We launched at about high water from the Two Tree Island public slipway, near Leigh-on-Sea, Essex. It wasn't until we were among the moorings north of Smallgains Creek that I realised I had inadvertenly left the boat's ballast in the car! There was no option - we had to return to the launching slip. Tranferring the lead ballast from the car did not prove too arduous, except that we grounded a couple of times during the mission. We were not familiar with the creek and we had to keep our wits about us, because of the uneven nature of the mud banks, which abound everywhere.

The subsequent delay in our departure caused us to miss the opportunity of taking a shortcut between Chapman Sand and Marsh End Sand. Instead, prudence suggested we should follow the deep water channel to Leigh buoy, which is not far from the seaward end of Southend Pier. Pleasant sunshine gave the waters of the Thames a characteristic turquoise-brown hue. We headed south for a couple of hundred yards before tacking to the west.

I was surprised how well Harriott cut her way through the short waves, throwing up the occasional white spray when her bow hit the top of a force three 'creamer' - those delightful tiny crests that form under such conditions. Our boat came alive. She danced and pranced, lifting her tail now and then; but most of the time her bow was well down, because of the weight of the camping gear stowed in the forward watertight compartment. Harriot's robustness gave me confidence in her ability. In addition to the bow compartment she has two flotation/storage chambers, known as 'stern-castles'. These are built on either side-deck, near the stern. She also has a large sealed locker under the tiller, which is integral with the transom. Additionally, she is fitted with half-a-dozen inflatable buoyancy bags under the side decks, and being made of wood she can't sink.

Although she was sailing fairly upright because of her inherent stability, I sat on the windward side deck, providing weight where it would be most effective. In his endeavour to keep as close to the wind as possible Richard tended to 'pinch' at the top of each wave, but if the boat was taken too much into the wind the genoa luff would shake, indicating he had gone too far. Immediately he would bear-off, so that Harriott could slide down the far side of a wave to gain speed before rising to the next. Freedom and exhileration were the feelings of the moment.

Much of my sailing is single-handing, but this time I was pleased to have an experienced companion upon whom I could rely. Even-so, at the start I had been a little anxious - because that is my nature.

Often I have received the 'flutters' at the beginning of a cruise, but once started and having tested the gear and conditions, I soon settle down. It is also my good fortune that I seldom suffer from seasickness. I would have been quite satisfied to have reached Hole Haven at the western end of Canvey Island to bed down for the night, but I was pleasantly surprised to find we were making excellent progress against the ebb and wind. Hole Haven was soon well astern. The wind increased and veered, so that it came from the north west. That was in our favour, although we found our making-fetch, with the wind coming from forty five degrees off our starboard bow, took us to the southern side of the Thames. Here the river is shallow with drying mud flats which extend from the Kent shore for up to a cable. (200 yards approximately) I found myself saying to Richard at least a couple of times, "I think we are aground." These banks are of soft mud, so soft, that the heavy centreplate would gently slide into it without making any noticeable impression. Then, after a short while, we would come to the conclusion that the boat was no-longer moving. A glance at suitable transits and the dead feel of the tiller confirmed our suspicions. Having sailed deep-keeled yachts for most of my life, I have a dread of ending up on lee shores, and it has taken me quite a while to get used to the fact that I can lift the centreplate and sail off.

When we arrived at the vicinity of Mucking Creek we started searching for suitable anchorages where we could spend the night. There was plenty of mud to anchor in the said creek, but I did not like the thought of having to clean off all that beautiful 'black stuff' which has gained its colour and tacky characteristic over a period of aeons. Flood and ebb have repeatedly sifted minute particles of dust, sand, dead microorganisms, broken sea shells, putrid seaweed and unmentionable effluent over the centuries, all combining to form a sediment resembling a tenacious jelly-like mass. The very name, Mucking Creek, evoked pictures of black streaks of mud over the deck, footprints on the floorboards, buckets of water, scrubbing brush and sponge and dirty finger nails! No, we decided to press on, although the wind was beginning to falter. The flood tide came to our rescue pushing us on up the river until late in the evening, when we just managed to glide into the grubby environs of Barking Creek as the wind faded completely.

