“…The Goblin had left the river now and was sailing out into the wide waters of Harwich harbour where the Stour and the Orwell meet before pouring out into the sea. Far away over the water they could see…the houses of Harwich and a white lighthouse on the water’s edge …

“See those vessels?” said Jim. “The red ones, with lanterns half-way up the mast, lightships in for repairs.” – Arthur Ransome “We Didn’t Mean to go to Sea” (Jonathan Cape) 1937

We didn’t end up in Holland, but we did go to sea, and echoes of Ransome’s two east coast books were everywhere during our weekend based at Harwich Town Sailing Club.

Stephen Clampin’s East Coast cruise is a regular feature of the Wanderer cruising calendar, but this was the first time Niamh and I had joined the trip.

Stephen provided helpful town maps and estuary charts, meaning we found the sailing club relatively easily on Saturday morning and joined another five boats rigging in the sailing club boat park. Wendy and Graham we already knew from last year in Norfolk, Bill was a friendly new face to us, single handing in ‘Admiral Pellew’ (named after a distant relative who was fifth in the windward line at Trafalgar we soon learnt), David Hewett and Loraine were rigging Quay Dancer II, a very smart looking Porters Wanderer and Stephen’s ‘Airhairlair’ rounded off the fleet of six.

Briefing at 10:30 revealed our destination for the day – Pin Mill and possibly further up the river to the impressive Orwell Bridge. The wind was gentle and would be on our stern all the way, the sun was coming out and boded well for the trip, on which we were to be accompanied by my sister and young nephew as pressed crew for the day.

Many hands made light work of getting the boats up over the sea wall ramp and over the soft sand to the water. One by one we left the beach with Stephen sorting out trolley security and ensuring everyone got away before he lead us out into the harbour and set sail for the Orwell river to the North West.

The strong flood had me run over a mooring buoy almost immediately, catching round the rudder and popping the downhaul out of its clamcleat, no harm done but it woke me up to the speed of the flood around the beach we launched off.

Immediately to the left we passed Harwich lifeboat station (all our travels are punctuated by lifeboat spotting!) and then we crossed the mouth of the Stour, sighting huge red light ships moored in the deep water channel as per the excerpt above, and the tall mast and yards at Shotley, which my sister reminded me featured on Blue Peter many years ago when John Noakes was the ‘Button Boy’ perched on the very top.

Ghosting along we were able to spot seabirds from Stephen’s bird spotting sheets and make way for the large coaster coming down the river. In the light breeze our progress was slow and we hauled up short of Pin Mill for coffee and a picnic on the southern shore of the Orwell, with the Orwell Bridge brooding in the distance. A very sociable hour or so on the sunny beach, munching sandwiches sat amongst the marram grass was enjoyed by all. Stephen amused everyone with a very smart looking luncheon table and chairs assembled and set up regally amongst the grasses.

Setting off for home after a relaxed lunch – leaving Pin Mill and the Orwell Bridge for next year as the tide was already falling, required much heaving and hauling of boats off the beach as the waters had fallen rapidly.

The weather looked threatening to the north as we began the beat back to Harwich. The wind was fresher now and we had a grand start to the journey home, creaming from one side of the river to the other, getting the crew drilled in tacking and balancing the boat while belting out a variety of family favourite songs at enormous volume.

After twenty minutes or so the weather caught up with us and the clouds opened to dump a quite ferocious rain storm on us, accompanied by thunder and lightning. Some roly poly breaking swell from nowhere in the centre of the harbour delayed our arrival a little as we altered course to run safely down their faces. We found calmer waters close to shore and beat round the lifeboat station, back to the sailing club.

Reaching the beach the chilly children were whisked off for a hot shower and dry clothes while the soggy adults recovered the boats back across the soft sand and over the sea wall to the boat park. Valuables locked away and boat snugged down, we were away home to my sister’s by 4:00. A safe if soggy first day.

