Sunday, 13 October 2013

THE NORFOLK BROADS

I have heard it said that if sailing is mucking about in boats then sailing on the Broads is boating about in muck. A lot of yotties I have come across rather look down their noses at sailing on the Broads. I don't care: its their loss. I absolutely adore sailing on the Broads and believe that  if you can handle sailing there you can sail anywhere. Sailing is sailing and there are so many different experiences of sailing to be had. The Broads is where I first learned to sail well over 40 years ago, and I return there again and again. Me and my wife now have all sorts of qualifications and experience but this was the first sailing experience I passed to my wife and kids, and I was there with her again last week after a fairly long gap of eight years. Hector the dug was dragged along for his third experience there.

I had chartered a  hand built traditional gaff rig boat from the boatbuilder Colin Buttifant whose Swallowtail Boatyard is in Ludham.  He built her in his shed during 2003 and she is 23 feet long with two berths, a galley and heads. A lovely man, and his son Paul is now working full time in the yard alongside his father. It is always interesting to sneak into the shed which smells of fresh wood and varnish and look at the boats under construction.

For those who don't know about them, the Broads is an area in Norfolk of seven interconnected rivers, and around 65 lakes and flooded medieval peat diggings extending to a total of 120 miles of navigable water with an average depth throughout of less than 4 metres. They are mildly tidal and there is an exit to the sea at Great Yarmouth, but the tides are really created by the inability of the rivers to drain out to sea during the tidal flood at Great Yarmouth. So when there has been heavy rain over the land, the tides are higher than usual, but the furthest reaches of the Broads have no significant tidal rise. However small though the tides are, it is always enough for you to factor into your navigation planning.

River Ant

The typical Broads yacht is a wooden gunter or gaff rig sloop around 30 feet long together with a bowsprit. The freeboard is low and the aft cockpit has a metal tiller. The mast is well forward and short and the boom is long - always extending well aft of the transom. The foresail is small and fractionally rigged, usually set by roller reefing. Halyards come to cleats at the base of the mast, and the mainsail has a peak and a throat halyard. There is never any vang and the sheet winches (if there are any) are small and manual with no winch handles. The boat will be well balanced and turn on a sixpence due to the large rudder. The mainsail is large for the length of boat and is reefed down by tying down at the clew and luff cringles followed by tying the reefing points. They are shallow draft with a short keel and wide in the beam  which makes them quite stable. Especially since in gusts the gaff blows to leeward and spills wind from the sail. Although I've never managed to get them to heave-to very well, they are easy to scandalise by hauling up the topping lift or dropping the peak halyard.

 If they don't have an auxiliary engine, (and some prefer not to have an engine), they have a long pole called a quant, which you use to manually punt her along by dropping it in adjacent to the bows and walking aft along the side deck with the end of the pole in the front  hollow of your shoulder. Make sure you twist as you get to the end - otherwise you and the quant go over the stern. I can testify to this only too well!

One thing they all have in common is the need to lower the mast to pass under bridges. This is usually achieved by having the base of the mast in a tabernacle with a metal gate across the base and a counterweight balanced to the weight of the mast. Some boats have an A frame mechanism but most just need strong hands and sweat. Particularly pulling it up again - and it is an awful lot of string to go wrong if you are not well organised.

Hector enjoying the sun in the cockpit


Sailing on the Broads can be facinating as you have such a mixed environment to deal with. Everything from large-ish lakes surrounded by trees or reedbeds to narrow snaking rivers or quite wide rivers lined by reeds. The advantage of the gaff rig soon becomes apparent as you have a lot of sail where the wind is, above the level of the tops of the reeds.

Because the rivers snake around you can find yourself constantly having to change your point of sail, and can be tacking, reaching and running all within ten minutes. Add to that, the various wind shadows from trees, other boats, and even buildings, and you need to learn fast to read the water for the wind. When you are tacking, you can "huffle" as well, which is using your way at the end of a tack to run parallel alongside the bank until the last safe moment before putting the helm over onto the new tack. You often need to help this along by backing the jib momentarily so as to get you round onto the new tack. As you do all this, of course you can have myriads of motorboats  to contend with as well as other yachts on every point of sail all at once. A lot of the motorboats are driven by guys who are holidaymakers with no idea how to handle a boat, never mind the luxury of the colregs. You do need to keep your wits about you and I can promise that you do not get bored. Thankfully the yachts at least are easy and swift to handle. More than once I've driven my boat straight up onto the reed beds to avoid someone else hitting me!

