Of Another Scary Journey

 I'd survived so far, but still needed fuel. It was just over an hour to get to the boat yard where I could fill up. The journey was pretty uneventful after Benwick. There is one notoriously low bridge at White Fen Farm, but even with a breeze it wasn't much of a concern.

I pulled into the marina and headed for the diesel pump. I was again pleased to see that there was nothing already on the mooring by the pump. I don't much like tying up to someone else's boat, specially if I can't speak to the owner to ask if they mind, and it's a relief not having to bother. 

The wind seemed to be picking up as I left the mooring to wind round in the residential part of the marina. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned before how this marina appears to develop its own micro-weather systems. This is usually in the form of a wind strong enough to blow the boat against the homes of the residents. I've got myself into trouble on several occasions over the years. The slightest imprecision is mocked mercilessly and rewarded with the fear that sweeps in quickly when an impending disaster is looming. As I've gained experience I'm not so much worried about hitting other boats as I am crashing into the sides of the narrow channel under a footbridge across the marina. I like to line myself up to do it in one manoeuvre, but sometimes the wind pushes me too far in one direction and I have to reverse and take another run at it. Reversing exposes me to the whims of the wind and there is often one boat moored very close to the bridge and the panic begins to stir again. This was one of those times and evidence that the wind was revving up for another bit of fun. The turn out of the marina is a sharp one and with the line of boats moored up outside reducing visibility one has to edge out in hope that nothing is coming along the river too quickly to evade collision. I've never hit anyone at that point, but it has been close at times. It being the end of October, there was little likelihood of that happening. I'd been out on the river for three or four days and hadn't actually seen another vessel moving during that time. 

Under the road bridge and I'm on to the stretch of river through the centre of March that is protected from the wind on both sides. I pulled up on to the town mooring for a comfort break, to check the boat over, head into town for a few provisions, to prepare some food to nibble for the next part of the journey and fill a bottle with water to sip. I thought it would be pleasant while the going is good to get as far as Outwell Basin. From there I could call in and visit a friend. I could decide whether to take a further trip down to the edge of the Middle Level navigation at Salters Lode. This would add at least another couple of days on to my journey and turn it into a reasonable few days away, albeit one that had not been without event.

Heading towards the railway bridge over the river that marks the edge of the town I was reminded of the year before when I had made this journey. During covid lockdowns in 2020 the reeds and weeds had been allowed to take over. I had to free the prop several times on the stretch of water as I approached the bridge. I hoped the weedcutters had been out and made the river more boat friendly.

Approaching last year's disaster area

As it happened I need not have been anxious. I cruised through without any issues and was soon past the last of the moored boats and back on to open river. Of course, open river, means open to the weather and what I had not realised was that the wind had indeed picked up a lot more than I thought. I should have thought to consult the weather charts before setting off. An extra night in March, or even Benwick, would not have caused me any problem. Had I consulted the forecasts I might have noticed that winds gusting up to 50mph were a possibility.

Captain Marsh on open water at last

Now the wind was really picking up again

Euphoria, over-confidence, relief and stupidity make for a a heady mixture. I cruised past my home mooring determined to get to Outwell and some friendly company. I arrived at Marmont Priory Lock and it was, as usual, set against me. I chugged up against the lower lock landing with the centre rope in hand. I've performed this manoeuvre many times and didn't foresee any likely problems. However, even though I knew the little basin at the lower entrance to the lock often has its own wind system too, I had not anticipated that stepping off the boat would see the wind gust so hard as to threaten to tug the boat out and across the river before I could tie it up at either end. Simply put I could not hang on to it at all. I was being dragged towards the river. I had to get back on to the boat at all costs. I grabbed at the stern rope and pulled the back end in far enough so that I could at least get back on board. In the meantime the wind had pushed the bow right out across the river and into a shallow zone where I knew I could be grounded. I could not steer the boat in reverse, the wind does that! The intentions of myself and the wind were often at odds. My only choice was to reverse the boat away from the bank. The further I got the stern end out into the river the harder the wind blew the bow round the wrong way. At this rate I was going to end up jammed between the two banks. I had to bring the stern back into shallow water and try not to ground the boat along its entire length. Eventually I was stuck against the far bank. There was no prospect of getting to Outwell. The wind would undoubtedly be even fiercer if I tried to tie up at the upper lock landing. I needed to get to a place where the river was wide enough for me to wind the boat round. I had to pole myself away from the bank and in a moment of reprise from the worst of the wind refloat the boat. From there by shunting in reverse for a couple of metres and correcting the heading with a burst of forward gear and back into reverse again before I lost too much of the distance I had gained I gradually reached a spot where I judged the river to be slightly more than the 15.3 metres I needed to swing the boat round. That whole manoeuvre took me about two and a half hours and I was exhausted by the time I had turned the boat round. I headed back for my home mooring and hoped I would be able to tie the boat up without further incident.