Juno - Blakney Spit
Hubby and I recently found ourselves at 7.30am standing on the quay at Wells bathed in glorious sunshine but swaddled in fleeces and waterproofs because it was blowing a ‘hoolie’. We were about to have a mini adventure on the north sea together with eight very good friends, all complete landlubbers, who arrived shortly after us in convoy mode, spilling out of their cars laden with picnic baskets, fleeces, blankets, cameras, kitchen sinks not to mention vast quantities of wine!
It all started twelve months prior at a charity auction doo, and our table, after having quaffed a fair amount of grape juice, put in a bid to spend a day on a boat sailing along the North Norfolk coast, inspecting the seals and getting down and dirty in the sand at Blakeney with a picnic - Bliss! Much to our surprise we got it and it took the next twelve months to get the ten of us, the weather, and the boat to agree to a date.
The day finally dawned and the prayers for sunshine had paid off – it was one of those days that artists love, crystal clear light and visibility, with scudding clouds racing across a sailors blue pants sky.
We found our way down the dock and waited in a state of great excitement and expectation alongside a wonderful little sailing barge called Juno, whose Captain (Charlie) and his stalwart crew (Jill) were making last minute preparations to go to sea. At last they were ready for us and we heaved ourselves on board and Jill busied herself showing us around the boat, telling us what not to put down the loo and stowing our huge amounts of luggage (you would think we were setting off for a two week holiday in Holland than spending just one day on the boat).
We all then had to sit down in the cockpit armed with a warming cup of tea passed up by Jill from the depths of the galley and listen to our safety talk. The general idea was for us landlubbers to stay close to the cockpit until we got more comfortable with the motion of the boat and to hold on at all times – one hand for oneself and one for the boat.
The fun started when we had to put on our lifejackets which were stowed under the cushioned benches where our bums were parked – of course without leaving our seats, All I can say is, for those who are not sailors, a lifejacket is not an easy beast to fit properly over extra layers of clothing – too many straps with not enough give for those of us with big boobs or tummies – God help you if you blessed both! Amid loud gruntings, gaspings, and holding in of stomachs, elbows in eyes and much giggling, we managed to fit them on.
The Captain started the engine, cast off and we gently moved out of the berth. Juno pushed forward on an ebbing tide, gliding past all the brightly coloured beach huts and the Lifeboat station and the smell of the bacon wafted up through the galley hatch (one of our landlubber party had volunteered to provide bacon butties for breakfast.
As the boat reached the open water, our Captain and crew shook out the sails, stopped the engine and set a course for Holkham Beach. The wind was blowing a mere 30 mph making Juno heel over and start to pound over the waves, driving along at a good clip with the spray flying across the deck and covering the would be sailors in a fine coating of salt and starting just a shiver as the cold bite to the wind found its way down each neck of the fleeces.
The butties were a little slow in coming up, so I went down to see if I could help. It was becoming hot down below as the hatch was half closed and our valiant chef was looking a little peaky round the gills.
She was actually cooking the bacon in the microwave, timing the opening of the door when the boat was on the downward side of a wave so that the bacon did not fly out of the micro down the length of the galley with each lurch. She was hanging onto the butter, the ketchup, the chopping board and wondering which foot she should use to field the buns as they bounced around the worktop.
Between us we managed to make everyone a buttie, despite one of our party asking for the fat to be cut off the bacon! Feeling much too icky to respond with something withering, we duly cut off the fat and handed him his diatetic buttie. All this concentration on moving objects was having the usual effect and it was not long before the pair of us galloped up the companionway steps, gabbling “that was it” , and “we had had enough” and by the way, “there was a piece of bacon left over”. We then sat very still, gazing at the distant horizon, tummies gradually returning to normal.
After a while, feeling somewhat more settled, I thought I had better go down below and clear up the bacon fat and bread crumbs. While I was mopping the sink I spied this congealed leftover piece of bacon which I promptly threw in the bin thinking that nobody would think of eating it now.
Job done, I went on deck and was confronted with “while you’re down there can I have another buttie please! I meekly went down below without comment, fished out the bacon from the garbage, attempted to wipe off the fluff that seems to inhabit even the cleanest of rubbish, took the fat off it, stuffed it in a bun dash of ketchup and handed it over – it was greatly enjoyed fluff and all!
Once Holkham Beach hove into sight, Juno was turned back and set onto the Gin and Tonic course – following sea and wind producing a gentler motion easier on the stomach and much warmer – everyone was in great humour, chatty and relaxed, even though my husband was by this time steering! I have to confess, he has spent most of his life sailing boats both as a career and then for pleasure and was enjoying himself immensely.
Juno is so responsive and she has the feel of a much bigger boat and she seemed to inspire in us all a feeling of safety and wellbeing while we creamed down to Blakeney Spit.
