Tower Hamlets Canoe Club

Nick, Tony, Sean, Liz, Jon (Eeeles), Rob (Scott), Greg & Justin.

Foggy preparations at Barton's Point.

This was our first club trip repeating the triangular course that Tony, Sean and I did back in July, except this time the tides dictated that we paddle anti-clockwise on the ebb rather than clockwise on the flood.  It was either that or paddle at night (watch this space!).  We planned to launch at highwater, 1215.  The forecast was for very light easterly winds (F2-3) and possibly poor visibility to start with. 

We met at Shadwell for 0900 and were away by 0930.  The drive to our launch at Barton’s Point (just east of Sheerness on the Isle of Sheppey,) was an easy hour and a quarter, slowed only by mist, occasionally congealing to a pea-souper.  Crossing the new high arching bridge onto the Isle of Sheppey the mist was gone and our expectations rose, but when we reached the coast we were back in the fog.  We found the ramp up to the track along the top of the beach and parked close to Barton’s Point; visibility was around three hundred metres, beyond which everything merged into featureless grey.  A foghorn sounded regularly somewhere to the east.  Straight above us the sky was blue but the sun was a low opal disc with no wind to clear it.  No bother, we had an hour and a half before our launch time.

Although I felt relaxed about paddling and navigating under these conditions we had to cross and re-cross two or three shipping lanes, being run down was a real threat.  We continued our preparations, believing the fog would clear, but at 1200 it hadn’t so we used a mobile phone to speak to London VTS Woolwich, then VHF radio for the Thames sea reach VTS (Ch 69) and Medway VTS (Ch 74), whose approach channel we had to cross first.  They couldn’t tell us when the fog would clear but said there was an outward-bound ship at Garrison Point.  When quizzed they said it was moving at 7 knots.  We could hear the ship’s horn away to our left; we calculated it should pass in about eighteen minutes.  To save time we decided to launch and paddle towards the shipping channel, we’d use dead reckoning and a GPS waymark to tell us when to stop and wait for the ship to pass. By the time that was all organised we radioed again to check - the boat had already passed and we were fifteen minutes late.  We could hear its horn ahead of us moving east.  We pointed our bows towards 330 degrees and paddled out into the fog.  Without the radio it would have been Russian roulette. 

A welcome buoy. 

Our navigational planning had been set during a brief Tuesday evening session during which, for simplicity’s sake, we had combined two adjacent tidal diamonds to draw our vector diagram.  Jon had reworked the calculations more carefully at home, coming up with slightly different courses to steer, but we agreed to stick to our less refined plan to see how it worked.  Between us we had 4 GPS devices; their ‘you are here’ capability was reassuring in the fog but they could also tell us how fast we were going and where we had been.  If you’ve not paddled following a compass course worked out by using a vector diagram you might not appreciate what we were trying to do.  It simply means we were following a compass course at a predicted speed, having calculated that the combined effect of that and the tidal stream would deliver us to our target; you point at A but you arrive at B.  This counter intuitive process has its own drama and was accentuated by the fog, much of the time we could see neither A nor B!

So we set off unable to see the Essex shore.  Buoys, big ships, sailing boats and a seal loomed up then melted away, but as we proceded the fog thinned and the sun eventually appeared.  Buoys and the GPS confirmed that our planned course would not take us where we wanted to go.  At that point we stopped paddling and let the GPS pinpoint our position and record the current’s speed and direction at that particular time – useful knowledge for future planning.  The tide was considerably weaker than anticipated…partly our fault but also a limitation of tidal diamonds.  As we were up-tide of our target the error was not crucial and we decided to continue on the set course until we reached the edge of the extensive shallows off Shoebury Ness (ascertained with a hand compass, by our being due east of a particular wreck) then simply head for the beach.

 Essex ahoy!                                                    Shoebury Ness snack.

The presence of numerous jet skis didn’t spoil our lunch, which we ate in the sunshine, lounging against a south-facing sea wall.  Five miles away the Kent coast was invisible, the estuary a sea.  We re-planned our return leg using the tide speed recorded by the GPS on the way over and the 50%, 90% rule (which states the speed of the tide according to how many hours it is after slack water).  It came out only two degrees different from the original plan.  When we re-launched the tidal flow over the shallows was negligible so we headed straight for the end of Southend pier, the starting point for our return.                                    

Straight for the pier...                              ...where we felt all blurry.

Arriving there five minutes early we took a turn around it, looking at the anglers and tourists looking at us.  It’s the only pier I’ve seen oysters attached to.

