The blog records the voyages of PicoMicroYacht, a seaworthy small sailing dinghy converted for rowing long distances. This includes the 26th July 2012 crossing of the English Channel, as well as rowing along the south coast of England, down the river Thames, around London and across Ireland. PicoMicroYacht is a converted Laser Pico Sailing Dinghy, with a sliding seat, riggers and cleaver oars, fitted with a shortened main mast and a mizzen mast and can be set up as a reduced rig sailing boat.
Post-note for the previous blog: It was up these reaches that the Fighting Temeraire had been towed to be scrapped at Rotherhithe, captured in the famous oil painting by Joseph Mallord William Turner, now in the London National Gallery.
As the tug strained, the sun was setting below a salmon red sky. Turner was there in his rowing boat just in time to witness the last voyage of the old ship, sketching frenetically in watercolors to capture the moment . The Literary Gazette wrote at the time of Mr Turner's subsequent oil painting"the sun of the glorious vessel... setting in a flood of light... typifying the departing glories of the old Temeraire."
In the film 'Mr Turner' there is a scene that recreates this event with historical accuracy using CGI.
Well not quite. Turner wasn't there. The voyage was up the Thames Estuary coming from the east and the sun would have been setting in the west. The masts and rigging had been removed before it had set off and it was towed by two tugs.
But in his mind's eye Mr Turner saw the scene that he depicted and that's good enough for me.
'As I rowed down the Thames, I turned my head and for a moment I am sure I saw that old ship making it's way upstream towards me, the paddle wheels of the tug clanking softly. I adjusted PicoMicroYacht's course to avoid it, making a mental note to keep looking round every so often until it was clear.'
This is what London would look like without the Thames Barrier, according to the disaster novel 'Flood' by Richard Doyle.
I set off without a nautical map - just an old ordinance survey one, from before the O2 was built. The next stage was through the Thames Barrier, past the Woolwich ferry and on until Erith Yacht Club.
The Greenwich Yacht Club was packed with sailing boats stored for the winter and Chris was there to help me launch and park my trailer, sending me off with a friendly wave. The club originated from the nautical interests of the Thames watermen and river workers and their families.
A cold calm day in December, dominated by the new buildings and with a winter blue sky.
Dinghies were trying to sail but there was no wind.
The Thames Barrier was now in view, the control tower on the right.
The protocol is that you have to call up the barrier officer on Channel 14 and let them know you are arriving. The reply was "PicoMicoYacht, your signal is breaking up, it's breaking up (yes ... they really do say as in the movies - 'you are breaking up'). Please call back when you are close to the barrier."
But I was right in front of the barrier, so I called again: "I am right in front of the barrier." "You are cleared to go through now" "Roger that, thank you and out." Calm voices throughout.
The extraordinary shapes of the barrier are best seen on a clear winter day.
Low down in a dinghy, each section is dramatic.
It competes with the best of 20th century art, but is there to save London.
As the tide pushed me down stream away from the barrier, the officer called me up again and warned of a tug boat towing barges coming down stream in my direction. I had clocked it already, as it labored along, slowly getting nearer, the lens of my camera foreshortening the perspective to include all the background buildings.
I had to maintain my concentration because the tug boat was keeping my attention whilst the danger could be behind me, further down stream.
I was now nearing the Woolwich ferry, which was just about to cross to my side. But the tug had caught up with me and provided a shield from the ferry. I passed through as the ferry held station and then I saw it nip round the back of the tug.
Soon I had reached the Crossness pumping station. This Victorian engineering wonder took the effluent from the City of London and pumped it in to the Thames at high tide, the idea that it would then flow out into the north sea. It worked. The problem was that my great great grandfather lived just a few miles downstream. After a campaign by his influential industrialist brother, whose workers were being made ill on his wharves and vessels, the government were persuaded to treat the sewage. This was made easier by the loss of the passenger ship Princess Alice, which collided and sunk near the sewer outfall, the passengers all drowning in the sewage - see http://vimeo.com/115142470
Further down the wharves, cranes and industry dominated.
I was now closing in on Erith and the low temperatures were now freezing my camera, so I had to give up the photography for the moment. In my last photograph I could see the yachts moored off Erith Yacht Club and the QE2 bridge in the distance.
In the twilight PicoMicroYacht was beached.
Mick and his wife from the club was generous with their time, waiting to close up the club until PicoMicroYacht was ready to leave and giving me a cup of tea as we chatted.
