Conyer Creek to Kingsferry and back 24th July 2010

Conyer Creek is  delightful place, with a sleepy boaty feel, somewhere you could go to relax and potter about or enjoy working on your boat for the day. I got ready in front of F76, a sailing fishing smack, the owners looking at me with discrete glances as they were working on the deck.

Drifting out lazily down the creek I could see more picturesque boats, including some houseboats. 

As I went round a bend, there were some teenagers swimming in the middle by their dinghy, so I slowed to avoid hitting them with my oars.

I was out of the creek at last and in the middle of the Swale, at high tide feeling like a large estuary. The wind was south west, against me.   In the distance was a Wanderer dinghy sailing up the Swale in the same direction and I kept up with them by rowing briskly.

It was taking a long time to get to the Kingsferry bridge and the tide was turning. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a Thames barge motor sailing down towards me, on collision course, but she skirted round me. 

It was Greta, a Thames barge from Whitstable. Later on I read that it was built in the 19th Century on the East Coast. In the second world war it moved ammunition from a depot near Upnor in the Medway Estuary to naval vessels anchored in the Thames Estuary. Greta also took part in the evacuation of British soldiers at Dunkirk in 1940 and is the oldest active ‘Dunkirk’ little ship.

Later on I passed the Wanderer, as it had anchored near the shore, the couple having a picnic ashore. I would have liked to have joined them because they had an excellent landing place with a small hill to sit on, but I didn’t want to disturb their peace.

Up the Swale I started to pass the industrial bits.

The tide turned heavily against me and I had to row hard against the ebb. At the Kingsferry bridge I ate briefly, and turned round, speeding up to 4 knots, with the with the wind and tide behind me. A jet ski was racing around at high speed.

I turned back and rowed a mile downstream. A beautiful wooden Dutch sloop passed me and waved. 

I was soon back in Conyer Creek, at the slipway. But I realised I had left it too late, since the creek was just a stream and I was at the bottom of the slipway in the mud. I beached PicoMicroYacht and clambered up the muddy slipway with just enough grip to stop falling over.  To lighten things, I carried all the boat bits back to the car. I then pushed the trolley back down through the mud and heaved the PicoMicroYacht on to it. By joining up some ropes, I was able to attach it to the car and pull PicoMicroYacht out of the mud from a distance.

Everything was covered in mud and all I had was a milk carton to ladle water.

But the F76 owners, who had been discrete previously, came to my rescue and told me about a hose that was by another boat. 'It belongs to Fred ..... we’ll take the blame if they object. It’s a bit painful to watch you using that milk carton.’ 

Queenborough to Kingsferry Bridge 5th June 2010

I set off from the Queenborough hard at about 7.00 pm. I passed two sailors on their moorings and we chatted about my boat as I drifted up the Swale lazily on the tide.

The all tide hard in the background. Queenborough is a useful stop off place at the east mouth of the Swale, close to the Medway entrance. Originally Queenborough was a fortress guarding the Swale, under Edward III during the hundred years year war against the French. It was renamed after his wife Phillipa of Hainault. Now it is a mixture of a provincial town, an industrial base and somewhat run down but characterful place of historical interest.

At the long reach the wind headed and I started rowing keeping going all the way up to Kingsferry bridges. I was passed by some motor boats, all respectfully slowing down to reduce wash. When I got to the lifting bridge I was wary about going straight under and turned to row backwards, so I could see directly ahead checking the mast, although there was plenty of clearance.

Sailing dinghies capsizing to get under the Kingsferry bridge rather than wait for it to be opened - on another occasion

After passing a wharf I rested a while and then turned back. As I rowed back there was a great view of the bridges as they receded in the distance and behind me the setting sun. It was getting dark as I arrived at Queenborough just after 9.00 pm. I had timed the tides fairly well, the flood tide taking me up beyond the Kingsferry bridge and then slack water for the start of the return and an ebb tide to complete the journey.

The Medway Estuary 27th December 2009

The Medway has plenty of character, with the Medway towns such as Gillingham, Chatham and Rochester having a distinquished naval history. It is associated quintessentially with the novelist Charles Dickens, who appreciated the murky atmosphere with marshlands, mud and winter darkness. Likewise these features provided the setting for my journey.

I launched at Commodores Hard, which stretches out thinly into the estuary, with  soft mud at the end. Just off the hard was an old sailing boat, the same design as Ellen McArthur had used to circumnavigate the UK, looking somewhat forlorn.

The navigation buoys caught the light as I rowed on, with the large Napoleonic forts that protect the upper Medway in the distance.

The sun sank behind cloud, reappearing as an orange sunset reflecting off the water, ruffled by a light wind coming from the east. Large clouds of steam billowed out from power station chimneys, flattened in my direction by the east wind.  As I rowed steadily I could see the huge cranes on the jetty to the north and the marshes away to the south.

As I rowed onwards through a series of long reaches, wavelets built up with tide against wind and spray came over the bow with water draining out through the stern. Past Stangate Creek I could see high up above me Deadman’s Island, with stakes lining the entrance to Shepherd's Creek.  It is around this area that people were incarcerated in ships, either as convicts or in quarantine. Those that died were buried on Deadman's Island. The light was fading as I skirted round the island and up the Swale to Queenborough.

After a good supper it was dark as I set out for my return. I realised then the folly of being out in the Medway in the dark with no navigation lights and I look around nervously, keeping very close to Deadman’s island. I passed very close by a small fishing vessel  and I am sure he didn’t see me in the dark.

A previous night sail in a larger boat in the same estuary meant I knew the buoyage and was able to keep  on course. I glanced round and looked for the flashing of the buoys, checking their location on my map to stay orientated. I put on my wetsuit gloves, the temperature dropping well below zero, feathering my oars with stiff fingers.

Every so often I stood up to relieve a deadening feeling of my legs because of sitting for too long. I rowed for about five miles without seeing another moving boat, listening to oyster catchers as they circled over the mud flats. The tide had risen again and the hard at Gillingham
was half covered.