Heigham Sound is a large expanse of water at the best of times but in the winter it seems huge. The reeds that mark the separation from Duck Broad have almost disappeared and as you leave Candle Dyke you enter an expanse of water that must be half a mile wide. Today it was entirely paved with geese. Duck Broad itself is one of the areas set aside as a wildfowl refuge during the winter months (Horsey Mere is another, and parts of Hickling). But no one seems to have told the wildlife.  The flock ahead of me stretched from Duck Broad across the channel and to the far side of the Sound.  As I approached I expected the birds in the channel to fly off  but the effect of my arrival was much more dramatic. As soon as the first goose took to the wing the entire flock was on the move. A slight breeze was following me down the Sound so to get airborne they had to head in my direction. Suddenly the world was whirl of crying geese lifting off the water in formation and filling the sky around the boat. It was breathtaking.  The cormorants lined up on the channel markers got caught up in the excitement and flew off low over the water.

I motored down to the far end of the Sound and then turned and pottered very slowly back to the mooring. First time on the water this year. And already something to celebrate.

With the boat out of the water since mid November we decided to drive out to Potter Heigham and walk the path along Middle Wall that leads to Heigham Sound.  We’d no sooner locked the car than we discovered a sign saying the path along the Sound was closed for flood alleviation work.  From the Broads Authority map it still looked possible to get as far as Candle Dyke so we set off along the arrow-straight path with grazing marsh on both sides. By High’s Mill we took a diversion to see if we could get a look at the old mill cottage which was for sale. An idyllic situation surrounded by water – the river Thurne to the south and drainage ditches everywhere else.

We retraced our steps and headed out further along the track only to discover that the boat wasn’t out of the water at all but was sitting quietly on her mooring on the opposite bank. The boat yard has a pretty relaxed style so part of me wasn’t even surprised. It explained why I hadn’t been billed for the lift-out. I suppose I now have to decide whether to leave her where she is or haul her out and take up my brother’s offer of his gel-coat polishing skills.

At the far end of Middle Wall where it reaches Candle Dyke we put up a bittern – my first.  We’ve heard them booming on several occasions but never managed to see one.  Most pictures show them hiding in reed beds, not in flight but I reasoned it couldn’t really be anything else. The wings were longer, thinner and more pointed than I expected but when we got home I found a You Tube video of a flying bittern that was exactly what we’d seen.

I enjoyed the walk. But if we’d know we were still afloat it would have been a sail

These boats, shaped by the shallow waters and narrow rivers of the Broads,  carry a huge area of sail for their hull size.  These are the white sails you see everywhere in the flat landscape apparently moving through marshland grazing and green fields. As they pulled alongside we had a fine demonstration of her superiority in these conditions.She overhauled us as if we were standing still.  The wind had picked up a little but it can’t have been blowing any more than Force 2/3. Even so, with her narrow freeboard her deck dipped into the water as she pulled away.

I wanted to stand up and cheer.

This gives us a 2011 honey harvest of 396 lbs.  You could have a reasonable bath in that.

We left again at 1.45 just as the sun came out. By now the tide was with us though the breeze had dropped away to almost nothing. Still we were able to get the sails up and kill the engine. For an hour and a half we drifted slowly downstream. It was difficult to manoveur without much in the way of a breeze and after we touched the bottom at the end of a tack and the spring tide swung us through 360 degrees we fired up the engine again and got the sails down.

As we approached the Yacht Station in Yarmouth things were starting to get interesting. The ebb was running strongly under us and we had to tie up and wait a couple of hours for things to quieten down.  There was a drop of a good six or seven feet from the quay heading to the water but fortunately there were two cycling quay rangers on hand to take the ropes.  All I had to do was spin her round and come in against the tide. We were already moving quickly.  I swung the tiller hard over and as she came round we were swept sideways downstream towards the first of the bridges. I worked the engine hard in forward, hard in reverse and somehow managed to get her facing back the way we’d come. With the throttle fully open we crept forward agains the flow and squeezed into the gap where the rangers were waiting.

The tides in Yarmouth have to be taken seriously.  It’s not just the Bure that flows into town. Both the Waveney and the Yare empty into the vast inland estuary of Breydon Water. The flow from Breydon meets the flow from the Bure and funnels out to sea.  Timing is important. Slack water passage time was 17.44.  Fortunately things had calmed down by then, so mast down for the third time in one day we left the yacht station and headed for the first of the bridges.