On our outward journey the sea had been disappointingly calm, but now the wind picked up a little and with wind over tide the sea became livelier.  Once again our course (190 degrees) took us further up-tide than planned so we took a couple more GPS readings and made an estimated correction. The various buoys enabled us to fix our position even without the GPS and the tall chimney on the Isle of Grain was always there for a compass bearing.  As we got close to, and then crossed, the Yantlet channel the current picked up noticeably and the GPS confirmed it was close to what we’d expected.  Looking at the GPS record of our ground track afterwards, Tony noted that across the faster current our ground track pointed directly towards our destination (encouraging) and that elsewhere the tides speed was about half that of the main channel.

Liz in prohibited zone...

So, by hook and by crook we paddled towards the end of our trip.  A mile and a half short of Barton’s Point we came across the three-masted wreck of the Richard Montgomery that we’d passed on the way out.  Somehow we strayed in to the wreck’s exclusion zone and then lingered in its refuge as a huge ship colourfully piled with containers approached up the Medway channel. 

As it passed we became aware of a high speed boat coming in our direction, the sort of high speed boat that suggests ‘Police’ or ‘Harbour Master’.  This one had ‘Pilot’ on the side.  It stopped and a tall man on the front deck beckoned me over…’Who’s in charge here?’ he asked.  I wanted to point at someone else but it was a fair cop.  He said we’d set off sensors and alarms and he’d been sent over to see what was going on.  He was pleasant enough but we had been warned; the exclusion zone applies to all vessels, including ours.  Somewhat chastened we paddled the last mile and a half back to Barton’s Point.  The tide was out and the final walk offered a choice between indirect stony shore or direct mud.  I made the wrong choice and when I corrected it the stony shore revealed itself as an extensive bed of large oysters.

So ended the second Thames triangle.  During the exchange of emails that tends to follow the completion of such trip, when there is much yet to be resolved Rob commented on Tony’s GPS track of where we’d actually been, saying it looked a bit like a triangle, the sort his 4 year old draws.  It’s a fair cop.

Pete, sorry you were unable to join us; see you next time!

Link to Tony’s GPS ground track

http://www.omode.co.uk/Content/ThamesTriangleTrack-2008-09-27.pdf

Photos to be attached in due course…

Club Sea trip Dorset 6, 7, 8 June 2008

Nick Jacobs, Malcolm Hazleton, Liz Sheridan, Sean Foo, Martin Kelson and Justin Wyatt.

Friday 6 June

Dorset; the weather was kind, almost too kind.  Five of us camped at Redcliffe Farm on Thursday night and Justin arrived at 8:30 after only two and a half hours on the road from London.  The forecast via Portland coastguard was for NW winds, force 3 to 4, maybe rising to 6.

My earlier plans to paddle out of Lulworth, rockhop and explore caves etc were scuppered by the group’s desire (and surprising preparedness) to load the boats and go camping.  Great!  Redcliffe Farm is brilliantly placed for access to the Kimmeridge, Lulworth, Swanage area and we drove to Kimmeridge Bay to see what the sea looked like.  Did I say preparedness? I meant they had the will but not the food, so first they went shopping, while I made a new tide plan.

The sea state was slight and the wind F3 or 4 so we planned a short paddle to test the conditions before making a firm decision on the camping idea.  If we did go east and camp there would be no road for an easy escape.  Before 12:30 live firing on Lulworth Ranges puts the area west of Kimmeridge out of bounds, so to kill half an hour rather than kayakers, we paddled straight out, into the slight swell and then back in again, getting a feel for wind and waves, not quite surfing.  12:30 had then passed and duly reassured we headed west round the distinctivly low, flat end of Broad Bench and along, close under the spectacular Gad Cliff, which  gave some shelter from the wind.  The tide against us was slight.

At Worbarrow Tout (it’s worth paddling here just for the place names!) we turned back to Brandy Bay for lunch.  Justin (most recent 3-star) found he was working constantly in the following sea to correct  his Aquanaut’s broaching and towards the end of the section the word skeg was mentioned as a likely solution.  He’d had enough of the awkward sea for the notion to stick and he later applied it with almost magical results.  Lesson learned; happy paddler!

Back at Kimmeridge we agreed the conditions were comfortable and the outlook benign.  We loaded the boats and relaunched, heading east but still against the tide, which had turned at about 1330.  It was interesting to paddle a fully loaded boat again, the waterline on my Romany just below the black tape between hull and deck.  On the way we landed to prospect alternative campsites and photograph a waterfall but found nothing for anything but a bivvy.  We reached our campsite in plenty of time to get settled in but before landing several of us tried rolling the loaded boats, it was pleasantly easy, I was expecting to have to adapt my technique but it came up sure and steady – next time rougher water!  Without much swell the steep gravel beach was friendly and from experience and the evidence of the current high tides I felt happy to leave the boats at the back of the beach, the only risk being their possible burial by slumping cliffs.  Liz and I left the chefs to do their worst and fished along the beach until summoned for supper by whistle and flag.  I had caught and returned only a tiny pollack, scarcely larger than the lure.  Wonderful pasta round a campfire, thousands of stars, deep contentment and a twinkle of anticipation for the trip to come.  Marvellous!

