Green Wyvern Yachting Club
Private cruises often turn out to be quite large gatherings of Green Wyvern Yachts. Margaret has, over the years, reported extensively on these enjoyable alternatives. This is an account of one such cruise in 1990.
The plan was Somerleyton. We thought Beccles would be pleasant too, and maybe even a lunchtime jaunt to Geldeston.
The reality was Beauchamp: lured there by Corsair. However, the sun was out, the wind in the east and the journey enjoyed. On arrival, Joe was observed doing a perfect middle-of-the -river mooring, but his crew were handy with the 'Jesus-lines'. After a convivial lunch, Corsair returned to Reedham and Wisp tacked gently to Langley, where she moored outside Sparklet; the theory being that she would not go aground there.
On Sunday we awoke to a howling gale. After breakfast of garlic-flavoured bacon butties, we strolled to the end of the dyke to deliberate. We then put three reefs in and went to the pub. Wisp was also aground, but this had nothing to do with our decision.
The wind seemed to have dropped a little after lunch (doesn't it always?) so we blew up against the tide to Brundall to await the arrival of John and Jane. They appeared at 10.00 p.m. and then had the nerve to complain that they only had thirty minutes left for a drink.
We thought Reedham would be the place for lunch on Monday, followed by Berney in the evening. However, it was still blowing half a gale from the east so the three reefs stayed in. The tack down Train Reach was slow and fitful (Denis had the fits!) but once out of the trees . . . Wow! The bank was attained at Beauchamp to cries of, 'We wouldn't set sail in this!' as the rigging whistled. There seemed little else to do but retire to the pub.
Our quiet drink was interrupted when a motor cruiser, choosing to ignore acres of empty mooring, rammed Wisp. Denis set off at a pace that impressed the landlord and was later observed by the entire pub population standing on the bank waving his fist at the rapidly disappearing cruiser. After lunch the fleet slept the afternoon away, in order to emerge refreshed to visit the pub again.
Tuesday dawned calm enough to persuade us to shake all the reefs out. Three reaches downstream it became apparent that this has been 'a Bad Move'. Thoughts of stopping to reef crossed our minds. At this moment the boat came forcefully to rest at an angle of forty five degrees. We were in the river, not the bay . . . honest! The sails were lowered and two reefs put in. The wind gusted and we put in the third reef. We admired the view. After forty-five minutes, Wisp now vertical, we thought of trying to get off.
The manoeuvre was greatly aided by a passing 'Gin Palace'. He seemed initially surprised at the amount of resistance, but pulled Wisp off superbly. We felt much better half an hour later when, looking behind, observed Puck's stationary mast in the same place.
They had to be towed off too and were glad to learn later that we had been towed off the same mud-bank. John was not so pleased when, stuck in a wind-hole at Cantley Ferry House, we shook out the third reef and vanished. Puck had been reefed in one lump so their lunchtime drink was much shorter than ours.
We eventually reached Berney, shaking out the remaining reefs as evening fell, and admiring a marsh harrier in close-up on the way. Another convivial evening was had, but John and Jayne were stopped by Robert as they left the pub. A comment was passed because they were leaving before closing time! Great was the astonishment when John learned that Wisp's crew had left half an hour earlier. This early departure did owe a lot to the wining and dining of the fleet on Wisp earlier . . . not to mention the pre-prandial gins.
Wednesday morning produced enough wind to persuade us to put in one reef. Our plan was to have lunch 'somewhere' and then go to Langley to await the arrival of Sparklet's crew the following day. Puck went to Langley for lunch, however, so it seemed only polite to join them.
After a cracking sail, a pleasant lunchtime was had before strolling back to the boats. At this point, a man idling in the sunshine with his dog and grandchildren, was startled by a cry, '. . . that's a b----- !' He was then berated for hitting Wisp and running away. His first response was, 'Where are you moored?' which led us to believe he made a habit of ramming boats. His excuse for trying to moor was that his dog need a pee! He concluded by asking how we'd got our 'sailing-boat' to Langley from Beauchamp and offered to buy a drink. 'Too late!' came the cry.
Puck left to return to Brundall and we were in time to see Sparklet being moved out of Langley to avoid being tide-bound the following morning. We decided to move Wisp as well and off we went to . . . yes . . . Beauchamp. Being aware of the tides (we were getting very well acquainted with conditions on the Yare by now), Wisp left at 9.00 a.m. the following morning to tack with the tide to Reedham Ferry, where we arrived at 10.45 a.m. just as the tide was slackening. Sparklet, without benefit of tide, took a lot longer and only just arrived in time for a drink. We did observe Stella tearing up river with wind, tide and full sail and, at that point, decided that their plan of action was better than Sparklet's: we were fed up sailing against the tide.
So, with our one reef still in from the previous day, we blew all the way to Brundall, surprising Stella, whose crew were under the impression that we were going to Berney Arms . . . because that's what we'd told them! Our change of mind had nothing to do with a fear of what Robert would say about our previous early departure. We were rapidly overhauled on our way upriver by Joy who had everything up, including topsail, and was going fast but superbly in control. Blue Jacket also passed us, but slow enough for a conversation to take place.
The Duffs seemed impressed by our perfect mooring. We did reveal that we had practised the same manoeuvre, under the same conditions and in the same place, only four days previously.
On Friday we awoke to rain and the wind a-howling in the rigging; this in the shelter of Broom's. We returned to sleep. After a gentle morning spent visiting on Stella, where old yarns were recounted, including the tale of Wisp's Chinese gybe earlier in the year, we adjourned to The Yare Hotel . . . only because it was warm and dry, you understand. After lunch we shook out our reef and tacked against the tide (again) in a falling breeze to you-know-where (again). Chris, by this time, seemed to be getting used to seeing us on alternate days.
Saturday morning saw enough breeze to prompt us to put in one reef; a procedure we had got down to five minutes by now. We watched Stella leave for Somerleyton, being greatly interested to hear Tim's instruction to Emma of 'Helm, for'ard!' We are still wondering what he had in mind.
One and a half hours later we were back at Reedham Dyke watching the railwaymen swinging the bridge, apparently just for their own pleasure. Obviously they were enjoying its newly mended state.
All in all, a quiet but pleasant week, with plenty of company. If we never did get off the Yare, at least we didn't have to worry about lowering and raising the mast, and no doubt Beccles will still be there next year.