Learning from experience
A test sail in a friend’s yacht soon has powerboater Ann Smith bailing water and wishing for an engine
Testing times for three friends during a sail on the River Blackwater
When our friend, Tim, called us out of the blue we had no idea of what was likely to be in store for us the following day.
He was ringing from a call box at Stone on the River Blackwater, about four miles from where we live, to let us know that his 36ft gaff cutter Tiki was finally rigged and ready for sailing.
Tim invited us for a sail the next day and lunch on board. “I have all the necessary provisions, don’t bother to bring anything. I’ll be on the beach about 10 with the dinghy,” he said before hanging up.
We were excited about our unexpected invitation, although a little apprehensive as we knew our likeable, absent-minded friend very well. My husband Miff announced that he was going into the shed to get the lifejackets ready. ‘Very encouraging’ I thought as I started to prepare some baps and beefburgers.
“Don’t forget to pack milk and sugar, you know what happened the last time we had tea with Tim,” Miff added. I remembered it well, how we’d sat in the cabin of Tim’s boat sipping tea of dubious taste and wondering where we could tip it when he wasn’t looking. When Miff returned with the lifejackets he casually remarked “You can’t be too careful” and I readily agreed.
We awoke to a beautiful, sunny, calm day, which made us even more eager to get to Stone. We arrived at 09.40, parked
About the Author
Ann Smith and her husband Miff kept their motorboat Arklow, a former Watson Class lifeboat, on a River Blackwater mooring for many years, enjoying fishing, cruising and doing all their own work in boatyards. Miff is good with engines and Ann is ‘not too bad as a bilge rat painter and scraper’. up and walked down towards the beach. As we passed the handy little store we heard a loud “Hello there, I’ve been buying a few bits and pieces for our day out. What type of sherry do you like?”
Tim was standing in the shop doorway, cardboard box of supplies in his arms. We were very pleased to see him: same old Tim, pockets hanging off his jacket, shirt hanging out, we insisted we didn’t want any sherry and told him to save his money. As he went to pay for his food, Miff murmured quietly “He must think we’re alcoholics since he’s always apologising for not having any alcohol on board.”
When Tim came out we made our way down the beach and piled into the tender. Tim took the oars and headed out towards Tiki. She looked really lovely.
It was the first time we’d seen her with water all around and the rigging up. By the time we were aboard, the weather had changed, it happened so quickly, and as we hastily donned our oilskins Tim was
already organising a trip around the deck to inspect the various jobs he’d done since we were last on board. He had done very well although I felt we couldn’t show our full enthusiasm with rain dripping down the neck of our oilskins. We decided to go below for a cuppa before setting sail.
Tea didn’t take long to make as Tim had boiled the water some hours before and put it in a thermos flask. He informed us that one flask is enough for a shave and three cups of tea. ‘Very industrious,’ I thought.
The mugs of water were placed in front of us and we were each given a teabag. Dear old Tim, he’d thought of everything this time, we even had powered milk and sugar if needed. As we sipped our tea, we couldn’t help but notice a grey film on the surface. We soon realised it was paraffin fumes since the mugs hung over the very expensive paraffin stove which sends out bellowing flames when first lit. It was a situation soon remedied with clean cups – no shaving required on this trip!
By now the wind seemed pretty strong and there was some discussion as to whether or not we would actually pull up anchor. Tim was very keen. Miff and I fought down our apprehension and put a brave face on it, the jib and staysail were hastily brought up from below followed by Tim’s head. He looked apologetic as he emerged from the hatch and murmured something about the winch not working and that he and Miff would have to pull up the anchor by hand while I took the helm. It was still raining and the wind was gusting as the two men pulled on the anchor line. I did my bit on the tiller with a few orders shouted at me from the captain.
Sailing at speed
Eventually the anchor was up, the sails were hoisted and as I steered Tiki down the River Blackwater I found it hard to believe the speed at which we were travelling, just on the wind, it was great.
Miff took the tiller as we passed Bradwell Creek and I found a place to sit amidst the ropes, which seemed to be everywhere.