We took the boat over in Ludham in the afternoon, following a five hour drive, and motored out at 1600 hrs. It was just great being on the river Thurne again and passing through and smelling the countryside and the water. We got into Malthouse Broad and moored up stern-to onto a staithe and I dropped the mud-weight over the bows to keep her steady overnight. It was almost new moon and it was very dark and silent overnight which gave us the refreshing sleep we needed. Helped along by a few drams.

Following day we rose and took our time over breakfast. Then we motored off and I took the helm for a while to practice manouevres to get the feel of the boat. I was repeatedly driving the stern of the boat towards the staithe and stopping a few inches away and I soon realised that it was a left-hand prop, which is not what I am used to, so the practice was useful. Then we moved into the middle of the Broad and raised the sails. Paul at the boatyard had put a reef in for us before we arrived and we certainly needed it. Marion had the helm and we sailed around enjoying ourselves for nearly an hour before taking the sails down and motoring off for the River Ant, which flows into the river Bure.

Ludham Bridge is quite near the mouth of the Ant. We tied onto the windward bank to get the mast down and the post I had tied the stern onto came out of the ground leaving a big hole full of water! I dived in the cockpit locker and found one of our Rond Anchors. This is a right angled iron with a spike at one end and a ring at the other. Bowline through the ring and a good kicking administered to the other end got us secured onto the grassy bank and my trousers covered in mud.

I forgot to mention there are no showers on these boats and none at the boatyards. The water tank only holds around 6 gallons. You gradually get dirtier and smellier as time goes by, so mud this early in the trip was not welcome. Sometimes on these trips in the past I've carried more booze than water. (Real hardship!)

We got the mast down and set off again. This makes you slightly more unstable and a lot more difficult to manouevre, what with half the mast sticking out astern and whoever is on the helm standing among sheaves of string with poor visibility. Marion took the helm and it was with some relief that we could see no traffic coming at us under the bridge (it can only fit one craft at a time) and we shot through and then after much sweat and cursing I got the mast up again.

We then had a delightful motor up the narrow twisty Ant and came into Barton Broad. A great favourite with us. We remembered that years ago we were the only yacht sailing here during the solar eclipse when all the world went dark and the birds stopped singing. Anyway we sailed up and down and around the Broad for a couple of hours, before dropping sails and motoring to the SW corner to Gayes Staithe. We used to come here for the Barton Angler pub, but its now a house alas. So we moored alongside another yacht and after a lovely walk down the lane into Neatishead village, we prepared dinner and had a few drams again before settling down for the night.
At Potter Heigham

I was in no hurry the following morning and walked back into the village for the Times. All the other boats had departed except one motorcruiser. Remaining tied up, I hoisted the mainsail and put in the second reef. We got talking to the guys in the motorcruiser. They were a 50 year old couple from Essex and had been singing and jive-dancing in their huge saloon the previous evening. I had been watching this with great interest when I was walking the dog, and asked them about it. But she took this as her cue to commence singing unaccompanied hymns to me, so as they say, I made my excuses, and left.

Conditions in the broad were great with blue skies, sunshine and a good F6 blowing. So we sailed all over the broad for a few hours before going up behind the island known as the Heater and tied up alongside Paddy's Mile. A walk around the Barton Turf boatyard and village before returning, eating and getting into our berths.

Next day we were up and on the Broad again before 8 o'clock and had the place to ourselves, eventually being joined by a 30 foot Hunter's Yacht (these are all at least 50 years old, built from mahogany and have no engines). We had fun for a while and then set off back down the Ant, mast down, through Ludham Bridge, mast up and motored on until we reached Potter Heigham.

This is another bridge and its a rite of passage for everyone going to the Broads. It's a mediaeval stone arched bridge which is narrow (meant for horses) and can only take road traffic one way. The arch is actually half a circle and its not square on to the river. The river clearance is about 6.5 feet wide and 6.5 feet high, the tide pours through it, visibility is poor, the wind scythes sideways across the arch, and it terrifies me. I got the mast down and, as always at this bridge, Marion took the helm. I'm convinced she finds this bridge straightforward because she can park Volvo Estates. What an advert for them! The wall underneath the bridge is deeply scored and boats passing through this bridge draw tourists from miles around. Marion took the boat through in her usual matter of fact way, and I got the mast up and the boat underway again.


