Through The Wash: Wells to King’s Lynn

Here’s a video account of last August’s journey from Wells-next-the-Sea to King’s Lynn, on my way into the Great Ouse river and Cambridge.

There’s nothing particularly spectacular to see, but it was a fun journey, especially as I got into the channels close to King’s Lynn at low water.

Tammy and Marmalade

I hauled Tammy Norie out of the water on to her trailer at Bridge Boatyard in Ely this weekend with the help of my friend John and his amazing customised Land Rover, Marmalade. This was the first time I hauled her out on to the trailer, rather than having her craned, reversing the launch in July.

We made a first attempt at hauling out at the Fish & Duck marina, but unfortunately the bottom of their slipway was rather muddy, and the back end of the trailer stuck there so that we couldn’t get it under the boat, even though the deepest part of the slip would have been deep enough at 1.25m. It was a close thing, though, and Davina at the Fish & Duck was most helpful.

The slip at the Bridge Boatyard was over 1.5m and the deep end of it sloped away, so we had no difficulty sinking the trailer well below Tammy Norie’s keels.  It was surprisingly easy to line her up on the trailer. All I had to do was wade in and pull her into place by the anchor fitting. I could see the keels on the planking and was able to confirm their position by feeling their forward ends with my toes. We then winched the trailer out and Tammy tipped backwards and settled neatly into place.

The main difficulty was that she settled too far back on the trailer, shifting back about 20cm. We fixed this by hooking the trailer up to Marmalade’s front tow hook then sliding her forwards on the planking using the winch attached to a strip of heavy webbing wrapped around her keels. Next time I should be able to compensate by starting her out further forwards.

As with many boat-related things, there were too many minor difficulties to list, and the procedure took up most of the weekend. I should be able to do it much more quickly next time.

Tammy Norie is now on a friend’s driveway in Cambridge, waiting to head south for some maintenance before being relaunched in Portsmouth Harbour. She’s not “laid up” and there’ll be more sailing this year!

You can read more about Marmalade on his blog. It’s a continuous work in progress whose driving seat resembles an aircraft cockpit, and is equipped with winches, tow hooks (at both ends), and all manner of useful equipment.

Made it to Cambridge

For a long time it’s been a goal of mine to bring a boat to Cambridge. I researched the rivers and locks years ago, but had given up the idea until I saw how Roger Taylor sailed the oceans on a shallow draft boat. I’ve now achieved my goal with Tammy Norie.

I wrote about the plans two weeks ago, but strong westerly winds prevented me from leaving Wells-next-the-sea. I was finally able to escape on Monday, sailing to King’s Lynn. On Tuesday morning I motored up the Great Ouse river and entered the inland waterways at the Denver Lock Complex, reaching Littleport at about 13:00 before taking the train home (and getting some work done). The following afternoon I returned to Littleport with my friend Gareth and we set off at 16:00, passing Ely, visiting an old friend for fish and chips on a narrowboat at the Cambridge County Polo Club, traversing the Bottisham and Baits Bite locks in the dark, and finally pulling up at the Fort Saint George pub, less than 200m from my house, at midnight.

On Thursday the Cambridge University Yacht Club held a social meeting at the Fort Saint George, and many friends got to see Tammy for the first time. I also discovered that if six people sit in the cockpit, the drains back up and their feet get wet!

With CUYC friends at the Fort Saint George

I don’t have time to write up many details at the moment, as I’m travelling shortly, but here’s Tammy Norie next to the Fort Saint George.

I’ll write up the interesting approach to King’s Lynn on my return.

Dawn departure

Away from Wells at last with the morning tide, to King’s Lynn with the evening. Winds finally came round.

Gibraltar Point to North Foreland – Strong winds are forecast
24 hour forecast: Southerly 3 or 4, backing southeasterly 4 or 5, then easterly or southeasterly 5 or 6. Smooth or slight, becoming slight or moderate. Occasional rain. Good, becoming moderate, occasionally poor.

Who said that?

It was very hard getting Tammy Norie off the beach at Sea Palling, and by 06:00 I was already exhausted and would have liked to have taken the rest of the day off to tinker with the boat. But the weather was due to turn from easterly force 5s to westerly force 8s by the evening as ex-hurricane Bertha tracked into the North Sea.

The track of ex-hurricane Bertha

I had to get going to Blakeney or Wells. And I was already shattered. So, after breakfast and a breather on the anchor I set off westwards.

