Relative to this morning at least.

When I left my job and did the ceremonial clearing of the desk, I collected all the loose change and put it in a bag. The bag was supposed to be taken to the bank and converted to usable money, but I put it in a safe place on Kudu and forgot about it.

Yesterday, while cleaning the boat, I rediscovered this bag of coins and this morning took it to the local Asda, to dump into the coinstar machine, which takes the pain out of counting this mixed changed, albeit at the cost of 7.9%.

As I emptied the money in to the tray, it began digesting it with a satisfying tinkle of wealth, and when it had stopped, it burped a receipt for £50.11. Fifty quid! Brilliant!

I celebrated my good fortune by buying a lucky dip for tonight’s national lottery, and a ham and cheese baguette.

I’m off again tomorrow since I need to leave the rather expensive, although justifiably so, RNSYC, but I’m still waiting for more clement winds, so I think I’ll take the opportunity to poke my nose upstream into the Norfolk Broads until the winds change to my favour.

The swell is rolling in to the harbour from the North sea, causing the boats around me to roll about. Kudu is fairing better compared to the bigger boats, who are in a deep dance, but still she tugs at her warps like an excited dog eager for it’s walk.

The boat next to me has an oversized Ensign still flying long after it’s bed time, making dull flapping sounds, with backing vocals courtesy of the wind, whistling through the rigging of lonely boats, and then the odd halyard fraps against it’s supporting mast a few pontoons down.

What a perfect evening to smother in sleep.

Good night all.

I have sort of just terminated the video series.

In an effort to make for more interesting viewing, by showing some more varied camera positions, I build a little weather proof holding case for the camcorder. It was fashioned out of a tupperware box, and seemed to work well. That is, until I inflicted the plan with a hefty dose of stupidity.

I attached it to the spare halyard, and sent it up the mast for a test run. The camera is quite heavy and, because I didn’t think, though gravity would bring it back down. It didn’t.

So there I am laughing out loud to myself with my camera at the very top of the mast. A kind lady next door lent me a boat hook, but there was no chance if reaching it without climbing to at least the spreaders. I donned my old climbing harness, and attached myself to the cleated off main halyard (on the new, safe block) with a pretzl ascender. This is a device that allows the rope to move one way through it, but not the other, a thread like diode, if you will. I clipped a figure of 8 belay device to the harness, and set about climbing up the mast. Eventually I got to the camera and lowered it down, well, almost. Newton lent an unexpected hand to the rescue mission as the tupperware box opened and the camera plummeted half the mast heigh onto the deck, where it exploded, sending the battery into the arms of Davy Jones.

I took the dead end of the rope (the loose  bit under me with no weight on it) and threded it into the belay device. I then clipped that on to my harness, hugged the mast to lift my weight off the pretzl, and abseiled back down to the deck.

The ultimate by product of this - admittedly quite fun – cock up, is that that will probably not be any more you tube videos after the next one.

If, per chance, there is a company out there that wishes to sponsor the videos by way of a new camera, then I would be happy to put your logo on the end credit screen, as well as a link on this very blog (which has had over 30,000 views).

I’m a bit stuck otherwise, but will obviously have more time for this blog, so I guess it balances out either way.

The evening before I set off somewhere, I find myself getting nervous about going to sea. I know as soon as I leave the river or marina that I’ll be fine, but this morning was different.

This morning I awoke at 0800, opting for extra rest (:p), then set about packing in Condom, my kayak, and finalising the boat, ready for the off.

As I motored down the river Deben, I began to get nervous. More nervous than normal, with bouts of butterflies and to be honest, a feeling of why the hell am I doing this. The forecast, and the reality was a northerly, which meant I would be punishing myself all day tacking back and forward against the wind, which would in turn be against the tide. As any sailor knows, this combination shows the sea at it’s worst. I got to the Deben bar, the exit of the river, and saw it in a much more placid mood than it displayed during my entry. I was still nervous, but I’m relentless with my stupid ideas, so carried on for better or worse.

As I headed out of the the bar channel, I spotted two other yachts and a motor boat. That helped, because if they were out, it was fine for me too. I mean, if a motorboat is out, then I have absolutely nothing to worry about! :p

I got to the end of the channel and turned to port, heading 060 degrees, starting a huge tack out into the North sea. The other boats soon disappeared from view and I was on my own until the ships appeared. I ended up so far out I was having to check for collision courses with the ships, and at that point decided to turn on to starboard tack and head back inland. Although I wouldn’t gain any headway whilst doing this, I decided I would be more comfortable closes to shore incase anything happened.

As I tacked, I did it again. Filled my bilges with edible stuff. A carton of almost full milk spilt over and emptied into Kudu’s belly. I was half angry about it, and half laughing at myself for not learning my lesson about not-properly-stowed foodstuffs.

As I beat to windward, a LOT of spray and some green water (actual sea, rather than spray) came over the decks. This found it’s way under the forward hatch and into my bed covers, which are now delightfully damp and salty.

I decided to switch tactic and opt for short tacks up the coast, staying close inshore (up to a mile) and although this was tedious, I did get to see some fantastic coastline.

Mt first tack inland on this new plan, took me right into Southwold, my destination, but I had already decided to continue. This wind direction wasn’t perfect, and the sea was quite choppy with the opposing blow, but I knew I had to start making good progress north, and Kudu and myself were fine, albeit wet, so I continued North, eventually sighting Lowestoft.

A few hours later, I dropped the sails, radioed for permission to enter the harbour, and then motored in. I tried the marina, Royal Norfolk, three times on my way in but had no reply. It turns out the office is shut, so, until they collar me in the morning, I feel like I have a free berth for the night.

