I should have stayed in Ramsey overnight. At least I was moored safely. I looked at the position of the sun in the sky and decided to take a chance on trying to get to Benwick. This was one of my more optimistic and stupid ideas. I was losing the light and had no prospect of reaching the public mooring at Benwick before dark, so I began to search out a wild mooring spot. I had passed several potential places on the way, but this was becoming a matter of considerable urgency. The wind was also picking up, which is never a good thing. Given a choice and wind direction I’d have probably moored with the port side of the boat to the bank, but the reeds were too dense and the bank of the Old Nene was dangerously steep. I found a place that looked a bit safer on my side of the river and thought I’d be able to pull in close enough to disembark. Unfortunately I couldn’t get as close as I would have liked. The wind was also blowing me away from the bank, so if I was going to moor I'd have to do it quickly. I threw ropes, club hammer and mooring pins on to the bank and, having committed myself to the enterprise I had to go through with it. It felt dangerous, actually it was dangerous, and I restated my promise to myself to give up wild mooring. I used my rapidly diminishing energy to pull the boat in as tight to the bank as I could and staked the centre rope high up on the bank. It had to be the centre line, because had I staked the bow or stern lines first the boat would definitely have been torn away and swung across the river at the opposite end. Having secured the centre as best I could I pulled the stern in as far as possible, because this looked like the position that would get closest to the bank. Then I just pulled the bow rope in tightly and hammered in the stake. With the boat staked fore, centre and aft I felt that was the best I could achieve under these conditions. I was not confident the pins would hold, but I had to get back on to the boat. Feeling very carefully with one foot at a time I edged my way down the bank trying to avoid sliding into the water and finding another submerged stake to embed into my leg. I still bear the scars and some residual soreness from where I'd slipped off the gangplank at Stonea two or three years ago and had no wish to repeat that experience. There were still too many reeds and nettles obscuring the land or water that lay beneath, but my shuffling found what felt like the edge of the bank at a point where the boat was closest to the bank. There was still far too much water between the bank and my boat for my liking, but for the second time on this trip I had to employ a leap of faith and try to get one foot on the narrow gunwale while I scrabbled to grab the tiny edge where the side of the cabin meet the roof. I have regretted many times the lack of a grab rail on my boat and this was certainly one of them. The gunwale was above my starting point on the bank so I was actually leaping out and upwards. I launched myself at the boat and it was scary for sure. I don’t quite know how I made it back on to boat and remained dry and kept my leg bones and ribs intact. I’m just relieved my legs are long. I edged my way along the gunwale to the stern end, which was the closest end, negotiating the ropes that formed an obstacle, but which were the only things stopping me being blown out into the river. Exhausted, I closed the stern doors against the wind. I really should have stayed the night at Ramsey.
Supper that night was simple and quick. I climbed into bed under two duvets and slept for a couple of hours. After that I had very little sleep going over the options and likely consequences of making a wrong decision. When dawn began to light up the sky I found myself avoiding going back outside to assess how I’m going to retrieve my ropes, pins and club hammer without falling in or losing the pins and/or hammer and/or boat. Breakfast first I decided. That was just a banana, some orange juice and my morning dose of tablets.
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| It was difficult to tell where the bank started under these reeds |
Fortunately the wind had dropped a bit by the morning and daylight made the whole proposition look a lot less frightening. I released the mooring ropes, starting at the bow and threw the first two mooring pins and club hammer into the well deck. The boat was staying put, but would move the moment I repeated the leap of faith, which this time I had to do with the final mooring pin in my hand. Once again I made it and thanked my parents for bequeathing me long legs. At least now I was back on the boat I could crawl along the roof to put the ropes where I needed them to be.
I decided to get to Benwick and, hoping no one else was already there, was going to moor securely and take my time over a very leisurely breakfast, sitting on the bench on solid ground at the village mooring with the boat tied securely and tightly to the mooring. About five minutes after setting off I passed a tree on the opposite bank. Had I known it would have been a safer anchorage than leaping on and off the boat in twilight. Tying up to the tree would have been easier given that the wind would also be holding me in place - oh well. Fortunately the mooring at Benwick was indeed unoccupied and I was at last able to breathe properly and release all the tension that had built up over the preceding twelve hours.
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| This is what a proper mooring looks like! |
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