There isn’t much to tell you about the actual journey. This part of the Norfolk coast has very little of interest from the sea. Tammy Norie was against the current for the first hour or so, but still managed 4.5 knots over the ground. When the current turned she was making 6 knots. The sea was moderate and the motion pleasant. The sailing was no problem at all. No problem. No prob…

Was I asleep just then?

I’ve always had a problem controlling sleep. I sometimes joke that I can sleep standing up. I have fallen asleep during conversations. I can sleep anywhere, and when I’m tired I don’t have a choice. I simply sleep. Other people say that they’re jealous of my ability to take naps or sleep during the day. On the other hand, people are sometimes a little put out that I allow myself to sleep. The thing is, it’s not voluntary. I don’t really have a choice. When I’m tired, I will sleep.

Sometimes I’ve wondered if I’m borderline narcoleptic. I’ve had one spell of post-viral fatigue syndrome where I couldn’t stay properly awake for months. (Fortunately, it didn’t turn chronic.)

Now, this could be a blessing or a curse for a solo sailor.

The ability to take naps and drop in and out of sleep could be very valuable, since a solo sailor has to wake up frequently to keep a look-out, especially for approaching ships. Solo sailors set alarms to wake themselves up every 10-15 minutes at night. During the day, if visibility is good, you can afford to sleep for longer.

But what if I can’t stay awake when I need to? What if I’m crossing a shipping lane when tired and nod off? I know from experience that I can’t simply will myself to stay awake.

Well, here on this short journey from Sea Palling, was a chance to test myself.

I took myself far enough off shore that I wasn’t seeing any lobster pots, set my iPhone alarm for 10 minutes, and sat still. That’s all it took. Suddenly it was four minutes later. I’d been woken by a large wave throwing Tammy a little off course. This pattern repeated itself. I was sleeping quickly, but being woken by changes in rhythm. After a while I started sleeping for eight or nine minutes. Never once was I woken by the alarm, though, and I wonder if I was getting any real sleep at all or just failing to be conscious.

But there was something else happening. I was hearing voices.

Nothing clear, nothing obvious, but just occasionally I thought I could hear a word or two on the edge of hearing. The first few times I looked around, thinking that another boat had come close, or that someone was shouting on the beach and I’d accidentally wandered towards the shore. But there was nobody there. I wasn’t dreaming — these were waking hallucinations.

I was slightly startled. I’d not had this happen before. I was mainly concerned that it might be a sign that worse things could happen. I’m very aware that I can make poor decisions when tired, and here I was alone on the sea where my decisions could be critical to my survival.

At this point I decided that I wouldn’t be attempting to enter Blakeney. I heard the entrance could be tricky. I was very prepared to give it a go, but I felt that I couldn’t trust myself. Wells, I read, were helpful about getting you in. I might need help.

I kept up my 10 minute nap cycle, and by the time Cromer and then Sheringham slipped past I was feeling stable, at least. I was still hearing he occasional voice, but didn’t feel as if I would pass out. The long run to Blakeney Point went smoothly, with Tammy surfing happily on the waves.

As I approached the mark on Blakeney Point I realised that it wasn’t the clear water mark I was looking at, but the isolated danger mark, Hjordis, and that I was losing depth quite rapidly. I’d need to gybe to head off in the right direction. At this point I realised that I had too much sail up. Tammy was leaping across the waves for a reason. It was a bit of a struggle to get her round and reef, but again the junk rig showed its strength, and I was able to stay in control, change course, and head off the sand with only a few hundred metres of downwind drift.

I ran on past Blakeney until I spotted the cardinal buoy at Wells with the binoculars. I tried to radio Wells but they couldn’t hear me well enough, so I called them on the phone. They confirmed what I suspected: I was much too early to get in. Tammy’s rapid progress from Sea Palling had got me there almost three hours earlier than I had planned. It was 12:30 and I wouldn’t be able to cross the bar until 15:00. Wells recommended anchoring at Holkham Bay, about a mile downwind of the entrance.

Now, if I’d been more awake I would’ve dismissed that idea, but as it was I thought that if there was enough shelter I’d be able to sleep for an hour on the anchor. So I sailed west and looked for the bay. Well, if there’s a bay there it’s not very clear, and it’s certainly not very sheltered. I sailed quite close to the shore but the wind and waves seemed too high to anchor securely. So I turned around and started beating back up towards the entrance.

