As regular readers of this blog will know, there's about as much calm in this place as swimsuit models in the Arctic, & so it was with a certain resignation that we saw news of storms heading our way. Wind in the wrong direction is a big problem for us, but a more pressing issue was that of the extremely high tides they were going to produce. A few weeks back we had a tide which saw us go quite high over the quay wall, with the marina owners saying it was the biggest they'd seen for six years. These new tides were going to be the first of their kind in sixty years. Goodbye maritime protocol, hello sod's law.
If we weren't careful we were going to be lifted above quay level and blown onto "dry" land, and while I'm happy to report that didn't happen it very nearly did. The main event happened at night, so no opportunities for photos, but there was an equivalent tide the
following day, so this will give you an idea of what was going on.
First is a general shot of the quay, with us on our way up on the left. Note the fenders on the sides at varying heights which had to be adjusted in part so the rubbing band (which is a metal band bolted to the hull to protect the wood against wear) wouldn't effectively hook itself onto the edge of the wall on the way down.
On the night, the marina pontoons were being pushed forward by the surge, and tilting forward alarmingly. Our rudder was resting against one of these, which I believe was a key factor in keeping us being blown out of the creek. On the grass is the boat hook, which I was going to use to push us back should things get out of control, luckily it wasn't needed. The stain on the quay shows how far the tide came in.
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| The layer of dead grass on the water surface as it inches its way towards the quay. Also we see a fender against the rubbing band. |
Here we see Glad Tidings with the hull really starting to peek above the wall. Under the white is the bottom of the boat, coloured red with anti-fouling (a protective paint layer). The time I became most concerned during the night was when the red became more & more visible. Another few feet & we would have been in trouble. As the water met the grass it became difficult to get the fenders between the band & the wall, as the tide would simply pop them back out. The marina staff were patrolling the quay & the other boat owners were monitoring things, & this was one of those times where the sense of community is strongest, with everyone looking out for each other.
Aside from giving the boat a few hefty shoves to get fenders in & out (as mentioned before Glad Tidings weighs tons but can be moved like an obsese feather on the water) it was a fairly easy time of it physically, it was more a question of the stress of being at the mercy of the elements. Would I rather live like this than have a mortgage? I'm going to have to sound a bit nuts and say yes every time, but this was a stark reminder of how nature can take charge at the most bizarre times.