I studied the unattractive scene where there were a couple of small mud-caked and grimy sailing cruisers. There were multiple tiny buoys linked together by rope which were being lapped by the last of the flood as it girgled and frothed over black slimy mud. Nearby was an old wooden jetty on which there was a derelict shed with broken windows and a door hanging off, held only by the bottom hinge.

As I took these things in I was amazed at the rapid approach of waves from the wake of a passing cargo ship. The closer they came, the higher they became - because of the progressively shallow water. By the time they arrived at our position they foamed and slammed into the side of Harriott, throwing spray into the cockpit. She lifted and fell at the onslaught of successive attacks. When the waves subsided I dried the cockpit with a sponge and some paper towels. I hoped and silently prayed that another ship would not pass by before the tide's retreat, which would leave us firmly on the mud for the night.

We erected the tent and were engaged in preparing the evening meal when we were visited by 'pirates' in a mud-stained plastic rowing boat. At first these three, very fierce-looking men were quite intimidating. By their opening remarks they intimated that we were the perpetrators of some recent robbing of boats in that region, but when they realised we were innocent and genuine folk, about a law-abiding cruise in a small dinghy, they changed their tone of voice and wished us a good night's sleep.  But that night for me was one of frustration, not being able to get hardly a wink-of-sleep because of the continuous drone of some engines at a nearby sewage plant - the stink of which was overwhelmingly obnoxious. Adding to my frustration, my companion, once having laid out in his sleeping bag, fell into a deep, protracted state of unconscious bliss, snoring the whole night-long!

On Tuesday morning I couldn't wait to get going, to leave that grubby and somewhat depressing place. In addition to the rundown jetty and grimy yachts there was a huge concrete lock gate at the entrance to Barking Creek. There was also what appeared to be a sewage outfall. Richard informed me that a marina was tucked somewhere beyond this gate, and I shuddered at the very idea of anyone wanting to go into such a 'black hole'. Local residents may use the marina of necessity and perhaps it is more pleasant than I visualized it in my imagination.

On that Tuesday morning, as the flood tide took us steadily up the ancient 'Father Thames', I was aghast at the industrial nature of the scenery. We progressed slowly from one flotilla of flotsam to another, examining plastic bags, a dead gull, beams of wood and a semi-submerged oil drum. A zephyr caused tiny ripples to spread across the murky water, but it was sufficient to provide steerage-way. We were approaching Woolwich, and low-flying aircraft zoomed a short distance above us to land at London Airport. It seemed they would never stop in time because of the speed of their approach before alighting on the runway - even though their flaps were fully down to provide maximum lift and minimum speed. The roar and whine of their engines pierced our very beings, causing pain like the penetration of a sword. (One of the most noticeable characteristics of this cruise was the noise pollution, not just from aircraft, but from the likes of scrap metal dumps, construction works, docklands, ships, factories, storage depots, roads and railways.)

Trying to take it all in, my mind did a recap on Monday's happening when we had passed under the Dartford Bridge. I always considered it was rather ugly, but when seen from the water it had a strange beauty. I couldn't resist taking several photos, even when right underneath. The sensation of looking up at that suspended mass of concrete and steel girders brought about a disorientation and giddiness. As I looked up I noticed some dark clouds from which shortly afterwards there came a heavy shower.

We donned our waterproofs, but soon, heat from the sun had us stifling, so that we hastened to remove them. What a relief it was to feel the breeze as it cooled the sweat on our over-heated bodies. Spray on our arms and legs was dried by sun and wind, leaving a white, powdered salt crust. A joy came over me. It was great to be alive. I thanked God for His goodness.

I 'clicked' my mind back to the current situation.

About a quarter-of-a-mile ahead lay the Thames Barrier, that magnificent engineering masterpiece which protects the City from flooding in the event of a tidal surge from the North Sea. Using the VHF, Richard called up Woolwich Radio seeking permission for 'Dinghy Romeo, One-Zero' to pass through the Barrier inbound. There was hardly sufficient wind to control our course between the most northern open gate. We were well-pleased when we were clear of the hazard.