In fact, it took two long tacks to make it back up, using up all the time available. If I’d anchored and slept I might have missed my chance!

Upwind, I was able to deploy a bungee to the tiller and give the autopilot a rest. Tammy Norie doesn’t make great progress to windward, but she’s very stable and reliable on an upwind course. Speed through the water dropped to 2.5 knots, but I was very confident that she’d look after herself and I was able to take several naps while comfortably tucked under the spray hood.

Finally, I arrived at the Wells cardinal just after 15:00 and called them on the radio. My friend Nick had come to Wells to meet me and had a chat with the harbour, explaining that I was solo and no doubt that I was likely to be very tired. They kindly sent the beach patrol RIB out to meet me, and they piloted me in through what seemed at the time to be a confusing mess of red and green markers.

Somehow, in my exhausted state, I was able to get fenders and mooring lines out while steering with my knees, and helpful hands got me on to the pontoon. I closed up the boat, climbed into Nick’s car, and he took me to a bed.

Later, he described talking to me during the journey as an “odd experience”.

So, a short test of my ability to cope with lack of sleep. I don’t think it’s good enough. I’m still concerned that I may be in some way unsuited to solo passages.

Time to research fatigue management plans.

Windbound at Wells

Last Saturday I attempted to sail from Wells-next-the-Sea to King’s Lynn as the first step of my plan to bring Tammy Norie to Cambridge. The weather wouldn’t let me.

I left Cambridge at 06:35 carrying a sheet of 6mm exterior plywood that I planned to use for improving deck fittings, and reached Wells just after 09:00.

I bought Imray chart Y9 of the Wash, paid the harbour and dropped some money in the charity trust box as promised. I spent some time preparing Tammy and chatting to my neighbours on the pontoon — mostly motor cruisers who felt it was too rough to go out. Indeed, on my way out and over the bar I met four scurrying in, several of them ignoring the cardinal and channel buoys in their hurry to get out of the waves.

It was a bit choppy. The wind was westerly force 6 and the waves were short and high with quite a few breaking at the Wells bar. Once out past the cardinal it wasn’t too bad, but once again Tammy failed to make any progress to windward in the short sea. I made an hour-long tack northwards, trying everything I could to make progress, but when I tacked back to see how I was doing I found I’d actually slipped downwind about a quarter of a mile.

The wind was only forecast to get worse. It was clear I wasn’t going to get to King’s Lynn at all, and that it would be dangerous to have Hunstanton on the lee in such conditions. I could run back to Sea Palling and abandon my Cambridge plans, or I could scurry back in to Wells.

At this point I was a bit worried about Wells. On the way out I’d noted I had over 3m of water in the channel, and since then the tide had peaked and dropped a metre below that, so I ought to have 2m going in, if I was quick. But the tide was falling all the time and if I made a mistake I could be in quite a bit of trouble.

My main fuel tank was also running very low at this point. I’d been unable to fill up because Wells has no petrol station. So I transferred 4 litres from the reserve into the main, lifting them both into the deepest part of the cockpit to avoid getting any water in the fuel.

I was unable to raise Wells harbour on the radio or telephone, but managed to chat to the friendly guys on the beach patrol RIB who were watching the holidaymakers on the nice sheltered beach at the entrance to Wells. They suggested I come in quick.

So I did. Tammy’s 5hp engine seems just about adequate for pushing her into the wind, waves, and ebb current on the westward turn over the bar. I’m very glad I didn’t go for a smaller engine, and I kind of wished I still had the 10hp monster that I broke earlier. I’m absolutely sure that I couldn’t’ve got back in with a yuloh or scull. Engineless I would simply not have had the choice to enter Wells. Perhaps one day I won’t be on a schedule.

By the time I was at the beach chatting with the beach patrol guys over the side it was too late to get back to the town. The suggested I anchor just south of the outer harbour, and so I found a broad spot that still had some water and threw the anchor over the side. By the time I’d dropped the sail and made a log entry I was aground in a lovely spot.

I spent the afternoon trying to remove the starboard middle stanchion and trying out some kite aerial photography. At about 22:00 I floated off and rode the very strong Wells flood back to the town, where my motor-cruiser friends were chatting and helped me tie up. “You must be exhausted,” exclaimed one, and I realised that they thought I’d been out at sea for twelve hours. I explained that I’d been on a sandbank for most of the day drinking tea and playing with a kite.