Yarmouth - leaving the yacht station

The fresh water on the surface was still ebbing but the flood had already begun with the salt water underneath. So things weren’t entirely calm.

Yarmouth - the road bridge

We passed under the road bridge and the disused Vauxhall railway arch.

Vaxhall Bridge

At this point it was turn to port for the sea or to starboard for Breydon. We went for Breydon.

First sight of the Breydon Lifting Bridge

We turned round the channel marker and headed for the lifting bridge.

The Lifting Bridge

The boat suddenly seemed very small. A few minutes later we passed under the starboard span and Breydon opened in front of us.

We’d been warned the channel was narrow, but it didn’t seem that way to us. The Thurne was narrow, Meadow Dyke was narrow but this was something else. For the first time it really felt we were in open water. This was at low tide. At full flood Breydon is two or three times as broad.

Breydon Water

There was little other traffic about and for the first five or ten minutes we were stunned into inactivity.

Breydon

The wind was still on the nose. But motoring here was ridiculous.  We hauled up the sails and switched off the little Yanmar. And suddenly everything changed. Freed from the confines of the narrow streams of the northern broads the boat came to life. This was a different kind of sailing altogether. For an exhilarating hour we tacked the length of the channel and made our way to the far end where the Waveney and the Yare meet. A few other yachts were plugging their way across under engine but we easily avoided them. The plan was to moor up at the Berney Arms mill but when we got there the place was a forest of masts. Apparently it was the day of the Breydon Regatta and the mooring – and the pub – was packed. Fortunately a gent took pity on us and moved his splendid looking classic cruiser and classic yacht to allow us to squeeze on the end.  It was 7.15 when we broke open the beer and watched the sun slowly disappear behind the bank.

Berney Arms

A meal on board. A brandy in the pub and then back to bed at the end of a good day.

I woke in the early hours. Something didn’t feel right. I stuck my head outside to find the boat hung up on her moorings. We’d assumed the night before we were close to low water but we’d miscalculated.  I scrambled out and managed to release the warps. Gypsy Roma settled back onto an even keel but proved impossible to move. I assumed she was on the bottom. There was nothing else I could do, so crept back on board and went back to sleep. By morning she was afloat, gently nudging the bank.

After the excitement of Breydon the next day and a half was a bit of an anticlimax. The wind was being uncooperative, blowing straight at us, then fluking and dying, and changing direction. We managed to sail some of the way but the engine had a great deal of work as we made our way up the Waveney.  We found a quiet mooring at North Cove for our second night and on day three after yet another attempt to find some wind, motored on to Beccles.

The town itself looks lovely from the water, but our borrowed mooring, when we reached it was obviously going to be a challenge. A classic gentleman’s launch at one end and the rowing club pontoon at the other made the approach difficult. We’d also had to lift our keel because at low tide we were going to be sitting on the bottom so after a couple of failed attempts  I put Kate ashore on the pontoon and she walked us into position. The boat extended beyond the mooring by the length of her rudder. I hope the rowing club don’t mind. The bowsprit was several inches short of the launch. What could possible go wrong?

We wrapped her up, gathered up our belongings and walked into town. A bus was waiting to leave for Norwich. It had taken us 2 1/2 days to get here. The return journey took 40 minutes.

Our bees didn’t fancy any of this. When we lifted off the lid we were met by large numbers of workers anxious to hold on to their plentiful supplies. This forced us to use Method (2): brush them off and run like hell carrying the super while hoping you don’t have a heart attack.  Over 2 days we took off eight supers. Processing started as soon as we’d recovered. The first job is to uncap the individual frames. A sharp knife dipped in hot water does the job. Once the frames are uncapped they can be loaded into the extractor.You can buy electric extractors which spin these frames at high speed and collect the honey. Or you can borrow a manual extractor which leaks and requires hand cranking and tries to march across the floor despite two of you balancing precariously on top while trying to wind the handle. After this all the honey is sieved, collected in a large stainless steel container, left to stand and then deposited in jars via a honey tap. It’s at about this point it starts to get satisfying.The final figures aren’t in yet. But we’ve certainly taken more than 300 lbs all told. Update to follow.

