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Swale Pooh sticks Regatta

Once again I sadly report that against all odds I failed to win again, in fact I failed to complete any of the three races. Though I believe anyone who entered would agree the races were decided upon which boat could drift the fastest.  

On Thursday evening I made Jacana ready for the weekend ahead, taking her against the ATL I waited for my crew. Pete on Calviere II was also making ready and we headed through the Swale together. 

Tony my trusty crew from last year finally turned up, though Dave the Diver called me and said he could not make today, but would see us in the morning at Harty.

 So we made our way through the Swale towing my dinghy. The reason for the dinghy was two fold. First we were expecting a reporter from the Sheppey Gazette to race with True Spirit on Sunday, but she needed to get off the boat at Harty. Secondly there was no trot boat lined up for Thursday evening and the Harty ferry pub was waiting.

 We arrived at the bridge and like usual waited until the demigod inside commanded the bridge to lift, too the awe of all us mere mortals.

 Once through we followed the course of the Swale to Harty, and looked for some mooring buoys. We did see two close to the Harty ferry pub side and attempted to get a mooring each. Sadly Calviere II drew too much and could not make it. I was not far behind and also ran aground just a little closer the mooring buoy. 

We found two more moorings on the other side of the Swale. Quickly we moored up and I suggested we go to the pub. Memories of last year’s failure to reach a pub flooded Tony’s mind as it was obvious that the tide was too far out for a dinghy to reach the hard. 

Undeterred I convinced Pete and Tony that we would make it to the pub. When we ran aground in the dinghy I put my master plan into action, and attempted to lever the dinghy up the mud by pushing an oar into the mud next to the transom and pulling back. This pushed the dinghy slowly up the mud. It was going very well until the unmistakable sound of crunching wood as the oar gave in.

Reluctantly we turned away from the pub and headed back to the moorings, were I consoled my self with a lot of rum and coke.

Friday arrived full of promise, though perhaps a little windless. We were beginning to wonder where Dave the Diver was, when we got a call. Dave was still up for going, but he was still in Queenborough with only fifteen minutes to get to Harty. The plan was altered and I would pick Dave up after dropping Tony off back at Queenborough. 

The Whitstable Street buoy was my nemesis on the Friday, as I was driven into submission by the tide changing. As you all know Pooh sticks requires the sticks to go down stream, so a change in the tide was disaster. 

Realising that I had to get back to Queenborough and change crew we withdrew from the race and made our way back to Queenborough. Once again we waited for the demigod to perform the lifting the bridge miracle, and once through headed straight for the ATL.

 Tony got off and I was now expecting Dave the Diver, Helen and Steve. Dave and Steve turned up, but Helen rang to say she couldn’t make it. Lucky these are just friendly races isn’t it.

 As he headed back to the bridge, and I called up for a bridge lift, the mighty one called to me and asked if I was going to go through the bridge anymore time this evening.

 Assuring him that I was going around the north the following day, he raised his arms and once more commanded the bridge to open.

 Arriving at Harty we quickly got to the pub with the help from the local Sea cadets who ran a trot boat service that night. Telling us they would carry the service on until 10.30 we ran up the hard to the pub. Luckily we decided to return back early, and I believe I was the last person to get into the trot boat without getting wet feet.

 I believe crews wanting to get to their boats later ended up swimming to the trot boat.

 The following day Steve and I found our selves doing quite well for the first thirty minutes, but again with so little wind the Spaniard was a buoy too far, as on Friday the tide changed I knew the game was up.

After retiring from the race I motor sailed around the north of the Island and managed to get a few pictures, and as I approached each of the yachts I could not help noticing the crews faces full of sheer adrenaline, as the skippers continually shouted orders to get the very best from their yachts. Well OK perhaps not but I did hear the occasional “put the kettle on”, or “do you want another beer”.

 We had a nice motor drift back to Queenborough, though a lot of the boats had beaten us back even though I was under power. I just showed how futile my efforts had become once the tide had changed.

As we neared Sheerness beach I did hug the beach sailing parallel to the beach at a distance of about thirty feet. 

The evening in the club was absolutely packed. I was given to job of selling raffle tickets, and continually being asked what the prizes were. I only knew one prize, and was forced to improvise. I told people the first prize was fantastic, but they must bring her back in the morning. 

Later in the evening I saw Helen serving tables and told her she was sleeping on Bullet that night. She looked at me a bit puzzled and asked why. “He won the raffle” I quickly explained before running off. 

So, Sorry to those on Bullet, seems you forgot to take your prize back to the boat with you. 

Sunday turned up, but you couldn’t see it through the fog. John on True Spirit had decided to pull out of Sunday’s race due to an injury that flared up on Saturday. I then had to find another boat that would take a paper reporter on Sunday’s race. Calviere II looked was favourite, but as there was no wind at all I wondered if he would pull out.  

I however was committed to going to Harty, as I had left my dinghy there on the Thursday evening. Knowing that the reporter wanted dropping off at Harty I thought it best she crew with me.

 The race was postponed until the fog had lifted enough to see where we were going. This meant that the start time had become 10.30, and I knew with so little wind I would not have enough tide to make the east side of the island.

 So before the start of the race I pulled out, and together with Helen and Suz (the reporter) we kind of sail drifter around the wreck, occasionally starting the engine to get across shipping lanes.

After a while I decided to make our way to Harty via Kings Ferry, and once again approached the mighty one. Calling up on channel ten “Greeting oh mighty one, it is I thou puny servant begging for passage through the mighty bridge”. The booming voice replied; “Jacana, Jacana come forth so that I may lift this bridge and allow you into the soothing waters of the south Swale”. Well words to that effect anyway. 

Letting the reporter sail most of the way around the estuary her biggest buzz was sailing through the bridge.

 But just as she thought it couldn’t get any better, as we passed the Elmley channel buoy we came across a seal pub using it to bask on.

 It wasn’t long before we reached the dinghy at Harty ferry and I ferried Suz back ashore. She told me that even though there was not enough wind for us to take part in the race; she had enjoyed the day, and would like to perhaps go out again.

 After dropping Suz at the hard I returned to Jacana, and Helen and I headed back to the mighty bridge and the demigod that lives in it. This was my fifth trip through the bridge in four days, and I was preparing to have to sacrifice Helen to please the bridge god. Fortunately he took pity and allowed us through, before putting on his might kettle for his mighty tea break.

 As we arrived back in Queenborough and recapped the weekend, though Jacana had not completed any of the races, it was a great weekend, and as the Swale regatta committee going to have to be reformed, I hope all goes well as it would be a shame to loose such a social event from our sailing calendar.

Written By,

Eddie Johnson Rear Commodore QYC