BOATING ABOUT IN MESS

or the Joys of Morecambe Bay

It was Saturday night in early February, during a spell of spring tides, and very WINDY! The anemometer at Glasson Sailing Club recorded 60 knot winds from the west. My friend Brian (to whom I had sold Tipsy about 3 years ago) was well prepared, having brought the boat from its normal half-tide mooring to a new position to the landward side of the road at Sunderland Point, where it would only float for a few minutes on the big tides and where he could carry out winter maintenance.

Have you ever seen a 26ft yacht in the middle of a several hundred acre 'field'? Cos that is where the storm force winds had transported the boat (now called Kerry Girl) overnight, taking with it all the very substantial and well-dug in ground tackle. And it had dragged the tackle across the Lune Estuary, up the mud bank on the Glasson side, and then over about 200 yards of deeply gullied salt marsh, finally dumping the boat in a sizeable hole.

Driving round from his home at Overton, Brian went to view the sorry scene, and was soon joined by sympathetic members from Glasson Sailing Club. There seemed, miraculously, to be no damage, but it was well and truly neaped and would not be going anywhere for a couple of weeks. A noble group of Glasson sailors immediately agreed to form a working party, and plans were laid to refloat her on the next spring tides, due on the weekend of Feb 21st/22nd.

At first sight the task seemed impossible. The grounding had taken place during spring tides with a westerly gale blowing, piling up the water on the eastern shore and thus carrying the boat way up the salt marsh. No 10 metre tides were predicted for months ahead. We would somehow have to get the boat nearer to the river to take advantage of the 9.8 tide expected in late February.

About 50 yards to the north was a creek, about 8 or 10 feet wide at the top, somewhat narrower in the trough. This creek twisted and turned as it made its way to the main river, a distance of perhaps 200 yards. If we could get the boat to the creek, we might just be able to navigate down it when the aforementioned big tides were to arrive.

Strapping a couple 45-gallon plastic drums between the keels to reduce draft was a first step, an idea that was quickly abandoned. No, the solution was to raise the boat out of the hole on to the flatter bit of the marsh and then drag it to the edge of the creek and tip it in! This involved a lot of digging, bad language and filthy clothes! Digging under the front of the keels allowed us to slide in substantial planks and then use clever things called tirfors (no, I'd never heard of them either, but for the uninitiated, they are like jacks that you attach to the ground with anchors to pull things along, rather than to lift) Two of these, each with a strop to the twin keels, and off you go pumping away on the handle. Three hours later, the combined efforts of about a dozen mud-bespattered individuals had move the boat about 20 feet, but more importantly out of the hole in which it had been embedded.

Here I am glossing over the fact that all this gear had to be carried across some 400 yards of saturated and pock-marked salt marsh from the road or the sailing club; and back again when the job was done. More digging to fill in some of the smaller holes that were between the boat and the creek was needed, but then someone had the brainwave of bringing down some sections of Armco barrier, which they just happened to have lying about at the club! Laying these down and 'turfing' the boat along meant rapid progress, covering the 50 yards or so to the creek in a couple of hours. More digging of a slipway took place and the boat slid gently into its new resting place. So, by Saturday evening, phase one was complete and everyone retired to rest their weary limbs.

I digress at this point. You know how they claim that yachting is not a spectator sport? Well, think again! We had kept dozens of people who park their cars on the bluff overlooking the marsh happy for hours as these strange folk paddled around in the mud playing with anchors, planks of wood and obscure bits of machinery, and digging away like the seven dwarfs!

But the job was only half done. It was obvious that the creek was barely wide enough for the boat with a 9ft beam. And even where it widened out a bit there were shelves in the bottom and steps on the sides that would surely catch the keels, even with a big tide. Yes; you are way ahead of me; more digging required, a lot more digging, especially in the upper part of the channel and round the tortuous bends. Several afternoons passed with Brian and the occasional assistant digging out the shallow bits and marking the channel with withies. By Friday, with a 9.4 predicted, a first attempt to get down the channel was made. With just Brian and me to operate, we managed to get the boat 30 yards down the creek before grounding again! Oh, and yes, Brian went over the side on to the bank to try to shift it and fell in!

This was part way through the Friday attempt. (I've got a bigger file)

As the tide receded, the boat remained in the gully, heeled quite a bit; the problem was that you had to steer very accurately to ensure that the keels stayed in the centre of the channel, and at such slow speeds with a cross wind, accurate steering was almost impossible. But we felt the scheme was feasible and tomorrow's tide was a bit bigger More digging ensued and Saturday dawned bright, cold, but with only a slight breeze. More important, it brought Peter and Adrian bedecked in dry suits!

Lines from the bow to each bank allowed our heroes to steer the front and draw the boat down the creek. A bit of engine on tickover gave gentle assistance, and as we grounded from time to time, judicious tugs on the bow ropes pulled us clear. Round the tricky bends, with the boat just fining between the banks and then into progressively deeper water, the job was cracked. The lads jumped into the attendant inflatable, followed us back to the proper mooring at Sunderland Point, and then returned us to the club at Glasson; what service!

So, a happy ending. And its as well we managed that day, because on the Sunday it was blowing sixes and sevens, making the task almost impossible, I suspect. We were ever so grateful to the lads at Glasson who turned out in force and worked their socks off; all the more so when Brian was not even a club member! Someone said 'Well, Brian, you will have to join now', to which someone else retorted 'I'm not sure we want someone who creates so much bother!' But it is so reassuring that members of the yachting fraternity are still willing to slave away to help another yottie in trouble. Well done, Glasson Sailing Club. And as a Hunter sailor myself thanks to David Thomas and the boys at Hunter for making boats that can clearly take a battering and survive intact.

Brian Bristow, Yacht Chablis