The sun was shining on a flat calm as I took the cover off the boat. Checks done, and not without some reservations,  I started the engine and let go. On the approach to Heigham Sound I clamped the tiller, got the sails up without too much drama, and killed the engine just as I reached open water. Ahead was a broads yacht carrying much more sail than Gypsy Roma.  I was just congratulating myself on being able to match her for pace when I realised we were both drifting on the same one knot tide rather than being driven by the occasional wisp of a breeze. Still it was a beautiful place to be, adrift in acres of smooth reed-fringed water, with only the birdlife to disturb the silence. It must have taken more than half an hour to drift as far as Meadow Dyke where my shadow peeled off towards Hickling and I turned for Horsey. I was in danger of being overtaken by family in a canoe and with no prospect of being able to sail the dyke I resorted to the engine for a second time.  About half way along the dyke a couple of old guys in a flat bottomed fishing boat arrived alongside and slowed down for a chat. They must have been in their late 70s. They’d seen my “ocean going yacht” on the mooring and wondered what it was doing there. Was I lost? They were having a fine old time.  As I waved them off I saw what I at first took to be the name of the boat in big letters on the transom. But no, there was the name – Helen - in much smaller letters alongside. “COFFIN DODGERS” it said.  I think they might be on to something.

There was a bit of breeze on Horsey blowing off the sea through the Horsey Gap so I spent a couple of hours sailing round the island, tacking into the wind to get to the far end of the mere and then running back with the mainsail flat against the shrouds. There were a couple of other yachts out but it was still relatively quiet. After my final run I sailed back down Meadow Dyke, back into the Sound and round into Deep Go Dyke where the sails came down in the shelter of the trees. I turned round and managed to moor single handed on White Slea. Lunch was an egg and cress sandwich from the Co-op which seemed like a feast. White Slea is always a good place for marsh harriers and I watched them for a while drifting over the reeds with their beautifully marked wings and quite unconcerned by the occasional passing cruiser. In another week or so the traffic will be much heavier but I suspect the birds will still be there.

I rather spoiled things by making a complete mess of my departure. I would probably still have been there if a fisherman hadn’t taken pity on me and given me a good shove out into the stream. By the time I got back to the Thurne changeover day was in full swing at the boatyard. New crews were taking over their hire craft for the week and being shown the ropes by the guys from Martham Boats. Released from the yard the lovely wooden cruisers had scattered and tied up at every available mooring on Candle Dyke  for the new captains to get their bearings. There were some fine nautical hats sticking out of the wheelhouses.

The sun had gone when I tied up back at the mooring but I was feeling pretty good about things.  Something odd happens when you step on a boat. Life fills up. For the time you’re out on the water you don’t need anything else. Which I suppose is what coffin dodging is all about.

The first stage took us down the Thurne and into the Bure. The Bure is quite broad below Thurne Mouth and the banks are clear of trees – good conditions for sailing. We were passed by the odd motor cruiser but again for the most part we had the river to ourselves. This will change dramatically in a few weeks when the schools break up. The mast came down for the second time at the bridge and once we were sailing again we were in unfamiliar waters. We got into trouble almost at once.

We’d been feeling pretty pleased with ourselves after successfully tacking along a couple of reaches where the wind had come round onto the nose. The wind was less favourable below the bridge and trying to pinch as much river as we could we ran aground as we crept up to the reedy margins. The bow was resting on soft mud and it took some serious work with the engine to get us off. We were getting tired by this point and after a few more failed attempts to work against the wind we gave up and motored the last half mile or so to Stokesby.

Stokesby is a typical Broadland village that owes its existence to the river. A village green, a tea shop selling cream teas and a riverside pub called the Ferry Inn make it a popular place to tie up.  There are virtually no moorings between Stokesby and Great Yarmouth a few miles further downstream. By now it was well into the afternoon and the tide would shortly be turning against us so we considered our options over a piece of apricot fruit cake from the tea shop and after consulting tide tables, the shipping forecast, two swans and a dozen nosey ducklings booked ourselves in to the restaurant at the pub.

After our usual night’s broken sleep in the confines of the cabin we had breakfast on board and set off  back the way we’d come again with the tide under us. Overnight we seem to have recovered our (very modest) tacking ability and made it through the bends to Acle. Using the engine to ease us through we managed to lower and raise the mast without stopping. The sails went back up and then with Kate at the helm we sailed back along the Bure and into the Thurne.  At Potter Heigham I made a bit of a mess of coming in to moor in order to take down the mast for the forth time on this expedition. And I repeated the trick when we arrived back at Martham.  But all in all a fine couple of days and signs that we are slowly getting more competent under sail.