Up the Creek

Dick was a mountain man; tall and thin with a long stride and recognised by his red puffa jacket. But, there are no mountains in Norfolk where we worked, and we both needed a distraction from the daily grind.

I wanted to sail again and had been offered a Hunter 19 called Shotgun. Dick agreed to share provided that I taught him to sail; so we launched at Brundall Marina, and started a summer of cruising the Broads.

We were the scourge of hidden fisherman, whipping away their rods as we tacked unheard close-to the banks. We had learnt about huffling, a technique used by the wherrys to round a bend in the river without tacking, by using the bend in the wind close to the bank.

Incidentally, I believe that a Huffler is a local river pilot for the commercial sailing craft, like Thames barges, that came up river from the sea, to places like Snape. They had an intimate knowledge of their local river, especially at high tide, the only time the barges could access the head of the creeks, but when most of the obstacles were covered.

The last one that I heard of was Jumbo Ward at Slaughden. [See Robert Simper's ‘In Search of Sail', page 50 and Photo 33] He was a big man with a bald head and big features and looked like a pirate to a small boy, not helped by my Grandfather’s warning to keep away from him, as he ate small boys for dinner.

If I remember correctly, he had a ring in his ear at a time when only fishermen and seamen wore them out of an ancient superstition that it would keep them from Davey Jones’ locker if they drowned.

We headed for Oulton Broad one weekend, and came up alongside a wooden jetty for the night. Dick had a thing about rope, being a climber, and neither of us liked to cut a long length, so we did what many do, we used both ends to tie up; Two springs and two breast lines from the one length, a proper cat’s cradle.

However, Dick could not bear to coil the surplus and let it lie; he had to use up all the rope, and never used one knot when many were possible.

When he had finished his knotty work of art, an old boy who had been watching, strolled up the jetty, inspected his creation, and in broad Norfolk quietly said;

“Hevyu godenuf rorp boi, yuw do wanda mik shur this owl jeddi’l niver git away frerm yu donyu boi.

After I stopped laughing, Dick looked hurt, but got the message and did try to use a little less thereafter. It is this memory, and worse, that makes me quite fussy about my mooring lines; I am still fiddling when everyone else has gone to the pub.

My ideal rule, not always possible, is that every line must be easily loosed off and adjusted from both the land and the boat, using 2-3 round turns to take the load and two half hitches with a loop or bight of the tail, around the standing part to lock off, so that in the rare event that a line tightens up, the half hitches can be easily pulled away, leaving the round turns to control the load. I never use eyespliced loops.