I spent most of Sunday fixing the stanchion. Briefly, here is what it was like in the morning:

and in the afternoon:

It is the prototype for upgrades to all the deck fittings, ensuring they are sealed and strong. I also fixed the tiller pilot, so it was an enjoyable and productive day. Even right inside Wells the wind was very strong, and nobody was going out.

I met an excellent chap named Alan in a temporarily mastless Maurice Griffiths boat called Stella Marie who had Haslar self-stearing gear “serial number 2” hanging off the back, and we had a very nice chat about the Jester Challenge and good places to visit in the Wash. At one point he mentioned that people used to have boat stamps in the old days, and I was able to produce mine and stamp his log book, much to our mutual enjoyment.

On the whole, getting stuck in Wells was no bad thing, and I’ll make another attempt on King’s Lynn as soon as the westerlies decrease.

Tammy from a Kite

I’ve been meaning to try some kite aerial photography for a while. I was tidying up Tammy Norie while stuck on a sandbank at Wells-next-the-Sea, and found a dowel that I’d bought to repair the broken spine of my Japanese Rokaku fighting kite. Time to give it a try! It worked better than I thought, but still not very well yet. I clearly need a more stable kite and rig.

I think a box kite would be better. They are simple and stable and have plenty of lifting power. That and a Picavet suspension ought to do it. Something to do when I’m not so busy fixing the boat.

Plans for Cambridge

Part of my early summer plan was to get Tammy Norie in a position to reach my home town of Cambridge. I live quite close to the river, and with a bit of care I might be able to get my boat and house into the same photograph! The visitor moorings in Cambridge are right next to the Fort Saint George pub, where the Cambridge University Yacht Club hold “socials”, so with a bit of care Tammy could be right there for everyone to visit.

It turns out I won’t need a Boat Safety Scheme certificate issued by an inspector if I’m just a visitor to the river system. I do have to check that I comply with the scheme, but I’m allowed to self-certify. That will save quite a bit of time and expense. I’ve read the checking procedures carefully and the only significant thing is Tammy Norie’s gas locker, which does not currently drain overboard and is made of wood.  I can fit a drain from the locker and reinforce it with fibre glass to comply. That could be a job for this weekend. Most of the rest of the issues concern sticking up labels indicating where things like fire extinguishers and gas shut-off valves are.

I’ve spoken with the Environment Agency on the phone and they told me I can just buy a visitors licence at the first lock on the river and the process would only take a couple of hours. So no need for me to fill in forms, post cheques, and wait a week. I can just go. I had an email conversation some time ago about whether Tammy Norie would have to pay power boat charges, and they concluded that she was a sailing boat, so a seven day visitor licence is only £8.94. The licence for the river Cam is an extra 5% of an annual licence, so that’s £2.46. So it looks like the cost of visiting is quite trivial.

The Environment Agency has a lot of information to help boaters, including lists of bridge heights. They say there are a lot of free moorings with 48-hour stays on an excellent map and guide to the Great Ouse.

So, the first step will be to return to Tammy Norie at Wells-next-the-sea, fix up the gas locker, label a bunch of things, and sail her at least as far as Kings Lynn, thought the Environment Agency river system starts at the Heron Pub at Stowbridge, which also has moorings. Most of the towns on the route are also on the Cambridge to Kings Lynn railway line, so I should be able to be pretty flexible about how I move her to Cambridge while getting some work done, though I shall consult my friend Gareth about taking my bike on board and cycling to and from stations.

Quite different from dashing around Norfolk to avoid a gale on the nose!

Tammy’s bottom

When I beached Tammy Norie at Sea Palling I had a chance to check her bottom. She’s been in the water for a couple of months without any new antifouling treatment except whatever was applied by the previous owners at least 25 years ago. In this video you can join me as I take a look.

Stranded: how not to beach your boat

On the way from Lowestoft to Wells I stopped at Sea Palling as planned, anchoring behind the artificial reefs that protect the amazing sandy beach and create lovely lagoons where families with young children enjoyed the sun.

The weather was mild with a force 4 from the north west and I anchored in a sheltered spot tucked in behind the east cardinal, paddled ashore in the kayak, had some of “Norfolk’s best tea” and enjoyed the atmosphere. It was about this time that I had the idea to beach Tammy Norie. What can I say? I was tired.