Saturday 7 June

The tide turned before eight but I woke at five and went for a short walk with my fishing rod; nothing doing.  Justin displayed admirable efficiency striking camp and despite my faffing around we were on the water before nine.  The race off St Aldhelm’s Head was visibly lumpy off shore but with the slight sea and light wind, sneaking past inshore was easy, exposing us to nothing more than an accelerating current.  The steady progression of cumulus suggested no imminent change.

When it’s calm and sunny the next five miles is hard to do quickly because the cliffs and caves demand attention.  Had there been a swell reflecting off the cliffs we’d have been concentrating on the sea, but it was calm and delighful (again!).  Small parties of guillimots flew out to sea, one led by a solitary puffin.  There didn’t seem to be great interest in exploring caves but most on this stretch seem to be rectangular and man-made.  In one I exited my boat and the group rescued me with a toggle tow then a towed T-rescue; good to remind us of the co-ordination needed to get paddlers back in their boats safely and quickly.  I still hope to see dolphins here and although two pods have been seen this month, feeding on mackeral off Durlston Head, we saw nothing.  After Durlston Head the cliffs taper down to Peveril Point.  As the tide was flooding there was no race and while the others paddled in to Swanage for fish and chips, Malcolm and I stopped at the point for a chat with the Coast Watch volunteers in their lookout.  It’s worth noting that this voluntary force monitor VHF but are not allowed to transmit – mobile phone would be the best way to have a conversation from a boat.  They were welcoming, despite our dripping on their carpet, and explained how they would log the appearance of kayaks and then as we passed out of sight would alert the next Coast Watch station along.  Knowing this it might be worth telling them if you intended to camp…just to avoid any ‘Oh my god, where have they gone?’ reactions when you fail to appear in the next ‘zone’.

After Swanage the cliffs are chalk, culminating in the drama of Old Harry and other towering stacks and unlikely pinnacles at The Foreland.  There was just enough water for us to pick our way over the big white boulders at their feet rather than paddle round the lot…after which we were in Studland Bay, where the main danger is not grounding but  being run over by blind sailors.  I was nearly mown down by a yatch; despite Malcolm’s shouted warning I left it too late and then didn’t dare make a noise for fear of their sudden reaction.  All I can suggest is paddling in compact groups and shouting or blowing a whistle as soon as you think an approaching boat might not have seen you.  Across Studland Bay you can see the green-roofed Sandbanks hotel, a useful landmark at the harbout entrance, a mile away?  The map says it’s three!

As the trip ‘leader’ my most interesting and challenging two minutes of the three days occurred at the harbour entrance.  A fast and choppy tide was running out, exacerbated by the wind and by traffic of all sizes, moving both ways, some under sail.  As we pulled out round the chain ferry that had just arrived on our side, the alarming bulk of a huge cross-channel ferry leaving the harbour bore down on us.  I was suddenly concious that we were the tiniest of many assorted boats in a relatively narrow and rough channel.  We couldn’t pull back into the shelter of the near bank because the tide was running under the stationary chain ferry – just like our regular Thames hazards.   I’d not fully anticipated the combination of factors and by the time I fully realised the hazards, we were committed.  I decided that I just had to lead the way; dropping back would cause confusion.  I had unwittingly added to the dodgy situation by having chosen this section to be trying Malcolm’s ancient, skegless Nordkapp without footrests; an unfamiliar pig to manoeuvre in the wind and turbulent tide.

As we reached calmer water and headed for the nearest landing on Brownsea Island Malcolm voiced his relief to be able to see the side of the huge cross-channel ferry.

After our break the rest of the journey was into a F4 wind, about seven miles from the harbour entrance to our campsite and we landed again after only a couple of miles for another rest; twenty minutes on a couch of short, springy turf in the sunshine out of the wind.  The so-called harbour is a shallow, inland sea with a transition from open water to mud flats and reed beds.  As we neared the mouth of the river Frome extensive reed beds gave welcome shelter from the wind and our surroundings became increasingly intimate in character and scale, with moored boats and occasional jetties and landings until we arrived at Redcliffe Farm and its concrete slipway.

We were weary.  Justin packed up and drove back to his London commitments.  Malcolm and the others drove off to some far away country town for excitement and I cooked a meal and went to sleep under the stars and settling dew.

