Waking up at the crack of dawn, I find out that my phone has refused to charge off the full battery pack. So, no tide information, no pictures, and no alarm! I am lucky that the light woke me up at 5.30 anyway. Breaking up quickly, I manage to set off at exactly 7 am.

Still feeling very sleepy, I paddle as fast as I can. But it still isn’t fast enough for the army boys! I hear them chatting over the radio, talking about me. At quarter past 8 the surveillance boat comes alongside and offers to tow me out of the range. Looking at the wake of their boat, I offer to climb on their boat instead. Under the condition that they help me haul Sundance up on their boat as well.

The guys have a great time with me and my kayak on their boat. Apparently, they don’t often get passengers on board, let alone a lady with a kayak. They are friendly enough and even offer to fill my flask with hot water. But I don’t have much time for chat, I keep looking anxiously at Sundance. We are flying by now, bouncing on the waves. Sundance lays across the deck and sticks out on both sides by quite a distance. If a wave would catch my bow there is no way we could hold her. It would smash me and the shipsmate to pieces and Sundance would be a write off.

I would have loved to be able to share a video of this unexpected ride with you, but both my cameras and my phone were completely out of juice. Rubbish!

The men drop me off just before Rye Harbour. I connect my towline to the deck lines and slide the kayak in, then hang over the railing and step in without tipping over, with two very impressed sailors looking on.

I decide to paddle into the harbour to find a café to charge my phone. I still feeling incredibly sleepy and not having tidal information nor charts makes me feel vulnerable.

The entry into the harbour is a narrow channel. Halfway I meet the Balmoral, a heritage steamer, led out of the harbour by two boats from the harbour master. The harbour master is clearly not impressed that I didn’t radio to ask permission to enter the harbour. He looks at me sternly, speeds up his boat and throws a heck of a wave up for me. The people on the quay waving the Balmoral off look in horror at the waves created by the harbour master, but I don’t mind.

I paddle up to the quay by the sailing club, pull Sundance a bit higher up the slipway and find myself a nice café. The café is the old-fashioned kind. Huge workman’s breakfasts, Nescafe and no internet.

As soon as I get in, it starts raining. Not just a little bit. It is as if a month’s worth of water drops out of the sky in one hour. I take my time; I need to charge my equipment anyway, and it gives me some time to update my stories.

When it finally clears up, I decide to get back in my kayak. On my way out two friendly gentlemen ask if I was am the owner of that beautiful kayak on the quay. They give me some useful local information about Hastings and tell me that Bexhill is probably my best bet to stop for the night.

I walk off, only to realise that the slipway I had landed on no longer ended in the water. Not by a long shot. What had looked like a slipway at high water is actually just part of the quay and now ends in a freefall of about 2.5 meter!

With a slight reluctance I find the bits of the trolley Axel Schoevers had so generously lent me and start reassembling it. I struggle to lift my heavy kayak on the wheels without the trolley falling over and collapsing, but finally I manage. I strap the kayak securely on the trolley and roll her about 20 meters to the RNLI lifeboat slipway. That one does end in the water, or rather, it ends in about three meters of mucky slick, before it ends in the water.

By the time I get to the slip way the two gentlemen walk past again. They offer to help me get me back in the water. I feel very grateful, especially as it means that now all three of us are struggling in the slippery mud, which covers everything it touches. That is bad enough for me, but the two gentlemen are wearing their city clothes, and their brogues are now covered in slick.

Yet again, I am waved off by wonderfully friendly and helpful strangers.

By now the weather has changed from gloomy to sunny. The water is calm and a mesmerising green against the bluish sky. A long paddle out of the bay until the sand gives way to reddish brown cliffs with a lush green on the top. Wild birds everywhere. I enjoy watching the terns divebombing into the water. The gulls are clearly enjoying their gliding flights over the sea.

Then it starts raining again, the splash caused by the raindrops forms little diamonds over the sea. It is so beautiful!

The rain dries up, the cliffs end and Hastings grows into a very citylike city. With big city houses on the seafront, it looks very different from the other sea side towns I have seen so far. It doesn’t look like a place where I can easily camp for the night.

That means paddling on to Bexhill, or to the campsite I had heard some people talk about while I was packing my boat in Rye. Hastings is big and it seems to go on for a very long time. I start feeling my muscles. I think of Pip, Susan, Maggie and Julie at the end of their Venice kayak challenge and how I had told them to just keep paddling even when they were tired. It is time to take my own advice…

Before long Bexhill comes into sight. Bexhill is very different from Hastings. It is not citylike, and it seems posh. It is Friday evening and I watch personal trainers working out on the beach with their clients. There are some rowers out at sea and I even spot two sea kayakers. We wave, but they are too far away for a chat. The rowing club looks way too posh and the sailing club is deserted.

I am tired and start thinking it might be time for another rest day. I make a deal with myself: If I push on now and make it to the camping in Norman bay, I can stay an extra night. I can dry my gear out, wash some clothes and have some rest.
The couple I had met in Rye harbour and who are staying on the campsite in Norman Bay, had told me that they could hear the sea when they were lying in bed, so the campsite couldn’t be far from the sea.

The question was if I could actually see the campsite from my low viewing point. I was paddling along a high shingle beach and I couldn’t see anything behind it. The only thing I see is a couple of fishermen, fishing with long lines from the beach. I risk getting entangled in one of their lines and try to make myself heard over the sound of the waves crashing on the shingles. I shout to ask for directions. They shout back: “One more mile or so…”.

I paddle on, but don’t see anything. A row of houses along the beach appears and I worry I might have paddled straight past the campsite. I land to see if I can find anyone who can tell me where it is. I climb on the mountain of shingles, and wave at a couple who look surprised at the mermaid appearing from the sea.

Charlie and Eddie come out to chat with me. They not only give me directions, they also invite me for a drink. I keep being surprised by how lovely people are.

Lucky I stopped there; I had indeed paddled past the campsite, but only 50 meters or so. They warn me that I will have to get the kayak up on the shingle beach and down again on the other side. The entrance was across the road, then 20 meter along the road.

The wheels of my trolley won’t roll on shingle. As knackered as I am, I empty the contents of the kayak in my two IKEA bags and carry them one at a time to the campsite. I accost an innocent couple, who are out on their evening scroll, to ask for help to get the kayak far enough down the hill to get it to a place where the wheels could roll. By the time I have everything on the campsite it is dark.

I am wet through and through and dead tired. Food, shower, warm clothes, tent… I can’t think straight anymore. With all my wet kayak gear still on, I put my tent up. I can’t bear the thought of taking my buoyancy aid off. It is bulky, but it is the one thing keeping me warm right now.

Finally, a long, very long, hot shower and dry clothes. I manage to boil water for tea, but I am too tired to cook. Already in my sleeping bag, I root through my drybags, find a snack bag with dried apple slices and fall asleep as soon as I finish them.

Distance paddled: 48 km / 30 m / 26 Nm (minus the two miles or so on the safety boat)