We set off from Lowestoft at the civilised time of 0915, an hour before the tide was due to turn south. Once clear of the Newcome Sand red cardinal buoy we bowled along at 5½ knots with a gentle breeze on the beam. Passing Sizewell Power Station and Orford Ness, the wind headed until we were close-hauled. It also freshened a little, giving us 7½ knots over the ground as we passed inside the Whiting Bank. Eventually we had to put in a tack off the river Deben to clear Wadgate Ledge. We crossed the deep water channel at Platters and followed the recommended track for yachts outside the red buoys into the River Orwell. Opposite Felixstowe Docks we turned up the River Stour past Harwich, and anchored in Erwarton Bay for the night at 1650. That leg was 45 miles.

It was then that I discovered that the anchor windlass had packed up, so had to lower the anchor using the manual clutch. I diagnosed that the hand-held controller had failed, hardly surprising when I took it apart to find it totally corroded inside. During the evening I took a spare switch from our stores and wired it in temporarily to the “up” circuit. At least now we wouldn’t have to haul up the chain and anchor by hand. It proved to be a poor choice of anchorage because an unexpected easterly wind blew up in the night creating an uncomfortable chop. We should have gone further up river. We were happy to leave at 0700 in what was now a fresh northerly.

As newcomers to the Thames Estuary, we found it quite tricky planning a route across. There are lots of banks to negotiate, shipping lanes to cross correctly and wind farms to avoid. But in addition, Reeds Almanac identified several “Precautionary Areas” to be “kept well clear of”. The only clear way seemed to be to go to eastwards of everything, a third of the way to Belgium and adding at least 30 miles to the distance, which seemed daft. Then I found a note hidden within the Navionics chart stating only that “vessels entering these areas should navigate with extreme caution.” We do that everywhere anyway! We sailed first to the Cork Sand Yacht Beacon, encroached as little as we reasonably could into Sunk Inner Precautionary Area, where we saw no ships at all, gybed near Long Sand Head just outside the TSS and left Kentish Knock to port. This took us between the London Array and the Thanet wind farms. It is extraordinary how quickly the grey/brown colour of the North Sea changes into the familiar blue/green of the English Channel. We passed North Foreland Lighthouse at 1420, romping along at 8 knots over the ground with a force 5 on the beam and a fair tide. We were tucked up in Ramsgate West Marina an hour later, having sailed 52 miles.

We had intended to continue the following day, but Ramsgate looked interesting and we felt in need of a break. The harbour was designed in the late 1700s by John Smeaton, the renowned civil engineer who first earned his reputation with the Eddystone Lighthouse off Plymouth. The town seems to have real character and some appealing architecture, most notably by the Gothic revivalist Augustus Pugin, who lived there. We decided to walk to Broadstairs and back, alternately along the clifftop and undercliff. The beach at Broadstairs was heaving with holidaymakers, and the town above with bizarrely dressed dancers and musicians for a folk festival.

The long leg through the Dover Straits provided plenty of entertainment on a day with a gentle south-easterly breeze, flat calm sea and all round blue skies. Passing inside the Goodwin Sands, the tide turned early for us inshore close by Deal and Walmer Castles. A dinghy race was just starting, a paddle-boarder came past and then we were overtaken by a Border Force SAR vessel and an inshore lifeboat travelling at high speed. We were lucky to have a clear run past the port of Dover between ferries, but then the coastguard put out an announcement to all ships warning of seven swimmers attempting a channel crossing. We saw an RN Patrol Boat with an attendant black RIB heading towards the beach near Folkestone – unloading migrants perhaps. A bit later the Patrol Boat headed back out to sea and stayed abreast of us for a couple of hours.

We rounded Dungeness just 0.2 miles off the beach, where a dive-boat was anchored doing some investigations near the old power station. We locked into the Royal Sovereign Harbour at Eastbourne at 2000, having clocked up another 60 miles. We were given a berth way inside the basin beyond a bridge, despite having pre-booked, and it was an hour’s round trip to walk back to the office to pay the hefty fee. Tall blocks of flats surround the basin making it feel very claustrophobic. There were no marina facilities near us, just some disgusting public conveniences by the shops. We won’t be going back there in a hurry.

