Texel too

Stargazer rests between a German flagged Bavaria in from the Elbe and a Dutch flagged boat, wryly named 'Bato,'out of Den Oever on the Ijsselmeer. The ensigns of our three nations waft harmoniously to and fro, like the tails of three contented (sea)dogs.

It is a morning to linger and chat. A relaxed holiday atmosphere washes over Oudeschild's harbour like the summer sunshine. 'Bato' have taken advantage of the the south west breeze to break free from the confines of the Ijsselmeer inland sea. Yesterday they were in Terschelling. "You must visit - but take care with your draft."Today they beat back home for the weekend.

Whereas I am bound inland...

.....for a birthday ramble, to explore Texel.

An island of manicured greens and neat, pan tiled, houses.

Of intriguing cobbled alleyways....

...and chocolate box town squares.

Of open vistas, meandering waterways and reeds dancing in the breeze.

Of silver sands, deserted shores and the roar of surf.

To landward, sheep graze the grassy dykes.

Out to sea, a botter romps homeward...

...towards the thronged harbour where the fishing fleet is in with its catch.

Texel

I wake to the sound of groaning lines and whistling rigging. I have slept deeply and late, after yesterday's passage. The breeze has built overnight into a southern buster. Beyond the sea wall a force 7 churns the Waddenzee.

A gaff cutter rides the breaking crests...

twisting and turning across the swells, making determinedly for shelter. Her yankee, long since furled, is stopped down under her bowsprit.

A figure appears on deck and neatly drops the staysail. They round the final channel buoy and turn to reach in through the harbour mouth

The mainsail comes neatly down in the smooth waters of Oudeschild port.

A burgeoning fleet of bohemian, round cheeked, dutch barges have already made their way in...

...along with the rakishly chiseled Royal Netherlands Navy training ketch Urania, her decks a model of disciplined minimalism. 

Bird of Passage

Stargazer punches east, shouldering through the short swell, hard on the wind in 21 knots of breeze on a steely Lowestoft morning. 

Staccato rain squalls rattle off her protecting windscreen, mingling with spray blown back from her bow. Stargazer lopes along, under double reefed main, reeling off the miles in her long legged way.

The day mellows as we settle into the rhythm of our passage. By the time we cross the first of the shipping lanes, the evening sunshine has turned the North Sea a Caribbean blue. 

     I shake out the reefs for the night,as the wind drops to 16 knots. Stargazer lopes on over the swell. 

A weary bird of passage joins us for the night, nestling down in the sprayhood - which I've put up for the coming night watch. Our passage making breeze is out of the north east (the direction we're headed) and has a keen edge.

The night passes under a riot of swirling galaxies which mesmerise the eye and feed the mind. The wind dies at dawn, becalming us in the entrance to the busy Off Texel Traffic Seperation Scheme (TSS). I fire up our new engine to carry Stargazer out of the path of the shipping.

The sun climbs higher, chasing away the chill of the night, and bringing a welcome return of the wind. This time from the south east. Stargazer frees her sheets and all is good with the world. I sit contentedly in the cockpit, warming my bones, drinking my coffee, at peace with the world and at one with the sea.

Ahead, a forest of buoyage between low sand banks, shimmering fresh and golden in the morning sun, marks the Schulpengat. The entance to the Waddenzee, the waters protected from the North Sea swells by the necklace of the Frisian Islands.

Deeper in to the lee of the islands we sail, past Den Helder to starboard, through the Marsdiep and on through the Texelstroom. Clapperboard churches peer over grassy dykes. Sheep graze. A calm order prevails, or so it feels.

To port, a cluster of orange-red roofs and two pier heads, made from a latticework heavy baulks, mark the entrance to the diminutive Oudeschild harbour. I swing Stargazer's bow into the narrow approach channel, 26 hours and 140 nautical miles out from Lowestoft.

We have made our landfall in the Frisian Islands.

Stargazer follows in the wake of Dulcibella, seeking her Riddle of the Sands.

The Stuff of Dreams

A splash of evening sunshine bathes Stargazer in a relaxing glow.She lies rafted between a Sadler 29, out of the Blackwater, and a Jeanneau 349, out of Poole - both bound for Whitby. Ahead and astern, on The Royal Norfolk and Suffolk Yacht Club visitor's pontoon, are more craft rafted three deep. Lowestoft is Bank Holiday full! Forecasts are the main topic of conversation among us. A whistling westerly wind rakes the crowded harbour, with an increase expected for tomorrow. 

We left Pin Mill before dawn and crept out to sea past the outstretched crane arms,blazing lights and busy electric hum of the Container Port of Felixstowe. An industrial microcosm, where unseen ant people serve behemoth machines, incongruously sandwiched between the idyllic peace of the Orwell's wooded shores and the boundless freedoms of the sea beyond.

Our orange cruising chute brightens a day when grey sea merges seamlessly with grey sky. It magically conjours passage making progress from the unlikely ingredients of  6 knots of south west breeze, and a fair tide. We sail the angles, gybing out wide of the candy striped light tower on Orford Ness' low promontory to clear our wind, from the interference of the land, and find the strongest tide. Through the day, the wind builds and with it our speed: 5 knots, 6 knots, 7 knots. I furl the chute, while I still can, and set the genoa. The breeze is round to the west now, blowing a solid 23 knots. Stargazer surfs powerfully on the swell, ploughing a straight white furrow through the turbid tea brown North Sea waters. 8 knots, 9 knots. A day of sailing perfection which will linger long in my memory, if not on camera.The stuff of dreams.

Boats of the North Sea nations lie cheek by jowl along the pontoon in Lowestoft's harbour. British, Belgian, Dutch and (round from the Baltic) a lone Polish yacht. Each crew waiting for their weather window. In common we have tales of ports visited and dreams of landfalls to come.

Where Next?

Stargazer forges north as the sun rises. We weighed anchor, in the still of the pre-dawn twilight, to catch our tide.

Our, long anticipated, summer cruise is under way.

Out across the open expanse of  the Thames Estuary we sail; weaving our serpentine way through the spit ways between its hidden sand banks.The low Essex and Suffolk shores are a smudge on the horizon to port.

Ahead, the cranes of Felixstowe peep over the tower topped shoulder of Walton's Naze. A confetti of dolls house beach huts adorn the shoreline at the tower's foot.

We harden sheets and beat in towards the River Orwell. Scenting our way in down the Medusa Channel. Depth is marginal, but we have a rising tide. Stargazer casts to port and starboard feeling her way in. A 23 knot squall heels us, reducing our draft. 

We romp into the shelter of the the toy town Harwich foreshore....

.....and glide up this sylvian river on the current.

We anchor in the timeless tranquility of Pin Mill. I linger a day, listening to the musical chatter of the birds from the trees, and the silvery song of the river water - to wonder where this cruise will lead us next.