Whitby to Who Knows Where

Whitby to Who Knows Where: A Journey of Unexpected Turns!

Our morning in Whitby began with a relaxed pace, preparing for an 11:30 am swing bridge opening. However, it was Nick's turn to feel a bit under the weather, achy and sensing a cold coming on. The morning weather wasn't ideal, but the forecast promised improvement later in the day. Our initial check suggested the rain would cease by 10:30 am. Tracey began stowing everything to ready the boat for sea, while Nick retreated to bed for a bit. The question lingered: would we actually leave today? At 10:30 am, the rain persisted, and Nick was only just stirring. It was a dilemma, but Tracey was ready to move on.

Once Nick saw the boat was largely prepared, he found new motivation, perhaps not wanting to hold Tracey back. Nick got up, and together we packed away the cockpit tent and donned our full foul weather gear. The updated forecast now extended the rain until 11:30 am, not ideal, but we pressed on. We headed to the marina office to settle up, but it was empty. A minor panic set in: could we leave without paying, or would we be stopped at the bridge? We continued our preparations. Tracey made another attempt at the office – still no one. Other boats also gearing up for the 11:30 am bridge seemed to be waiting for us, even though they could have departed independently. Suddenly, the pressure mounted. With no time for further contemplation, we cast off, turned the boat around, and headed for the bridge. Four boats were departing: three heading south, and just us going north.

A Change of Course and a Surprise Squall

As predicted, the rain stopped the moment we cleared the bridge, and the wind began to ease as we left Whitby. However, with the tide against us and the wind, predictably, still on the nose, we quickly realized that making Hartlepool was unlikely. Nick tried increasing the engine's revs, but it made little difference to our speed. We agreed that Sunderland was the better option, and with the increased time on our side, a sense of calm returned, despite the prospect of a longer day than initially hoped.

Heading north from Whitby, saw a dramatic increase in the amount of fishing buoys. We were no longer playing dodgems; this was a full-on game of fishing buoy battleships. Tracey took the helm, picking her way through the minefield of buoys.

We hoisted the sails and cut the engine. Our change of course now brought the wind to a more favorable direction, allowing us to truly enjoy the sail without the pressure of a tight schedule. The sun broke through, tunes played, and we settled into a comfortable rhythm, enjoying the simple pleasure of sailing. When the wind eventually dropped, so did our speed, slowing to just 1.4 knots. We even managed to create a video documenting our unexpected change of plans for Facebook.

But just as we'd settled in, a colossal storm cloud appeared on the horizon. It looked distant, and Nick altered our course, hoping to skirt its edge. A few minutes later, fierce gusts announced its arrival, the sky darkening ominously. The wind gauges soared to 30 knots – a brutal surprise not in the forecast!

Immediate action was required. The boat heeled dramatically, her starboard gunwale kissing the water. It was time to reef, a decision we'd perhaps delayed a little too long. We quickly furled the headsail to reduce our canvas. Tracey then took the helm, steadying the boat while Nick efficiently worked the lines to put in not just one reef, but two. The boat bucked and rolled violently, and we found ourselves pushed off course. We wrestled with Halcyon Sea, bringing her back onto our desired track as the wind continued to shift. This was a stark contrast to the easy sailing of just fifteen minutes prior. We were acutely reminded of nature's formidable power.

Despite the chaos, we persevered. We successfully navigated around the back of the storm, which began to dissipate southwards. Ahead, milder seas and the reappearance of the sun offered a renewed sense of calm. We settled back into the rhythm, pushing towards our new destination.

Sunderland Marina had advised us that entry was only possible before 7 pm or after 8 pm due to tidal constraints. Nick had recalculated our ETA, aiming for an 8 pm arrival. Tracey harboured a slight unease, preferring to wait a little longer for a more generous water depth, but Nick's assurance prevailed. We spotted the harbour entrance, carefully running our course adjacent to it to avoid surrounding rocks before finally pointing Halcyon Sea's bow inwards. Strangely, there were no visible masts or clear signs of a marina. We nudged cautiously into the River Wear, and then we saw it: a tall green and yellow post. The entrance was incredibly narrow, a tight squeeze between the posts. It was just past 8 pm, and the only thought was to get in without incident.

Slowly, very slowly, we inched between the posts. With only 0.4meters underneath our keel we were nervous. Our designated berth, D17, was supposedly straight ahead, but the marina seemed filled with much smaller fishing vessels. A flicker of concern crossed Tracey's mind. D17, the only double berth available, had notably short pontoons. It turned out Sunderland Marina's maximum length is 40 feet, putting us right at the limit. Very carefully, Nick eased Halcyon Sea into the berth, our mast standing significantly taller than any other. It had been a day of diverse challenges, a firm reminder of the need for constant vigilance at sea.

Once the boat was secured, Tracey led Pepper to the nearby beach we'd spotted on our approach. It was Pepper's second time on sand, and with no other dogs in sight, she unleashed a joyful explosion of energy, running in circles and enthusiastically sniffing everything in sight. She's a true joy to have along, and watching her discover the world is a blessing. After a pasta and sauce supper that Nick prepared whilst Tracey was out, we called it a day. We will sit here whilst the next weather front passes and hope to move on again early next week.Read more