The closer to the heart of London, the more numerous smaller vessels became. There were very few yachts, but mostly 'objects' resembling floating buses, crammed with sightseers who were blasted by blaring, running-commentaries in almost unintelligible broad Cockney. These ugly, floating monstrosities churned their way back and forth, knocking up waves, causing us difficulty in steering because the wind was so light. We observed many new millionaires' mansions lining the river banks, where before there had been warehouses, docks and quays. On the Isle of Dogs was that enormous glistening edifice made of glass, reminiscent of an Egyptian obelisk and publicized by an IRA bomb which shattered it and neighbouring buildings. We were surprised at the speed of an exceptionally fast passenger-carrying catamaran which suddenly appeared from nowhere and disappeared just as quickly, leaving no discernable wake. It seemed to us like a lethal weapon engaged in Russian roulette, which, one day, would mow-down an almost invisible and unsuspecting oarsman in his skiff, like the one we had seen only ten minutes before.

When travelling by water up the Thames no one can miss that 'object from outer-space', the Millennium Dome, which looks like a huge flying saucer. I can't say I am attracted to its design, which, in my opinion, comes nowhere-near the perfection of the Sydney Opera House. Giving it the benefit of the doubt, perhaps the interior will function well to house the many attractions it is billed to have when opened to the public to commemorate the 2,000th, 'What?'

Perhaps some people may vaguely recollect that the Bible asserts that Jesus was born about 2,000 years ago. In any case, what is there to celebrate if He is left out? What is there to celebrate? What are the achievements of man over that period of time? He is still the same greedy, self-willed and in some cases, downright evil being, never learning the lessons of history. Yes, there have been a few Florence Nightingales who have brought some benefits to mankind, but mostly man has made no progress to perfection - he has not 'evolved' into a better person - he is the same old Adam - a sinner! But he won't own up to it and change his ways.

A couple of cables before Tower Bridge we thought it prudent to edge our way to the north side of the river so that we would stand a chance of reaching the entrance of St. Katharine's Marina without having to row. By then the tide was flooding fast and if we had not done so, we would have been swept past the Marina and under the bridge! At the Marina entrance there was a pontoon to which we were able to moor, but the motion was diabolical because of waves made by frequent sightseeing boats. What little wind there was came from the south; therefore we moved Harriott to the northern side of the pontoon so that she would be blown off it, thus preventing damage to her topsides. A short while after this manoeuvre a smart motor yacht moored where we had been. We made friends with the owners who had cruised from the River Crouch. They kindly offered to tow us into the lock, but in hindsight, it would have been better to decline. Being towed alongside the yacht put quite a strain on Harriott's cleats. It is amazing that they were not yanked off by the yacht's sudden acceleration and its rolling because of the agitated water.

 When we were moored in the Marina Richard took a shower in its fine facilities. I set up the boat tent, then it was my turn to try the showers. As I dried myself off in the communal dressing room, I was amazed at the behaviour of a well-dressed young man who looked at himself in a mirror for many minutes. I think he was under the influence of drugs. His stare was quite frightening. I wondered if he would produce a knife and kill himself, or take it into his mind to kill me! I confess I was glad when he left, but then, an enormous foreign-looking man entered the room and took his place. He, too, didn't say a word - just examined himself closely in the mirror for a few minutes, then left.

 As I arrived back at the boat Richard invited me to have a meal at an Indian restaurant which was not far from the Marina. The food was excellent - along with a glass of good red wine. Afterwards, it was an odd experience to be walking late at night through the busy streets of a great city with the purpose of returning to a camping dinghy. There was so much hustle-and-bustle, yet Harriott lay only a short distance away. More usually she would have been in a quiet creek miles from civilization. Oh, how I wish that had been the case that night. Conditions dictated there was no chance I would get any sleep, since there was so much noise. As I monotonously counted sheep I could hear the continuous drone of heavy traffic, the loud whirring sound of the Tower Hotel's air-coniditioning system, the screech and squeal from frequent delivery lorries and Richard's snoring. I did not grudge the fact that he was having such a wonderful refreshing sleep, but I was frustrated that I could not find such bliss too!

