Misery and Magic on the East Coast

We stayed in Hartlepool for two nights. It's a take it or leave it sort of place - we chose to leave it having done a 7 mile bike ride around some pretty depressing sites. It must have been a thriving town once, with impressive docks and some fairly ornate buildings of stature. But, a bit like Grimsby and probably Sunderland, what was great once, and no doubt, hugely invested in during Victorian times, has been left to decay and crumble, as successive governments have allowed our industries to go unsupported, resulting in closure and a loss of jobs, as production moves elsewhere in the world. On the positive side, shopping was cheap in town, and the folk were very friendly. The marina staff were helpful and had time to chat. The 1st May, we fuelled up at 11 am, exited the lock and pointed north again. The next stop was Blythe -this was only ever intended to be an overnight stop, to give us two relatively short runs, over two days, rather than one long one, to Amble. We had heard Blythe was industrial and bleak - forewarned is forearmed! Bizarrely, the Royal Northumberland Yacht club has its headquarters and small marina, within the industrial harbour. Its club house is a former Trinity House light ship, over 100 years old. Within, is apparently a welcoming bar that serves food. Sadly, the manager had forgotten what day of the week it was, and failed to turn up to open up the bar and restaurant, much to the dismay of the visiting boats and the few members that were preparing their boats for the season to come. We ate on board Nell, as the nearest facilities were about 1 mile away and showed as much promise as the rest of the bleak environment in which we found ourselves. One saving grace, was the impressive beach, set over the breakwater. The dog enjoyed a run about and Sally and I marvelled at the bikini-clad young lady, who thought swimming was the norm in a brisk north-easterly wind and 8 degrees!

Our berth at Amble, Northumberland.

We left as soon as the tide permitted next morning. Our destination was Amble. We were looking forward to this, as we knew it to be a relatively attractive fishing port with some history and a castle or two in the environs. It was a relatively easy 17 mile run up the coast. We passed several lifeboats heading to Blythe, not to rescue it from despair, but to celebrate the 200th anniversary of its own lifeboat. Amble is a delightful place. The approach lifted our spirits, as Sally spotted the first of the Puffins as we passed the picturesque Coquette Island, which is about mile of the coast. We snuck in just after low water with less than half a meter under Nell's keel. We had a great berth, with a view of the working fishing boats, and beyond to the mouth of the harbour. The team at the marina were helpful and friendly. We did the usual chores of laundry, and hoovered Nell's interior, but first we had a great lunch at the Fish Shack on the quay. We had two surprise visits. The first was Alastair Hall, a former rugby team mate. Then we were joined by Paul and Maggie Meigh, clients and friends, from Oundle, that have a home in Northumberland. It was lovely to see them all. We had four nights in Amble, again waiting for the strong North-Easterly winds to drop. We spent time walking to Warkworth Castle, and took the bus around to Alnmouth, a pretty coastal village, again with friendly, chatty people. The barmaid who served us in the pub told us all about her life, in about 12 minutes. We had every detail - I got the impression she was popular behind the bike sheds in her early life.

Amble felt like a northern Wells Next The Sea - very agreeable.

The castle at Holy Island

After 4 nights, on 6th May, we headed for Holy Island - or Lindisfarne, if you like. The 24 mile run was rough to start with, but improved, as predicted, as the wind dropped and the tide turned. We spotted seals, puffins and terns on the way up. This was more like it. A destination, rather than a transit port. We anchored in the bay to the west of the island and had a majestic view of the castle. Back on the mainland, we could see Bamburgh castle, too. The wind fell away and we had a magical evening watching the terns diving for their supper, as inquisitive seals neared Nell. There were three other boats anchored nearby - Wind Dancer and Freyah had decided to join us. We nipped ashore in the tender and gave Diesel a well-needed walk, and Chris a well-deserved ice cream. After supper aboard, I picked up Matt from Wind Dancer so we could give Diesel and Basil their bedtime walks. It went well until Diesel showed Basil how to hunt rabbits in the dunes and hiding under the upturned boats. Basil managed to evade Matt, and roll in a dead sheep.

The next morning was simply beautiful - 'a good day to be alive' as my father used to say - Sally, Diesel and I went ashore and walked around the headland, passing the castle. We managed to complete this before the hoards of tourists could cross the causeway and invade this magical island.

The viaduct at Berwick Upon Tweed

Excitement was building aboard Nell - it was 7th May - 1300 hours and we weighed anchor and headed for Berwick Upon Tweed. This was to be a three night stop, and we were being joined by Sally's daughter, Charlie, her son-in law Mark, and the two grand-children, Maisie and Sebby. Berwick harbour is not really set up for leisure boats, but they have a pontoon and happily accept them. We squeezed Nell's 42ft hull into a 43ft gap between the lifeboat and a Fisher 34. We were

Oundle supporters pleased with the win!

then rafted upon by Wind Dancer. The harbour guys were laid back. The facilities (showers and WC) were in the part of the docks used as a truck stop in the evenings. The ladies on the boats decided they wouldn't take their chances and so showered aboard. Berwick as a town, had a good feel and we found a lovely restaurant - probably our best meal since leaving Ipswich. Charlie and family arrived by train on the Friday, and we had chinese takeaway for simplicity. The next morning, I headed off to Corbridge, by train, to see Oundle RFC take on Tynedale RFC in the playoffs. Oundle scraped a win! It was lovely to watch the boys and meet with other supporters, so far north.

10th May was a special day - we would leave England and enter Scotland, crossing the border

Charlie, Maisie and Sebby

somewhere between Berwick and Eyemouth. There are no lines or signs at sea, so it is an approximation a sailor has to make. We took Charlie and the children on this leg with us. It was an easy passage of only 9 miles. The harbour is long and thin and rafting was the order of the day, again, so Wind Dancer took up her position, tied to the outside of Nell. The heavier boat is always tied to the quay or dock and the lighter boat ties to it. We enjoyed what Eyemouth had to offer, including good ice cream, several fair eateries, a pub quiz and a useful bus service back to Berwick, to meet Helena, my sister, who was heading to Scotland for some hiking. There was an active but small fishing fleet in the port, but the main revenue earner was the wind farm boats, running in and out all day. Stormy weather came and huge waves crashed over the harbour walls. All boats were stuck in port. We ended up having 7 days in port. We had done the town! Pleasant though it was, we were keen to move on - Arbroath, the land of the smokie, across the Firth of Forth, beckoned.

The storm at Eyemouth

One of the surviving smoke houses at Arbroath

The weather had to be right for this crossing. So far, Sally, a novice crew member had had it easy. I knew it would be a moderate sea in the middle of the Firth, and it was time to give Sally a taste of what it can be like and also what Nell can handle. We slipped our lines at 06 30 hours, and pushed out to sea for a 6 hour, turbulent passage. It started fine but as we crossed the firth the beam seas increased from 1 metre to almost 2 metres. Nell rolled around a fair bit but she soldiered on. We took water over the boat -but we were safe and warm as Nell forged a path towards the harbour. Finally the waves dropped as we neared the port. Arbroath is a fishing harbour with a mix of traffic and a small marina. The famous 'smokie' - hot smoked haddock - is on sale in many establishments, and the almost 'cottage' industry is still thriving within the town. You could smell the smoking process in a number of the streets. Heaven knows what it must have been like in its heyday. Cliff top walks were the highlight of the stay, as we watched the weather, waiting for a window to open sufficiently to allow us to complete the 66 mile journey to Peterhead.