I started my last report on my attempted crossing of “Breydon water” by saying “I suppose there comes a time in ones life when” etc.

It seems that I can’t really have meant it, or maybe I did at the time but as time wore on I had simply chose to ignore all my previous failures and go for a crossing in a boat I picked up only hours before this, my most recent attempt.

Working as a yacht broker nowadays I had a boat (an Elysian 27 Broads type cruiser) moored on the Northern Broads at Martham that I needed to sail to our office at Brundall for repair work to be done prior to survey.

This meant crossing Breydon Water. Rather than have the boat transported by road I decided I would sail her and beat my nemesis for the first time. I enlisted the help of my partner (Will’s) brother Steve to accompany and crew with me.

There was banter from the outset from Steve as to whether or not we would make it, I of course laughed this off reassuring him we would be fine. Come the day come the men, after battling a while with flat batteries we eventually got the BMC 1.5 diesel engine started and off we go toward Potter Heigham and it’s infamously low bridge.

On approaching the bridge we dropped the windscreen and I steered for the centre of the arch of the bridge at close to full power to ensure a straight course. (I had seen the river pilots do it so I felt here was my chance to impress Steve).

We were approximately 5 metres from the bridge at full chat when Steve announced that he could not watch and proceeded into a crouching position facing rearward, on seeing this my nerve was tested severely and I closed my eyes. I’m not sure if ones senses are heightened with eyes shut but the grating sound as we passed under said bridge was quite deafening to say the least.

Once the noise had stopped I opened my eyes and things looked promising, we were still afloat, engine running and had not hit any other craft. The damage to the boat was minimal so I felt we had achieved a result already. It did however leave me questioning Steve’s faith in my abilities as a skipper, and my faith in him as a valued crew member rather than a nervous wreck before the fun had really started.

We then had a rather uneventful 3 hour journey to Breydon Water, I say uneventful, I did tend to keep ignoring the warning signs that Steve was continually pointing out to me. You see, every now and then the engine would almost die before picking up again, Steve felt this could be a potential problem given my past attempts to cross Breydon Water, I on the other hand felt sure it was just a character of this ageing craft if she were going to fail us she would have done so by now, based on this assumption I reassured Steve it would be fine.

If I were to be totally honest I was far more concerned with the damage to the hull below the waterline, this was shown to me by a knowledgeable chap who came to look at the boat with me weeks before. Apparently during the recent high winds the boat was being blown against the concrete quay heading, and had rubbed away most of the hull below the chine. I was told this should really be looked at before attempting to move her.

So Steve’s comments regarding the occasional loss of revs really were not a concern to me. I elected not to enlighten Steve of the hull damage and having seen his nerve (or lack of!) at the Potter Heigham bridge I had convinced myself this was a good call on my part.

I was far more concerned with how much water we were taking on especially in view of the fact that the bilge pump did not work. Now I know you may be thinking to yourselves “I can’t believe he is doing this” and in a way I can see your point. But the boat had to be moved quickly, I felt confident in my abilities and I had brought along a high capacity bilge pump in case, so you see I had covered all the possibilities…..or so I thought.

So here we go, safely round the yellow post and on to Breydon Water which I have to say was choppy to say the least! We managed to sink the bow a couple of times in the waves and the thought of the weakened hull told me to ease off the throttle which I did, the revs dropped from 2000 to Zero in the time it took Steve to say “Stop taking the proverbial” I had to laugh.

I cranked the engine with no success whatsoever; we were in a predicament here, (now there’s a surprise) no anchor, no radio and more importantly no idea. As we drifted bouncing on and off the marker posts we eventually settled on the mud. We had the presence of mind to ring 999 and ask for the coastguard. Steve could not believe this had happened, I don’t think anyone in the world has any idea what I was thinking.

It went something like this: I could not believe this! Every time I try to cross Breydon water this happens and I don’t need this was close to what I was both thinking and yelling. I must confess to omitting one or 5 expletives here.

The coastguard came to us in a twin engined rib and towed us 2 miles toward where we had come from!....no I tell a lie, they actually towed us nearer to the sea outlet past where we had come from because there was nowhere nearer that was safe for us to moor. So in fact we were now further from Breydon Water and our desired destination.

After the tow the coastguard tied us to a 10 ft high wall and off they went leaving us to fend for ourselves, fair enough I suppose except we had unknowingly chosen the worst night possible to be moored at Yarmouth due to tides, winds, the moon phase and just about everything else a sailor curses.

I then changed the primary fuel filter as I was sure that it was being tossed about on Breydon that had caused the pump to suck through sediment from the tank that would normally lie there for years on still waters and make no difference. On changing said filter the engine started and I suggested to Steve that we go for it again, and so we did! I now had renewed confidence and even managed to persuade Steve we would make it across before dark.

I’m not sure if it were 10 feet or 10 inches further this time before we broke down again, anyway we are pretty close to the spot were we had broken down 2 hours previously.

Neither of us really wanted to call 999 and ask for the coastguard again but one of us had to, so I did. He asked if we were the same people that had broken down 2 hours ago?...........yes it was us was the sheepish reply…..

Again the coastguard turned up in the rib (an apt description given the verbal abuse we received from them). And guess what? .they towed us back in the wrong direction yet again. To the place we just left for the second time. ..But I have to say that this time the trip was far more spectacular.

As we approached the now 18ft high wall (due to ebbing tides) we managed (due mainly to the coastguard pilot’s skills) to bounce off 2 fishing boats causing damage to all 3 of us, it just gets better by the minute does it not? At this point we decided our day was over and moored alongside one of the fishing vessels.