Wednesday morning saw us rise early so that we could pass through the lock to make best use of the ebb, but when the time arrived there was a dead calm. Since we had booked the lock, we had to be there. We were the only ones to use it on that occasion. When we rowed in and out of its basin our little boat brought stares from those hardy souls who were around at the time. Needless to say, we waited at the pontoon in the river until about mid-day, when some thermal-generated wind made its stirring. Since there was so little wind we only managed to reach a point about a quarter of a mile to the east of the Ford Works at Dagenham, where we anchored at low water in soft mud. About a cable to the north, on the Essex bank, we could plainly see and hear some dumper trucks off-loading large amounts of scrap metal. Each time a load was dumped there was a sound like an exploading bomb, but, later in the evening, when the drivers left for home, most of the noise abated - although the chatter of trains could still be heard.

 After quite a reasonable night's sleep I awoke and I couldn't believe that the diminutive wind still came from the east. For the previous three days we had to work our way against its capriciousness and it was to be same for the remainder of our cruise - almost until the very end! 

Events for the remainder of our venture were somewhat similar to those previously experienced on the outward leg, but in reverse, except, there was much more wind on Thursday afternoon and late Friday morning.

 One thing that differed was when we had a frightening episode almost under the Dartford Bridge. Events went as follows: In fairly boisterous conditions, we were reefed down and the waves were larger than usual. A tug approached at high speed, but we held our course, expecting it to keep clear. That was not the case! At the last moment I had to act quickly to avert disaster. Harriott took a large wave over the side from the tug's wash, which made us both wetter than we already were because of spray. My instinct was to raise my fist at the offending vessel, but on reflection I thought it better to thank God that we had not been hit by the tug. Usually I would not have put myself in such a vulnerable position, but I had listened to Richard's point that he thought it best to always hold course if one's 'ship' was not required by the 'Rules of the Road at Sea' to give-way. In future I shall make sure that I change course well in advance, then, there will be no possibility of a collision - after all, I am out there for pleasure, but most boats or 'ships' are operating because they are the means of their owners' livelihood. 

Late Thursday afternoon found us nicely snuggled into Hole Haven, which is remarkably protected from easterly winds. There we had a very comfortable night. The next morning we did not leave until about 10.00, so that by the time we had worked our way to windward, an hour-and-a-half later, we were off Chapman Sands - about half-an-hour before high water springs. Concentration was needed to get the best out of the boat so that she could inch forward. We kept close inshore along the south side of Canvey Island to avoid the adverse current. Sometimes we were so near the sea wall that we could almost see the features of people who were walking along the path beside it. We were elated as we approached the eastern-most point of the Island, because of the fun we were having. Harriott moved fast while fine-reaching along the waves between their breaking crests. When we rounded the miniature peninsula and turned to the west, the wind came from astern for the first time in the entire trip! Chapman sands had been crossed with less than half a metre of water under the centreplate. This operation brought a feeling of satisfaction - mission accomplished. But we were not quite there. It was a time, still to be vigilent.

 We had a quick 'think-tank' session to sort out a plan of action for our impending arrival at Two Tree Island. Both of us would have to remove our trousers so that we could jump into the water directly over the concrete ramp at the precise moment of arrival. This would be necessary so that we would not to be swept beyond the ramp by current and wind. On our approach we lowered all sail, pulled up the rudder and partially lifted the centreplate, thus enabling steerage control until the last moment. At our arrival we speedily, but carefully, lowered ourselves down into the muddy water, feeling with our feet for a firm foothold. When this was achieved Richard held the painter, and I waded up the slipway. In one hand I gripped my car key tightly and in the other my sandals. I was extra vigilant not to miss my step on the way to the car, because I wanted to be sure the 'finale' did not become a 'farce' with me taking a swim and mud bath!

 Our improvised plan all worked like clockwork and within about ten minutes Harriott was high-and-dry on her trailer. By then the wind had increased to a good force four. We had made the recovery of the boat at the best moment - right at the top of the tide. Our cruise had been full of variety and in good, mainly sunny weather. There had been excitemet, challenging situations, teamwork, times of physical exertion, relaxation, contemplation, frustration, joy and contentment - all this, while exploring London's historic waterway. We had enjoyed each other's company and we counted our few days cruise together as the best for the year to-date.

 Bill Serjeant.

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