Brundall to Wroxham in 12 Hours, 4 prangs and a breakdown.

This story as printed in the rivercruiser magazine [pdf]

I’m on the phone.  “Tom, can you give me a hand to crew our new boat from Brundall to Wroxham?” 

I mean, how difficult could that be?   With the other Tom and his girlfriend Jay there would be four of us.  Beginners.  Newbies.  But it’ll be fun.  What could go wrong?

As Damian Mckay said to me afterwards, it was sensible that Philippa hadn’t joined us for the maiden trip.  He told me that it’s always best to introduce the wife to the new lady in your life but delay the meeting until you’ve got the hang of the new model.

I’d been looking for a River Cruiser for some time, footling about on the Internet every so often without finding anything and suddenly there it was.  222 Swallowtail an Easticks 28’ with Bermudan Rig laying at Oulton Broad advertised on the TopSail website.   Ten days later, the deal was done and Shaun Roberts, who’d had the boat built in 1985, helped me motor to Brundall, where Brooms were going to do the Osmosis and a few other things.  Ought to take a few weeks.  We’d be in the water by 10th June.  Easily.

So, on the 8th July with the tides just right and a strong south-westerly breeze, we started towards Berney Arms & Breydon.  What a trip!  Just under two hours with wind behind us all the way at top speed with only a few tacks overtaking the gin-palaces as we all aimed for Yarmouth for the 3 o’clock low water.  It was fabulous sailing with the boat heeling so far that water just bubbled against the portholes.  [see picture] 

Just before the Berney Arms, the River Police made us heave-to.  We’d been clocked at 9 mph.  “But we’re sailing” we protested.  “Great Isn’t it!” she said raising her thumb having totally stopped our momentum.  Great it was NOT as the gin-palaces caught up and passed us by.

Shaun’s instructions were quite clear.  You MUST use the low crutches when passing through Yarmouth so after a few beers at Berney, we lowered the mast, secured the sail and gathered up all the shrouds and cables and started to motor across Breydon.

For a first trip things were going quite well.  In fact so well that we were ahead of schedule and thought we’d motor under the Haven Bridge and look at the Yarmouth port.  It was a bit choppy and just as we turned the boat around, Tom-the-cabin-boy pointed out that he’d found the small crutches in the cabin.  Bugger!   But it was too late to change anything and we just managed to pass under the old rail bridge with inches to spare at slack water.   That was lucky!

We decided to motor to Acle and put up the mast at Acle Bridge.  It’s a surprisingly long way to Acle and when we finally got there we moored by the Bridge Stores to raise the mast.   It’s a 45’ aluminium mast that you raise with a little winch in the forepeak whilst the crewmember in the cockpit keeps the downhaul taught and makes sure that the shrouds don’t get caught on the cabin roof.  Did you hear that?  MAKING SURE THE SHROUDS DON’T GET CAUGHT ON THE CABIN roof.  From my forward vantage point, I don’t remember Shaun telling me that the port cabin roof could be peeled back as well as hinged as the port-shroud made a mess of the roof-corner.  Bugger!   Oh well.

Damage on the first outing wasn’t in the plan but we pushed off and set-off in a catchy light breeze towards Upton.  It was when we tried to raise the jib halyard that I realised that something else was wrong.  It looked like the halyard had become tangled in the rigging during the motor sail and consequently the jib was snagged and flapping about uselessly.  Head-to-wind to sort out the problem and then something else funny happened.   That’s Funny as in “Ghastly” rather than “Funny Ha! Ha!”

As we’re all looking up at the jib halyard the bank suddenly seemed to be getting awfully close as the tide really started to run and caught us.   The spade rudder was useless at low speed so we hit the bank.  Gently. 

Now, how is it that when you’re going to mount the bank it has to be at the point where there’s rusty metal piling without the benefit of a wooden quay heading instead of nice soft mud & reeds.  Bugger!

And another thing.   How come that at the exact place we choose to hit there’s this stump of a mooring post from about 1934 that seems to have become enmeshed with the bowsprit rigging. 