Sunday promised better weather and more adventure. Today ‘we did mean to go to sea’, down to the Walton Backwaters, scene of the kidnappings and corroborrees from ‘Secret Water’. Niamh and I (No sister or nephew today which makes it much easier to see where you are going!) were last at Stephen’s briefing at the club, which revealed a plan to picnic on Flint Island at the mouth of the backwaters, then cruise down to Walton and Frinton Yacht club before circumnavigating Horsey Island clockwise and heading back home.

Many hands again got the four boats participating for the second day into the water and we set off round the breakwater and proceeded to sea. A course of 210⁰ (M) from the breakwater drops you into the Walton Backwater channel after 45 minutes or so, with much traffic in and out making your destination quite clear well before the good buoyage comes into view.

The wind was on the beam making for a simple sail once the tidal disturbance off the southern breakwater leaving Harwich was negotiated. Leaving the beach first with my customary reef pulled down, we were gradually overhauled as we sailed across the bay, meaning the fleet arrived pretty much together at our destination.

Flint Island at the southern side of the entrance to the backwaters was a busy place as we hauled up, with sailing school boats lining the waterline and a film crew capturing the scene. Following coffee and biscuits the fleet set off again to explore the channel down to the Walton and Frinton yacht club where we moored to the dinghy pontoon and enjoyed a pleasant drink in the sun on the club veranda.

As the tide began to fall we hurried to get away and make our circumnavigation of Horsey Island before the ‘wade’ dried out – involving a tricky departure from the pontoon up wind out of a narrow spot on a falling tide. Again I got the rudder wrapped around a rope as my cunning plan to smartly back the jib, swing round and sail off the end of the pontoon went a bit pear shaped, but once again the clamcleat popped out and saved any blushes / damage.

Confident that the wind wasn’t filling in too much during the afternoon I shook out the reef and we lead the fleet into the Twizzle channel to the south of Horsey Island on a dead run, sails goosewinged out on either side.

The current slowed us noticeably until we crossed the watershed at the ‘Wade’, scene of Brigitte, Roger and Titty’s stranding when they misjudged the speed of the incoming tide over the causeway. With the current now helping us round the island we turned to the north, picking the centre of the channel between the Mastodon’s lair and the landing used by the explorers, the deep water only vaguely marked by withies.

Niamh was delighted to spot seals hauled out on the flats to the west of Horsey Island as Stephen had suggested we might. About ten in total, most of which shuffled into the water as we approached and then bobbed about watching us curiously as we sailed past and out into the open expanse of Secret Water to the north of the island.

In the open we began a lively beat towards the open sea, passing large barges sunk into the beach on the north of Horsey island, presumably to stabilise the dunes, reminding Niamh of the Mastodon’s own wrecked barge ‘Speedy’, in which he made his den.

Some smart tacking, with Niamh now joining me on the windward rail and working the jib sheets like a pro, we broke back out into the open sea and found the breakwater dead on the bow by running close hauled on a reciprocal course from the morning reach, 30⁰ (M).

Looking back over our stern the other Wanderer’s made a fine sight as they drew out of the inland sea and set themselves in line astern across the bay to Harwich.

Arriving at the club we found the end of the long buried concrete slipway in the shallows by hitting it hard with our keel band…thump. Once again the joint efforts of all participants had the boats out the water without undue fuss and back to the boat park with much communal puffing and heaving through the soft sand at the crown of the beach.

As I de-rigged and threw damp things into the car Niamh was delighted to watch a huge liner creep past and the sea bed emerge as the last of the tide withdrew from the shoals below the beach…just as well we were no later back.

Getting away at 6:00 we thanked Stephen for his hospitality and smooth organisation, said our goodbyes to the other crews and pointed the car back towards Dorset, mentally ticking off Harwich from our ‘Ransome destination’ list, leaving only North West Scotland (Great Northern), The Caribbean Islands (Peter Duck) and China (Missee Lee) to visit….maybe we’ll save them for next year!