Feeling our way out of the river mouth, we operate on a wide range of frequencies from the VHF happily monitoring a calm Channel 16, through the ultrasound measuring the mud, the slightly unsteady throb of a single cylinder diesel powering us out to where the breezes flow, the ebb and flow of tide and the seasonal variations of sun elevation and temperature.
Our path is governed, as usual, by tidal planning. We follow the water or, with the wind's help, hope to lead it. A trip East, to a few yards beyond our furthest excursion that way to date and in to another river where the flow turns with our course and leads us up to a first cluster of moorings. Here we lunch and watch geese, disturbed by guns and dogs, circle nervously.
As flood slows and the natural outflow of the river asserts itself there is a brief rush of small craft who had been waiting for this moment and we join them; passing the river marks in reverse order to the mouth and a swell that lifts and drops us in a new rhythm.
Down-wind this time but still following the flow home, wind dies and we bob along, beating the tide by only a few metres. We stop at our neighbour port for a night, eat well, walk inland to see the sights, wait for the fog to clear and then, just for fun, make 10 miles of the 2 mile journey home.
We follow these oscillations, making our own on the way, but ultimately we follow our hearts, our breaths before the cycle closes.
