There'll be bluebirds over......

Yes, we've made it to Dover in good old Blighty!

More of that later, but first a summary of our route from Roompot.

We'd intended to sail directly from Roompot to Oostende via the North Sea, but once again the forecast was looking ominous with strong south westerly winds forecast - the worst kind for our intended route.

Fortuitously I met a local in Roompot marina who wanted to borrow a pair of pliers. He suggested a route to Breskens (south of Vlissingen - also known as Flushing) via the Oosterschelde, Veerse Meer and Kanaal door Walcheren - meaning that we'd be able to travel in sheltered water throughout. From Breskens it would be a relatively short hop along the coast to Oostende when the conditions suited.

We took his advice and we're glad we did because the weather turned out to be horrible! Torrential showers which dramatically reduced visibility were accompanied by wind gusting to 30 knots. We wouldn't have ventured out into the North Sea in that, but we flew along in the sheltered waters of the Oosterschelde.

The Veerse Meer is a pretty waterway that is more river than canal, but you do need to lock into it. The Kanaal door Walcheren is more like the "proper" canals we'd become used to.  

Entry to the Kanaal door Walcheren at Veere

You think we'd have seen every possible lock variation by now....

... but Veere's schutsluis was the first we'd encountered without full width gates

Leaving the schutsluis

What are these then? Spare lock gates?

Middelburg, capital of Zeeland, is about half way down the Kanaal door Walcheren and, whilst badly bombed in the second world war, it's reputed to have been beautifully restored. Unfortunately it's also just off the main canal and we only got a quick glimpse of it as we passed.

We'd made good progress as far as Middelburg, but it went rapidly downhill from there. There are about 7 bridges in the short distance between Middelburg and Vlissingen and we had to wait at every one. Tedious or what?
 

The first bridge at Middelburg. There's another behind it. And another, etc.

Kanaal door Walcheren

By the time we reached Vlissingen we were well fed up with bridges. We were therefore pleased (at first!) to be able to join the large fishing boat inside the lock at the end of the canal without having to wait.

Why "at first"? Well, once committed to the lock we found there was only one place that we could tie up, and that was right up close behind the large, heavy, metal fishing boat/ship. And I mean really close! To make matters worse, the walls of the lock were the worst we'd seen anywhere, being heavily encrusted with hard, sharp shellfish. Naturally, if we were going to touch any lock wall with the boat it would be this one, but fortunately Cyclone's teak rubbing strake shrugged off our (gentle) contact without damage.

Thankfully the fishing boat's skipper was very observant and, seeing our predicament, applied gentle ahead as required to avoid contact with us as the water entered the lock. This was the only occasion on our trip that I feared I may have to reach for our insurance policy!

A very lumpy but brief sea crossing from Vlissingen saw us happily moored up in Breskens.
  

Peculiar feature at Breskens marina

Looking out over the working part of Breskens harbour

"It's got to be done" according to Jo...

Breskens beach

Breskens marina is large, as is its beach. There are plenty of places to eat out (for those that do that sort of thing!) but we found little to interest us. We therefore set off for Oostende after just a couple of nights.

Leaving Breskens

En route to Oostende. Note sunshine!

The approach to Oostende

Oostende

We chose to berth at the Royal Yachtclub Oostende, the oldest yacht club in Belgium. As we approached looking for a free berth, I noticed 2 red lights blazing on the bridge just beyond the marina. Having spent quite a bit of time in canals, I interpreted this to mean that the lifting bridge wasn't currently operating - something of no concern to me as I didn't want to pass under it anyway.

A friendly local called out something about the tide and 2 others directed us towards (different) available berths and stood by to help. I chose one and began my approach, discovering soon after that the tide was indeed significant. Only then did I remember reading that 2 red lights displayed on this particular (and non-lifting!) bridge meant that sluice gates were open to allow rain water to flow from the river, via the marina, out to sea!

It soon became clear that the approach to my chosen berth wasn't going well, so I abandoned it with copious revs of astern - the sort of sound that makes people appear from nowhere, ready to be entertained! With the tide now doing its best to sweep us towards it, I took the unwise decision to take the second berth offered and slipped into the tight space between the pontoon and the neighbouring boat.

