Crossing
Sailing across the Thames estuary from the Medway to the Essex rivers, Blackwater, Colne et al. is a relatively short journey as crossing seas go and all in very shallow water, but it is a significant journey every time I do it - always different, always special. I plan the route carefully, I gird myself to face the challenge and once begun I get great satisfaction from the experience whether alone or with others. But the act of 'crossing' seems to have an almost spiritual significance. Why is this?
It is a rite of passage certainly but now that I have done it a few times it is more passage than rite; a journey, perhaps from one world to another - from Kent to Essex, from a north facing shore to a south facing shore, from a home shore to another shore; all of these. The time it takes and the changing conditions over the course of a day, the distance of some 35 nautical miles, and how far you get from anything else when out there are all significant aspects of the crossing. In good conditions one is pretty much always in sight of land, albeit that land is sometimes only a mirage of blobs along the horizon. The buoys we navigate by are tiny in the vast expanse of water and sky and the next buoy may not be visible at all from the last. For one person alone on a boat these distances under huge and changing skies can at times be somewhat intimidating.
So why do it and for that matter why do it alone? It's not all about challenge; sailing is rewarding in a number of ways: the physical experience, it can be a long day; the aesthetic experience, what one sees and feels; the practical challenges of boat and kit, making it all work; the wildlife, elusive but always interesting; the list goes on. Quite apart from all this it seems the sense of crossing anything carries particular meaning. Many of my sailing days are spent hopping from coastal harbour to coastal harbour which is fine in itself and necessary, but the actual estuary crossings are different.
My last crossing from Brightlingsea to Harty Ferry in the Swale, sailing in company with Steve and Sally on Eos (albeit separated most of the way by a couple of miles of sea) was memorable. 35Nm in just over 8 hours was quick for a Macwester, at an average of 4.4kn, on a bright day of fresh South Easterly winds. The sky mostly blue and the estuary sea surprisingly blue in that sharp coruscating light. And importantly a good South Easterly breeze to help us. This wind direction isn't great at the beginning of the day, it's on the nose all the way from the Colne to the Spitway. But after crossing the Spitway and rounding the Whittaker Spit it means good sailing all the way through the Swinn and across the shipping lanes to the Isle of Sheppey and the Swale. Like many Thames Estuary routes, this one requires a zig zag course around the sandbanks, hidden at high water and visible only by broken water or a change of sea colour or occasionally at low water by slightly scary whale backs of sand. These sand banks and shallows make a beautiful pattern on the estuary charts spreading like the fingers of a hand out of the mouth of the Thames. Once you get to know them and have planned the timing and route to get the most out of the tide which flows vigorously one way or the other up and down the gaps between the fingers it becomes a 'landscape' to work with and enjoy. On this day Snow Goose charged along for most of the day while I sheltered from the sun in the shade of the main sail in a thoroughly upbeat frame of mind. Once past the narrow gap between the two Swinn buoys the options open out and I chose a slightly easterly route, in theory to make for a more enjoyable sail into the Swale. This route took me out to the Kentish Flats Windfarm; those vast soaring emblems of technological salvation standing in serried ranks in the water. Looking along the rows of turbine masts one sees the curve of the earth and feels small. This route proved not to be so clever and I lost time and distance crossing the shipping lane, where I had to wait for a ship to pass, and then had to negotiate some shallows before beating up to the Columbine Spit and the Swale. The ships are remarkable, a leviathan presence in the estuary, often first seen far away and apparently no threat to a small boat's course. But they creep up quickly and then the question 'do I nip across in front of it or pass to stern?' becomes serious. This time discretion took the better part of valour and I hove to, taking the opportunity to reef sails. This is easy enough in smooth water but more messy when its rough. The main sail on Snow Goose has to be reefed up at the mast and to get a good sail shape it needs doing properly. Reefing the genoa should be straightforward, just a couple of turns on the furler, but this time it was difficult. I had been struggling with a spinnaker halyard catching in the mast head furler fitting for some days, (since sorted of course), which made it all rather uncomfortable that day and I was pleased to get it done and skip across the shipping lane behind the ship which by then was some miles on. The strange thing about sailing towards the wind farms is that you feel like you are nearly there when you are certainly not. The turbine masts are huge and the scale seems all wrong. And then when you do get close you feel unwelcome in their wheeling presence - perhaps a good thing.
We eventually came into the Swale in fine evening light. Eos having caught me up as a result of my messing about en route, the two boats were together again. Passing the seal colony at near high water with only the pups remaining on a tiny bit of exposed sand bank, presumably waiting to be fed by busy parents. I had been visited by lone seals twice on this crossing. A head pops up not far from the boat to look at you and then disappears, sometimes in that special leisurely way seals do, pointing their nose up and dropping slowly vertically down. I find them companionable even if they don't feel the same way - I don't know what they are thinking about, a good mackerel for lunch perhaps.
This crossing ended in the best way, at anchor in a sunset calm with me tired but satisfied, leaving the trip up the Medway to Gillingham for the next day. But lovely though it is to arrive at such places the crossing is for me not so much about the destination as the journey; the details of the day, the changing weather, the surprises and above all the simplicity of it all, travelling a reasonably long distance quite slowly, inching towards a distant landmark and having time to reflect on why we all do it.
