For some unknown reason I was wide awake at 4am; no different from when I'm on dry land I suppose. I tried my best to catch up on sleep; always a futile exercise, particularly when I always want to fall asleep at 7am. I'm sure there are lots of reasons for my haphazard circadian rhythm, but I'm old and just learn to live with it; many of my generation suffer the same plight.
Once up in the land of the living, I distracted myself by checking the engine oil level and topping it up, while Rex checked the gear box oil. We were rapidly running out of jobs to do.
Late into the previous evening, a German yacht had moored a few berths along from us. A yellow flag hoisted on the craft indicated it was awaiting border control. This morning, it had been lowered, presumably the skipper had undertaken phone conversations with border control.
When the skipper appeared on deck we learned he was undertaking a 3-month sailing trip with his wife; he had recently retired. Their immediate plan was to sail to Inverness and head down the Caledonian Canal. We furnished him with details of our adventure in 2008 up to and along the Caledonian Canal, and subsequent trip through the Crinan Canal, which he appreciated.
Ship Being Spun Around by Tugs at Felixstowe
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Meanwhile, much time was spent on the Windfinder application trying to ascertain wind and wave height conditions on our route for the next 30 hours. The wind direction was constantly shifting due to the lows streaming in with indications of Force 5. Wave height was also of concern, with indications of 2m waves. When about 5 nautical miles or more off shore, the waves would be more problematic due to the fetch.
Being Overtaken by a Stena Ferry
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Are we men or are we wimps? We identified a possible weather window, and committed to it, slipped our lines and ventured forth on the high seas. After soldiering on to a point offshore from Orford, the wind was definitely blowing a Force 5 and the waves were certainly picking up. We were keeping an open mind to the fact that it may become unbearable, and kept open the option to return back to land if things were turning pear-shaped.
It took us 3 hours to reach the Shipwreck Buoy; normally it would take at least 6 hours from Tollesbury, and Rex made a mental note that we had saved 3 hours by using Shotley as an interim stopover.
Dejected Rex Limping Back into Port
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When we bore off east and the great white dome of Sizewell nuclear power station started to sink below the horizon, there was no doubt the wind was a Force 5 and seemed to be getting worse. In addition, it was swinging around to hit us head on; not a favourable condition. The sea was in a confused state, and presented
Duonita with large waves which were knocking and twisting the vessel incessantly. No respite was on offer, and we knew we'd suffer another 22 hours of this. It is impossible to sleep under these conditions, and I for one lose all desire to eat and drink in such circumstances. We had a brief discussion. Common sense prevailed and we unanimously decided to turn back towards land while we could. Shotley and Lowestoft were equidistant at about 25 nautical miles. However, the tide dictated our choice. Lowestoft would mean fighting the tide resulting in a speed of 2-3 knots, so the obvious choice was to return to Shotley.
Five hours later we limped back into Shotley marina, cold and tired. The lockkeeper shouted out, "Where've you been?"
"We left for Ijmuiden around 11am, got 25 miles out and the weather was appalling, so we thought sod this for a game of monkeys, and we came back," replied Rex.
"You're not the only ones, " he laughed. "There has been a lot of folk coming back in because of the state of the weather."
As soon as we were tied up, I immediately set about rustling up a spaghetti Shotley style; all eating establishments are closed at Shotley on Tuesdays. That, and a couple of beers, sorted us out for the night. Tomorrow would be another day, and we would reassess the situation.