I visited the lifeguard station and explained my intentions. They said no problem, and advised me of a suitable spot one lagoon west of the entrance. At high tide at 17:00 I gently drove Tammy Norie over the sand bar and up the beach, watched by the remaining holidaymakers. She scrunched neatly onto the sand and was lifted and dropped gently a few times by the waves. I jumped into the surf with the anchor and dug it in, though it was entirely redundant. I also threw the mostly useless tiny 1kg kedge anchor away from the stern just in case. Here she is immediately after beaching:

Then the trouble started. I really hadn’t thought hard about the wave action. As the tide ebbed the waves started picking up the stern and dropping her quite hard onto her skeg (the leg-like fin a the back that the rudder is attached to). The stern is exactly designed to be picked up by waves, so I should’ve anticipated this. The sand was quite hard packed and the repeated impact of the skeg was loud and worrying. But by this time it was too late for me to back out — Tammy was thoroughly aground on her keels.

Bang. Bang. BANG. Uh oh. I was genuinely concerned that the impacts would do serious damage, perhaps hammering the skeg up through the bottom of the boat and pretty much destroying her. I wondered what to do. She’d be much better off facing the waves, wouldn’t she? So I stood at the bow and tried to use the wave action to turn her around. But it was too late, and I only managed to shift her about 20 degrees. I sat on the beach and watched despondently.

Why had I done this?

Firstly, I wanted to try it and see how it worked out. There’s a story I heard long ago that I often mention to people about this kind of thing. A boy was brought into hospital with head injuries, and when asked what happened he said “I was seeing how close I could get my head to a train.” The lesson is that there’s only one way that could end. I need to be a little more cautious about “seeing how” things work out with Tammy Norie.

Secondly, I’d heard from Nathan Whitworth that the artifical reefs at Sea Palling didn’t provide much shelter. “Those sea breaks are rubbish,” he said, “they don’t break anything.” So I imagined that with Tammy on the beach I’d get a good night’s sleep. Ha ha ha. No. Even as Tammy settled down and the dangerous banging stopped, I realised with horror that the sea was going to come back. At about 04:00. And I had to be ready. A slightly bumpy night on my small anchor was nothing compared to what I’d have to deal with.

Thirdly, I wanted to see whether Tammy’s bottom was collecting sea life. I haven’t done anything about renewing the antifouling, hoping that the old stuff might still have some effect. Given that it’s old, I thought, perhaps it is super poisonous and still potent. That, at least, I could do. As the sea withdrew I got a pretty good look.

Really quite a lot of barnacles, but only a small amount of beard around the waterline. The barnacles came off easily after about 15 minutes’ work with a scraper, but by now it was dark and I didn’t do a complete job. The barnacles seemed to like the back edges of the rudder and keels most of all, and these were difficult to clean.

That done, I started thinking about how I’d protect Tammy Norie from the waves in the morning. I knew that the wind was going to come around to the east or south east, so she’d be more sheltered than before. (Stupidly I hadn’t really thought enough about this in advance, though.) A friendly chap at the Sea Palling Independent Lifeboat had reassured me earlier in the evening about this point. I was somewhat heartened by the nearby presence of the lifeboat station, but I didn’t expect anyone to be there at 04:00 and I wasn’t going to ask.

I got out the folding shovel and dug a pit under the skeg. The hard packed sand was easy to move. The pit filled up sand and water almost immediately, but it was loose and soft. I dug more, making a pit about a metre across all round the skeg.

By this time the tide was low and the sand was exposed for about 20m behind the boat. I took the main anchor to the stern and walked it out as far as I could on its chain and rode, making it off on one of the stern cleats. I noted its position using a line between the lifeboat station and the beacon at the end of a reef. Then, because I didn’t trust the cleat (it still has no backing plate) I made a bridle between it, the big bow cleat, and the other stern cleat. That should absorb some load.

Then I tried to lie down and sleep. But it was no good. What if the wind got up? What if the waves were even bigger in the morning? What would happen if Tammy broke up on the beach? What could I retrieve first? Was I likely to be injured? Was I creating a potentially fatal accident? These were the thoughts in my mind as I slipped only half way to sleep.