The coastguard skipper asked if we were going to have another go so he needn’t go back to work only to be called out for a 3^rd time, I assured him that even I had had enough for one day and we would not try again until the following day.

As an act of courtesy (which, by the way I must stop doing) I asked the coastguard if he could find the owners details of the boat we had moored alongside to make sure he was not going out fishing early the next morning and to ask permission to raft alongside for the evening. He duly did so, I duly rang, obtained permission so we secured the boats and set fenders preparing for the storm that was due that evening.

As we finally scaled the wall in the dark cold night along with sleeting rain we were about to leave the scene we were approached by some irate idiot shouting we could not moor there as the boat was going out in the morning and the ropes would not take the strain of our boat due to the forecasted bad nights weather.

Picture the scene, it is pissing down with sleeting February rain, we are very wet, we are very cold and we are very, very pissed off.

I suggested he was talking nonsense so far as I was concerned and that we would not be moving our boat as I had spoken with the owner and sought permission and on that basis he could go away! (Again I may have substituted “go away” for the term I may have actually used). He explained I had actually spoken with his father, and that he was the owner and that we would not be mooring there! And on that basis we could both “go away” (he may have used a similar term to the one I used in previous sentence) Can you believe it!

Decision time..

option 1) Carry on and walk off and ignore him, yep that’s favourite but he seemed the type to cut our lines and walk off himself or (Please note; the word “walk” is a substitute for the actual word used)

option 2) Ask if he had any bright ideas…ok we’ll go for that!.....in fairness it seemed he did, he loaned us some rope and fenders and we moored the boat astern of him with his help, he asked that when we went the next day to leave the rope and fenders in a place we agreed. At 8.30 that evening I made it home in the car, thank God!

All evening I spent pondering on our best plan for the following day, 2 new fuel filters, fully charged batteries, food, water etc.

Fully refreshed and with a renewed determination and cool about me I met the not so sure Steve at 9 am on the Quay in Yarmouth. The evenings storm had only ripped out a stern cleat and smashed another chunk out of the portside transom so that was ok! It was still afloat and that in itself was a major triumph by yesterdays standards.

I was in the engine bay changing the secondary fuel filter when another idiot approached me asking if we were responsible for the boat and if we were planning to move it. Just what I needed, I remained calm and answered yes to both counts. As it happens the chap turned out to be extremely helpful and loaned me a battery to get our boat started.

He also gave us a spare fuel filter just in case and stuck around until we had managed to get the engine started again. I paid him for his time and trouble which turned out to be a very wise move on my part.

I say this because he volunteered to follow us across Breydon Water to ensure we made it. (Not a very wise move on his part) I reckon he had heard how sweet the engine was running and felt this would be money for nothing, He now knows this was not to be the case.

Ok, so here we go again, everything looking and sounding fine, the weather was a lot calmer and no white caps on Breydon, and an escort to boot, I remember saying to Steve “Now this guy is seeing us across you can bet your life we’ll sail all the way with no problems” I’m rather glad Steve elected not to take the bet.

So off we go, and I have to say we must have travelled at least 50 foot further this time past the previous day’s breakdown points before the engine died.

The chap who was escorting us was chugging along merrily in front of us for at least a mile before he realised we were no longer a part of his convoy, that in fact he had been a solo convoy for the past 20 mins. Eventually the bow of his boat began to turn we established that he was now heading back in our direction.

Steve was getting rather alarmed at the fact we were once again drifting on to the sand banks only inches from some old wooden groins that were about to puncture the hull, I remained seated with my head in my hands praying I may wake up soon.

When the chap arrived back where we were, we need ropes to organise a tow (you see I blame myself here for thinking we were going to make it across under our own steam, I really should have had all this sorted out ready for the inevitable breakdown)

It was at this point where I could no longer understand a word of what the kind chap in the fishing boat was saying, I was on the bow of our boat and he seemed to keep sailing past me shouting and gesticulating. After 3 or 4 passes I was no nearer to understanding him, this in turn got me angry and I went inside the cockpit of our stricken craft.

Steve asked me what was happening and I had to be very honest in my reply and said “I have no fucking idea” I explained that I could not understand a word he was saying nor could I decipher any of his hand gestures. I intimated that as he was a “good old Norfolk Boy” Steve may stand more of a chance as regards any further communication.

Steve did his best and seems to feel that he was asking us to throw him a rope, I’m felt glad I couldn’t understand him as rope was one of the many things of which we had none.

The next quarter of an hour or so was almost surreal, I kept seeing this fishing boat circling us with it’s skipper keep disappearing from the helm to various positions on his boat.

I did not want to ask Steve but I felt I had to, I said “Do we have any idea whatsoever of what the **** he’s doing? It appears Steve was as confused as I was. It turned out that he had no stern cleat on which to fasten a rope, so he was tying a system of ropes all over his boat in order to rig up a tow line.

Now I mean no disrespect to fishermen but having seeing some of the over elaborate knots and net rigs they use it is no wonder the system this guy rigged up stood along the seven wonders of the world, in fact I’m sure even the late great Brunnell would have been proud this mans rope work.

I digress, and as soon as the load from our boat was felt, the rope snapped, you just couldn’t make it up.

Eventually we were underway and I was getting a little bored so decided to turn the ignition key, of course our boat busts into life so we decided to help the fisherman by driving forwards ourselves. (I can imagine him feeling really proud of his little boat pulling a 27ft cruiser against the tide with no effort, had he looked back he would have noticed the rope was slack all the way!)

However we were very grateful when we finally got to the other end of Breydon and moored up safe but by no means sound!

Once clear of Breydon water the cruiser ran us all the way to Brundall and never missed a beat, not much of an ending but I’m sure that in time the scars will heal, as for Steve I haven’t seen him since?