We were on the home straight, just another 56 miles to go. We rounded Beachy Head at 0900 with the engine running in just a zephyr of wind. We were saddened to see a large ketch on the chalk boulders at the foot of the Seven Sisters cliffs, and wondered what the story was. A sou-sou-westerly breeze filled in around midday as we passed inside the Rampion wind farm off Shoreham, presenting us with a lovely beat along the Sussex coastline. We passed through the Looe Channel at 6 knots and bore away towards the Chichester Bar. We picked up our mooring off Hayling Island Sailing Club at 1730. We had sailed 1,050 miles from Sweden and Egret was home.

The Koninklijke Marine Jacht Club is located within the Dutch Royal Naval port, and within minutes of arriving two young Customs Officers came along to check our passports. They were a bit puzzled at first that we’d arrived in the EU at Stockholm by air, and they checked our dates of entry carefully to ensure we weren’t exceeding the 90-day limit. But they were very obliging, and told us to phone a couple of hours before we planned to leave so they could come and stamp us out. It looked as if there might be a weather window for a North Sea crossing the day after next.

We had a day to get ready and see a bit of the town. A fitting that connects the mainsail to a batten car had disappeared during the last passage, but the local chandlery didn’t have a replacement. The harbour-master kindly had a rummage through his cupboards and eventually found half of what I needed and I managed to improvise the rest. We had a good look round the older parts of the town, with its typical old Holland scenes of pretty streets and canals. There were plenty of interesting vessels moored outside the maritime museum, but we didn’t have time to go inside. We bought a stack of provisions at a supermarket, then walked back along the imposing sea wall that protects the town from flooding. We returned in the evening for supper in a restaurant by the museum.

Come Sunday morning the weather wasn’t looking wonderful, but there was nothing better forecast in the foreseeable future. We phoned the Customs office and two officers came round straight away as promised to stamp our passports. We also completed and submitted the new forms that we have to provide to UK Border Force and HMRC when returning home by pleasure vessel. A strong south-westerly was blowing – right on the nose, but it was forecast to veer to the north and drop off as the day went on. Our plan was to leave at 1400, with the last of the ebb tide, in the expectation that it would be slack water, so less rough, by the time we reached the open sea. We tacked our way down the channel with two reefs in the main, pushed by a couple of knots of tide through monstrous short seas. There were few other boats around, but a kite-surfer came past giving us a cheery wave. We thought he was mad, but he probably thought we were madder. We reached the red-and-white safe-water buoy after two hours; it was slack water but certainly wasn’t any calmer. The waves were so close together that the boat would still be going down into a trough without time to lift when the next crest arrived. One green sea came right over and drenched us in the cockpit, something that we can’t remember ever happening in the 75,000 miles or so that we have sailed in Egret. Neither of us had crossed the North Sea before, so maybe this is normal for these shallow waters.

It wasn’t until around sunset that the wind started to ease a little and veer to the west, so we could at last lay the course to our waypoint. The depth beneath us was seldom more than 40m, and it felt strange to pass a ship at anchor, seemingly in the middle of nowhere: it was on the 15m deep Brown Ridge. We had to alter course for a few ships in the Traffic Separation Schemes and Deep Water Shipping Lanes. Soon after dawn we called up a fishing vessel to check whether it was alright to hold our course. There was a pleasant early morning sun, the wind was now a moderate northerly, but an awkward sea remained.

By 1000 the wind had dropped to nothing, forcing us to resort to the motor. A new breeze from the south filled in from midday, the forerunner of strong winds expected overnight. But by now we were on the final approaches to Lowestoft, yellow quarantine flag flying, and we berthed alongside in the Yacht Club marina at 1545, the total distance sailed being 130 miles. We phoned the “Yacht-line” to report our arrival to Border Force, were asked if any information on our submitted form had changed, and on the answer “no” were told to lower our “Q” flag and that we were free to go ashore. We and our boat were legitimately home in the U.K.

