Exploring the Tees

It's been over a decade since last exploring the River Tees. On that occasion I sailed with my brother in law, Tony, in a chartered Cornish Shrimper from Hartlepool Marina, on a windy and foggy day. We'd planned to reach Whitby, but weather and lack of instruments put us off, and a short and easily lowered mast made bridges high. It was a fascinating trip, concluded the following day by a cracking few miles sail across Hartlepool Bay. Older, if no wiser, and in our own boat, a repeat seemed a good use of a bitter northerly wind.

As usual, click a photo for high resolution...


Alison handled the boat out of Kafiga while I put up sails.	Entering the Tees channel.	One of the many tugs in the Tees.

Peridot lives in the main harbour in Hartlepool (Kafiga Landings) instead of the Marina. Following the usual half hour or so of maintenance and stowing we finally slipped away at about 10, with bright sunshine and a force 4 northerly. My "mate" on this outward leg was Alison, with whom I had fished but never sailed. She quickly proved fast learning, and we set sail as we left the harbour to enjoy a wonderful three mile sail to North Gare, the northern guardian of the Tees. Listening to channel 14 on the VHF suggested to us that the day was busy for shipping, confirmed by Port Control when we announced our intentions. With a polite request that we remain aware of shipping movements we were welcomed in - quite a contrast to my previous visit when we were virtually told to stay out!


Gas vessels seem to be a big theme, too.	Under the Transporter Bridge, wondering if the gondola would move...	More gas ships.

It's fun mixing it with real ships, as long as all intentions are clear! In addition to vessels entering and departing there was dredging in the main channel. We were, of course, motoring, so couldn't hear all of the VHF activity, but it seems the port movements are all controlled by a few pilots, negotiating space by radio. Teesport is big. There are many working quays, populated by many ships, but it is staggering how much unused quay and yard frontage you pass. A wonderful variety of vessels, too, including massive bulk carriers unloading at the steel works, oil and gas tankers, container ships, tugs and weird enormous work boats, perhaps for oil working and salvage?

It's a good distance to Middlesbrough's football stadium (imaginatively named the "Riverside"), but then the first river crossing, the now famous Transporter Bridge, is just around the corner. I wondered how vigilant the "driver" of the gondala was, guessing he didn't often see river traffic to avoid this far up river. Thoughts then turned to wondering who had right of way anyway, but these were immediately replaced by a resignation that any collision would be infinitely more serious to us than him! None of this was put to the test as he waited for a full load and we passed uneventfully.

A few more docks are passed, the river shallows and quietens (although evidence of past glories remain), and the next bridge is the Newport lifting bridge. My mother remembers the excitement of this bridge first opening - schools were closed to allow children to watch. The entire deck of the Newport Bridge is suspended on cables which pass over pullies, terminating in large water tanks. To lift the bridge, simply pump water into the tanks and when there's enough the deck will lift. Elegant, simple, and so expensive to maintain that many years ago the mechanism was abandoned and the bridge bolted down. Not that it would have opened for us anyway, but it was now high tide, and we just didn't know... We slowly manoeuvred, slowly, slowly, but it made no difference how much we wanted the bridge to be high enough, the main mast had to be lowered. Fifteen minutes with the anchor down and we lowered the mast to a crazy angle. Now the same height as the mizzen mast, we eased through with care.

The Tees Barrage now in sight, we called up the lock keeper who raised the footbridge and opened the lock gates. He seemed surprised but pleased that we wanted to go through, and came for a chat and to collect fees. Joy for both of us as none were due - Peridot used to be moored on a stretch of British Waterways controlled canal off the Humber, and still (almost) retains her registration; she now is registered with the Tees and Hartlepool Port Authority thanks to mooring in Hartlepool! It would have been expensive otherwise...

There is little left to explore with masts. The short stretch to the next low bridge in Stockton is used by all kinds of craft on a rota - Saturday afternoon is for water skiers. Beyond lies several miles including Yarm, but this would necessitate leaving masts at the barrage. I was offered a very sheltered pontoon berth (soon there will be more available), and am writing these notes lying in my sleeping bag. An easy stroll to Morrisons sorted out supper, and I look forward to a quiet night before Jenny joins me in the morning for a low tide return to Hartlepool. Goodnight.

Sailing is wonderful on a great many different levels, but I am more interested in sailing as a holistic travelling experience. I love visiting places by boat, especially slightly less conventional places. It's such a different experience being the only boat here to being amongst hundreds in a marina somewhere. Of course, marinas tend to be built in some of the wonderful places to visit, and offer useful facilities like water, toilets, showers and electricity, but even a less popular mooring such as I now sit at is magical on a still and sunny morning with no one about. Small fish are rising in the river and swans are stretching their wings. Cold air is less important than the sun's promise for later. Bedding is stowed and fuel tank replenished (all of yesterday's motoring used just under a gallon of petrol, so the main tank should contain ample to motor many miles. I would hate to run out while dodging a ship, though!), and Jenny should arrive any minute. All these tense changes – as you may have worked out, some of this is being written as it happens, some retrospectively. Sorry, but this is far more valuable a record for me than any other reader, so I’m not too worried about sloppy writing!

Jenny’s arrival was timed well, and we were quickly easing into the lock for the downstream leg. We’d picked low tide to allow us through the bridges, but the lock keeper was concerned that we’d bottom out. Despite the pontoon being high and dry, we made it with inches to spare (and rudder and keel all the way up). We again had the breeze mostly behind us, resulting in apparent total calm and we soon warmed up as the sun climbed higher. No problem with any of the bridges, but an interesting time with shipping, even, at one point, being asked by the port control to stop while a ro-ro ferry backed into Tees dock. Another bizarre sight was two tugs heading up river at about eight or more knots, one forwards and one in reverse. Wonder what that was all about? After a couple of hours we cleared Teesmouth and set sail for Hartlepool.

Speed under canvas gradually rose from less than a knot to just over four, and we entered Hartlepool Marina as most of the world seemed to be leaving. We wanted to be in the marina to meet up with the Hamilton family and also give the boat a wash. Toilet seemed attractive, too… Managed everything except cleaning the boat, but lunch in the cockpit would have made cleaning pointless, anyway. We hit a deadline for the Hamiltons to return to Darlington, so quickly cleared up and motored round with Martin, Kitty and Wilfred, and Alison my first day’s crew who had come back, too. Jenny and Jude drove round. So many questions from the kids, and I felt rather unhelpful as I was concentrating on getting them there quickly. Finally, after our goodbyes, the boat was cleared, sail covers replaced and boat locked up.

By most standards this has been an odd weekend’s sailing. But, although I wonder if we should have gone further, it’s been lovely. The combination of good weather, fine sailing, industrial and historic interest, playing around with big ships, close conversation and family meal plus some time to think and write alone has been great. Not one to do every weekend, but every now and again I think it may be worth taking the mast down and exploring the river.