An English Summer 2

 

With a mighty rush of her wake and a thrumming of her canvas, Colchester smack Puritan barrels past. . . .

. . . .and disappears, rapidly seaward, along the Swale.

Stargazer lies at anchor. Tucked in the shallows, behind the spit, at Harty Ferry. Sheltered from the north east breeze. A suitably tranquil spot in which to eat a birthday lunch; and from which to begin our summer cruise.

A little further upstream, off Bell's Creek, a clinker built Finesse has used her lifting centreboard to advantage and crept in closer still, to the shore.

This morning, in a misty first light, we left Chatham and beat our way down to Grain Fort. Where the Medway meets the Thames estuary.

The sun burns through the murk, as we tack downriver. Casting an eerie glow over a tanker offloading at the Isle of Grain gas terminal. 

The wind pipes up to twenty knots as we clear the river mouth. I tuck in two reefs.

Stargazer tramps into the dawn. Scattering spray. Shouldering her way down Four Fathoms Channel. Making, a tide assisted, seven knots over the ground. Whitstable already visible, as a smudge on the horizon, off our starboard bow. 

We ease sheets, off the submerged and unseen Columbine spit; and run into the Swale. Its sandy shores clambering up out of the sea to either side of us.

We have made good time. Arrived more than an hour before I expected to. The last of the ebb is still flowing out of the Swale, against us. Our progress slows. But, provided we take the current head on, we are still making four and a half knots over the ground . I furl the jib so that we can run dead downwind, straight into the tide.

From Harty, if the wind is fair, we can make Dover on a single tide.