Netherlands Trip - Tollesbury      25th - 26th June:

25th June

    We woke early, showered, and ate a healthy breakfast on the aft deck of the boat. Only a slight breeze ruffled the marina waters. The ever present grebes paddled lazily amongst the moored vessels, occasionally diving down to catch another unwary tiddler. The ever watchful mallards spotted us, and paddled furiously across the water to us, their wakes leaving feathered patterns on the surface of the still waters. No food from us I'm afraid. Wispy clouds rode high in the sky; nothing to complain about.
    In the tranquillity of the early hours, we chatted about our sadness in leaving this green and pleasant land, but both knew we had seen enough to gain an all-round impression of the Netherland's north, and it was time to move on and return to reality.
    As the world about us woke up, we watched three yachts leave the marina, but we bided our time a while since we knew progress towards the Noordzeekanaal would be impeded by a bridge that would only open for us after 9am when the rush hour traffic was more subdued.
    We slipped our mooring and caught up with the three other yachts who were gilling about near the bridge. Once through the bridge and the Oranjesluizen lock shortly behind it, we were heading through Amsterdam itself, or as Rex would like to put it, we were entering Amsterdam (something to do with conquering armies).

Barge, Cruise Ship, and Small Ferries Leaving Amsterdam Central Station

    We motored past a luxury liner, a floating block of flats that dwarfed surrounding buildings, and also past a large, gleaming, white yacht similar to the one see in Makkum, though this one had a British ensign flying from it. The stretch of water just off Central Station was exceptionally busy. Yachts weaved up and down the harbour, giving wide berth to the huge barges furrowing their way through the muddy waters. Ferries darted back and forth between the north and south banks, laden with people and cycles on their open deck. Fast Flying Ferries also plied these waters. These were hydrofoils that operated along the Noordzeekanaal between Amsterdam Central Station and Ijmuiden. Reaching speeds of up to 65kph, the journey took just under 30 minutes

Hydrofoil Taking it Easy before Ramping up the Speed

    Many marinas nestled in hide away places along the route.
    Once outside the city, the canal banks took on a very industrial scene. Cargo ships were loaded and unloaded, as were flotillas of barges. Ship repair yards abounded, as did petrochemical plants, steel plants and a host of unknown manufacturing empires which filled in every empty space.
    The Noordzeekanaal is a waterway in the Netherlands that extends in an east-west direction between Amsterdam and Ijmuiden on the North Sea coast. Its construction was first proposed in 1852; work started in 1865; and the canal opened in 1876. It has been enlarged several times. Navigable by 90,000-ton oceangoing vessels, the canal is 24km long, 15m deep, and 235m wide. It gave Amsterdam access to the sea and made it a major port. The sea locks at Ijmuiden were destroyed during World War II but were later rebuilt; the largest is now 400m long by 50m, wide. The canal ends at Amsterdam in the closed-off Ij bay, (the Ijmuiden name literally means "mouth of the Ij"), which in turn connects to the Amsterdam-Rhine Canal.
    As we made steady progress up this canal, we waved to fishermen on the banks, and just marvelled at the industrial activity passing behind us, before we entered a more rural landscape. Occasionally one of the green hydrofoils would shoot past us, the passengers' view of the canal activities being reduced to a blur.
    Miles before reaching Ijmuiden, we were aware of its presence due to the billowing clouds of smoke and steam rising from this industrial town. The canal banks were soon awash with industrial scale manufacturing plants, including the large Koninklijke Nederlandse Hoogovens steelworks with its four large blast furnaces standing high and proud like monuments to an unknown glory. My mind was momentarily transported back to when I was a lad working in a Cumbrian steelworks.
    Ijmuiden is the newest city in North Holland, and only came into existence on November 1, 1876, when the Noordzeekanaal was officially opened by William III of the Netherlands, connecting the Amsterdam harbours to the open sea.

Industrial Ijmuiden from the Noordzeekanaal

    After the German invasion of the Netherlands on 10th May, 1940, the Dutch Royal family left the country from Ijmuiden in the late evening of 12th May, on board the British destroyer HMS Codrington. The quays at Ijmuiden were crowded at that time with people desperate to be transported across the channel, sometimes at great expense. During the German occupation, the canal was out of operation and the Germans destroyed most of Ijmuiden to create what they called Festung Ijmuiden (Fortress Ijmuiden), a heavily defended area in which the entire civilian population had been removed. Ijmuiden became the site of two separate fortified pens constructed by the German navy to house their Schnellboote (fast torpedo boats, known to the Allies as "E-boats") and Biber midget submarines.

