Attending a DCA rally would allow me to compare 'Micro's' performance with dinghies of similar characteristics and I was therefore keen to match the new boat at the Deben meet over the weekend, 30th June/1st July, 2001.

Sunny, but blustery weather had been forecast. So it turned out to be.

I left home after mid-day on Friday, 29th July, expecting to spend at least two night's sleeping aboard, while the boat was safely ashore near the high water mark. High water on the Friday was around 1918 hours at Felixstowe Port, which corresponded with the entrance to the River Deben.

On arrival at Felixstowe Ferry Slip about 2.00 pm, I noted there was ample water to launch my 'Pride and Joy'. (Pride, really is not a very good thing, since it gives credit to oneself, but joy is a fine experience, because the soul is uplifted.) A notice at the head of the slipway indicated there would be a charge for launching and recovering the boat, but when I made enquiries at the local cafe where the fee was to be paid, they told me boats without engines were exempt and that car parking was free. Duly pleased, I made haste to get 'Micro' in the water.

Apart from the ferry boat, full of summer visitors, there were no other obstructions to hinder the launching process. A flood tide was charging up-river at a rate of knots and combined with a fluctuating south easterly wind of between two and three Beaufort scale, we were whisked northwards through the moorings to the west of Horse Sands. Since it was time for a late afternoon tea, I grabbed a vacant mooring and made fast to the buoy.

That sunny afternoon, I had the river all to myself. As I sipped Brookbond's elixir and savoured a couple of McVities digestive biscuits, I surveyed the beauty of the spot. To the south, beyond moored yachts dancing on sparkling blue wavelets, was a high bank of shingle which did not completely obscure the boat yard buildings. To the east of that, on the opposite side of the river's entrance, was the small wooded hamlet of Bawdsey, unspoiled and picturesque, but its Manor was hidden from view by the trees. On either side of the mooring, to the east and west, were low-lying fields and to the north were the muddy banks of the meandering river.

From Felixstowe Ferry to Woodbridge, in the north, almost to the extent of navigable water, is the town of Woodbridge. The distance between the two is about nine nautical miles; therefore my cruising area was no more than three hours sailing either way - unless restrained by the tide or lack of wind. I could row, but against an average of one and a half knots current there would be little progress. Fortunately, the elements were in our favour and after replenishment, sail was hoisted. When the mooring was dropped, we recommenced our exploration of this beautiful East Coast river.

The next point of interest were the moorings off the Ramsholt Arms, a favourite rendezvous for DCA rally attendees. Many a pint has been downed there while tales of adventure in small boats were exchanged. I'm told the menu and standard of food is good, but have yet to try them for myself. I carefully examined the sandy beaches either side of the jetty to observe if they were suitable for a night's place of rest, but to me, they looked a bit steep for a comfortable berth.

By then the wind had decreased, so that we progressed at a snail's pace with hardly any way through the water.

Where were we to spend the night? It really was time to look for a suitable spot. As I had not yet tried sleeping aboard 'Micro' while she was drawn up on a beach, I was keen to find a good one. I wanted a clean, fairly hard surface on which she could settle. That would enable me to come and go without taking mud into the boat. It was my custom to have an evening walk after the main meal of the day, which I like to have about 1800 hours. By the time it is finished and cleared away, I then have a good two hours of daylight for a jaunt. This postprandial exercise enables me to taste the flavour of the place, but for others it could be the time to try the flavour of a local brew! Not being keen on alcoholic drinks, although not fully teetotal, I seldom avail myself of the opportunity to down a pint, but I do like the company of DCA members at a local pub. Low alcohol larger always satisfies my thirst and it gives me more pleasure than the real thing.

Arriving at Waldringfield village at 1800 gave time for spotting a suitable place for 'Micro' to take the ground. There were approximately another couple of hours to high water, which meant three or more feet of tidal rise. I nudged the boat gently onto some gravelly golden sand, just to the south of the Yacht Club. A perfect location - not too steep. If I put her bow toward the river I could sleep with my head higher than my feet, but with the bunk absolutely level athwart ship.

There and then, the evening meal was prepared, but something special was happening at the Yacht Club. Signs were being hung up indicating a 40th birthday party was about to be celebrated. Throngs of young people in fancy dress gathered on the balcony. Drinks were universally distributed and merriment began.

"Should I try to find another spot for the night?" I asked myself. "No. It'll be alright. They'll all have gone home by midnight," was the reply. So after the first indication of the ebb I turned 'Micro's bow away from the river's bank and let her settle in that position. Then I set up the tent.

Dark clouds indicated the threat of approaching showers. Therefore I decided to have a rapid walk beside the river to the north before their arrival. I could feel the cold front's approach and there was a smattering of rain, but my sailing jacket prevented me from getting too wet. Other walkers were also caught out in the rain.

Two things attracted my attention. They were an old Catalac catamaran, moored closely to the bank and a new, very large mansion with a wonderful view over the river. The former contrasted with its lack of care by comparison with the latter's untarnished appearance. Why would someone want such a large and grandiose home? Perhaps they had been lottery winners and were compelled to use their tax free pot of gold? I also asked the question, "Why would the owner of the catamaran let his boat deteriorate to that extent?" She was perfectly repairable. How sad she was like that .......... and she could be refurbished for living aboard - indeed to cruise anywhere. My imagination saw me sailing her to paradise islands.

