It always takes a bit of adjustment from crewed sailing back to being solo, but it’s now been 5 days since Chris left to fly home from Edinburgh, and I’m now in Whitby and fully adjusted once more to solo life on board.

 

I got away from Port Edgar shortly after Chris’s taxi departed on Sunday and had a cracking sail down the Forth with a good breeze and fine weather: most unlike Scotland!  My parents kept their yacht in Granton, so it was a little like sailing in a time warp past many familiar landmarks.  By 1630 I was at Bass Rock and squadrons of gannets flew in and out from all directions, and a pod of dolphins appeared as if to say ‘farewell’.  By 2035 I was at St Abb’s Head where the wind dropped slightly, and by 2200 I judged I was back in English waters, just north of Berwick on Tweed.  My destination was Holy Island and by the time I got there it was almost completely calm, so pilotage was easy.  Rather than anchor immediately south of Holy Island where parts of the anchorage are foul, I decided to drop the hook slightly further south, which proved to be a mistake.  During the night the wind picked up to F6 and I found myself anchored on a lee shore in quite heavy waves.  Whilst it was novel being at anchor in such heavy seas and the Spade anchor didn’t budge an inch, the pitching and rolling proved tiresome and I was pleased when, 36 hours later, the wind finally eased.  In the meantime I couldn’t have weighed anchor on my own if I’d wanted to, such was the strain on the chain and I was glad I’d put out a long snubbing line to prevent damage to deck fittings.

 

By the time I left Holy Island I’d seen only small glimpses through the murk, but I needed to press on so set sail at lunchtime on Tuesday for Amble, aiming to arrive there just in time to get over the sill into the marina as the tide rose.  The Northumberland coast has many ruined castles down its shoreline and I ticked them off as I went, starting with Bamburgh, just inside the Farne Islands.  I arrived in Amble in perfect time and crept into the marina with just a foot under the keel.  I was particularly impressed with the marina, which is clean, well maintained, and everything works: just like Norwegian ports, but unusual for UK!  Wednesday morning dawned clear and bright and after exploring Amble I walked the couple of miles up the Coquet River to Warkworth, a very pretty village with its own castle, just inland.

 

After lunch I set sail again, heading for Blythe, just a few miles down the coast and I arrived at 1840 and moored at the Royal Northumberland Yacht Club.  Blythe is a commercial port and rather industrial, and the town is a long walk from the yacht club.  However, the clubhouse itself is very quirky, being the oldest wooden lighthouse still afloat in UK, carefully converted for its current use.  Naturally, a pint in the club bar in the bows of the old ship was in order in the evening.

 

Yesterday morning I was on my way again, this time to Whitby 50nm south east.  Initially it looked as if it would be a good sail, but the wind was fickle and the afternoon brought heavy showers.  By 1500 I was passing Hartlepool, our departure point for Norway almost 3 months ago, and at 1945 I was moored alongside another yacht on the Fish Pier, next to the Whitby lifeboat.  This morning the other yacht wanted to leave so I did a circle in the harbour to let him go, but then found I needed to move into the marina if I wanted to stay another night.  This meant waiting until 1300 when the swing bridge first opened prior to high water.  By early afternoon I was re-moored despite some extremely strong gusts, and spent the rest if the afternoon exploring the town – one of the few traditional seaside towns that seems to have been able to retain its character and avoid becoming tacky.

 

My next stop will be Lowestoft as, apart from the Humber (a diversion) and Scarborough (only just along the coast) there’s nowhere else Rosinis can get into.  I plan to leave at 0500 at the last bridge opening after tomorrow’s first high water.  The attached photos show dolphins alongside in the Forth; Bass Rock, where every white spot’s a gannet; Bamburgh castle in the murk; Holy Island from an unholy anchorage; Amble from the Coquet River; Warkworth Castle; the B&B the government must have been snoozing in for the past 2 years, and a couple of shots of Whitby