No good. No good. I got up again and retrieved one of the larger fenders from the locker. I was able to push it under the skeg and arrange some lines to keep it there, bracing it fore and aft tightly. Perhaps it would absorb some impact too. Fenders are supposed to absorb impact, aren’t they?

I went to lie down again, thinking to myself that once the sea came back I wouldn’t be able to make any more preparations. Had I done everything I could? Had I done enough? What else could I do? What else…

Sleep came. Of a sort.

I woke up at about 03:30 as the waves started slapping Tammy’s undersides. I drank some cold tea and ate a slice of cake and wondered what was going to happen. It was utterly dark. I switched on the running lights and the stern light showed me the waves. Small waves. Smaller than the night before. Maybe this would be OK.

As the waves started to jostle Tammy Norie I grasped the anchor rode and leant back, applying constant tension so that I could feel if something happened. A larger wave came. Did she lift? Did she move? I wasn’t sure. I hung on and waited, my fingers going numb.

In my head, I could hear Han Solo.

Tammy lifted on the waves for a moment before dropping sharply. But the impact on the skeg was soft. My digging and the fender were working. Another impact. Another soft thud. I felt relief: she was going to survive. Not today, Neptune. Not today.

A good hour passed with me sitting and hauling on the anchor rode. As each wave lifted Tammy I was able to get a small amount of rode aboard. I’d pulled in a couple of metres. So Tammy must be a couple of metres closer to being fully afloat. I checked a transit along the beach. More hauling. I checked it again. To my horror Tammy was further up the beach. The anchor was dragging, and the waves were pushing her ashore. Much more of this and I’d miss the tide and Tammy might get so far ashore that I couldn’t retrieve her at all.

The wave action was of course relentless, and my body and especially my hands were very tired. Sometimes, I thought, it would be good to have a winch or windlass. I pulled harder, trying to time my pulls to the wave groups. I made progress outward on the small waves, but then a big pair would come, pick Tammy up, and push her all the way back.

At about 04:45 I realised that I had to turn her around. I took the retrieved rode to the bow through one of the fairleads and made it off on the big cleat while Tammy bumped on the bottom. Timing my movements to the waves I released the rode from the stern cleat, dived over the coachroof, and took up the slack on the bow. As a wave group came in I hauled. Tammy turned! Not only that, she turned quite easily. About ten good hauls and she was facing the waves, even though we’d been pushed a little more ashore. Immediately the wave action on the boat lessened. We were still aground and still in trouble, but now perhaps I could make some progress. I pulled and pulled and we slid forwards.

I took a short rest from hauling on the rode and went back to the cockpit to start the engine. In reverse it wouldn’t do any good, but perhaps it could help me forwards. I stuck it on full ahead and went back to the bow. Heave. Heave. Heave.

And finally, finally, she came afloat.

And of course immediately started motoring at some speed around the anchor. But this was a relatively minor problem. I threw myself back into the cockpit and slowed the engine, and was able to use the engine and rudder to guide her off the sand completely and downwind of the anchor. Things still could have gone wrong. As I hauled the anchor she could have been blown or pushed onto the sand again and I’d be stuck without even the anchor to work with. But I was quick enough. Aware enough. Just enough.

With enormous relief I motored to the deep water behind a reef and threw the anchor back out. I made a short video then. It doesn’t make much sense. I’ll just show you the first frame. It was 05:45.

You might think that was the end of the trouble for the day, but the weather was due to turn from easterly force 5s to westerly force 8s by the evening as ex-hurricane Bertha tracked into the North Sea.

The track of ex-hurricane Bertha

I had to get going to Blakeney or Wells. And I was already shattered. You can read about that in my post “Who said that?”.

Lessons? Don’t forget the waves. Beach your boat where it’s sheltered from the waves on both tides. Beach her bow-to the sea if possible. Don’t decide to try new things when you’re already tired. Sleep on it. Don’t beach your boat. Don’t do what I did. Don’t.

Followup: A few days later I had a thought about this. Perhaps another thing to do is to beach your boat closer to the half-tide line. Tides are usually sinusoidal, so the sea will be falling and rising fastest at half tide. This means your boat will settle on the bottom quickly and be lifted quickly when the sea returns. Furthermore, you will definitely have plenty of water even if the boat stays still. So I think, when I try this again, I’ll anchor the boat firmly in one place well below the high tide line. No hauling, and little chance that the wave action will push the boat so high up the beach that floating becomes impossible.