Flamborough Head - A Scarborough Bee-Day

Day 35 – Hornsea to Scarborough – 24^th June – 29. 4nm

At last, a stress-free forecast - 10 mph WNW winds with a bit of swell from the north. It is a welcome, easy-decision, morning – sunshine and a breeze, no waiting around or stressing, just some straight-forward paddling – TFFT.

It’s a pleasant 10:00 start as I set off before the tide, I don’t expect much flow against as I cross Bridlington Bay - I aim to get to Flamborough close to slack. I have a sneaking suspicion that the swell may build up at the headland later, once it pushes against the ebb flow, so I start a little early.

A last glance over the shoulder at Hornsea and away, it is nice and calm, with a lazy but distinct swell rolling in. As I paddle out I watch a couple of Typhoon jets playing  ‘shoot the fish in the barrel’ with a Chinook – the Chinook is all low-level whirling and jinking, I guess I'm missing something here, but it looks to me like there are not many places to hide over open water – I wouldn't lay my money on the Wokka. Eventually they all have to head home for tea and medals, and it’s back to a little bit of open water peace and quiet for Taran and me.

As I close on Flamborough a tall ship of some sort sneaks out of the bay and rounds the headland to head north too – it rides impressively over the swell – oh well.

But it’s nice to see some real cliffs again, instead of the muddy-blancmange versions of recent days. It’s also nice to see some wildlife in the air – Gannets wheel while Razorbills and Guillemots dart hectically by.

Even though I hit the headland just after slack, the eddy flow at the top of the bay is enough to lift the swell. It is not a problem but it is still surprising how much larger the swell can grow when pushing against a little flow. I get a feeling that paddling on the ebb is going to teach me another lesson or two during the upcoming weeks.

It’s also strange how sometimes you get things into your head that just do not match the actuality. Even with maps left, right and asunder I still had it in my head that the cliffs north of Flamborough ran north-south. I was surprised how much rebound chop there was there, with the swell bouncing back off the cliffs. A quick ‘look-what-is-actually-there-rather-than-what-you-think-is-there’ look at the map explained things; the cliffs run more from east to west of course.

It takes an hour or so, but finally I'm level with the sandy beaches of Filey Bay and the rebound fades. No stop at Filey this time. The conditions are much more pleasant than three years earlier; I remember a rather nervous rounding of the Bell Buoy at Filey Brigg.

The coastline slips uneventfully by, the sun is out, the breeze drops away and I start to wilt a little. It’s a while since I’ve had a stress-free day and without the focus and low-level adrenaline my body decides I have to pay the debts for the push of previous days – I am suddenly knackered. The paddling time between rest breaks becomes less and less. It’s surprising how much admin you can find to do in a kayak when you don’t want to paddle.

But I'm not the only one struggling out here; I find a bee on the water’s surface. A clumsy rescue and it sits soggily on my deck, looking distinctly non-plussed. Soon I find another and rescue that too, and then another, and finally a butterfly too. I’ll need a bigger boat at this rate.

I round the rocky outcrop of Scarborough and take sneaky-peek at what the landing beach has in store. Not brilliant - the rocky reefs are just poking through the surface; I guess others are lurking close below. The swell creates enough surf to make a choice line through the rocks tricky. It’s enough for the butterfly – it jumps ship and flutters off. The bees haven’t dried enough to fly yet though; I find myself in the unusual position of herding soggy bees around the deck of my boat and trying to shoo them into the day hatch before we drift into the surf line.

Eventually the bees are safely below-decks, it’s time to Major-Tom and then head in. Team Manager radios instructions - there’s a little confusion as I try to match these to water-perspective landmarks. Even once I twig, it still looks a little dodgy to me - but then I notice a shallow, but sheltered little gap further along and head for that. Instructions become more frantic as I ignore advice and suddenly change my heading, I'm inside the surf now and don’t really have an opportunity to explain.

Once I’m on the beach I do have to explain, ignoring Team Manager is a serious offence! Nobody is bigger than The Team I'm reminded, there are plenty of paddlers out there – I could easily be replaced!

I trolley the boat through the crowds and traffic and then sit in the sun – spent.

