a report to the Leisure Owners' Association Bulletin, "Saltings,"

by Tim Roberts, DCA NE Region.

 

We have a secret here in the North East of England. I’m not really sure that I should be telling you this, but what the heck. There is little risk of you all rushing up, overcrowding our waters, drinking our beer and ogling our wildlife.

 

From Bass Rock to Amble, the Northumberland coastline is a thing of great majesty. Covered in natural harbours and castles and with islands home to a many and varied wildlife, the like of which cannot be seen for hundreds of miles around, we are immensely proud and not a little smug. It is into this world that I have come with my first yacht, "Coriolis", a Leisure 23SL.

With a known past in the Northeast, Coriolis was everything I wanted: A bilge keeler with a decent level of equipment and standard of maintenance. Good accommodation below for weekend visits from the family, and a support team in the form of the Leisure Owners’ Association. In fact the LOA went a long way in helping me to decide on my purchase. The wealth of information I obtained from the website was second to none. I joined soon after.

 

 

Coriolis became mine in October last year, despite, (possibly rather foolishly,) not having sailed her or even motored around the marina. Since then however, I have changed the colour scheme, added some new gear, and rigged her for short/single handed sailing. I also think I have found most of her faults and sorted out the majority of them with a couple of shakedown sails. In any case, after this last weekend she has more than proved herself.

Every year on the second May Bank Holiday. The NE Region of the Dinghy Cruising Association organises a rally on the Northumberland coast at Holy Island, also known as Lindisfarne. I also own a Kittiwake 14 – a beautiful modern built, traditional looking, gaff-rigged yawl dayboat. All wood and tan sails, but with a low maintenance GRP hull. This year however I left her at home and used the rally as an excuse to cruise Coriolis. I act as the Met Officer for the rally and part-time water taxi. Coriolis would be a good basis for a committee boat. She would also provide me with accommodation.

Holy Island is cut off by the tide for about 3 hours either side of high water. Home to Lindisfarne Castle and Priory, both National Trust, there are strict controls on the effects of tourism. No camping or caravans at all on the island. Anyone sleeping on a boat must do so below the maximum high water line. There is ample anchorage however, and a perfect drying harbour known as the Ouse.

 
I set off from my base in Amble Marina, just before tea on Thursday. The plan was to sail up to a beautiful natural haven at Low Newton, another National Trust gem. It’s about halfway between Amble and Holy Island, 14 miles or so. Under a single reef and ¾ genoa, we flew up in no time at all, averaging an impressive 5 ½ knots, thanks to the brisk SW4-5. Anchoring under the distant gaze of the imposing castle of Dunstanburgh, believed to have once been a Tudor naval port, I took my bearings for the anchor watch and rewarded myself with a beer. Having convinced myself that the new and as yet unproven anchor was holding, I set about the galley and rustled up some pasta with bolognese sauce, washed down with a glass of red wine. Everything was going beautifully so I blew up the dinghy and motored ashore to the smashing little pub tucked away up the beach.

 

Whatever the reason, be it the wine/beer combination or the occasion of our first anchorage together, I slept not a lot that night. However I was treated to blue skies and glorious sunshine the next morning and so spoilt myself with a bacon sandwich and hot coffee. There was now no timetable to follow and it was a leisurely start to the remaining cruise up to Holy Island. Trying out the GPS/Autohelm combination, we ticked off the waypoints abeam Beadnell Bay and Seahouses, and set course for the Farne Islands. Now according to the cruising notes compiled by the Royal Northumbrian Yacht Club, I could possibly experience overfalls between the mainland and the Inner Farnes, with the current wind against tide scenario. It would also be a beat or a motor sail to get through, and so I opted to go around the whole group. On passing the Longstone Light I would then benefit from a close reach all the way into Holy Island.

The Farne Islands, (another National Trust beauty,) are home to seals, puffins, terns and many other rarely sighted birds. In fact, before sailing here, the last puffin I’d come across was in the Enid Blyton "Adventure" series. The Farne’s also boast a lengthy list of wrecks dating back to the 1500’s The most famous involved the Forfarshire, with the rescue of many being made by Grace Darling and her father, the keeper of Longstone Light. It is not an area to be trifled with – there are many adverse currents and lots of outcrops to watch for. I was just clearing the Longstone and looking to tack for Holy Island when ahead of me I saw a change in the surface of the sea. A discoloration, not unlike the signalling of a change or increase in wind, but it was more than that. The binoculars revealed the heart-stopping sight of what to my untrained eye looked like a set of rapids. Clearly what I was sailing towards was the aforementioned overfall. Had I missed mention of this in the cruising notes? No time to dwell on the inevitability of my experiencing one after all, because we soon entered the area and it was clear that little progress would be possible with wind already starting to die. With the engine on and genoa furled, we rode the roller coaster for about half an hour, by which time I’d had enough anyway and so we continued to motor-sail towards the welcoming site of Lindisfarne Castle.