Tim must have thought I looked a bit too comfortable on the coil of wet rope.
“How about casting you out in the dinghy Annie? I notice you have a camera, you could take a few pictures of Tiki under sail. Miff and I will have to stay on board to take care of the sails, we’ll pick you up alright when you’ve finished.”
I was lost for words. As I cast my eyes over the very choppy sea, I realised that one of those large waves could easily swamp that little dinghy. I was trying hard to think of a suitable answer, one that would not make me look too cowardly when I heard Miff s voice: “No way, Annie’s not going over the side in this weather, you must be joking Tim, it’s far too rough.”
Tim looked disappointed but cheered up when I told him I’d take a few shots on board anyway and hopefully would be able to get the sails in the pictures.
The weather worsened and we decided to listen to the radio forecast – the wind was Force 5-6, which is quite strong. We decided to carry on a bit further. Miff and I were not too happy about this, but to make us feel better I handed out the baps and beef burgers. Tim must have been
‘As I cast my eyes over the very choppy sea I realised that one of those large waves could easily swamp the little dinghy’
hungry – he wolfed his down in no time. “Absolutely delicious”, The muttered, “an absolute luxury to have mustard”.
“Would you care for an orange and some treacle tart,” he said as he threw a KitKat to each of us.
“Not just yet, thanks Tim,” I said as I struggled with my bap. By the time I had finished speaking he had pretty well demolished his orange and KitKat too. “Come on Annie,” he yelled above the wind, “Tuck in, I’m going up front to check the ropes”.
After some discussion it was agreed we’d sail around the North Eagle buoy before heading home. This was the time for people like myself to learn a few things about sailing. Being mainly a motorboat person for many years, I found the experience rather exhilarating. The return journey would mean travelling against the wind and in plain sailing terms this means we’d be going about, most of the time.
For the landlubber, ‘going about’ means a hell of a lot of work, fighting the wind with the sails, making very little headway considering the amount of effort that has to be put into the operation. Well, that’s my opinion. Still, we went about many times and lived to tell the tale.
Upon reaching the North Eagle buoy we set sail for our homeward journey. The wind was very strong and the sea spray came over the deck, which seemed to make the situation worse. We all worked very hard, going about every ten minutes or so and not making much progress – or so I thought, although my shipmates seemed to think we were doing quite well.
Their enthusiasm dwindled, however, when after an inspection below Tim announced that we’d taken on a great deal of water.
“It’s covering the floor boards, you’d better start pumping immediately Annie. You stay at the helm Miff, I’ll just check below again.”
As I took the pump I felt a sinking feeling. Would we ever make it back to Stone? I was already working out the best way to get ashore should we capsize. On reflection this may seem a little dramatic, but at the time it was very real.
“Come on Tim,” I heard Miff shout against the wind, “It’s time to go about, it has to be right now or we’ll ground on St Peter’s Flat.”
Tim emerged from below and made his way towards the bow of the boat, slipping and sliding on the wet deck. The wind and rain seemed to be at war with us. He yelled for me to leave the pump for a minute and perform with the ropes aft.
“OK everybody DOWN.” It was Miff’s voice, warning us that the boom was about to cross over, which meant we where going about again. Tim came back down aft and took a turn on the pump.
“Thank God for that,” I thought as I sat in a pool of water, not that I really noticed as I was already very wet. I didn’t sit for long as Tim decided to take the staysail down which meant I was required to pump again, though Miff thought it best I rest my arms so he took over the pump while I took the helm.
I watched with anxiety as Tim clung on for dear life. Miff ran up the side of the deck to lend a hand but slipped over on the way – thank goodness the handrails had been fitted. He soon recovered himself and was at Tim’s side, the pair battled to get the sail aboard, I knew it would soon be time to go about again and hoped they’d have it sorted in time as I had to stay at the helm, but it was also time for more pumping.