Team Manager tells me of her visit to Flamborough. The young birds have hatched and she sat and watched them being fed by harried parents. It sounds like an interesting visit, while you see so much on the water you can also feel that you miss out on things too.

Team Manager was also a little dismayed at the way, once again, it seemed like a managed facility rather than a natural cliff-top with birds – entrance via the gift-shop, tarmac footpaths, fences and signs etc.

   

The beach is emptying as evening approaches, I try to dry my kit in a cramped parking space while Team Manager rubbers-up and heads out with her body board for a little end of the day de-stress.

Bugger – the bees! I lift the hatch and they blink sulkily at me. Still too soggy to fly, I have to lift them out and look for a little flowerbed colour to deposit them in – not quite how I envisaged the end of a circumnavigation day.

Escape from Withernsea

Day 34 – Withernsea to Hornsea – 23rd June – 13.6 nm

Strong winds rattled the van overnight. By morning things have eased a little but it is still draughty. A miserable grey drizzle is blowing on the NE wind.

The forecast is for the wind to drop a little mid-afternoon and then for things to brighten up later. The forecast also shows a bit of swell left over from last night’s wind, sneaking down from the north later on.

The tide starts running around lunchtime, so it’s a lazy start. This gives me a last chance to show Team Manager the sights of Withernsea. We walk across dog-poo field to take a look over the edge. It’s a mixture of choppy coffee coloured water and windy froth – yeah, there’s no hurry.

Kit is sorted, plans checked and cake eaten. We head down to seafront to wait for the weather. As we wait, I watch the Hi-viz clad, ‘Community Payback’ boys prodding the flowerbeds with their hoes. A prod, then have a fag, another prod, then check the phone, another prod, then another fag, and then it’s time to knock off. I wonder how long it will take to pay it back at that rate. It must work though, the flower beds are colourful.

Late starts are not too popular within the van; half the day has usually gone by the time I am faffed-out and the weather is good enough. This leaves a rushed afternoon of driving and food buying for Team Manager, with little time to do anything more exciting. There must be more to life is the consensus... Rightly so I admit.

For me the daily ‘should I or shouldn't I’ decisions are beginning to get a little wearing too. I'm starting to find it stressful to have to make fairly significant decisions every day. It is good to have Team Manager to discuss and debate options with - this takes some of the pressure off. But the buck stops here, and it is a lonely thing to have to make the final call each day. Confidence is a fragile concept. I worry about the day when I get it wrong. As for today, well, I won’t be too upset to get away from Withernsea.

The tide turns and the wind drops, but it is still a couple of hours before things settle enough to get on. I am tired and feeling a little sorry for myself, it’s cold, grey and miserable. I pull the dry-suit out as a little confidence booster, I zip myself into my own little warm and dry, danger-negating world.

The surf is a bit splashy but not a great problem, I get the timing right for a change and take a nice dry line out. I turn north now and start my slog into wind, a dozen miles or so of sad, muddy cliffs lie ahead.

The swell comes and goes; sometimes it’s enough to make you watch for the next one, in-between it’s no more than a bit of chop. Looking off-shore, I get the feeling that Flamborough Head is sheltering the coastline from the worst of it. The wind lessens as the afternoon progresses, it becomes the sort of paddling where there is enough to keep you awake, but not so much that it’s a hassle. Life could be worse.

Closing on Hornsea a decision needs to be made. The cliffs continue northwards, the next get-out at Skipsea is an hour or so away - a quick calculation and I guess this hour will save me 30-40 mins tomorrow.

Hmmm, another hour into wind today to save 40 mins tomorrow? The rule is always to take the miles.

I know I should.

I know I’ll regret it later if I don’t.

But – I – just - can’t – be - arsed.

The forecast is good for tomorrow anyway, I can paddle a bit further then...

And besides, I see a sign for a chip shop behind the high sea wall – Pie and Chips or another choppy hour? Tough one that...

From my perspective the surf looks quite lumpy between the groynes, I clear the deck, remove the lanyard and do a Major Tom (helmet on). Over the radio, Team Manager assures me it’s not all that bad – but I'm not convinced. What does she know?

