an ’empty marital bed’ rather than a snug thick duvet aboard Whimbrel, and sailed over to Queenborough on the afternoon tide.
Kingsnorth’s doomed tower from by the West Leigh Middle in Sea Reach of the London River…
From a sparkling Sea Reach, the chimney stood, erect and proud, dwarfing the skyline against a blue sky. It looked purposeful even though it was essentially a piece of ‘Victorian’ engineering built in a modern age during a burst of electrical generating needs and to ‘prop up’ Britain’s ailing coal industry – other countries went nuclear. We began a programme and then stepped aside allowing other countries to steel a march on our expertise… Hey ho!
There was a sparkling west-nor’ westerly and I made a grand passage over towards Grain, cutting well inside the tower to gain some ‘westing’ to compensate for the tide, which was on the turn.
Queenborough bound across the Grain…
It wasn’t long before the Queenborough Spit buoy was passed by. I called the harbour for mooring instructions – still before four, but nil response. So, resorting to time honoured tradition I picked up the most convenient mooring near to the landing…
Queenborough in my sights…
As soon as I got moored, I sent a text to my Mate for she’d implored me to do so. Bless! With my crew missing, I had to make my own tea! That drunk I prepared my supper, a pasta sauce with added pork sausage and vegetables. This was left to soak while I later went ashore to sample the ‘nectar’ in the Admiral’s Arms…
Whimbrel’s first sunset in Queenborough of 2018.
Kingsnorth chimney’s last hurrah…
Later that evening whilst enjoying a wee libation with my coffee, I gazed upriver, westwards, at the lights of the chimney warning aircraft of its existence. Reflected across the water those lights were ‘saluted’ by a ‘waving’ crescent moon, as if sickle about to cut ‘her’ down, on the gently heaving waters of the West Swale.
On Thursday morning (22nd March) I awoke to grey skies. BBC Essex presenters kept burbling about a nice day ahead so, after enjoying a bacon roll, I set off under engine. Aboard another boat planning to head upriver, no movement was detected. Later, with around 45 minutes to go I heard a call on Medway VTS … I chuckled for I knew there would be a little hiatus aboard!
Rounding Sharpness I set sail and tacked boldly upriver, outstripping a motoring yacht. With around fifteen minutes to go, I was dawdling about off the old coal jetty.
A view never to be seen again…
Getting into a position in clear water I fevered the sails to jog along gently and set the camera ready … I had to make adjustments to avoid a ‘drift’ towards the southern mud … a burst of engine and with distance gained, I returned to jogging along. Just in time!
The first ‘puff’ just below half way up…
I heard a ‘phut’…
Then a ‘bang’…
Going, going, going…
Well, she be gone…
The dust ball rose upwards before setting off downwind towards the east and a few anchored vessels which began to scarper…
Over went the helm and I ran off down river, homebound.
Coming round … keeping the camera on the ‘spot’…
As I sailed away, I lamented, that again in a short space of time the river’s views have been altered in a dramatic way. I felt a tinge of sadness: the Medway is an interesting river with all of its varied views – industries, population centres and open wild wastes – and the views I’ve known since a youngster have gone. But have they: the ‘base’ picture hasn’t greatly altered…