Yarns

Welcome to our Yarns pages. I'll kick it off with a story about one of my mishaps on the Norfolk Broads a few years ago. Although technically not an East Coast story, it happened on the River Thurne, at Thurne Dyke, which is not that far from the East Coast. And the Thurne is tidal at that point, so I reckon that it counts as an East Coast river.

Ever tried water-skiing behind a half decker? I did, according to a few well-known wags on the Norfolk Broads.

I hadn't planned to be dragged through the murky waters of the River Thurne hanging on to the transom of our half decker Ala. But that's exactly what happened one June evening about seven years ago after I decided to go for a solo sail down river.

We had just bought the river cruiser Salamander and I was staying on board whilst she was moored on the north bank of Thurne Dyke. Ala, moored alongside the yacht, was for sale at the time and I had spent the day sprucing her up ready for a visit by prospective buyers the following day.

It was such a fabulous evening with a pleasant breeze, clear skies and a peaceful river, that I decided to go for a run down to Upton Dyke, for possibly the last sail in the half-decker we had owned for about six years.

She was a fast old girl. Although about the same size as a Yare and Bure One Design, Ala had a bigger sail area and had been extremely quick when raced in the hands of her owner Cyril Richards and his famed skipper chum, Jimmy Clabburn.

Ala was designed in 1943 by Cyril, a Lowestoft shipyard owner and another ace Broads yacht helmsman, Ivan Darby, the Oulton Broad boatyard owner, as a prototype for a proposed Oulton Broad One Design. Legend has it that the two men got together over a pint at the Commodore pub Oulton Broad, and drew Ala on the back of a cigarette packet. They had wanted to start a new class of half-decker to be faster than the Y&Bs and Waveney One Designs.

She was built in total secrecy, because of a wartime ban on the building of private boats, in a small shed at Cyril's yard at Oulton Broad. The work was carried by retired boatbuilder Harry Francis and a 16-year-old apprentice (who told me the whole story when I traced him in 1992) using first-class timber that should have gone into Navy inshore patrol ships being built at Cyril's yard.

However, on the day after D-Day in June 1944, Cyril decided that since the war was going well, Ala should be launched. Naval ratings at the nearby RN yard booed and hissed and dubbed Ala the 'ship of shame' as she was trundled out of the shed with the mahogany in her cockpit and decks glistening under numerous coats of varnish. "Don't you know there's a war on," yelled the Navy sailors as Ala was lowered into the water by crane and quickly sculled up to Cyril's yard for fitting out.

She went on to race and beat the Y&Bs and Waveneys in open races around the Broads (apparently for huge wagers between owners) but was blackballed by the Norfolk and Suffolk Yachting Association for apparently winning too often.

But on that balmy evening in June, I was happy to slowly potter about for a few hours before sailing back to Thurne to tie up alongside Salamander. I luffed up, coasted to a halt alongside our bigger boat and stepped aboard with a painter in my left hand. But I tripped on the grab rail on Salamander's cabin roof and fell base over apex across the boom, letting go of the painter as I tried to soften the fall.

By the time I had regained my feet Ala was off on a leisurely starboard tack heading straight across the Thurne. Her bowsprit was aimed directly at two rather large and expensive looking yachts moored on the errrummmm…EACC site opposite.

I ran along the bank, wondering what best to do. There were plenty of moored motorboats about, but none had a handy dinghy I could commandeer and use to chase the sailaway Ala.

There was nothing for it. I ran back across the grass for about 12 paces, turned and sprinted back towards the river, hoping to do the longest long jump of my life (personal best: 9ft, Mark Hall School, Essex, 1966) and took a flying leap into the river, setting a new record of about 9ft 3ins.

There was a huge splash as my 16st entered the water and I plunged to the river bottom where my feet got stuck in the mud. I am 6ft 1in tall and the river was about 7ft 1in deep at that point. I was trapped under water.

I wiggled and kicked my feet and managed to free them from the mud after a few seconds of thinking that the end of my time on Earth was nigh. I got to the surface and broke into my best possible swimming stroke, a mixture of doggy paddle/crawl/sidestroke and butterfly. About three quarters of the way across the river I caught Ala, but was so knackered I could not climb on board.

I grabbed the transom, hauled in the mainsheet and steered the rudder blade with my knees. I managed to turn Ala into the wind seconds before she would have struck a rather nice 34ft yacht midships at a ramming speed of about 2 knots.

Using more knee waggling I managed to bring Ala alongside the quay heading outside a bungalow. I pulled myself along the hull to the bow and grabbed a mooring rope then managed to climb out of the river using a tyre fender as a step.

By the time I had got on board, sailed back and tied up alongside Salamander a small crowd had gathered. An elderly gent from a motor cruiser moored outside Thurne mill asked: "Are you all right, we saw you going for a swim with your clothes on?"

"Well, actually no, I am not all right, thanks," I replied. My specs were steamed up, hair matted, beard dishevelled, T-shirt and shorts covered in mud and water was squelching from my deck shoes.

"Come and have a livener," said the old boy, pointing to the cockpit of his hired gin palace. "Don't mind if I do," I said, clearly impressed at his hospitality towards a nearly shipwrecked fellow mariner. The illusion was shattered when he handed me a huge rum from the cockpit but added: "You can't come aboard, you are covered in bloody mud."

Later I tramped off to the Thurne Lion for a shower and was thankful that the then landlord Royston, known for notices banning this, that and the other, did not have a sign prohibiting waterlogged yachties from padding through the bar to the shower, which thankfully had instant hot water, even in June.

By the time I had got to the bar news of my swim, had reached sailors among the regulars.

"Hair you've bin water-skiing behoind yor half-decker," chuckled one regular from his stool at the end of the bar.
"Stairing from outside the boot? Tha's a good way of keepin' crew weight down when racin'," chortled another leading yacht skipper from the village.

Looking back, I reckon it was the daftest thing I have done in a boat. I wasn't wearing a lifejacket at the time, but always do so now. I don't sail single-handed any more and I am always much more careful when stepping ashore. I have given up "water-skiing" behind half-deckers for good.

But I always have a reminder of my Broadland Blunder in the shape of this superb cartoon by Peyton which was used when I confessed all in Yachting Monthly's Confessional column a few years ago.