We were now in wild territory. No big motor boats get here. Flat horizon. Big skies, reeds and water and birds as far as you can see. Sound of the reeds whispering and the wind sighing. On we went and tried to tie up a few times, but were unhappy about the fetch and the slop knocking the hull giving an uncomfortable motion. I tried various methods of putting out springs with the lines I had brought with me, but it was no use and we decided to go up to Hickling for the night. A yacht which preceded us was unfamiliar with the approach and ran aground, giving us some amusement. Eventually we tied up in the dyke belonging to the pub and fell sound asleep after the usual medicine.

Hickling Broad from the Dyke

We woke to wind around F7 speed and on the nose with a cold overcast sort of day. After endless faffing and a walk to the village we decided that there was a very strong end of season feel around the place and decided to go back to Barton Broad. Although we could sail it, tacking a triple reefed small boat for miles did not appeal to our sense of comfort and we motored into the wind with our little engine until we got back to Potter Heigham and through the bridge eventually stopping for the night back in Ludham Dyke.

Next morning we motored back up to Barton and enjoyed the sailing there. Gayes Staithe was busy and the only place I could tie alongside was occupied by three anglers sitting on portable seats surrounded by heaps of gear. I had actually sailed in and floated about twenty feet away from them asking them if they would mind moving along please? The one with the sunglasses spat in the water and jerked his arm at the other vacant place while mumbling in some hideous northern accent. I explained I could not go there because of the trees and my mast. You never see the faces of anglers from the bank but when you are on a boat you see them from the front and realise how unhappy they all look. The fat ugly one with the stained clothes (actually all three were fat and ugly and had stained clothes), cast his line again and sat staring at the float. I could hear my watch ticking.

I turned about and motored along the narrow tree lined dyke until I reached Neatishead Staithe, tied up and went to the pub where we made friends with two local women and three Essex builders. We all had a great night sitting round the fire and drinking far too much beer.

Whispering Reeds

The following day was our last full day and we motored off down the Ant again. I had good fun passing very close to all the anglers I saw and obliged them to pull their lines in with much cursing and complaining. It's my new hobby and I look forward to many more years of similar pleasure. After a brief stopover at Ranworth, I sailed off over the Broad and down the dyke turning eastwards at the bottom. The wind was sufficient to have two reefs in, yet sometimes I was completely becalmed and other times we were up on our beam ends. An exhilarating and enjoyable sail in strong gusting conditions. We turned north at Thurne mouth and sailed back up to Ludham dyke before turning into wind behind the shelter of some poplar trees and took the sails down. After a brief recce into Womack Water (which had no berthing spaces left) we returned to the river just outside the boatyard and tidied the boat up before having a last night boat stew involving cubes of tinned spam. Still, finishing all the wine and whisky left on board was some compensation.

Monday, 11 March 2013

HEAVY WEATHER SAILING

I'd been waiting for sometime now for a bad weather forecast so that I could undertake some training in heavy weather sailing. Then out of the blue I received an email: Force 7 forecast off Arran this weekend - you up for it? You bet I was!

We spent sometime in Ardrossan marina putting up the foresail pole and leaving it out to starboard before eventually setting out running towards Arran under an easterly F6 sailing with just the foresail out to port. Then we had a discussion about how to use just the jib to bring the boat into wind to raise the mainsail. We tried heaving to under the jib. This can work for some boats but not ours. Need a longer keel I think. Then we put the mainsheet traveller well down to leeward and carefully came round to beat with the jib alone. Obviously you can't sail forward of the beam unless you have two sails, but it was enough for long enough to get the boat into wind. Then we hoisted the double reefed mainsail quickly. It worked as expected, so we turned back towards Arran running on starboard tack with the foresail now poled out to starboard. So we rolled our way onwards looking for more wind.

We approached the NE of Arran and when we could see the whites of the sheeps eyes we turned N. We had the wind now all right. We messed around doing stuff in 30 - 35 knots of wind, as you do, then when we got bored of having fun with that we beam reached up to the sound between Inchmarnock and Bute. We took the pole down now and entered the West Kyle.

We now started to practice heaving-to. We played with the size of the foresail to see the effects, but it was pretty reefed down by now anyway. You can gybe out of being hove-to or you can tack out. The wind was now 44 knots true and gybing was dangerous so we practiced heaving-to and tacking out perhaps half a dozen times. Everytime we found she settled best at 60 degrees to the wind.

When we decided it was now time to seek shelter, the foresail became jammed. Sod's law. There was very little furling line left. I think that given the wind we had been reefing the sail too tightly and that had been the cause of the problem. What to do? We could drop it but first of all we tried some hare-brained scheme of taming and tying the sail around the forestay. It actually worked perfectly well and until we could sort it out properly we hoisted the storm jib with the spinnaker halyard and tied off the tack with tape, running the sheets aft. Not sure we got the length of the tape short enough, but we could sail the short distance we had remaining.

