Uncovering the secrets of Lawling Creek
Nick Ardley and his wife Christobel discover the joy of cruising amidst salt, marsh and mud
Apurposeful northerly wind flicked at the burgee as we bustled from the South Channel, Tollesbury, before clearing the Nass and heading towards Osea Island. Near the ebb, the River Blackwater has a defined prettier route, with sightings of ancient fish traps, old piers and wrecks all adding to the allure.
Reaching Osea, we spotted the Barnacle buoy, conveniently marking Lawling Creek’s entrance. We soon breezed in on the fresh flood, clearing a soft muddy bar, following a buoyed channel. I got rid of the jib.
Approaching Mundon Stone Point, a host of seals could be seen basking along the creek’s northern mud edges. We gazed in awe.
‘The normal place?’ Christobel asked, prodding me. I nodded, ‘I’ll ready the anchor.’ ‘Drop the main sail after rounding up,’ she smiled. ‘Three metres.’
‘Okay,’ I called. The boat slewed. The mainsail slatted as our way stalled against the flood. The anchor splashed overboard. Behind me, the main slithered down as some younger seals mud-tobogganed with a whoosh into the water. The inquisitive ones came close, twitching their whiskers, before making ‘runs’ for the mud again.
Knotting the last mainsail lashing, the kettle sang from below. I grinned as I heard the clatter of plates and mugs. Setting the cockpit table ready, I rigged our boom tent, providing protection from the sun’s ultra-violet menace, folded back as desired. We were nicely set, anchored north of Mayland Creek.
With a drink in hand and munching on a late light lunch, we watched seals while curlews and myriads of waders foraged. On shell banks around Mayland Creek’s entrance, oystercatchers squabbled over tasty morsels.
As the tide rose, yachts and youngsters crewing colourful dinghies passed by. I’ve often dinghy sailed into Mayland Creek and worked up to where Pigeon Dock once hosted traders by the sluiced headwaters. Within a marshy indent is another old barge wharf where refuse was once offloaded. The dreamy afternoon seeped into us, and quietness settled over the ship as heads nodded.
We had lamb chops for supper, purchased from Tollesbury’s butcher. I’m the evening cook, and these were enjoyed grilled with a mixed salad and a glass of something, alfresco.
Leaving my mate to clear up, I went out in the dinghy. The tide was low, the breeze was faltering, but as I slipped along with the setting sun colouring the water, I remembered berthing at an old wharf near Brickhouse Farm. A broken sheepfold or hay store from earlier times was discernibly close by. Later, we enjoyed a sublime evening and as darkness descended, watched as the sky became prickled with stars.
The next morning was spent ‘scrubbing off’ and watching terns feed. We could have stayed longer but we needed stores, so on the flood, we crept into the Blackwater Marina where showers and bonhomie were enjoyed.