A combination of a persistently poor internet connection and my video work has meant I’ve neglected the blog for a while, which is bad form really.

I woke up at 5AM yesterday, my birthday, and had one single thought on my mind: I am not going to be on a buoy in crappy weather, with no net connection or indeed power to run the laptop at all, on my birthday. I’m used to roughing it now and then, but I draw the line at letting my annual waypoints pass by. I had a flat battery in my phone too which meant I couldn’t ring my family, and for which I would, rightly so, never hear the end of.

That in mind, I hoped for a reasonable forecast, but I have to be honest, unless they were touting a full on gale, I was going go matter what. As it turns out it was peaking at force 6, which admittedly to anybody in their right mind is a bit too much for this little boat, but sensible thoughts like that rarely get you anywhere, do they.

I left the buoy in Pyefleet creek under double reefed mainsail, and headed out in to the river Colne. The wind was such that I couldn’t sail directly out of the river, so I made my way slowly to sea by tacking up the river. The boats charging back and forth from the new wind farm a few miles out had me worried; I was under sail, and indeed on port tack at one point, which means I had double rights for them to move, but as any good sailing instructor will tell you, just because you’re allowed to be there, it doesn’t mean you should. I was on a collision course with a large steel boat doing about 20knots. Eventually it got so close that I realised I probably couldn’t sail Kudu out of it’s way quick enough to avoid a collision, and I was almost reaching for the white flares to let him know I was there, presuming the skipper wasn’t paying attention, when he finally changed course and passed to my stern. He obviously knew what he was doing, but by not taking action reasonable early, it had me slightly worried.

I continued out of the river channel until I had passed a spit of land, whereby I turned East, on to a beam reach, towards the wind farm. I passed the wind farm to the North and headed into the Wallet channel, avoiding a few trawlers on the way.

Sinbad, my auto pilot, was steering the boat quite well, so I checked for close by traffic then went below to make a coffee. Another hour passed, and I went below again to make some lunch. I shoved my hand into the galley locker and pulled out the first tin I put my hands on – this is the default way of varying your meals on a boat you see – it was a tin of tapioca, or frog spawn as every school child in England calls it. Not particularly nutritious, but sod it, it’s my birthday, and I didn’t remember having this stuff since I was in primary school. I sat in the cockpit eating my frog spawn when Sinbad decided to mutiny. We were running on a broad reach by this point, which is almost downwind, and that makes the real wind strength seem much less that it actually is since you are sailing in the same direction as it is blowing. Sinbad’s strike meant Kudu turned into the wind, and since I had up all the sail she could carry in order to go downwind faster, was totally over canvassed for the force 6 in progress. We got flattened, which promptly ended my lunch while I sorted it out.

From there on in, Sinbad was in the brig. I sat at the helm for three hours, and when the tide turned against the wind it got very choppy. Waves steep enough to stop Kudu dead in her tracks, but luckily we were running with them, so rather than stop, we surfed. It takes a bit of practice before you get the hang of navigating waves like that. I found I had to look behind and preempt what the wave was about to do to the boat, then counter it on the tiller. If the wave wanted to turn us to port, and I turned us to starboard, then we’d charge down the wave until it finally overtook us and we dropped off the back. If I got the timing wrong, it meant I had to really work on the tiller with quite some force to stop the boat turning, and possible gybing, which in a force 6 in a 21 foot boat, puts the entire rig at risk. The three hours into Harwich were fun, but tiring. It made me realise that I’m going to be in trouble without Sinbad as crew. No breaks for a wee, or a brew, or food. Just tiller time.

Entering Harwich/Felixstowe, a harbour created around the confluence of the rivers Stour and Orwell, was humbling. Felixstowe is one of the biggest container terminals in Britain, and here I was in my “house”, my 21ft portable island, struggling for control over the sea against a backdrop of truly massive ships who’s captains hadn’t even noticed it was windy outside until they got the weather report. Even if they did see you from a hundred feet high in their steel castles, it is almost certain that they could avoid hitting you since they have so much momentum. To be sandwiched between these giants and an angry sea having a fight with the harbour wall was almost worrying, if it weren’t for the fact that I knew these both meant I was very close to shelter and a shower, which after 4 days afloat, was quite appealing.

I radioed Shotley marina and asked if they had a berth for me. They did, and I was instructed to call them again when outside the lock gates. At this point the tide was pushing me up the river and the 25 knot winds were pushing down it. I had to juggle control of the boat with the job of getting the sails down, and for the first time on this passage I had to start the engine to help hold me still, into the wind.

When I finally got into the lock, I was joined by a similarly sized boat to Kudu, but with three crew. I got chatting to them as the lock was flooded to the same level as the marina, and in passing mentioned that the weather today (mostly sunny until the end) was a fantastic birthday present.

They offered their help in getting Kudu tied up to the pontoon, which is a bit of a nervy affair when single handed, and then to my great surprise, invited me onto their boat for a very welcome cup of tea and a slice of birthday cake; yet another testament to the people of the East coast. If you three chaps from the river Deben ever read this, I thank you for that unexpected welcome.

I had intended to to find a bottle of wine to celebrate both my 26th birthday and my arrival in Suffolk, but all the local shops turned out to be closed, so instead I dived into Kudu’s beer rations and spent the night editing video for my youtube series, and ultimately dined on a tin of cornbeef hash.

The following day, today in fact, I was halted whilst on the phone by a strange man offering me a spare auto pilot. He was Peter, yet another addition to the debt I owe to the people around here. He offered me a lift to Ipswitch, to the not so local Tesco for me to stock up on much needed supplies of water and food, and indeed did me the great favour of sorting out my baggy reefed mainsail issue with a keen eye for the trajectory of my single line reefing system.

So anyway, Shotley marina, the title of this post. I have to tell you about this place. It is the nicest marina I have ever visited. The staff are friendly, the facilities are second to none that I’ve ever encountered in a marina (they even have baths!) and the onsite chandler is not only remarkably eager to help, but doesn’t charge a premium for the service. Also, the bar/restaurant offers excellent food from the limited sample I had (a bacon butty). In all, I will be sorry to leave this place, but my goal of roud Britain and my lack of finds require I do, so onward I go tomorrow. Up the river Orwell to wait for the weekend, when I’ll hopefully be crewing my way to Oostende.

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