Now we’re motoring
At last, the sail was aboard and Miff took the helm ready for going about. ‘Hell, give me an engine any time,’ I thought. It was as though Tim read my mind, for a few minutes later he announced that we’d be taking the mainsail down and going the rest of the way by engine. Since we were taking in so much water this would be the most sensible thing, as we’d arrive at Stone in half the time.
I found it hard to conceal the joy I felt as I heard the engine start after a couple of
‘We went about many times and lived to tell the tale’
tries and looked forward to dropping anchor and finding out where the water was coming from. It was quite a task taking the hefty sail down but well worth it as far as Miff and I were concerned. We were actually upright once again. Hooray! We did mention with almost a pleading note in our voices, that we could be dropped off at Bradwell Marina and could get a lift to Stone from there.
“Oh no,” said Tim, “There’s no need for that, we’re doing fine now, better get to work on that pump Annie, I’ll go below and try to save a few bits and pieces which are floating about, hopefully my word processor is still intact, I keep it stowed under one of the bunks. Carry on at the helm, Miff.”
As we passed the entrance to Bradwell Creek I noticed our own boat moored in the distance and felt I’d be very happy to be aboard her.
Tim’s head appeared from below and with his opening sentence I felt a pang of guilt. “Anyone for a piece of treacle tart or a KitKat?” he asked, smiling. The answer was unanimous, “No thanks, not at this moment, we’ll have a nice cup of tea when we drop anchor.”
We could see Stone in the distance but it would be another half hour or so before we would arrive. With Miff still at the helm and me at the pump, Tim appeared to be redundant: there were no sails to perform with, and he’d sorted out all he could down below. So he took over the pump just when my arms were starting to drop off.
When we were almost there, Miff went forward to prepare the anchor and Tim took over the helm. Tim could not make up his mind where to drop anchor, he took Tiki around the same area a couple of times then yelled to Miff, “Over there, that’s the place.” As he steered through the moorings I held my breath and I’m sure he did as we narrowly missed another craft by about half an inch.
We both looked at the closeness of the two vessels in shock and wonderment that we’d not collided. Tim took it all in his stride as usual, although he looked considerably relieved when the anchor was finally dropped.
Relaxing with tea
It was time for that cup of tea. After we’d sat on deck for 10 minutes or so, drinking our tea and recalling the day’s events, we remembered to check the pump, which seemed the most likely source of water ingress. A funnel was placed on the pump skin fitting and a bucket of water poured in. Sure enough the bucketful found it’s way into the boat. Tim had not remembered to shut off the valve when he last pumped out the boat. Consequently as we heeled over to 45° while sailing the water had just poured in through the open valve. Good old Tim, never a dull moment.
After the sails were stowed away, the discovery of the open valve led Miff to do a complete check on all the rigging, just to ensure Tim was going to be safe when sailing alone.
The nut holding the bolt through the gaff boom was not there, possibly lost overboard or never fitted, and all shackles were only just finger tight. Both these things could have been hazardous out at sea, but didn’t take long to fix.
The tide was dropping fast, and it was time to go ashore: I didn’t fancy spending the night aboard Tiki, lovely though she is.
The dinghy was brought round and Miff was first aboard. As I lowered myself into the little yellow inflatable, the back of my smock hooked itself onto a cleat and I was left hanging. Tim unhooked me and I fell heavily into the tender.
Tim lowered himself into the tender as though nothing had happened and rowed us ashore, as we landed on the beach I looked back at Tiki and thought how beautiful she looked as the evening sun picked out her lines, she sat proud, as though she was saying, “You see, I knew we would arrive back safely”.
We pulled the dinghy up the beach and Tim insisted on walking us back to our car. We must have looked like tramps as our once wet trousers had almost dried but were very dirty but who cares, we had all had an exciting day. It was the first time Tiki had had her mainsails up and Miff and I were proud to have taken part in the operation. As Tim waved us on our way he shouted, “Cheerio, thank you so much for coming, I’ll be in touch.” We’re always pleased to see Tim – he’s a great guy, has a great boat and we had a great day... but it was great to be ashore.