Thames, Dover, Wight, Portland

Wild weather at Orford.

We hunkered down in the River Ore for a few more days while the southwesterly gale raged and passed our days very pleasantly with country walks, reading and a superb celestial navigation lesson from Orford Sailing Club's 'Doc' David, who had sailed his boat to Brazil a few years back and is a fount of knowledge.

The first day that the wind moderated we were on our way, along with a lot of other boats who had been waiting up river. As on the entry over the bar, departure is recommended at or above half tide on the flood and there was a regular flotilla steaming out against a pretty stiff current. We crossed the bar slowly and without incident but as soon as we were clear the seas started to hit us. Conditions on the Thames Estuary were still very rough and as Jim knelt on the foredeck, reefing down the jib for the stronger than expected wind, the bow regularly plunged into the approaching waves, engulfing him in solid water. At least it was warm.

We soon decided that it would be wiser to forget about the Channel and divert to the River Orwell. A tough beat into a good Force 6 finally brought us there after six hours of hard graft and we anchored at dusk in beautiful calm waters opposite the Suffolk Yacht Haven.

The River Orwell is extremely busy but mainly with sailboats – it's fantastic to see so many people out sailing, many in beautiful classic boats. Sailing conditions were near perfect, smooth water, gentle breezes. We were content to tack our way down river to Harwich's Halfpenny Pier to do our chores. People were very friendly – Jim got a lift to the distant petrol station from a a very nice chap from the cafe on the pier to get diesel and he was also given a pair of fresh-caught crab by local fishermen! The harbourmaster took our rubbish away with him and cast off our lines. Full marks for Harwich.

We then had a delightful downwind upriver sail to Pin Mill, where we cooked and ate the crab and then went ashore to meet Nicci, a friend of a friend who lives on a beautiful 100-year-old Thames barge. Pin Mill has a community of house boats that have been parked at the edge of the forest and boasts a fine pub in the middle of it. Just a wonderful peaceful place.

The next day we finally had a favourable weather window for the English Channel. A northeasterly was forecast to arrive in the night and strengthen to near gale the next day. So off we went! We were off North Foreland just as the tide was turning in our favour and at 3am the promised northeasterly came up. We poled out the genoa to one side, boomed out the main to the other and Fettler spread her wings and flew through the Straits of Dover at 7 knots plus. As expected we didn't get much sleep that night, maybe an hour or so each, what with changing conditions, all the traffic and having to handsteer most of the time. Luckily once the traffic separation scheme started the big ships all stayed nicely in there and we had the inshore traffic zone pretty much to ourselves.

Conditions became progressively more boisterous down Channel and we changed down from genoa to jib no. 3 as the sea state roughened. We were surfing down waves at 8 knots or more a lot of the time and making excellent time along this slightly dreary coast, past Dungeness and Eastbourne. At the Isle of Wight we had a slightly unnerving encounter with a ferry which steamed out of the Solent at 18 knots (the AIS said it would miss us by 3 miles at this point), then it changed course twice, slowed right down and came to a halt about half a mile from us and put two red lights on (meaning not under command). At this time Sonja panicked, thinking about the poor Ouzo, which had been mowed down by a ferry very close by, but Jim got up to help and we got out of the ferry's way – or so we thought. A few miles further, one of the self-steering lines broke and we had to reef down as conditions got rougher so we hove to fix this. By this time Sonja was horribly seasick and Jim gave up most of his valuable snooze time to do double duty. In the end, Jim had to call up the ferry, which had by now got under way again and was coming up on our exact course behind us at 18 knots. Why do these things always happen in the darkest hour of the night? Soon afterwards we were on collision course with no less than the Queen Mary 2, but at least that was easier to resolve.

We passed her in a blaze of light and thought of the passengers tucked up in their luxurious beds, probably not even aware that it was rough out at all.

The morning brought gentler conditions and sunshine as we approached the Portland Bill. Sonja got over her seasickness and we motored across Lyme Bay until a nice breeze started up on our nose – too good to pass up. We changed plans and went where our tack took us, which was into Torbay, where we anchored just before sunset after a passage of about 290 miles in 57 hours. After a celebratory beer and dramette in the cockpit we fell into bed, exhausted but well pleased.

Chuffing from Paignton to Kingswear.

The next morning was glorious. We spotted three species of heron in the woodlands next to the anchorage and a steam train chuffed along the coast. Somewhat reluctantly we got under way again to go around the corner into Dartmouth. The entrance into Dartmouth is just spectacular – what a beautiful town and superb spot. There are around 1,500 permanent moorings on the River Dart, plus countless visitor moorings. We were very pleased that there was a cheap-ish pontoon for boats under 30ft only, just outside the Dartmouth Yacht Club. This is where we'll be for the next few days while some more heavy weather passes by.

The entrance to the River Dart is out of this world.

Tied up in front of the Dartmouth Yacht Club - Kingswear across the water.

By chance we spotted the Round Britain Experience vessel in port, which we did ten years ago. We were welcomed aboard (much more luxurious accommodation than in our day) and later had the whole gang for drinks on board Fettler. Now we await the arrival of tiny Hyskeir and two other sailing friends – could be party time again tonight!

Go!

Granton to Whitby

The Red Arrows give us a rousing send off.

Well, we finally managed to begin our voyage. It wasn't easy. We had settled into our wee corner of the harbour very comfortably and were enjoying the social scene immensely. There was time to potter about the boat, getting things into a more refined degree of readiness and it was nice.