She is right of course.

I paddle in through little more than large ripples.

The sun is out and I dry my kit in the wind as we eat our chips, they’re not bad, for Yorkshire. It’s going to be sunny tomorrow too they say...

Deja Vu 4 - Crossing the Humber + The Return to Withernsea

Day 33 – Mablethorpe to Withernsea – 22nd June – 24.7 nm

There were too many ‘4’s showing on the alarm clock this morning, it was an 06:30 on the water time, so the clock beeped at a time, when frankly, it just shouldn't.  It was even early enough to beat the daily early-morning pigeon wake-up call. Today was the day to cross the Humber, and it looked like we would need an early start once again.

Of course, going the wrong way around wasn't going to help. On the flood you can just point south along the coast, stay far enough out so you don’t get drawn into the mouth, dodge a few boats, then dodge the range and then 16 nm later Bob joins the family tree. Easy Peasy.

On the ebb it’s a little more complicated; if you cross mid-tide you can expect some lumpy conditions and an unpleasant eddy line running off Spurn Head. You also have to factor that geography dictates that you will be paddling against the flow coming out from the river for a time, and then you’ll work against the eddy for a while too. Throw in a wind with any form of east or north component and life could become unpleasant. You could avoid some of this by staying off-shore, but then this means you have to cross three shipping traffic separation schemes (TSS) rather than just the one – a total of 4 nm of shipping lanes rather than ¾ nm. A kayak is easily lost in that lot.

And just to add to the mix, when you factor in the Donna Nook Range, you have about 15-16 nm between get outs to consider too. Nothing is ever easy of course.

Today the forecast is for a steady NW breeze early on but then rising between 10:00 and 11:00, becoming progressively shitty throughout the day – and going north of course. I really didn't feel like combining the outflow from the Humber with a stiff headwind; that had all the makings of a testing time.

 

There was a recommended crossing point for the TSS and I fancied making use of that – figuring that high-water may bring a rush of deep draught boats into or out of the river. Slack water would be the time to cross and was around 10:00, so that should just get me across before the wind arrived. It would also mean that I should be able to sneak through the range before Biggles and his chums awoke and started missing targets on the beach.

The plan seemed to be fitting together nicely; however, the more perceptive amongst you will point out that this will mean paddling against the flood to get to the TSS crossing – that is 11 nm against the flow, with no beach to scratch along. C'est la vie, you can’t have everything.

So the figures were calculated; an 06:30 start to get to the edge of the TSS for the 10:00 slack. I hadn't got a reply from the range so I didn't know what they were up to, to be frank I wasn't feeling too obliging anyway after the earlier Range-Fatboy interaction. 

So, 6 minutes late, off the beach and heading North - farewell Mablethorpe.

 As I head north the shallow water becomes increasingly coffee coloured. Later I hear the range checking in with the Coastguard, so they are awake today, but I'm not too far from the northern edge by now – no worries.

I arrive at the TSS 15 mins early, not bad after 11 nm against the flow, I'm quite pleased with that. I call into Humber VTS, but the handheld isn't really up to the job, it is a bit of a Norman Collier conversation. The attitude here is in contrast to those helpful folks at Dover; I'm not made to feel too welcome just poncing about in my likkle toy canoe. I listen to the guy taking the piss over an open mike. No worries, I’ll just crack on then. 

I sit and float for a couple of Ferries to go by and then go to cross, the passing wind-farm boat joins the party with a patronising comment too. Big boat – little willy I guess.

But soon I'm across and heading on towards Kilnsea. The low-lying extent of Spurn Head lies to my left, it seems much further away than the map suggests.

I hadn't been completely convinced by my plan, but now as I paddle across I realise it was the right decision. I am pleased it all seemed to work ok. 

But as the tide turns and the ebb starts, the wind builds and soon it’s a slog north. The wind comes and goes as rain squalls roll in, the temperature drops. I paddled quite hard to get across the range earlier, the inside of my cag is quite soggy. After the short wait for the ferries and the change in weather, I'm now getting cold. I decide to land on the scruffy beach at Kilnsea to change my clothing.