The Royal Norfolk and Suffolk is one of the oldest yacht clubs in the country, and its elegant arts-and-crafts club-house is the only listed building in Lowestoft. I bought a copy of its splendid 150th anniversary history (remaindered at £5 from the bar). It is a Who’s Who of yachting personalities, as well something of a social history. For instance, when Uffa Fox, one of the most brilliant naval architects, boat-builders and helmsmen of his time, competed in a championship here, his crew, a young “gentleman”, was invited to stay in the big house of one of the club members, whilst Uffa had to sleep on sail-bags in the boathouse with the boatman. He was “trade” of course! The club somehow survives and makes visitors feel welcome, the facilities are good and we had a nice dinner there.

We had a walk along the promenade, but sadly the rest of the town looks very run down, despite the employment opportunities provided by the offshore oil and gas industry and now wind farm construction. Old friends of Amanda: Karen and Wilson with their young daughter Charlotte, drove over from Norwich to see us and have supper on board. Next day we went by train to Oulton Broad and had a pleasant walk through the parched marshes and beside the river Waveney. It was a hot day, we had a picnic in the shade of some bushes and an ice-cream at the visitor centre while waiting for the train home. The wind blew hard from the south for two days, nevertheless we enjoyed our enforced break in a part of England that we don’t know well.

We took a berth for the night at the Baltic Bay Marina at Laboe, near the mouth of Kiel Fjord. Even though we would hardly leave the boat, we had to pay a "spa tax" on top of our mooring fee, apparently to help pay for the upkeep of the local beaches etc. The nearest supermarket, an "Edeka", was a good half hour's walk away up steep hill, and it was very hot, so were exhausted by the time we'd lugged our supplies back on board. We tried to get a table at the open-air restaurant in the marina but it was full. Only later did we discover they served take-aways, which would have suited us fine!

It took us about half an hour to motor up the Fjord to the Holtenau Locks where we joined the waiting yachts outside. After 40 minutes they opened the gates to one of the smaller locks and all 30 of us entered in a surprisingly orderly manner. We'd been through before, so knew that we needed to place the fenders right down on the waterline due to the low flats that we moored up to. Once secured, however, there was no need to tend lines as we rose, so it was really quite easy. We'd been forewarned that the ticket machines outside the locks weren't working, so all the boats had to queue at the pay-station just inside the canal on leaving the lock.

The Kiel Canal is 100km long and was first opened in 1895 by Kaiser Wilhelm II. It has since been enlarged and a bigger pair of locks built at each end to take ships up to 235m x 32.5m x 9.5m draught. A 5th lock is currently under construction at Brunsbüttel. Roughly 30,00 ships and 20,000 yachts pass through the canal each year. It was 1030 by the time we got going along the canal, chugging along steadily at 5 knots. Seven ships passed the other way, but none overtook us. We spotted some Egyptian Geese perched on piles, and lots of Canada and Pink Footed Geese. After about 20 miles we turned off into the Obereider-See, which is effectively part of the river Eider. A little way up is the town of Rendsburg, where we tied up for the night at the Regatta-Verein Yachthaven.

We waited for the rain to stop, then sought out the tourist office. They obviously don't get many visitors from the UK as they gave us a walking tour guide in Danish (strangely titled, not in Danish: "Blue Line"), and eventually found an English translation that looked like a Roneo print! We followed the 3.2km length of the Blue Line, which is actually painted on the pavements, and found the town to be rather more interesting and attractive than we expected. The church dates back to the 13th C. and there are some attractive half-timbered and brick buildings such as the Gasthus Fon Landsknecht, which has some amusing woodcarvings on the façade. Otherwise, the largest buildings date back to the 17th C. when there was a military garrison in the town.

We set off again before breakfast, the overnight rain ceased but with a chilly wind on the beam. A ship overtook us but then suddenly stopped and lay drifting. We passed it again before it went almost broadside across the canal. A pilot boat hurriedly cast off from the bank and disappeared round the corner ahead, and a bit later we saw it alongside an oncoming ship with the propellers churning at full astern. There are tug-boat stations along the canal, and presumably one would have gone to the aid of the disabled vessel. Later we saw a Russian rust-bucket of a ship go by, probably not a popular customer for the canal in present times.

