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    The Tobyjug Chronicles: Part Two
    The Tobyjug Chronicles: Part Two
    The Tobyjug Chronicles: Part Two
    Ebook69 pages54 minutes

    The Tobyjug Chronicles: Part Two

    By Toby Clark

    ()

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    About this ebook

    The Tobyjug Chronicles: Memoirs of a Misfit;
    Divorced, broke, Living with Mum.

    I bought a boat, went caving with the WSG. Became a teacher then a specialist FE Lecturer in Occupational Safety & Health in the Fire, Health & Safety at Southwark College and, boy was it fun!

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherToby Clark
    Release dateSep 26, 2020
    ISBN9781005217464
    The Tobyjug Chronicles: Part Two
    Author

    Toby Clark

    email tobyclark1@hotmail.com.

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      Book preview

      The Tobyjug Chronicles - Toby Clark

      The Tobyjug Chronicles

      Part Two: Low tide

      Copyright Toby Clark

      Smashwords Edition

      : Publication Date: 5th November 2020

      ISBN 9781005217464

      Author’s Note:

      Due to a problem with the e-pub version, I was not (and still am not) able to create a page of the chapter headings and the appropriate links. As Douglas Adams (of Hitch-hikers Guide to the Galaxy fame) would have put it:

      "We Apologise for the Inconvenience!"

      Chapter 1 I bought a boat called. Salou

      She was a 24 ft motor-sailer with a nominal sleeping capacity of 6. Built by Yachthaven in 1971.

      I had no idea what I was letting myself in for! Had it not been for the good offices of Roger Hardy, an old sea-dog if ever there was one, I'm sure I would have succumbed to disaster on numerous occasions. Roger was a friend and a source of advice in all matters boaty but he didn't like to impart all his knowledge at once. He gave me lots of details about how to secure Salou to a drying mud mooring which I needed to do once I reached Lower Halstow Creek because although there was already a mooring in theory it didn‘t exist in practice. All I had on the map was a location (no.22) and a permission to lay from the Medway Ports Authority but it was obvious that this didn't match up with reality. So I found a suitable place and dug two holes to put large tyres in. This of itself was a serious undertaking, the mud being about a metre deep. I stood in the middle of my chosen spot with a shovel and threw out the mud, descending until I hit a solid bottom. Next problem was trying to climb out of the hole. The walls were just sloppy mud with nothing to grip on to but I must have managed somehow or I would still be there! The two tyres were duly dug into place, a rope joining them together and attached to a sturdy mooring chain of the correct length to which I attached the boat and went home muddy and tired but much relieved.

      Two weeks later Roger looked up from his desk and said did you remember to put in a swivel?

      What's a swivel, Roger?

      At every tide the boat goes goes round in a circle because as the water drains away it lays her down in one direction and as it floods again, lifting her off it the opposite way and completes a circle so that the chain develops a kink

      My mind raced in horror. 14 days, 28 tides, 28 twists of the chain…. I raced down to Halstow Creek, heart in mouth, dreading what I was going to find but thankfully just in time. The chain was well and truly kinked but hadn't yet failed, disaster averted! That time! Over the years she was moored there she had a habit of getting away, having to be recovered from wherever she happened to fetch up. The worse time though was due to the infamous hurricane of 1987. As Roger said it must have been blowing 100mph out there. Salou was blown ashore as the big shackle holding her to the mooring chain sheared off – it must have required immense force to do that. When I got there with Dyrck Lamble helping, the tide was coming in and Salou, up on the bank was about to come afloat again in whatever condition she was left in when she beached. A grim, dark February night had set in and all we had were a couple of caving lights by which to survey the appalling scene. It took some time for me to get aboard. She was in a complete mess inside with several inches of water on the cabin floor, now beginning to slop about as she started to float. Luckily the wind had died down by then and it was fairly calm in Halstow Creek. I gave her, or more particularly her elderly OM636 engine (a marinised version of a London taxi) some very stern words. I had brought a battery aboard and connected it up in tandem with the existing flat one to provide a 24Volt start which usually worked, albeit it had once partially melted the terminals.

      If you don't start you will die I said and pressed the button. With a brief

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