So we rattled up the Kyle at a great pace. It was getting silly now and the wind was F9. There were no other boats around. In fact there was no sign of any other life around. We approached Caladh Harbour as it was starting to get dark. In we went - never seen it empty of boats before -  and wanted to practice laying two anchors in a fork. We only had two small anchors. The main anchor was still lying in some welder's yard. He had promised to fix it and get it to us that morning, but as is the way all over the world, sailors are always being let down by these guys.

There is three ways of laying a fork. The first involved the dinghy. It was no weather for dinghies. The second method involved buggering around with a long warp in the dark with the possibility of getting it round the prop. So bugger that. We would use the third way.

We put a tripping line on the anchor and laid it, pulling back at high revs. It dragged. There was no electric windlass So I pulled up the chain by hand nearly giving myself a heart attack. We laid it and the tripping line for the second time. It held. Then I untied the bitter end of the warp, tied a fender to it, and threw the whole lot overboard. Great fun this!

So now we pulled out the Danforth and fixed a chain and warp to it. We moved forward until the tripping buoy was on the beam of our bow and we dropped anchor number two along with another tripping line. Pulled back and yes, even though it was hard to see transits by now, it was clearly dragging. Forward again and pulled the bugger up. Laid it again and it dragged again. The idea was that if it had held we would have picked up anchor no 1 with the fender and put both warps through the bow fairleads. There would have been a period of fiddling and adjusting until we got the balance right. But it was not to be. Had enough. So both anchors and tripping lines were recovered with much cursing and we set off for the Kyle under engine alone. It was now as black as the Earl of Hell's waistcoat and the wind was absolutely screaming a full force 9. We identified the lights of the main passage and drove the boat through. We went to look for a buoy at Colintrive belonging to a mate of one of us. Shining torches everywhere. What an entertaining spectacle we must have made. Couldn't find it, but the swell was horrible so we abandoned the idea anyway.

We drove down the East Kyle towards Rothesay. Me helming the boat which was bucking around all over the shop, especially passing Loch Striven. The wind was now 50 knots true, and we turned for lights of the town. (In fact the highest gust we recorded was 54.1 knots). We got into the inner harbour at 2100 hrs and were tying up onto the pontoon when the Harbourmaster approached me and in a weary tone he sighed and declared "Therrs always wan!" He went on to say "Are ye's mad? Whit are ye's daen oot in a wee yacht (33 feet) in weather like this?" I left him talking to the others because  basically I ran away -  to the Black Bull for a wee libation or two.

The following morning, the wind was around 40 knots and it was absolutely freezing at -4 degrees centigrade ambient and the hills were covered in snow. God knows what the wind chill was, but I can tell you that you needed gloves. The Sunday papers had not yet arrived on the ferry so we worked on the boat while we had the shelter of the harbour. We took the furling jib down and flaked it away before bending on the storm jib and furling it away ready for use. A bit bright orange for my taste it was. I had never put on a trisail before so this was all learning for me. We took out the mainsail slides and piggybacked the trisail over the furled main on the boom. Hoisted it to check it then tied it away.

Now we had to get off the pontoon the wind was holding us against. We tried a stern spring. No joy. Thought of warping forward along the pontoon and trying a bow spring so that we could go astern down the aisle. Before that, we thought it might be less work to warp the bow through the wind. I took a line over and sweated it on a cleat from a pontoon finger. All I succeeded in doing was exacerbating my tennis elbow. Someone suggested a longer line and a further away pontoon finger to give a better angle. I took another line to extend the first one but could not remember how to tie a sheet bend and was getting myself worked up and had skinned my knuckles. Eventually I tied the lines together with two bowlines, pulled the bow of the boat through the wind, as it passed, the line was dumped off the boat, I recovered it fast and ran along to the hammerhead to heave it to the approaching boat.

So dear reader, we eventually got away after a great deal of faffing. Then we beat around to the east in a F7  and in driving snow and poor visibility! Christ it was cold, and then the hail started! We had intended to practice deploying a sea anchor, recovering it, and then deploying a drogue off the stern. That all meant getting wet and cold so we binned that idea and sailed under the orange storm sails down to the Cumbrae Gap, beat through it, and turned south for Ardrossan. Just as we were approaching, the wind had one last blast at 44 knots true and our oilies went white with the driving snow.

I am begining to understand the attractions of sailing in Turkey.