We reached Brunsbüttel at 1430, and made fast in the little yacht basin next to the locks. We took the opportunity to visit the canal museum and walk past the locks to look out over the River Elbe. Yachts continued to arrive and by evening were rafted three or four abreast on either side of the basin. We locked out in the morning with 10 other yachts and a small ship and set off down the Elbe, punching the last of the flood tide. It soon turned to give us a couple of knots help, but that made it very choppy against the stiff headwind. It was chilly, grizzly weather! Cuxhaven is about 15 miles downstream, where one has to judge the cross-tide carefully to enter the Yacht Club Marina. We filled the tank with diesel before finding a berth for the night.

The town is rather isolated within a bleak, flat landscape beside the estuary of the Elbe. To walk into the centre from the harbour you have to climb steps to the top of an embankment then down a longer flight of steps the other side. Flood levels are marked on the steps, the highest being in 1962, although in 2013 it came close. We'd got in touch with Jens Kohfahl, the Cruising Association's local representative, and he came on board for a beer and a chat. He still owned a Nicholson 31 that he and his father had sailed from Portsmouth 30 years earlier, and he gave us some good advice about continuing our journey out of the Elbe. The dilemma is getting the timing right to carry the ebb down the estuary, which can be dangerously rough in onshore winds, and identifying a suitable harbour in the Frisians to arrive at near high tide. He persuaded us that tomorrow would be an ideal opportunity to sail to Helgoland, from where the next leg westwards would be easier to achieve.

There was nothing to attract us at Warnemünde, so next morning we continued for 7 miles up-river, past ferry ports and shipyards, towards Rostock. An energy-reducing Scandlines hybrid ferry came past, featuring a Flettner 30m tall rotating cylinder, which uses the Magnus effect to assist with forward motion in a crosswind. We found a berth in the small “Stadthaven West” marina, which seemed the best bet in the circumstances. It was now Tuesday, and the forecast was for strong westerly winds until after the weekend, so we were keen to find a quiet spot with good protection from the fetch up the river. We settled down to spend a few days doing jobs on the boat, such as going up the mast to check and adjust the rigging, servicing the steering cables and rudder bearings, replacing a few plugs in the teak decking, polishing the fibreglass around the cockpit and coachroof, servicing the engine and carting diesel from the service station across the main road.

Each day we’d take time out to do a part of the city walking tour. Rostock had also been a Hanseatic city, larger and more important nowadays than Stralsund, but fewer of its medieval buildings survive, due partly to extensive British bombing during the second World followed by East German decisions on restoration. There is still masses to see, including elegant street facades, spectacular church interiors and towers to climb for the views. There were several supermarkets and a couple of street markets, where we could buy decent vegetables, meat and smoked fish. Right next to the marina was a specialist wine shop, with free tastings of any bottle we might be interested in. The city has an efficient tram network but generally we just walked, and walked.

Being a university town and seemingly popular tourist destination, the place was heaving most of the time. Every evening, groups would come and sit on the quayside with snacks and drinks, chatting into the small hours. A young chap called Michael came over from a small Irish yacht to introduce himself as he’d spotted our Ocean Cruising Club burgee. He’d crossed the Atlantic with a fellow member a few years before. He now lived and works in Copenhagen, and had just sailed over to Rostock with a couple of friends. He told us they were off to check out the band setting up in the marquee nearby as part of the weekend’s Pride festival. We sent an e-mail to Juergen, whom we’d first met literally on the Panama Canal! His steel yacht Voyager was the middle one of our raft of three going through the locks. His son Jan was the skipper, with wife Gabi also aboard for their circumnavigation. Juergen jumped at the chance of coming to see us, arriving on his BMW bike early next morning, having ridden from near Hamburg. We hadn’t seen him for at least seven years, so it was great to catch up with each other’s news whilst munching through the selection of cakes he’d brought along.