Sunday 8 June

Not an early start.  Although the forecast was good and the sea slight, Sean decided it was a cycling day, not a paddling day.  So he took Liz’s folding bike and cycled to the cake shop.  Martin was unwell so he took some pills and lay down, leaving Malcolm, Liz and me to go on a gentle ock-hopping tour.  Again we launched from Kimmeridge and paddled close in under the Gad Cliff for Malcolm to take some photos with the digital SLR he’d carried on the front deck for three days in a large Pelicase (bit of an encumberance).  Liz rafted up with him and I held them both in position amongst the rocks, in the wind and gentle tide.  We then paddled to the far end of Worbarrow Bay and landed for lunch at a small unpeopled beach of blindingly white stones.  Although the tide turned against us the early flow was negligible as we wove our way back to Kimmeridge between boulders and pools, reluctant to actually finish the day for our inevitable early evening return to London.

Dover 17 May 2008

Ailien, Nick, David, Pete, Martin, Steve.

This time we managed to paddle the same distance in 5 minutes as Ailien, Chris and I had paddled in 80 minutes on our reconnaissance a month before.  On the reconnaissance we’d judged the south westerly to be a high force 4 (south westerly) and had launched at the bottom of the stepped shingle beach into a lively sea and the teeth of the wind.  In forty minutes we had almost reached the end of the beach where the cliff starts.  The last bit took us another twenty minutes (one hour so far) and then for a further twenty we just held station by the end of the cliff (well we’d come to paddle so we were paddling) before admitting we were not going anywhere.  All this time the wind had been getting stronger and there were more dumping waves so we chose our landing carefully and waited until a bigger than usual set had crashed in.  That was it.  We phoned the harbour master to check the actual wind speed.  He said that at 1200 (when we launched) it had been 31 knots (F7) and at 1600 it was 41 knots (F9); it was impossible to reconcile these figures with our experience so I guess the truth lay somewhere in between.  Our tide planning had been based on my reading of Reed’s Almanac, which gave the beginning of the ebb as High Water Dover –1.5hr.  Subsequent checks revealed two different sources that gave it as HW Dover –2.5 hrs, which explained why we came to a complete halt…the tide had changed an hour before we’d expected it to.

Despite the short trip and the long carry back along the beach we rated the reconnaissance a great success; apart from the spectacularly fine day (sun, blue sky and ridiculous wind and sea) and beautiful scenery (white cliffs, green sea) we’d found a great place to launch, paddled safely in challenging conditions, uncovered a major flaw in our tidal information and had gone on later to find a gem of a campsite.

So, our latest trip:  The plan had been modest; to paddle west from Dover to Mill Point (a mile beyond Folkestone) with the tide and then to paddle back two miles east (against tide, hopefully with the wind) to a place where we’d have left a car, only about 10NM in all.

The forecast was for strong north easterly winds (F5-6, rising to F7 later) but again it seemed more gentle than that, almost disappointingly so.  The sky was grey.  We launched at quarter to three, ahead of plan, and made six knots at first, subsequently slowing to a little over 3 knots as people rock hopped, explored the coast and mucked about.  As you do.  We hadn’t been prepared for the extensive rock gardens that separated and protected the shingle beaches at the foot of the cliffs.  We’d brought helmets but finally most of us had left them in the car, not thinking the conditions warranted them.   At Samphire Hoe (promontory built with spoil from the channel tunnel) we encountered a sea confused by reflections from the vertical steel sea wall, for some this was the pits, for others more fun.

A mile from Folkestone harbour breakwater we came to Copt Point whose low rocky outcrop continues out to sea causing breaking waves…surf!  Before you could shout ‘Aled Williams’ half the group had paddled out and were catching steep waves.  Definitely a venue we should get to know better and certainly one where helmets would make sense.  Pete gave us all a thrill when he went vertical, cart wheel?  Capsize?  Nah.  Just a pop-out thingy.  We continued towards the breakwater and in the current and stronger wind decided to try paddling back the other way before committing ourselves to passing it and possibly being unable to return against tide and wind (sound familiar?).  It was already fairly tough but the wind looked like strengthening and the tide was still not at peak flow.  That was it, we were done; we made our way back to our planned landing.  Two hundred metres from our finish I’d paddled to the beach to speak to a couple of policemen/coastguard(?) whose lurid Range Rover was parked very visibly as they gazed out to sea…I thought some nervous sea watcher might have reported canoeists in difficulties.  ‘Are you here on account of us?’ I asked, ‘Not unless you’re the Royal Navy bomb disposal team’.  Relieved I left them to their unexploded device and we paddled back to our prearranged landing spot at the Warren for a last pint in the Shadwell Arms (tea in group shelter).  The wind at the end seemed to be about F6.

Greater familiarity with the area and better planning would have enabled a longer trip despite the conditions, but for a first trip this wasn’t bad.

This bit of coast has lots to offer and is only 70 miles from London, but as much of the coast is rocky with cliffs and limited beach, landing could be hazardous and very serious under certain conditions.

Watch this space!

Will add photos if anyone sends me some!