Regrettably, our fenders chose to spend some time ashore rather than in their designated space between boat and pontoon (OK, so I got it wrong.....), enabling the end of the pontoon to trace a lovely wavy black line, about 6 feet long and 2 inches wide, down Cyclone's white topside - despite the best efforts of the locals that had gathered to help. Feeling something of a prat, I pushed the fenders into place, secured the boat, thanked the locals and set to with the boat cleaner and polish. To my relief, this removed the evidence of my failings and Cyclone was restored to her former self - except that the area where the wavy line had been was now cleaner than any other part of the boat!

I was pretty miserable after that little episode, cursing myself for not backing out altogether and taking the time to plan properly. It was in that state of mind that I met the harbourmaster, an unassuming chap who'd just come back from walking his dog. "You did well to get in there." he said. "I'd never have managed that in my boat. The locals don't even attempt it when the sluice gates are open." I insisted that I'd made a right pig's ear of it, but he wasn't having any of that! "Come up to my office" he said. "I have some presents for you." In the office he presented me with a "Welcome to Oostende" carrier bag, a map of the town, a booklet about the club, a postcard of the club and additional tourist office information. He spent a long time suggesting places we could visit and telling me about the trains to Bruges and Ghent (only about 15 and 30 minutes away, apparently). He really could not have been more charming and I left his office grinning - a rare thing in any event, but truly remarkable given my earlier demeanour!

If you're ever visiting Oostende by boat you will not find a friendlier place to stay. Highly recommended - just look out for those 2 red lights!

Royal Yacht Club Oostende - taken from the bridge

Inspiration for the Hogwarts Express? 

Mercator - a floating museum in Oostende

View over Oostende from Fort Napoleon

Oostende isn't a pretty place. It's an industrial port and no doubt suffered plenty of damage in the war. We took the free ferry across the harbour to Fort Napoleon, where we were guided by an audio tour, and then returned to the boat via the museum ship Amandine.

The Amandine was really interesting - well worth a visit. It's an Icelandic trawler which used to operate out of Oostende. Having been restored, it's now ashore with a museum built around it telling the story of those who traveled to Iceland's rich fishing grounds. Rather them than me!

You need a prop that size to get through those seas

Fish hold

The Amandine could carry 70 tonnes of fish in her hold....

.... all of which had to be gutted first!

The engine's bigger than ours then...

I thought he looked like a younger Nigel. Anyone agree?

3 cooked meals a day for all from here - whatever the weather

The Amandine's decks

That's all the same building - not one behind the other. Weird.

We'd like to have visited Bruges and Ghent but, with favourable easterly winds forecast for a few days, we didn't dare hang around for fear of getting trapped later by south westerlies. We therefore set off before dawn (not in the tideless Baltic now!) for Dunkerque, a port we'd visited on our way north.

Sunrise over Oostende

Our view from Cyclone in Dunkerque

Our most important task in Dunkerque was to find a supermarket and stock up with wine for the winter at French prices. The nearest supermarket turned out to be over a mile from the marina, so we demonstrated true dedication to the cause by making the 3 trips necessary to carry 120 litres of wine back to the boat!

Another pre-dawn start saw us heading for Dover - a route that you can't straight-line because you're required to cross the shipping lanes in the narrow strait on a heading of 90 degrees to their direction of travel. The Met Office forecast winds of F5 to F7 from the east - rather more than we'd choose, but from an agreeable direction. Faced with that forecast we did what I suspect many others do and looked around on the internet for a forecast we preferred! The French one for the same area suggested F4 to F5, increasing to F6 later - so we chose that one instead. It proved to be about right too.
 

Guided by the light of the moon...

It brings a lump to your throat!

Dover harbour entrance - a bit lumpy in the approach

Cruise ship at Dover

View from Cyclone, with Dover Castle just visible in the distance

Hurrah!!

Dover front and castle

Now Baltic enthusiasts will extol the virtue of sailing in tideless waters, but take a look at the display in the photo below which is an electronic log of our progress.

Log of our progress from Dunkerque to Dover

The right hand column gives our speed over the ground in knots at the times indicated in the left hand column. Not too shabby for a 33 foot boat sailing under headsail alone, eh? (NB at 0845 we'd turned to stem the tide so as not to impede a ship travelling in a lane). 6 hours from Dunkerque berth to Dover pontoon - a distance over the ground of 44 miles.

There is a downside though. Those times are Greenwich Mean Time (none of that Universal Time nonsense - we're British you know!) but even when you've added a couple of hours to give French summer time, that still means we had to be up by 5am. Maybe the aforementioned Baltic enthusiasts have a point.....

Thanks for reading.