The wind had been increasing day by day and the river got quite rough. Some of the yachts looked extremely uncomfortable at their berths, but we were fine, being surrounded by decent breakwater pontoons. At last on Sunday the wind began to ease, and we got ready to leave early the next morning. We’d run out of time to call at Travemünde and Lübeck, so continued westward for 40 miles across the bay to pass under the Fehmarn Island bridge, clearing it with 3m to spare above our mast. A tunnel is currently being built from Fehmarn to Denmark, so this is destined to be the most important road route between Scandinavia and the rest of Europe. We were by now in what was West Germany before unification. A few miles further, then we turned towards Heiligenhafen and dropped the anchor near the lighthouse outside the harbour. By now the breeze had died right away to leave a sweltering afternoon. As the sun went down, flocks of geese flew overhead in formation.

Next morning we pumped up the dinghy, took it into the large and crowded marina and made it fast to a convenient landing stage at the far end. We had a look round the small town, which is still a fishing port but also, at this time of year, a popular holiday resort. Of most interest to me was a small “museumshafen”, with a few restored wooden yachts moored up to a jetty. After lunch in a café, we walked along the sandy beach towards the quieter end, where we planned to have a swim. We then realised that we’d encroached the “nacktbade-strand”, so we hopped back over the dividing groyne. We had summoned up the courage to swim in the Baltic, but weren’t quite ready to go completely native. It was a nice swim, and afterwards we walked out to a nature reserve on the long sandy spit which protects the harbour.

We were aware of an offshore firing range along the next bit of coast, but couldn’t determine when restrictions applied. We set off to the west early next morning, for once with a nice breeze from astern. Within an hour, we were called up by a guard boat telling us to turn offshore and pass outside all of the yellow range buoys. We mentioned that several other yachts were ahead of us within the zone, and they replied in English that they would be “hunted down”! Presumably we were one of the few yachts with AIS that they could identify easily, and it wasn’t just because we were foreigners. The detour added about 10 miles to the 20-mile rhumb line to Kiel Fjord, but it was pleasant sailing, although the wind died rapidly as we got near in the early afternoon.

We had a leisurely breakfast whilst watching Thiessow Beach being groomed for the day’s visitors, then upped anchor and sailed through the narrow but well-marked channel into Greifswalder Bodden. This is a shallow enclosed bay, about 12 miles in diameter, which separates the south side of Rügen from mainland Germany, somewhat like Chichester Harbour but with a permanent high tide. There are several harbours around the perimeter, and we plumped for Lauterbuch, which proved to be an excellent choice. It has a very well designed and executed new marina close to the small holiday town. Our first priority was to fix Egret’s mainsheet car. I managed to remove it from the track, carefully collecting all the ball bearings, but couldn’t extract the pin which secured the broken hoop. Luckily the marina boatyard had a good engineering workshop, and a fitter there completed the job, ready for me to re-install. Meanwhile, Amanda got our laundry done, we did some food shopping, and treated ourselves to dinner in the “Fisch und Steakhaus”.

We had a day off at the seaside, riding there on “Rasender (Raging) Roland”, a famous narrow-gauge steam train. The train stopped long enough in Putbus for us to walk up to the Circus, a formal garden surrounded by fine, if somewhat run-down, early 19th C. buildings in the manner of Bath. Our destination was Binz, an early sea-bathing resort on the east coast of Rügen. A series of grand houses and hotels look out across the promenade, reminding us of Deauville in France. Since this region subsequently became part of East Germany, we were surprised at how well the place has survived. I imagine that communist party officials were allowed the pick of the properties. The streets were crowded, evidently still a very popular resort, although the beach, filled with those colourful wicker shelters typical of almost every beach in Germany, was quite empty, perhaps due to the blustery weather.

We slipped our berth early next morning and close-reached across the Bodden under a stiff, chilly breeze and overcast skies. After 9 miles we entered the mile-wide approaches to Stralsund, furled the sails and plugged on upwind under engine towards the lifting bridge. It opens five times a day, and we were aiming to catch the one at 1220, passing through with about 15 other yachts. We made fast in Stralsund City Marina half an hour later.