Here it is all too obvious that the muddy cliffs are quickly eroding, the once-mighty gun emplacements are no match for the relentless march of the sea. The naked cliffs give a hint of what is to come. A little warmer now, I head out and move along the coast once again, with mud cliffs and leaden skies for company.

In 2012 I had an unpleasant day that came to a halt at Withernsea. I was stuck there for a further day, and to be frank it wasn't the most pleasant part of the trip. I really had no desire to return to Withernsea - life's not that bleak surely? But as I head up the coast a nagging voice is starting to make itself heard.

The map shows a long stretch of low cliffs north of the town, with no guaranteed get out until Hornsea – 12 nm hence. I could continue and take a chance of finding a gap somewhere, but I am cold and tired, it is 7 splashy hours since I set out. Hornsea is a long way away today, too much of a gamble. Rather grudgingly, I accept that there could be a return visit to Withernsea after all.

Off the beach and I drag Team Manager into the Shores Diner to warm-up and reminisce over a mug of tea and a bacon butty (I know how to show a girl a good time).

Later we end up on the same mildly depressing campsite that I visited in 2012, across the road from the fondly remembered dog-poo field - the day finishes off with rain and a trip to the launderette. We had to laugh.

Seeing Into The Future

After a few weeks on the water, you get a feeling for what the latter stages of life will bring. After all, you spend each day sitting down, with damp trousers, living off Complan, and smelling of wee.


Oh the glamour...

Mablethorpe Stats

Day 32 -- Mablethorpe - 21st June - 0 nm

It was too windy in the morning to cross the Humber. The day was spent waiting for the wind to drop, it did, but 2 hrs after the cut-off time for leaving the beach.

It was frustrating to have perfect conditions finally, it was so tempting to get on and go, but we had to accept that it was just too late. Reluctantly the day was written off.


We had been on the road for 32 days now, with:

• 653 nm paddled
• 5 weather days
• 148:22 hrs paddled
• 20.4 nm overall average per day - depressing
• 91 day forecast finish - even more depressing

C'est la vie

Daily miles (nm)

On Your Marks! - Crossing the Wash

Day 31 – Holme next the Sea to Mablethorpe - 20^th June – 25.6 nm

We had worked things nicely to be in a good position to cross the Wash, I really didn't want to get stuck here waiting for another day or two. But I was a little concerned about the weather; the forecasts gave a confliciting variety of wind strengths and directions for the coming days, while Magicseaweed forecast an increasing swell from the north. I was getting tired, and that meant a good faff was never far away. Neither of us could face another dose of early morning indecision, while I tried to work out the correct answer to the go-nogo crossing question. Sleep was fitful in the van for the night.

But the morning arrives with a steady SW breeze, with the swell on the ebb this could be splashy, but when we get to the water there is no swell at all. It is flat calm, I'll have a gentle side wind, but even this is forecast to go southerly later – I love it when a plan comes together!

Except it doesn't of course. Somehow I have made a balls-up with the planning; when I check the figures it is very obvious that we are two hours late. What the heck happened there? Bum, I don't want to lose the day.

But all is not lost; it is not an ideal start to the day, but then the distance will be limited by the Donna Nook Range anyway. A quick re-plan shows that it is all still possible. Just need to paddle a little harder fatboy.

I'm off the beach with a 'race-you' bet ringing in my ears. Who can be the fastest to the other side? Pride, and the washing-up, depend on this one.

For me, the the planning fart-up means I'm straight out into a 2 kt tide from the side, meaning a rather chunky ferry glide. But even so I'm making 5 kt progress, not sure how, but I'm happy not to try to work that one out.

As I paddle further out the breeze does indeed back a little, and the ebbing flow tends to take a more northerly direction. Other than the grey skies, and the lack of world-peace, there isn't much wrong with the day.

I've no real desire to see Skeggy or Ingoldmells again and so dial in a heading to Chapel Saint Leonards. As I close on Ingoldmells the radio springs to life; so just where is the Team Manager then? Skeggy – Ha! It's not the old fatboy who'll be wearing the Marigolds tonight then!