And how come that the funny wire between the end of the bowsprit and the bottom of the front bit on the boat [I know it’s probably got a name but, I am only a beginner and everyone has to start somewhere] seems to have got snagged in the crinkle where the steel piles lock together and somehow it’s gone right-in and right-down and is stuck fast and the piling is now grinding sickeningly against the newly gelled and polished GRP hull and we can’t go back using the engine because we’re stuck just as three Hunter fleet boats gracefully float past.   Bugger!

Obviously, the first priority is to take down the jib so it doesn’t flap about so we let go of the halyard and try to pull the boat against the tide with mooring ropes to reduce the tension on the bowsprit cable so we can then lift it up and off the mooring post stump and get the boat away from the piling, which is grinding against the hull.  Nastily.

You know, it’s a funny thing that when you’re focusing on trying to solve one problem, there’s normally another one brewing up nicely in the background.  If only you knew it at the time.  After some brute force and ignorance we release the boat accidentally leaving Tom-the-cabin-boy left on the bank.  After firing up the engine we sail round to pick him up and think about sorting out the jib halyard.

Yes, the jib halyard.  You know I’m sure we left it here somewhere but where?  

In fact, the rope has threaded itself through the top-block and fallen down but somehow snagged in the cross-trees tantalisingly out of reach.  We try to tug it free.  And as everyone knows, the harder you tug a rope the more snagged it gets.  And, to re-rig it involves a] a trip in the Bosun’s Chair, which we don’t have or, b] lower the mast….. and you can’t lower the mast without the jib halyard.   Hmmmmm.  How come the TopSail website didn’t tell us about this sort of thing.  We stow the genoa in the cabin thankful that at least we’ve got the main sail to rely on.

Ah, the mainsail.  You know, when we were sailing from Brundall to Berney Arms, the boom seemed to be sitting a lot higher than it appears to be at the moment.  Perhaps we should sweat the Mainsail Halyard a bit to raise it up?  I ask the other Tom to go forward and sweat the halyard.  How difficult could that be?  Tom sweats the rope, releases the rope clutch and swears violently. 

The rope clutch handle has shattered into a million pieces, most of which have ended up in the drink.  Bugger!   The rope clutch is still stuck ‘on’.  Bugger again!  Suddenly things don’t seem to be going quite so well what with the roof, the crash, the jib halyard and now the mainsail.

So, we have a jib halyard that we can’t pull up and a mainsail halyard that we can’t let down.  I’ve got a Swiss Army Knife which has got a knife and a screwdriver.  And, reader, here’s the dilemma:  Which tool would you use?

After an hour of fiddling about with the knife and the screwdriver I kick the spinlock out of frustration and, miraculously it frees off, the tension relieved.  And what a good job that I’d secured the mainsail halyard to the winch so the mainsail didn’t drop and falling boom finish off the bit of the cabin roof that wasn’t damaged earlier.  Good news at last! 

It seems like our luck’s turned as we fire-up the motor to make up time through Horning.  It’s 8.30 and my wife comes on the mobile to remind me about the Black Tie party that we’re meant to be going to.  “Am I nearly home?”  Well, not exactly.  I lie.

Nine o’clock and the light is fading as we power-up the tilley lamp with its warm glow and gentle hissing past Salhouse Broad.  We’re nearly there at last.

And finally we motor into Wroxham Broad, dodging the festooned party boats with the jazz music drowning-out the World Cup commentary on the radio.  The NBYC Clubhouse is in sight.  Lit-up like a Christmas Tree.  Closer and closer.  Two hours behind schedule but we’ve finally arrived and 30 yards away from the pontoon… the engine fails.  Paddles?  What paddles?  Bugger!  And now it’s suddenly got cold.

Eagle-eyed Simon Daniels on the shore spots our situation and comes to the rescue towing us to the pontoon with his RIB, where we tie-up.  We’re exhausted but we’d done it.  Brundall to Wroxham in 12 hours.   Hurrah!

So as I relate this story in the NBYC clubhouse the following day, Damian McKay gives me some top tips.  “It’s like this” he tells me, “Keep your wife away you’re ready to introduce her properly.  You’re bound to make a few mistakes at first but keep practising and you’ll get it right.  That's the moment to show her.”  And, you know I think he was talking about the boat.

And we did get to that Black Tie party in Seething at 11.30 just as it was getting going.  I knew it was going to be my lucky day.