Back at the boat, the neighbouring birthday party was in full swing. I retired to the tent, just in time to avoid a torrential downpour. Music - it was more like a continuous diabolical noise - boomed out over what normally would have been a peaceful rural scene.

Had I known it was to take place I would never have stayed within ten miles of Waldringfield! There was much shouting and bawling accompanied by the sound of breaking bottles. At midnight, the rain having stopped, a party of youngsters, some in the nude, dashed down the stony beach. They were oblivious of the dangers of injury from stones or broken glass and dived into the water. This action was accentuated with more shouts and squeals. Those who did not avail themselves of the opportunity for aquatic activity ran up and down the beach, including a circuit of 'Micro'. I was glad I had not placed an anchor from the bow - because surely they would have tripped over her line.

It wasn't until about three in the morning that any semblance of quiet came to that otherwise almost idyllic location. I slumbered off in a drowsy dream, only to awaken about two hours later. Then I was not able to lose consciousness until it was time to be up and going at morning sunrise. With some relief that the nightmare had come to an end, I took down the tent and prepared breakfast. There was no way I felt like shaving and smartening myself for presentation to those arriving for the Rally, but knowing the public toilets were only a few steps away, I made the effort. Hot water freely available at the basin soon brought back some vigour and after the removal of my whiskers I saw the semblance of a beaming face through a steamed-up mirror.

By the time we were afloat and sailing, the wind was a fresh, force three from the south east. That meant a beat against the tide down river towards Ramsholt, where I hoped to meet Paul Constantine, the coordinator of the Rally. Sure enough, he was there in his Torch dinghy, which was embalmed under a tent. Tied alongside was a Mirror dinghy, in which sat his wife. Paul explained she would sail her dinghy to Felixstowe Ferry Slip to meet some friends. They were new to sailing, but wanted to try it out. I decided to make my way to the slipway too.

Having a headlong start, I arrived a good quarter of an hour before the Mirror. There I spied George Saffrey with his beloved Cruz dinghy. We renewed acquaintances and while he continued preparations for launching his boat, I introduced myself to a couple whom I thought would be Paul's sailing tyros. This turned out to be the case.

As I gave George a hand to launch his Cruz, the Mirror arrived and we all began to chatter about boats. We took a few photographs and discussed whether there would be enough wind to sail against the ebb to meet up with Paul in his Torch. The Mirror was first away and she made good progress. With that encouragement, I followed and George took up the rear. When we all gathered around Paul's boat it was decided not to go out to sea, as had first been suggested, but to sail northwards to Ramsholt.

Because the wind had increased in strength, I reefed as far as I was able, ie., one reef in the mainsail. The gusty conditions meant my hands were full at the height of each onslaught. 'Micro' heeled alarmingly and on one occasion, I felt she must go over, but, to my relief, she righted herself. George picked up a mooring at Ramsholt and 'Micro' was then tied beside his Cruz. We had lunch together and chatted about, you know what! Small boats - surprise, surprise. But we also talked about GPS and how it had revolutionized navigation for open boat sailors.

After lunch we went down river in search of the Torch and the Mirror. We found them near Felixstowe Ferry Slipway, along with David Jennings who had arrived in his Highlander 14. His boat went surprisingly well under her deeply reefed rig. Paul suggested we should make our way northwards again with the flood tide to help us. We could rendezvous at 'The Rocks' - a sheltered spot adjoining Shottisham Woods. The anchorage is popular because of the protection it has from southerly winds by a bluff of land. There is also a place where one can get ashore to take a ramble.

The wind started to blow harder and every dingy was reefed down to her maximum. Unfortunately, 'Micro' was overpowered in the gusts. The other boats made better progress to windward, but when there was an opportunity to match them on a reach, she invariably left them behind. When the wind veered to the north west we found ourselves beating through the Ramsholt moorings. Then I ran into difficulties while trying to avoid a moored yacht. ' Micro' did not complete her tack, came into irons, then her bow was forced against the yacht's topside. As I tried to fend her off, I saw the capping piece split under the load. Gradually we slipped astern until we were free. Fortunately, there was no perceptible damage to the other vessel. We escaped with a sense of relief that we had got away with it so lightly.

I made the decision to abandon the rally and head for home. Although I really wanted to join the others camping that night, I felt things were not quite under control with the boat handling. Not being able to reef sufficiently for the conditions was the root of the problem. Also, I was due to start a month's cruise on Monday, 2nd July, to Southern Ireland. A friend had invited me to join him in his Achilles 24, which was based at Plymouth. That made the decision easier.

Meanwhile George Saffrey had realised my difficulties and made efforts to return my camera before my departure. He had been taking photographs of 'Micro' while sailing, which I planned to use for the Micro-Sailboat Web site. He hove to so that I could sail by and grab the camera. Having retrieved it, I gave him my thanks and said farewell.

Returning to Felixstowe Ferry Slipway did not present any other problems. Mostly, I used the jib for the long reach; then the main for the last stretch which was protected from the real force of the wind by a high bank.

The essential lesson learned from the episode was not to carry too much sail. Therefore, since the Deben cruise I have obtained a smaller jib for use in strong wind conditions. Repairs have also been carried out to the stem fitting.

All in all, the Deben Cruise was 'interesting', but not entirely without frustration and excitement. In conclusion, not all cruises bring experiences of sheer joy or satisfaction, but with some there are moments to cherish and to savour like fine jewels.

Bill.

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