Then came the leave-takings, always difficult. The morning of departure, nerves were jangling slightly but we still had jobs enough to do to keep us from dwelling on it until finally the moment came to cast off the warps and go. Me mum was waving from the pontoon, a small group of friends from the Club were there to provide an escort out of the harbour in the launch, we hoisted sails, cut the engine and were away. There wasn't a dry eye on the boat.

The Bass Rock: Generating gannets since 1633.

As we sailed down the Forth the emotions gradually settled and we started to really enjoy what turned out to be a cracking sail down the coast to Whitby. The journey was more or less without incident, though there was a bit of hairiness in passing the Farne Islands during the night, just at a change of watch. The only moment of drama came after the wind died with about 30 miles to go.

We were chugging along merrily when the pitch of the engine suddenly dropped a note and we seemed to lose thrust. After a bit of diagnostics I concluded there must be something fouled on the propeller so we cut the engine, downed sail and I donned wetsuit to go have a look. While we were bobbing around before I went over the side what ever it was (probably a plastic bag) must have been shaken loose as there was nothing there by the time I got under and thereafter everything was fine. It was no bad thing to have a bit of a bath anyway.

The main consequence of this unscheduled pause was that we missed the last bridge opening of the day at Whitby but this turned out to be a stroke of luck. It saved us a night's pontoon fee and we ended up rafted up against an old acquaintance whom we met last year in the Caledonian Canal. We hoped we might bump into the crew of the Specsioneer and there she was.

The Specsioneer

It was good to catch up with owner Bryan and trusty crew member John and next day we went out on one of the 25 minute sailing tours aboard the Specsioneer, even taking the helm for a time. All good fun.

Whitby is a very pleasant town and we enjoyed seeing the sights, visiting the Captain Cook museum and receiving a visit from good friends Dan and Jenny and their three super children, Benedict, Emma and Lucy.

Post fish suppers.

Whitby to Orford Haven

It was with no very clear idea of where we would end up next that we departed Whitby bright and early on Saturday morning. Bryan had advised us to be on our way early doors to take advantage of the south-setting tidal stream, so we made our way through the swing bridge at 0530 and launched headlong into one of those motoring marathons that come with surprising regularity in long-distance coastal sailing.

The forecast said there wouldn't be any wind, right enough, but one always hopes the forecast will be wrong when it doesn't suit and besides, the wind was forecast to be southerly when it returned and we certainly didn't want that. So, we motored. On and on, through fair tide and foul, day and night, till our eardrums were bursting with it. Past Flamborough Head, across the Wash, and amongst the Winterton shoals.

Lowestoft had been considered a possible stopping place but looked a bit too industrial and too busy and we wanted to reach a spot where we could anchor up and relax for a few days to wait for a favourable wind to tackle the Channel. We passed Lowestoft during the afternoon of our second day out from Whitby. Passed it very slowly as we bored our way into 3 or 4 knots of foul tide.

Gradually we had settled on either the River Ore or the River Deben as a likely hole to drop into and relax for a few days but the timing wasn't right. With the tide turning in our favour we would reach Orford Ness around midnight, during the darkest hour of the night, which didn't seem entirely prudent. Also, entering either river is tricky and only to be attempted on a rising tide, at mid-flood, which wouldn't be until around 11 the next morning. Neither did we really fancy going on any further, as we'd be running into all the joys of the English Channel – one of the most congested areas of shipping on the planet.

Various ideas were bandied about until finally, at about 2230 as darkness was falling, we adopted the simple solution of doing nothing for a while. More specifically, we lay a-main for a few hours and drifted, in the right direction, with the tide.

The peace, with the engine off, tiller lashed down and the double-reefed main holding us into the bare 2 or 3 knots of wind, was shattering. The stars shone and the sea was nearly flat. It was gorgeous. I retired for a couple of hours of much needed sleep while Sonja maintained the drift-watch. Then, when we got under way again she was able to do the same during the last couple of hours before reaching the mouth of the Ore.

We piloted through the shoals near the coast and came to anchor between the two river mouths at 0530 on a very fair morning. After sleeping for a few hours, we fired up the Kindle and went online to check out the latest pilotage info on the river mouths, as the shoals are famous for frequently shifting around. We settled on the Ore and sure enough, the current configuration bears no resemblance to the chartlet published in this year's Almanac! I mean no resemblance. The channel now lies right through the middle of what used to be the shoal.

Armed with the freshest available info, we set off to cross the bar around 1100. There was a strong cross tide running and small breakers to either side but we crossed on a minimum depth of 2.1m and were safely into the Ore.

We dropped the hook in a branch of the stream next to a bird sanctuary island (reputed to be a favoured breeding ground of the avocet, though we've yet to spot one) and enjoyed the tranquil, warm and bucolic surroundings. Over the fields to the north, we could see the 900 year-old castle of Orford and its fine Norman church. Later, we inflated the canoe and paddled the couple of miles to Orford quay.

Orford is a splendidly English village. Charming old houses with pretty gardens and a couple of decent looking pubs, one of which we had to visit to sample some fine Suffolk ale (Adnam's Explorer). We were welcomed hospitably by a member of the Orford Sailing Club and invited to make use of their shower facilities, which we gladly accepted. From the local smoke house we purchased a delicious ham hock, cured in cider and treacle and smoked to perfection.

Joe Grundy was just out of frame.

The weather looks like cutting up rough from the south for the next few days, so we'll be happy to hang out here, possibly venturing further up the river to Aldeburgh, which has been warmly recommended, and doing a bit of bird watching.