Stralsund first received its town charter in 1234 and quickly developed into a flourishing city. It became an important member of the Hanseatic League, an association of cities across northern Europe created to maintain the safety of trade – a sort of early EU. Stralsund’s wealth came mainly from herring fishing, grain and beer. The number and scale of 13th and 14th C. buildings is astonishing. Including the imposing Town Hall, several huge churches, warehouses, gabled dwellings and city walls, they are mostly built in the brick gothic style and survive in remarkably good order. In complete contrast, the Ozeaneum gallery of aquariums was opened in 2008. We spent two days walking the length and breadth of the city and looking inside many of the buildings, following the very good English language guide-book.

Heading west from Stralsund involves a tricky passage through the Gellerström channel out to the open sea, where we encountered a minimum depth of 3.5m, or else a long detour north of Hiddensee island. Once clear of the channel, we sailed close-hauled for about 20 miles in a fresh north-westerly, then had to put in four tacks to clear the Darser Ort headland. With the lighthouse abeam, we could ease the sheets and sail the rest of the way along the coast to Warnemünde, covering a total of 61 miles that day. We were directed to a berth in the marina that was far too big for us, so it was really difficult lassoing the piles at the stern then attaching ourselves to the low pontoon at the bows. Luckily another boat owner came along to help.

Bornholm has several harbours but, from the limited information we had, most seemed to be tight for space and provide dubious shelter. We decided on Tejn, which has a large but almost redundant fishing harbour, but no claims to it’s attraction as a tourist destination. We tucked ourselves into the inner basin and were given an exceptionally helpful welcome by the harbourmaster, who spoke good English. A local yacht owner, an ex-fisherman, told us that Tejn is the only harbour on the island which is safe to enter in any weather conditions, and we lay there in perfect calm for two days while a gale blew over. We grew to like the unpretentious, workmanlike character of the place.

Bornholm is unusually hilly for the region, reminding us a little of the Isle of Wight. We walked the pretty coastal path south-eastwards to Rø. There we visited the Bornholm Kunst, the island’s main art museum, where we each ate a huge and delicious skinske open sandwich for lunch. We took the bus back to Tejn, then walked inland through farmland to see St. Ols Church, a 12th C. circular building with a conical roof, typical of several around the island, built partly as a defensive structure against pirates. Tejn has a nice artisan bakery, a convenient Co-Op and, perhaps best of all, the Penyllan craft brewery on the quayside, where we whiled away the rest of the afternoon sitting on cushioned pallets outside chatting to some locals.

We sailed down the west side of the island to Rønne, Bornholm’s main town, and rather wished we hadn’t. The guest-haven just outside the port is huge but chock-a-block with resident and visiting yachts from Denmark, Sweden, Germany, Poland and Holland. We’d hoped that by arriving soon after lunch we’d find a space easily, but we were asked to move twice from spaces that we’d been told by neighbours were free. Eventually we found an in-between space as the third boat between a pair of fingers, but it was tricky mooring securely due to the shortage of bollards. There was no sign of any harbour staff to assist, and payment was made at a ticket machine. Yachts kept arriving well into the evening, all spending time motoring up and down the aisles trying to find a space, some tying up in the most precarious of positions and others giving up and turning back out to sea. It was windy and wet overnight, there was constant motion and noise throughout the marina, increasing to 15 minutes of bedlam caused by ferry wake each time one departed or arrived in the port.

We were relieved to get away before 0700 next morning, setting a south-westerly course towards Rügen, a large island just off the coast of Germany, close to the Polish border. With a force 5 to 6 from the west and a west-setting current it was a lumpy, close-hauled sail for most of the way, complicated by the need to avoid a large wind-farm. Half way across, by now with two reefs in the main, I heard a crack, then spotted that the hoop on the mainsheet car had split and half-opened out. I gingerly rigged a stout line from the end of the boom to the windward mooring cleat as a back-up sheet, and hoped we wouldn’t have to carry out any awkward manoeuvres.

Our original plan had been to enter a large enclosed bay called Greifswalder Bodden, then look for a sheltered anchorage. However, as we approached land, we spotted a yacht anchored off a sandy beach just to the north of the entrance, well sheltered by a forest behind. We had a closer look, and happily dropped our anchor nearby at 1830, having sailed 62 miles. We had supper in the cockpit, watched the sun setting over the trees and turned in for a very peaceful night.