The entrance into the harbour required careful attention to the helm since there was a large swell throwing Kudu from side to side, but this only lasted until past the harbour wall.

One thing I’m pleased about today, among many, is that Sinbad helmed nearly all day. He dealt with a Force 3-4 perfectly, which I presume is down to the new position I’ve moved him to. This bodes well for the rest of the trip, and the tiller pilot has gained a little trust now.

Anyway, I’d better get to work in the galley. I’m starved. The shore power means I get to run the fan heater, which is currently trying to dry out my bedding. :p

I took some pictures while I was at Walderingfield last week, and have only just got opportunity to upload them.

My Hero's!

This able group of young sailors offered me a lift back out to Kudu, after the safety boat kindly took me ashore the day before and I returned with no way back. Thanks you lot!

Kudu at Walderingfield Sailing Club

Finally, here’s Kudu after I ran her aground outside Walderingfield sailing club in order to load up with supplies.

Apart from one chap who seemed to take a disliking to me, it was a lovely place to visit. Thanks folks!

Here it is, the torment of the last couple of days.

Broken Pulley

Under load, the halyard was getting jammed in the gap where the wheel had crushed. I have, by the way, replaced it with another, new Barton pulley. This one appears to have broken simply through age. White plastic doesn’t tend to be very UV resistant, hence it’s probable failure.

The BBQ this afternoon was fantastic. I real welcome break from the boat, and in the company of some fantastic people, indeed, hosted in one of the most beautiful houses I’ve had the pleasure of visiting. Suffolk really is a wonderful place.

Peter with the fallen mast

In all, what started off as a dire day, as ended marvelously. I’ve even been treated to a calm night and warm sunset. :p

Just after I wrote the stress post, something amazing happened. The ferry boat came along side, and as I popped my head of out the hatch, Peter, the father of a friend from London, jumped aboard. Took one look at my mast and errupted into action.

“We can get that down, no problem”

I was beginning to perk up a bit at this point.

Anyway, after a lot of faffing with ropes, and various things, the mast was finally down, and laying over the pushpit. I jumped into the kayak and floated out to the masthead with a new block. The old one’s pulley wheel had crushed. The job was completed, and the mast raised again. It’s all secure, but I need to finish the rigging off, but I don’t have a worry in the world about that. I’m quite happy working on the boat at deck level. :p

I’m ashore now. I have been invited to a BBQ. I’ve had a shower and a shave, and I smell normal again. It’s amazing how quickly my situation has just turned around. I’ll be back on the boat tonight, finish off the rigging tomorrow, and then set about getting myself north. I’ve got some catching up to do!

I’ll edit this post and add pictures later.

I’m getting angry. I should have been past East Anglia, but instead I’m stuck on the river Deben in Suffolk. I’m Suffolkcating!

A block, or pulley, has failed at the top of the mast and I can’t get up there to fix it. It is the block for the main sail halyard, which means I can’t put the sail up until I have fixed it. I can’t climb up the mast because the only halyard (rope) is the broken one. The boat is in a complete bloody mess, and I’ve not had a shower for a few days, washing instead in sea water.

Also, there has been a fly in the cabin all night, and it’s still here this morning, tormenting me with strafing runs before switching direction at the lat minute and navigating to the nearest just-out-of-reach landing spot. I got him though. He finally met his demise as I was writing this, and a gruesome death it was. He was stunned out of flight with a lighting fast whip of a pair of jeans I had lying near me (the boat is in a mess) and then finished off quickly with a wellington boot. He had his chance, he could have left through the hatch at any point during this night, but he didn’t. He knew what he was doing, and has now faced the consequences of tormenting and angry sailor. Damned fly.

So today I have two try and run the boat aground on some scrubbing posts at Fexlixstowe ferry, then borrow some extra tall ladders off somebody before trying to get up the mast again. I hate this. Hate it. It’s pretty windy outside which makes moving the boat with precision a pain in the ass. When I have finally managed to move to the posts, I have the problem of trying to tie the boat to them without drifting off. Then of course I might have the problem that the ladders I borrow aren’t tall enough.

It’s either that or careen then boat. Deliberately run her aground near a tree. Then pull the boat flat on it’s side using a rope from the top of the mast. I am reluctant to do this. If something breaks, I could cause serious damage to Kudu, and really drop myself in it.

I hate it! This problem. This inability to find a solution even though I can see the problem, out of reach at the top of the mast.

To sail around Britain on a bigger boat with just one extra crew. how fun I imagine that would be. Three day passages with a watch system so you even get some sleep! You’d be around in no time. Two people to deal with problems, like climbing the mast, which on a bigger boat would be a simple activity. The ability to stand up! To maybe even have a fresh water tank so you don’t have to wash in damned sea water!

Oh how easy it would be, but that’s not my journey. Mine is here, on a boat with less space than a small garden shed, filled to the brim with clothes and sailing equipment, leaving room at the front for just one, small area to sleep. The wind turbine rattles and sends shudders through the boat constantly, all night, all day, forever. The doesn’t usually bother me, but it does today.

I need some positive action. I shall start by sorting the boat out. It is a mess beyond the worst teenagers bedroom. Mud, sand, a dirty pan on the stove. Clothes in an unorganised mess, who’s state of usability is determined only by the students time honored method of the sniff test, or the obvious caking of mud or salt.

I think a tidy boat will help. It’ll put me in a mood for tackling the masthead issue. I bloody hope it does anyway.