We rounded up into the wind and our ever efficient crew dropped the sails and we gently cruised under power toward a spit of sand. This was our destination, the home of the seals. They were basking in the sun with their tails and heads lifted towards the warmth like giant sausages waiting to be picked up and dipped into bbq sauce.
We dropped anchor in the quiet waters of the inlet a scant 12′ feet away from the seals and waited for the water to go and for the boat to be marooned high and dry. It doesn’t seem right somehow to sit on a boat waiting to be aground. I have only been aground on a non voluntary basis and that was a very bumpy and frightening experience! However Juno settled gently, perfectly upright and almost wriggled her backside with pleasure to be finally ashore and resting.
Well now what to do for the next 4 hours?
The only thing you can do in that situation short of putting the kettle on is to break out the grog! We suddenly all found our appetites were well and truly wetted having survived vomit free, our initial sea voyage and we eagerly tucked into the fine spread of food which magically appeared out of all those bags that we had heaved on board. Finally, fully replete we sagged against the cockpit coaming (our lifejackets at this point were threatening to suffocate us due to belly expansion) watching the seals who were swimming ever closer, curious to see what these humans were up to.
Finally the water had gone leaving the most wondrous impressions in the sand, ripple upon ripple, swirl upon swirl a complete sculpture of a landscape ever changing with each new tide. A ladder was brought and tied to the bowsprit and we were expected to climb down it and onto the sand. Having surveyed this, several of the party decided that the bunks seemed a better option and disappeared down below to sleep of the excesses of lunch.
The rest of us gingerly navigated our way downwards onto the sand and with the sun behind our heads and the wind propelling us forward set off towards the distant dunes armed with nothing but a camera and a piece of toilet paper in case….
Several lagoons away, we came across a wreck which lay mostly submerged under the sand – only a part of the boiler remained recognisable, barely large enough for one person to stand in. Well what can I say, there was no one around to see us, so what if 60 somethings behave occasionally like 10 somethings. We splashed through the lagoons (crikey the water was cold), chased stranded crabs and we pretended to be Captain Bligh or Jack Sparrow (depending on age) in charge of the fine ship Woebygone, marooned on a desert island with the Juno, albeit hard aground, coming to rescue us. Fat chance! The rest of the party were too busy snoring to hear any cries we might make for help!
The sands around Blakeney Point provide such a beautiful desolate landscape with only the calling of the seals and crying gulls interrupting the distant sound of the sea and we watched the cloud formations charging across the sky dominating the horizon in every direction. Observing the force of nature seems so good for the soul.
Time flew by and before long it was time to return to Juno and await the tide. The wind seemed to be getting stronger as the afternoon wore on causing clouds of sand to blow almost horizontally across the beach, reducing visability, stinging our bare legs and feet and hardening the sand into ridges, making the inward trek a lot less pleasant than the outward one!
Juno was a welcome respite from the sandy wind and after getting rid of the sand and salt by dibbling our feet into a bucket of exceedingly cold fresh water, we climbed the ladder back to the safety of the cockpit and watched the foaming water rushing back around the hull.
The seals were basking in the sun on their tiny piece of sand, taking full advantage of the heat before they too were covered by the creeping water.
Before long Juno was lifting free of her temporary resting spot, it was time to start the engine, power back off the beach and set a course for Wells. Hubby back in charge of steering again, so sails unfurled, Juno set off into the wind and sea, bolting for home like a starving Labrador at supper time!
The trip back was exhilarating. We found ourselves shrieking with laughter as Juno plunged over each wave, the wind causing great sheets of spray to whip across the deck, hitting us full in the face. That together with the run off swirling around the cockpit, took barely five minutes before all of us were soaked through to the underpants!
People are so funny when caught in adversity. I can guarantee that if this had soaking had happened on a trip to the supermarket, laughter would have been the last thing coming out of our mouths!
Before we all turned into pillars of salt, we found ourselves sailing up to the channel leading into Wells Harbour, the sea calmed, the pitching stopped and we managed to catch our breath. Our crew dropped the sails and Juno powered her way slowly into the harbour on the incoming tide. This was our cue to drip our way down below, mop salt water out of every orifice, thank the Lord that we had made it back in one piece and pack our bags.
Just as the day was beginning to fade into dusk, the Captain eased the boat into her berth alongside the quay and cut the engine. That was the end of our Great Adventure. We all looked at each other in that moment of peace that comes from surviving a scary but fantastic moment with good friends. Goodbyes and sincere thanks to the very patient crew were said, bags were handed onto the dock as were we, still a bit shaky from the thrill of the sail and the cold.
We waved to the valiant Juno and its crew and made our way back along the dock. On route, we were stopped by a complete stranger and asked if we had just come off that boat and was it available for hire and was it good? In unison we chorused “Oh yes, and worth every penny”. As we kissed each other goodbye and made our way back to our respective homes, I think we all felt sad that such a special day had ended.
Would we do it all again? You bet you life we would – although I think the bacon butties will be ‘off’ next time!