As I close on the dubious delights of Mablethorpe, the tide changes and the breeze strengthens. But the last minute re-plan works nicely, as I push against the tide for only the last 40 mins or so. All said and done I can't complain too much about that. I am rather happy to tick another one off.

We struggle to find a campsite; once again the 'friendly club' isn't, we are turned away numerous times. But eventually we stumble across a small site, where our nervous inquiry receives a friendly welcome. The site has been the owner's long-term project since he dug his first pond and planted his first tree in the '80s. It is a fantastic place.

It is late, we eat our boil-in-the-bags in the dark and reflect just how differently each day works out.

I sleep better tonight.

Into Position

Day 30 – Weyborne to Holme next the Sea - 19^th June – 23.7 nm

It's a lunchtime start once again, as we aim to get into a good position to cross the Wash.

I've been using the Reed's Almanac as one of my planning tools and it has dawned that the tide figures are an hour or more out in some places – this stretch being one of them. So the plan now takes that into account and things should now run on tidal time I hope.

The swell is not too bad, but the launch still has potential for a tricky little comedy moment. It takes me a while to find a suitable gap (and the courage), and I must admit I am rather nervous of screwing it all up. But I get the timing right (for once) and it's a comedy-free launch, I paddle away relieved. The wind and swell are coming from the north east, it's a bit slow and splashy with them both against the tide, but there are no real problems.

Most of the day will be an easy, sandy coastline, but it comes as a bit of a surprise that even so we will still have to take an 'option' early on at Cley. We are running on the ebb of course, and after Cley the sand is a mile or more wide, backed by a similar distance of marsh before any chance of access to the world of the land-lubber. Not a dangerous stretch as such, but it could be rather inconvenient if I have to land early. I could carry the tent and stay on the beach if I have to, that wouldn't be too unpleasant at all actually, but then it means I also have to carry cooking kit, dry kit for tomorrow, food and water for two days and so on – that is, more if I can't paddle again tomorrow. All too much faff to be honest - so I take the easy option instead, the running shoes and off-the-water clothes go in.  A long trolley out may be a preferable practicality.

But I'm happy with the conditions at Cley and after a quick call to the Team Manager I carry on. It's a pretty stretch of coastline, but on springs and the ebb there is a huge expanse of sand. The optimistically titled Wells-Next-The-Sea isn't at all. As I pass, I watch a yacht anchoring in the shallows to await enough water, the channel is completely dry. The channel buoys sit stranded on the sand like sulky Weebles; Wells is now an extra mile from the water's edge.

A little further along I watch a light aircraft going hairy bears along the beach, low enough to part your hair. One sneeze and it would have taken them a week to fill the hole.

As I close on Scolt Head Island the wind drops away to nothing, I stop for a bite to eat in the perfect conditions – a forewarning of a change on its way perhaps?

I wonder if I'll see Frank Harradence having a go at his Scolt Head Time Trial. I enjoyed a magical paddle through the mist behind the island in 2012, but there is no chance to repeat that this time, again the channel is completely dry. Frank would have to walk today.

So I get to see the north side of the island this time. As I pass, I notice that the tide has called it a day on me, and of course the conditions do change with it. Crossing shallow Brancaster Bay towards low-water into a stiffening wind, becomes a rather choppy, splashy and tedious affair. I slog through the shallows, aiming towards a never-nearing group of trees by Gore Point.

But as I reach the corner I now get a little help from the flow heading into the Wash, and the wind is now on the beam. It is a welcome easy landing, on a sandy beach fairly close to, the once again not-quite-telling-the full-story named, Holme next the Sea.

It has been a lonely day, other than a brief wave from the anchoring yacht at Wells, I have not seen another human being all day. But it's Mission Accomplished all the same, we have reached a perfect launch point to cross The Wash – weather allowing.

We finish the day at a £20 per night campsite, it has new facilities that consist of nothing more than a cold water tap and a toilet. But this is tempered as we chat pleasantly, to a gentleman who is on a week long mission to walk between all the pubs in the area. He's surprisingly sober, and as we listen to his tales, we sit and watch an owl hunting in the meadow behind.

Life could be worse.