(no subject)
(Claudia's picture credit)
On Saturday, twelve intrepid people ignored the impending inclement weather and took to a pilot boat to visit the mysterious Maunsall sea forts.
These enigmatic seven towers reside where the Thames Estuary merges with the North Sea. They were built in the war to repel German bombers approaching London from the East.
Now abandoned and forgotten, they stand on the Red Sands sandbar, rusting sentinels of London's sad past.
Our first obstacle was the Queenborough bridge, which refused to open for us. There was talk of power issues and we would be stuck.
Our intrepid skipper had an idea and dismantled the mast, reducing our air draught to a mere 5.1 metres. Radioing ahead to the bridge he asked for the bridge's air clearance. "5.6 metres" was the reply, luckily it was low tide, but the waters were rising swiftly.
Jim was on guard on the roof to see if collision was imminent. We eventually passed the point of no return, the tide was pushing us along faster than the engine could stop us. The skipper held his breath.. and we were through!
The weather was taking a turn for the worst and our skipper was reluctant to head further out into the approaching force seven storm. We could see the towers, mocking us on the horizon. I assured him that we were made of sterling stuff and nothing would deter us. If any of my crew begged for the stormy voyage to stop, then they would be flogged and towed home on the tender. No one complained. I must mention though that a couple who I will not name, lost the ownership of their previous meal.
As we approached the towers, the sky to the West was as black as night, lit by occasional flashes of lightning. It was a close match as to who would get to the towers first; our rowdy wide eyed band or mother natures worst.
We got there just in time and sailed straight through the cluster of rusting behemoths. As we passed out the Northern side, the storm hit us. We hung on to the sides of the boat as the high winds, rain and lightning crashed around us. The boat surged up and down, it rolled from side to side but we clung on mesmerised by the incredible sight of the 100 foot rusting towers standing proudly from the water's swell.
A bell in the large red marker buoy rapidly tolled it's low churchlike chime, the sound almost drowned out amongst the noise of the storm and the call of dozens of disturbed gulls circling above us.
The sky was black, the sea bright bronze, the charge of electricity was in the air..... it was all .. a bit weird.