Leaving Hartlepool, we weren’t particularly looking forward to the next passage.  We knew we would have limited options for shelter until reaching Great Yarmouth: the anchorages available were all more-or-less exposed to wind and swell and the harbours (those that had sufficient water at all) were accessible only close to high water.  The forecast showed strong wind interspersed with flat calm and of course the nights have become longer and the temperatures colder.  It all added up to a general sense of foreboding.

We stayed in Hartlepool an extra day to allow one set of strong winds to blow through and left our berth at 5 am to catch the high water.  On the way in to the marina, on a falling tide, we had been a little lucky to arrive 2 hours before the time the marina staff told us would be the latest we could enter.  If we had left it any later we would have grounded in the entrance.  We suspect that not all the staff understand the calculation of the depth of water needed for safe passage given the charted height of mud in the entrance and the depth of your keel.  (Not that this is any more complicated than it sounds.)

We had a good run during the day and anchored overnight in Filey Bay which, though pretty exposed, was not as bad as some (i.e. we were able to get a bit of sleep).  Then another early start to make sure of rounding Flamborough Head before the tide turned at 9 am.  We were blessed with good wind and made decent progress with our tour of North Sea energy producing facilities: oil and gas platforms, and many wind farms do at least give you something to look at, as well as being useful navigation marks.

At 7 pm the wind dropped and we found ourselves motionless, equidistant from the Humber and north Norfolk, 30 miles from land in either direction, with not much in sight and night about to fall.  It seemed a good time for dinner as we flopped around, drifting on the tide for two miles whilst we ate.  A group of harbour seals came out to see what we were up to.  But within an hour the wind picked up from a different direction and the seals patiently sat at the stern watching, in apparent amusement, our attempts to launch the cruising chute.  Night fell, and we had the most amazing glimpse of the Milky Way through a brief gap in the clouds.  We started to think we might get away with an easy passage.

Spoke too soon… as we closed on the coast of north Norfolk, shipping seemed to converge on us from all sides.  At one point there were 7 boats coming at us from 3 directions, at speeds up to 14 knots.  No idea if any of them had seen us.  Eeek!  Brief evasive action needed: as a gap opened up between the traffic, we scuttled into it before resuming our course.

Things didn’t quieten down even when we reached the channel inside the sandbanks that runs down the coast.  We expected to have this to ourselves but some surprisingly large traffic was tramping up and down it, added to which the wind suddenly picked up to fearsome levels.  Helen was woken from a comfortable snooze on the floor of the saloon by sliding from one side of it to the other.  We were still under full sail.  Charging downwind in a narrow channel, in poor visibility, with lots of other boats about was not Helen’s ideal scenario, although Alex thought it was making life more interesting.  Brought the mainsail down completely, never mind reefing, plenty of power with just the jib.  For once we were grateful for the adverse tide that would slow our progress towards the tricky narrow section ahead until daylight.

The entrance to the Yare is straightforward and, as the river is narrow and the tidal flows strong, all movements are coordinated by Port Control through the VHF.  No complicated marina to negotiate this time, just a matter of tying up to the wall of the town quay.  This is a manoeuvre we are not very familiar with so we were employing the best traditions of “making it up as we went along”.  Alex didn’t particularly enjoy bringing the boat alongside the wall, as the strong current was rapidly dragging the boat up river towards the Haven bridge.  Holding the boat alongside while putting out lines was rather stressful, particularly as (for some reason) the current was pushing us away from the wall.  The investment in those large fenders, and months of aggravation of getting them all in and out of the cockpit locker every time we berth suddenly repaid with interest.  Organising the warps to allow for a 2-3m of rise-and-fall took a fair bit of experimentation too.  Still, we were eventually tied up snugly and delighted to find out from Google maps that there was a crazy golf course within half a mile.