 

Pilotage into Holy Island is simple but essential. There are two sets of leading marks, which must be adhered to. The first are a pair of slightly unnerving obelisks on Guile point. The second is a transit of a leading mark and the church at the top of the village. This brings you to the anchorage outside the harbour.

I lasted about an hour here before the tide turned. I had intended going into the Ouse to dry-out later in the weekend, but the strong tide was swinging Coriolis all over the place. We were also now closing with a kedged but still dragging, motor sailer who had arrived after us. I jumped into the dinghy to fend off until the other owner returned from the shore. I then pulled up our hook and motored into the Ouse to dry out. Possibly the best decision of the weekend.

So we’d arrived, Coriolis and I. Our first voyage together. We’d made landfall according to plan, and now were anchored under the shadow of Lindisfarne Castle – what a privileged view to have from the cockpit of one’s boat.

 

 
With DCA boats to help launch, weather to download, print and distribute, pubs to visit, the weekend was as busy as ever. The weather started to deteriorate slightly as forecast, but plenty of sailing in and around the sandbars was to be had at low water. There is always time for one more barbecue. Sunday evening was my last and so I treated myself to steak and chips and a sweet at The Ship.

 
I’d left Coriolis at 1830 with a few spots of rain falling. By 2000 it was lashing down. All cosied up in The Ship, you can see the rain but you are oblivious to the wind. We had no idea just how much it was increasing. We were due to go back down to the Ouse to help recover a boat at High Water. At 2100 we started to troop out. Within 200 yards I was completely soaked. On rounding the corner I was completely unprepared for the site that was to greet me. The wind was now clearly SE Force 7-8, there is always a tendency to overestimate, but the majority now agree on Gale 8 at the peak. Coriolis was riding nasty short little 1-2 metre-high waves under her single anchor. The Ouse provides good protection from all quarters except this one – clearly things were not looking good. Such severe conditions had not been forecast and I was now concerned about the new anchor’s ability to hold her for a sustained period. I had already concluded that the L23sl is not the most streamlined of boats. She offers amazing accommodation but at the expense of a huge wind profile – she swings terribly. Also deeply worrying was the fact that my dinghy was now on the wrong side of the harbour wall – how long would it last also?

 
Perhaps rather foolishly under the circumstances, I studied the wave pattern for the lull, jumped in, started the outboard first time and with great trepidation motored out to Coriolis. I scrambled up the stern ladder, started the engine and threw out another anchor for whatever good that was now going to do. I then salvaged the tender outboard, battened down the hatches, changed into dry clothes and coffee’d up. We now had a thunderstorm passing over the island – how much worse could it get? A call to Newcastle Airport, 40 miles down the road, to get more information on the weather. (My watch was on shift in ATC.) They had thunderstorms all around but little or no wind. A call to the Met Office was not much better. All I was given was a re-reading of the forecasts I had already downloaded earlier that evening. I was now in a drying harbour with a falling tide – unknown territory for me – what would happen if these conditions continued? However by 2330 things were easing. All of a sudden the sea had dropped with the wind decreasing and veering into the SW. The thunderstorms continued but now in the vicinity and not overhead. By 0100 we had dried out and I was in my sleeping bag. By 0115 I was out for the count.

 

The next morning dawned as you knew it would – cloudless and sunny – someone’s way of saying – "look I’m sorry about last night, here’s a couple of hours for you to dry your things!" Coriolis had come up trumps. She had suffered no damage; in fact the only thing to take a bashing was people’s morale.

This was our last day, and I was now ready to get home. It was going to be a long and slow sail back to Amble. It proved an unremarkable end to a weekend which many will talk, (and write,) about for some time to come. Coriolis received a "Thankyou" and a pat on the hull from her new and very proud owner. We left the very best of friends and with a newly established trust between owner and boat.