Steaming Uphill
Sunday 15th July 2006
The sun beat down on us as we cast off our lovely new mooring lines and motored into the Sharpness lock. The previous lot had been thick, dirty and stiff and impossible to throw. Heroine seemed to surge towards the sea inside the lock. As the water was let out, we descended into the cool and dank of the mud as a small crowd waited to watch the other boats go out. Sharpness had been a good place to stay, and we were sad to leave.
We waved good-bye to our friend Terry who is working on his slinky, vintage Tremlet fast-cruiser. Terry's hero is a man who wanted to climb Everest and to save the boredom of the lower slopes, planned to land a plane somewhere up near the top. He had saved his money and had got all the equipment together but at the last minute the Nepali government had refused him permission to take off. He ignored their direction and proceeded with the plan, and was never heard of again. I think the point of his heroism is not his failure (although the English seem to have a great tradition of that) but the fact that he kept going when everything seemed to be against him. Terry himself has bought another identical boat, and has perhaps therefore got himself a second Everest to climb.
Instead of a gentle period of slack water when it turns, like most other tidal areas, Sharpness is one of the most extreme tides and there is complete volte face of the millions of tons of water back towards the sea when the tide starts to go out. We were were let out of the lock an hour before high tide which meant that the water was still rushing up-river at about 8mph. Before we turned to face the tide, it hit us side-on, and the whole 90 tons of boat was swerved and rolled by the strength of the water.
Once we were back on course we sat, barely moving forward, fighting the incoming tide, and because we are trying to reduce the vibration from the damaged propelllor, we only made 1 mile in that first hour. This now rather dull spectacle soon lost its appeal for the well-wishers and when they realised that we were not actually stuck on a sandbank and had got tired arms from waving they went home before we were out of sight. Amongst the spectators was a lock official from Fort William (our target at the start of the Caledonian Canal) who apparently is expecting us). Small world.
After being tied up at Sharpness for a year, it was so exciting to be underway again, albeit at a slow rate, and one finds excuses to walk briskly up and down the deck smiling and shouting, perhaps checking fenders and coiled rope, an expression of energetic joy; freedom, adventure, sunshine and good company
As anyone who has read the Patrick O'Brian books, and indeed anyone who has spent the day at the beach, will know that there is nothing like the sea air to sharpen one's appetite. Breakfast had been cereals but for lunch we made the Herione "Banjo", a large roll filled with bacon, mushroom and a fried egg. The name is obvious if you imagine eating one and finding the yolk has run onto your shirt, now you will need to move the hand holding "Banjo" to one side and with the other, briskly strum chest area to remove the yellow goo. I learned this word from my little brother who until recently was in the army. I think he left because they had had enough of him spending the tax payers money inventing new words for savoury cooked snacks instead of killing foreigners.
As the water slides down the boat, looking over the gunwale I can see all the textures of the Severn: standing waves, whirlpools, frothing torrents round piers supporting the bridges. Despite this, how tranquil it was to be on our way to Oxwich, almost surfing now the tide had turned. The sunshine was blazing down, barely a breath of wind and our camp showers warming rapidly on the deck for a clean-up that could not come soon enough. What a contrast to the solid traffic on the bridges above, cars and lorries confined by the tarmac, and for us, the wide open sea leading to the seven oceans and the whole of the rest of the world.
The sun beat down on us as we cast off our lovely new mooring lines and motored into the Sharpness lock. The previous lot had been thick, dirty and stiff and impossible to throw. Heroine seemed to surge towards the sea inside the lock. As the water was let out, we descended into the cool and dank of the mud as a small crowd waited to watch the other boats go out. Sharpness had been a good place to stay, and we were sad to leave.
We waved good-bye to our friend Terry who is working on his slinky, vintage Tremlet fast-cruiser. Terry's hero is a man who wanted to climb Everest and to save the boredom of the lower slopes, planned to land a plane somewhere up near the top. He had saved his money and had got all the equipment together but at the last minute the Nepali government had refused him permission to take off. He ignored their direction and proceeded with the plan, and was never heard of again. I think the point of his heroism is not his failure (although the English seem to have a great tradition of that) but the fact that he kept going when everything seemed to be against him. Terry himself has bought another identical boat, and has perhaps therefore got himself a second Everest to climb.
Instead of a gentle period of slack water when it turns, like most other tidal areas, Sharpness is one of the most extreme tides and there is complete volte face of the millions of tons of water back towards the sea when the tide starts to go out. We were were let out of the lock an hour before high tide which meant that the water was still rushing up-river at about 8mph. Before we turned to face the tide, it hit us side-on, and the whole 90 tons of boat was swerved and rolled by the strength of the water.
Once we were back on course we sat, barely moving forward, fighting the incoming tide, and because we are trying to reduce the vibration from the damaged propelllor, we only made 1 mile in that first hour. This now rather dull spectacle soon lost its appeal for the well-wishers and when they realised that we were not actually stuck on a sandbank and had got tired arms from waving they went home before we were out of sight. Amongst the spectators was a lock official from Fort William (our target at the start of the Caledonian Canal) who apparently is expecting us). Small world.
After being tied up at Sharpness for a year, it was so exciting to be underway again, albeit at a slow rate, and one finds excuses to walk briskly up and down the deck smiling and shouting, perhaps checking fenders and coiled rope, an expression of energetic joy; freedom, adventure, sunshine and good company
As anyone who has read the Patrick O'Brian books, and indeed anyone who has spent the day at the beach, will know that there is nothing like the sea air to sharpen one's appetite. Breakfast had been cereals but for lunch we made the Herione "Banjo", a large roll filled with bacon, mushroom and a fried egg. The name is obvious if you imagine eating one and finding the yolk has run onto your shirt, now you will need to move the hand holding "Banjo" to one side and with the other, briskly strum chest area to remove the yellow goo. I learned this word from my little brother who until recently was in the army. I think he left because they had had enough of him spending the tax payers money inventing new words for savoury cooked snacks instead of killing foreigners.
As the water slides down the boat, looking over the gunwale I can see all the textures of the Severn: standing waves, whirlpools, frothing torrents round piers supporting the bridges. Despite this, how tranquil it was to be on our way to Oxwich, almost surfing now the tide had turned. The sunshine was blazing down, barely a breath of wind and our camp showers warming rapidly on the deck for a clean-up that could not come soon enough. What a contrast to the solid traffic on the bridges above, cars and lorries confined by the tarmac, and for us, the wide open sea leading to the seven oceans and the whole of the rest of the world.
posted by Pomme at 8:55 am
1 Comments:
Ah - now I see what you mean about the 'banjo' . . .
And speaking of eggs - last Saturday at The Salt Yard, braised leaks marinated in olive oil with a perfect just cooked poached egg and shaved truffle - the yolk mixes with the olive oil and you mop it up with bread. I can strongly recommend . . . could put it in a bun just as easily, though clothing stains would be pretty much guaranteed.
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