The Turning Point

Burnham-On-Crouch. What a wonderful sounding place but none too easy to get to, if British Rail have their way, but I made it on time despite them. I was probably annoyed long before I boarded the train because Mick cried off literally at the last minute. He had fallen suddenly to some mysterious and debilitating illness, caught, I later learned, at the Sailmaker’s Arms.He had set up the boat delivery in the first place as he knew Pete Reid the owner better than I did although we had sailed together. I remembered Pete as a taciturn sort of bloke with little in the way of a sense of humour. Even so he had entrusted us bring his latest acquisition up the coast to Bridlington.The boat was a twenty-six foot Stella out of Tucker Brown’s yard. A little classic and a boat I am very familiar with. When I arrived Pete was nowhere to be found. I asked at the yard and they told me he had been delayed and wouldn’t be here for at least another three hours. The whole job was going pear-shaped. It was already noon and I had been up since four in order catch the early train from Hull to London then a connection to Burnham-On-Crouch. I could see the boat riding at its mooring in the river but it would have done me no good at all getting rowed out to it because it would be locked up. I could do to be on my way because, as I would now be doing it alone, I wanted to get as far as Great Yarmouth where I planned to put in for the night to break the voyage and give me a chance to rest. At the Crouch the tide was at two so I’d be pushing things if Pete didn’t get a move on. I left my gear with at the yard and sauntered through the small town to kill time; what I really wanted was to rest up. My circuit brought me back to the yard where I shared some coffee with a couple of the men. Pete arrived with something close to a smile playing with his lips.“Mick couldn’t make it,” I said shaking his hand.“You can handle it can’t you?”“No problem. I intend to put into Great Yarmouth tonight.” Pete simply nodded slightly then jerked his head at the boat.“Well she’s all yours then. Oh here.” He passed me a buff envelope. “I reckon you get the full whack as you’re on your tod.”I counted the money quickly before stuffing it into my pocket. If I should pay Davey Jones a visit during the trip at least I wouldn’t be skint.“Tide’s about full,” he said. I knew it was past that stage but said nothing to his retreating back. I got myself rowed out to the little yacht with no name. She had once been called something with SAL in it but most of it had been burned off, probably by Pete, and until he thought of a new name for her she would be nameless. He had no scruples about changing a boat’s name though some sailors would be superstitious about it. I got her underway without delay needing to make the most of what was left of the tide. With the engine throbbing below I conned her through the small flotilla of boats at their moorings until I reached a section where I could safely leave the helm and make sail. It was a great day with pom-pom clouds scattered over a perfect blue sky. I had to get over the bar before the tide ebbed too far and was in a good position to do so. With no winches I felt their absence in my arms as I hauled the mainsail up the mast swigging it until the headboard reached the black band. The headsail was of the roller type making it less of a problem to set. I dashed back to the cockpit and hauled on the sheets to trim the sails.The moment when you harden in the sheets and feel the boat stir and come to life has to be experienced to be fully appreciated. The boat gently heels as she accelerates, the tiller shivers in your hand, gently pulling against you as man, wood and elements are brought together in a trinity so strong that it acts like a drug from which you are never truly free. We seemed to fly down the river, the water like a mill pond with just a slight ripple when the wind dragged across it. For all the excitement of the voyage I still couldn’t calm my suspicions. Mick had said nothing about Pete meeting us here. I tried hard to push the thought to the back of my mind but there they remained, always ready to come to the fore when the task of sailing the boat became automatic. It was my first time on the River Crouch and I was impressed by the clear marking of the channel. The boat began to pitch a little as we neared the sea then began to curtsy before charging at the first wave.I was in my element; if the weather held this would turn out to be a grand sail. As I altered course a little she began to set up a steady rolling motion and I knew that soon I would be feeding the fish, like I always do for the first few hours. The sun blazed down hot even in the breeze. Eventually I was in the shipping lane but comfortably clear of any dangers. Everything was just too damned good and my suspicions f loded back. At that time I didn’t know what Mick’s illness amounted to; did he know something that I didn’t? And when Pete