Learn the ropes and then find the sea |
| The first test: gulls in the middle of the river... standing! |
Part 2, TIME AND TIDE |
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The river Great Ouse now led straight to the sea. Black-headed gulls stood watching our progress towards the port of Kings Lynn, fourteen miles distant, where we planned to arrive late afternoon. About 200 metres ahead a flock of gulls were standing in the centre of the river. The tide sweeping us downstream gave little time for decisions. The gulls flew off and landed on the river bank and at that instant we stopped dead on the spot where they had been. The water swirled around the hull and as the keels resisted the tide pushed us beam-on to the sand-bank. We made efforts with poles and the engine but stuck fast against the immovable shoal. The tide soon left us standing high and dry and we knew that we must wait for the next flood, some five hours away. My main concern was the possibility of the flood arriving with a bore, someone had told us of the bore occasionally being so big that it approached with a hissing noise as it flowed over the grass above the sandy banks. When the tide did return it filled the river very quickly. We had laid an anchor and we waited for the strength of the flood to diminish as the waters were too fast to make way against, but thankfully no hissing bore came. The Great Ouse became larger, Kings Lynn drew closer. There were real waves and we revelled in the "bigness" of everything. We had a look at the port, the fishing boats and a coaster but the dock wall looked too big for our little pea green boat so we anchored near some moored cruisers. That night we slept lightly as "Juggler" held on against the swift spring tides. In the morning we crept into a small river, The Nar, and moored against a fishing boat.. A sunny day welcomed us to Kings Lynn. After some time rigging the boat for sea with a thousand and one things to consider, we left our practice ground, The Wash. The banks of the Great Ouse widen and flatten until they are indistinguishable from the water. Then the gaze meets an expanse of featureless sea, that is until the eyes become focussed, when little points and smudges can be distinguished. Buoys, fishing boats, tide gauges and the distant coast all have to be sorted into navigational significance. The scene is usually grey, a million shades of grey. The waves on a calm day gently rock the boat and the silence is surprising. We made slow progress to Wells-next-the-sea, a distance of thirty odd miles. Once more the horror stories came ringing in our ears concerning the Wells bar, where the depth becomes shallower on approaching a natural harbour. Wells had a few stories attached to it. Our engine wouldn't start and we really wanted to motor in. So we sailed towards the buoys marking the approach channel. No breaking waves reared up behind us as we crossed the bar, it was flat calm with a little breeze to use as power. This was our first coastal passage and we were determined to make it safely. We sailed to the town quay, turned and nosed up to the wall with such control that we felt like real sailors. Well maybe we were real sailors! However, Kresza and I couldn't help thinking of all the miles that lay ahead. We saw a real seaside town in Wells; fish and chips, rock, postcards, fishing boats and seagulls. A seagull is any white bird flying around the seaside, whether it happens to be a black-headed gull, herring gull, lesser black-backed gull, greater black-backed gull, sandwich tern, little tern or common tern!
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| Continue to part 3 |
| © Clarissa Vincent 1991 |