ENGINELESS SAILING
A few weeks earlier, I’d had a masterclass in boat handling under sail when I joined the engineless Thames Barge, Blue Mermaid.
It was the final match of the barge racing season on the River Colne in Essex. Built in 2019, she’s a replica of the last Thames sailing barge ever built. She’s operated by the Sea-change Sailing Trust, which gives sail training to young people, with bursaries for those who need it.
Her full-time crew, Richard Tichener and Hilary Halajko, were the masterminds of the build. Not content with the challenge of going diesel-free, their vision was also that she’d be capable of carrying cargo and she’s rated to take 110 tonnes in the hold. Blue Mermaid can replace four articulated lorries for journeys around the Thames Estuary, Kent and East Anglian coasts.
There’s a significant fleet of engineless working boats on the East Coast, including Thames barges and oyster smacks. Some of them are accompanied to and from their moorings by RIBS (‘cheque-book engineless sailing’ muttered one of the crew), but others are more purist. Although Blue Mermaid’s tender and 6hp outboard can push the 100T barge at 2 knots in calm conditions, it’s rarely used. Instead, there’s a set of 28ft sweeps on board and voyages are planned around the tide.
I joined them in Brightlingsea, Essex, the night before the race. The fleet was anchored in the river. Thames barges are a strange sight for the uninitiated. The mast is well-forward, there’s almost no superstructure or portlights (cargo doesn’t need to see out) and their upside-down mainsails remain suspended from the spars, brailed up like theatre curtains. In the flat landscape of the east coast this herd of giant, Jurassic creatures were an otherworldly scene.
WORKING BOATS
But it would be a mistake to over-romanticise them. ‘They’re a working boat, not a yacht,’ said regular crew member and tree surgeon, Jake. For Richard, the functionality of the vessel is important to the way they engage young people: ‘It’s about being real and doing something authentic.’ There’s no teak veneer or soft furnishings on Blue Mermaid, the interior is industrial chic, with the emphasis proudly on the industrial. The vast hold had a few pipe cots in one corner, and
plastic trestle tables and chairs set out down the middle for dinner, to be collapsed and set aside for sailing.
It may not be pretty, but the hold, lit by oil lamps, is an atmospheric dinner setting. Electric lighting is limited to the small accommodation areas forward and aft, and there are no mod cons such as a fridge or water pump. Solar panels provide enough power for the navigation instruments, but battery power is very limited. Hooking up to shore power is rarely an option: bringing a Thames Barge into a marina under sail (or oar) would be like trying to park an elephant in a multi-storey car park.
After dinner, we gathered for a briefing. It would be an early start, just as when the barges plied their trade in and out of London; we needed to set off with the ebb, and return on the flood. There wasn’t much wind forecast, and even getting to the start line a few boat lengths downstream would be a challenge, let alone tacking out of the narrow river.
At 0600 the next morning it was mirror calm. The forecast south-easterly was yet to arrive and, other than weighing anchor and allowing ourselves to drift downstream, I couldn’t see how we’d make it to the start line. ‘Time for a bit of drudging,’ said Richard. ‘This,’ enthused regular crew member Jimmy, ‘is the most exciting bit.’
Drudging, it turns out, is an unpromising term for an ingenious manoeuvre. It’s a controlled drag of the anchor, so that it’s just touching the seabed. This is enough to keep the boat head to the tide, but not enough to hold her in position. By partially stemming the tide there’s still some water flowing over the rudder and steerage can be maintained, even whilst drifting backwards. Since there’s steerage, the vessel’s lateral position can be controlled. The manoeuvre worked perfectly.
ENGINELESS PASSAGE
Before long we’d hoisted the sails and set off across the line in a trickle of breeze. The atmosphere on board was one of reverence. Everyone recognised the challenging nature of the task. ‘Not having an engine completely changes your relationship with the vessel,’ said Richard. I couldn’t agree more. I’ve always felt that people are better connected to the boat and, through the boat, each other, when the engine’s off. If there’s no start button to get you out of trouble, it’s particularly noticeable.
The huge, low-cut mainsail is loose footed, and takes up much of the working deck.
I was glad that there wasn’t a boom to negotiate as we worked on the side decks, but wary of the enormous wooden blocks on the mainsheet, which swung across the large wooden ‘horse’ which acts as a traveller. Despite the agricultural scale of the deck gear, sailing such a behemoth was a surprisingly delicate operation. At one point Richard gave a gentle reproof for heaving enthusiastically on the jib topsail sheet and disrupting the laminar flow: ‘Those molecules don’t like to be shaken!’ With a few knots of breeze and a knot or so of tide-generated wind, we were making good progress down the 200m-wide channel.
Maintaining steerage and not stalling the boat is always important for boat handling under sail, but no more so than when the boat is 100 tonnes, there’s a falling tide and mudbanks to leeward. Blue Mermaid was surprisingly light on her feet and the crew were closely attuned to the boat and the environment. When a slick of foam was spotted on the surface, we made a beeline for it. It indicated the tide edge between the Colne and Blackwater currents and gave us a boost. Reading the water colour and tide slicks can help identify the best flow, especially in the intricate waters of the East Coast. It’s the kind of detail which can make a big difference to pilotage under sail, but usually goes unnoticed.
When we rounded the windward mark the track on the chart plotter recorded crisp, 90-degree tacks which a fin-keeled yacht would be proud of. Hilary and the foredeck team set the spinnaker and we sailed back across the line in a comfortable third. Since the mainsail doesn’t come down at the end of the day, but remains up, it’s easy to stow for such a large vessel – these boats used to be sailed two-handed by just the skipper and a deckhand. There was no panic approaching the confined anchorage area under sail because sailing was always the plan. Normally, we choose our destination first, and worry about the boat handling when we get there. Without an engine the boat handling plays a major role in determining the destination.
A UNIQUE WAY TO SAIL
The Thames Barge has evolved for these waters. The shallow bilge, manoeuvrability and ease of sail handling are a direct response to the challenges of the East Coast. The style of sailing which has developed with it is a heritage skill which is uniquely linked to place. ‘It’s handed down,’ explains Richard, ‘that’s the true meaning of the word heritage. People think that heritage is preserving things in museums, but it isn’t, it’s keeping them alive.’
There are plenty of lessons for the modern sailor aboard a Thames Barge: working in sympathy with the environment; using the tides to your advantage; paying attention to sail trim; and that an engineless passage is a joy in itself.