learned that I had to sail on my own why hadn’t he offered to come along? Was there something I didn’t know about the condition of the boat? I had always had a dislike for Pete and the ruthless way he had built up his business. Why had he made this trip from Hull instead of simply handing the keys and paperwork over to either Mick or myself?Setting the boat on a safe course for a few minutes and lashing the helm I ducked below to make a coffee and bring the paperwork on deck to read. Pete had commissioned a reputable surveyor to look the boat over and I read his findings while I steered a course about three miles offshore. A surveyor’s report is a nightmare to work through if you are new to them. They read like a gothic novel listing every defect no matter how small but I found nothing alarming, everything seemed to be in order. Still disatisfied I went below and did a thorough check of my own. This had happened to me once before and I had ended up sailing a sieve, having to pump her out every inch of the way. Everything looked as it should. The bilge was dry enough to carry snuff. On the face of it there was nothing to cause me any concern at all.Four hours underway and we were abeam of Harwich with its thick traffic of ferries, coasters and whatnot. The wind was blowing nicely on the quarter from the south-east, perfect for the whole voyage if it held; the weather forecast that morning held no surprises. I was gagging for a drink and something to eat but couldn’t leave the helm just yet, and to haul in somewhere would spoil the cracking pace we were setting. With the wind in its present position it was impossible to balance the helm. So sit and enjoy was the order of the day.Gradually we left the muck behind and I put her on a heading on which she would balance. It was while I was below that I found the tiller extension. With this fitted I could sit in the companionway and cook while still steering and keeping a look-out f or ships. What a luxurious little ship it was! With a pan clamped on the stove a tin of stew bubbled away. On the horizon were the distinctive shapes of oil rigs but they have to be seen at night to grasp their beauty with all their lights blazing away. Wrapping the pan in a cloth I wedged it between my knees and tucked into the stew with wedges of bread with Lowestoft abeam. My taking a break at Great Yarmouth now came into question. So far the trip had been so good, and I wasn’t feeling the slightest bit tired; the boat had no inclination to stop and neither did I. I had an hour or so to make up my mind what to do.I did and sailed on revelling in the freedom of the sea and a boat that was performing like a dream.The wind backed a little as though it was there purely for our purpose as we changed course to round the bulge of Norfolk. We sailed between the coast and the nearest shoal which is call Hewett. Others spread out to seaward each seemingly named after villages or perhaps ships whose bones now rested on them. Like the lost ships many a village along the east coast of England has ended at the bottom of the sea. It was strange thinking about them as I sailed over them.As darkness crept up on us I slipped below to make up a thermos flask of black coffee for the night watch then altered course again to cross the Wash and the lights of ships coming to and fro from Kings Lynn and Boston. As the night deepened I became aware of that solitude that darkness brings at sea. To starboard the inkiness stretched to infinity; to port it was broken now and then by the flash of a lighthouse or necklace of flickering lights that marked a town or village. It never fails to fill my mind with wonder at the vastness around me and how insignificant and small it make me realise we humans are in the whole set-up of things. The sky was pricked with thousands of stars. Looking up at them it seemed that the masthead was stroking them, polishing them so that they shone brighter. At that moment I thought it the finest voyage I had ever undertaken. Perhaps the fact that I was sailing solo for the first time added its own magic to it. The fact that I had not slept for eighteen hours had no effect on me as we plunged on through the night. I tuned the radio in to BBC Radio 4 to bring some conversation onboard and it worked well through the dark hours in keeping me awake and before I knew it the sun was pushing its head above the horizon. It appeared to frighten the wind away as it dropped to barely a breath. We had all sail set so there was nothing more I could do to further maximise our progress. In fourteen hours we had sailed seventy-five miles by the log. I lashed the helm while I checked our position on the chart. I had a moment’s uncertainty but nothing I could do until we had some real light. I had to put my faith in the new hand-held GPS.I made some strong coffee in the flask to fight off the creeping effects of fatigue. I was beginning to regret not putting in to Great Yarmouth and the next available anchorage