Ijmuiden Landmark

    We negotiated our final lock and bridge combination, and were out into the harbour, passing pillboxes tilted at crazy angles, evidence of intense bombing activities seventy years ago. The tangy smell of the salt air was wonderful and urged us on towards the open sea. Despite still being inside the harbour, an appreciable swell was rolling in.
    A large pilot boat overtook us as we headed towards the harbour mouth, with which we exchanged waves. Then we witnessed a little piece of drama. A German yacht 50m or so in front of us decided to turn into the wind in order to raise its sails. None of the crew had spotted the pilot boat coming up behind them. Fortunately the latter was on the ball and managed to take avoidance action. The Germans looked a little sheepish after that incident.
    Soon we were out on the open sea. We had made the decision not to stay over in Ijmuiden, but to carry on into the North Sea and make good progress while the wind abated.
    A moderate swell was running, a left over from the recent gales, made worse by our close proximity to the shore. The clouds stopped abruptly at the Dutch coast, and we found ourselves in the unusual position of pushing on in bright sunlight. There was a slight wind, and of course we were heading straight into it.

Oilrig at Dusk

    We set a course and just went for it, soon settling in to our four hours on watch, four hours off watch routine. Ships of all manner and sizes came and went; we were crossing a busy route that ran straight along the Belgian and Dutch coastlines. The usual smattering of fishing boats criss-crossed the area, and several oil rigs were circumnavigated. One rig even had the audacity to call us up; they wanted us to give them a wider berth over and above the 500m exclusion zone they already enjoyed. A large crimson ship passed us by which had its own 500m exclusion zone. Judging by the colossal white tanks on its decks, it must have been a bulk LPG carrier.
    The sun gradually transformed into a glowing red ball, and slowly sank behind a purple haze that hugged the horizon.
    In the dimming light a dozen or so ships came and went like ghosts, and a fishing boat caused some light relief by forcing me to take collision avoidance action.
    Just as I was coming off watch, a large red moon popped up behind us, and as it climbed high into the heavens, it cast an eerie glow over our wake.

26th June
    I came to around 5am; Rex had kindly let me have an hour lie in. He explained how he had had fun and games crossing the Deep Water Route, a major "motorway" for large ships, about midway between the Netherlands and Britain. The swell was minimal this morning, as was the wind (so much for predictions).
    I took over watch duties and let Rex get his head down. As I gazed about me, the sea was almost mirror calm. In front of me it blended seamlessly into the sky; perhaps a bank of sea mist ahead. As I peered into this void, my imagination started to create phantom trawlers or yachts, which vapourised as soon as I tried to focus on them. Perhaps my mind was playing tricks on me as my brain slowly engaged after the early rise.
    Then the magical moment arrived as I watched the sun pierce the horizon, a powerful crimson crescent, which slowly showed itself, and then climbed slowly, also half asleep. It played peek-a-boo behind distant banks of clouds before emerging in its full glory, painting a wash of gold over the sea behind us.

Roughs Tower with Felixstowe in the Background

    Activity across the sea was zilch, save for a distant tanker silently ploughing a furrow up the British coast. Equally silently were the billions of litres of sea water surging up the coast below us, making Duonita fight to make progress against the strong, invisible tidal current.
    A few hours later, a breeze had appeared that had started to chop up the sea surface. Sizewell nuclear power station was my first sighting of the English coast, a dark smudge of the main generator hall and a gleaming white dome of the reactor.
    I let Rex sleep in, and he arose at 9am. "You were supposed to wake me at 8am," he protested. "What time is it now?" I asked. He checked his watch, and responded with, "9am." "But you are now in British waters," I quipped, "and it is now 8am here." He didn't have a leg to stand on. I thought about saying "Douglas Bader never had this trouble," but I let it go.
    We still pushed on parallel to the coast. Soon the tide would change and we would gain the advantage of running with a spring tide. The motivation for covering the remainder of our journey as quickly as possible was high tide back at Tollesbury. If we could reach Duonita's berth around 4pm, we would have sufficient depth of water to moor her in the saltings. Otherwise we would have to wait another ten hours or so before we would have sufficient depth of water to get her into the saltings, and we really did not want to berth around 2am in the morning. So we pulled out the stops.
    I left it in Rex's capable hands, and I went off watch to catch up on sleep. Dangers appeared again when it was Rex's watch; ships taking rogue routes up past the Ship Wash as they left Felixstowe. We were off Clacton when I crawled out of my pit. With the tide in our favour, we flew up into the Blackwater Estuary, taking a short cut over the Colne Bar, and in no time at all we were gliding through the saltings towards our berth. It was 15:30 - excellent timing.
    Meryl was already at the berth waiting for us, with a couple of wheelbarrows to aid us cart gear back to the car park. It was good to meet up again, hugs all round. News was exchanged, stories told, and then a blur of packing frenzy and initial clean up before we headed off along the boardwalks pushing wheelbarrows full of dirty clothing, gear and rubbish. Arrival back to base is always an anti-climax, but over lunch we fondly related the highlights of our adventure, and inside me I felt a warm glow that the "experiment" had worked out well. I was truly grateful to Rex and Meryl for sharing the adventure and their company with me.