was Saltfleet but with an easterly wind it was out of the question; we would find little shelter there. After that was Tetney Haven just inside the mouth of the Humber Estuary but if I overslept there we would find ourselves high and dry resulting in a long wait for the next tide. The best I could do was to keep a check on my tiredness and there was a long way to go - even longer if the wind held off. I took my coffee on deck and waited for the shipping forecast.A thin wispy mist clung to the surface of the sea, glowing pink in the light of the new sun. The coffee did the trick as I soon got my second wind. To make sure I replenished my cup and ate some sandwiches. As the sun rose so the mist was burned off and away in the distance I could see a town. Through my binoculars I identified it as Skegness. I took a bearing and laid it off on the chart. I was exactly where I thought we were. I smiled with relief. The wind picked up with the full daylight and the boat picked up her skirts and raced on. Now I had to squeeze the best out of her before fatigue created an opening for a mistake. As the day wore on I seemed to recover as working the boat and navigating drove the tiredness to the back of my mind. By dusk we were level with Spurn Point on the north bank of the Humber Estuary.Not much further now, I told myself as I downed another pint of coffee. By dawn we would be in Bridlington Harbour all snugged down. The thought of it brought on the tiredness with a vengeance. More coffee and a bag of sultanas for the energy they give.That second night was long and hard punctuated by moments of disorientation, one of which nearly drove me over the edge. The sky was overcast with dense cloud that obliterated the stars, depriving me of their comforting light. All around me was an impenetrable black. The coast was to port but off the starboard bow I could make out groups of lights which I took to be towns. My worn brain could not find the logic in it. Was I sailing the wrong way? Had I dozed off and allowed the boat to turn around on herself? No. The wind was still on my right cheek. It would be too much of a coincidence for that to double back on itself too. I looked long and hard at the glowing compass. That was it! That was why Mick had cried off and why Pete hadn’t offered to sail with me!The compass was faulty!I felt panic rising like a demon inside me. The trip was turning into a nightmare! Surely they were ships? No. Too many lights; they must be towns. I dashed below to the charts and tried to make sense of it all. As I put the pencil down it rolled off the table and disappeared in the dark. I reached the drawer where I knew there was an ample supply. As I rummaged for one my hand closed on a book that prevented me getting to the pencils. I tossed it onto the chart and snatched a pencil. Reading our position from the GPS I marked it with a cross on the chart before flicking through the menu to course. It told me that we were still heading in the right direction; there was nothing wrong with the boat’s compass. With great relief I returned on deck taking the small book with me. Maybe if I read a little I could drive back the sleepiness for just long enough to get into Bridlington.Sitting at the helm I looked around me at the small circle of world that was mine the limit set by the dim red glow of the compass light. The lights that had spooked me has dropped below the horizon making my world so minuscule that I felt claustrophobic. I picked up the book from where I had put it on the seat beside me.It was a bible!I wasn’t a holy Joe by any stretch of the imagination. Religion had ceased to be a part of my life years before that night. But reading would help me keep awake so I opened it and read, my eyes straining to see the small print in the inadequate light.In the beginning God created Heaven and Earth. Now the Earth was a formless void, and there was darkness over the deep, with a divine wind sweeping over the waters.I looked around me again at the darkness over the deep and the divine wind kissed my cheek. Maybe my fatigue made me feel that way. I don’t know. But that night was a turning point in my life.Soon to my left I saw the familiar lights of Hornsea, a small seaside town where I had once lived. Looking north across the bay I saw the welcoming lights of Bridlington, the end of the voyage. But not yet. Although the lights appeared close at hand they were in reality three hours sailing time away and even then I would have to wait a little until the tide gave us enough water to sail in. A little way off the harbour mouth I took in sail, dropped the anchor and cooked a breakfast while I waited. We did not need anything like the full tide; about five o’clock should see us with enough to pull in.At last she was bedded down at her berth. Pete wouldn’t be there to receive her until one in the afternoon so I flopped on one of the bunk and slept like the proverbial. It had been a hard sail but one that had left me a lot wiser.