Yachting or the art of coarse boating

By lordhimm
- 560 reads
The Art of Coarse Boating
Boats. Love 'em or hate 'em, there's no middle ground.
They seem like a great idea when you are sitting at home during the
winter looking forward to those elusive long summer days of leisure on
the water.
In reality there are a few snatched hours when you drag the boat down
to the nearest slip, launch and sail away, often having lost some skin
from your knuckles and knees whilst trying to ship the rudder, step the
mast and get the sail set, fit oars in rowlocks and keep everything
from trailing in the water/ dropping overboard and sinking. Eventually
everything is set, you get clear of all the hazards such as quays,
moored craft, onlookers, little bastards sorry, children, throwing
stones, channel marker posts, buoys, breakwaters etc. and you can
settle down to enjoy a sail. The return trip involves running the same
gauntlet so the temptation is to leave the quay in the wee small hours
and stay afloat until long after everyone else is tucked up in
bed.
The problem with this is that you get a combination of sunburn,
hypothermia, wind and salt burn, bored hungry and dying for a pee. The
latter can be resolved if you find a quiet corner and you have a
sculling notch.
It would be nice to have one's own jetty to sail from , in the same way
that swimming would be nicer if you had a private pool.
Once back at home there is the maintenance to do, there might be a
small modification to the rig that you thought of when crashing through
the surf .
This is always a good excuse for not decorating the living room.
After a few days and a few visits to the local boaty bits shop you will
notice that there are lots of extras that you can lavish on your craft.
Resist the temptation. You can on the whole live without these
extras.
A good buoyancy aid is a good plan, they are a lot more comfortable
than hard thwarts.
A decent watertight sandwich box is the other "must have"
accessory.
Out on the water, in the open part between navigation channels there
are ample opportunities for you to get stuck for hours at a time on the
mud. This can be a very relaxing affair, so long as nobody notices you
and tries to rescue you. It is pointless to get out to try to push the
boat back into deep water, the mud only allows one way movement and any
attempt to fight it results in the boat being filled with more mud than
you can imagine. If pushing off with an oar or a spar fails, settle
yourself down for a sleep under the sail. No one can run you down so
there is no risk. The sail is useful for keeping sunburn at bay.
It is, apparently, not acceptable to lounge in a small boat. Simply
lying back staring out over the water leads to suspicions of loitering
with intent, voyeurism and every unsolved crime since the disappearance
of Shergar.
You can overcome this by taking a fishing rod with you. Don't worry
about taking tackle or bait, just tie a small pebble to the line and
fling it over the side. Doing this causes far less trouble, if you use
a hook and bait you may have to wake up and deal with a slimy messy
fish.
Moving around in the boat can cause some unexpected convulsions.
Remember that pushing against things will not push large objects away,
it will push you onto an obstruction that you have not seen yet. You
are constantly reminded of Newton's third law of motion. Nowhere is
this more apparent than in a small boat when struggling to extricate
oneself from a tight corner surrounded by projections that threaten to
hole the boat or even yourself. Coming alongside another boat is always
a tricky time. Common sense tells you that, if you are both being
affected by the same waves, you should both rise and fall in the water
together. Coming along side any other craft in open water for the first
will clearly dispel this illusion. Watch out for your fingers. The only
certainty is that the point at which the two boats make contact is
where you fingers are. Standing up, shaking your fingers around and
swearing takes you back to the earlier point about Newton's third
law.
Buoyancy aids and life jackets are generally considered to be a good
idea. They keep you warm and pad you from the hard edges in the boat.
Apparently they are also quite good at keeping you afloat when you fall
in.
Mine is very good for keeping out those cold sneaky draughts that
plague small boats.
When you are a good distance from land, you encounter the sensation of
not moving at all. It seems to take ages to cover the distance between
shore and that small island that looks like an ideal spot for lunch,
yet when that huge iron channel buoy comes into view and you realise
that the tide is sweeping you sideways onto it, it approaches at the
speeds of light. The ground you lose avoiding the collision takes ten
times longer to recover, yet when you finally arrive at that lonely
beach, you are on the shingle and aground before you know what has
happened.
Every one has seen the comedy cut where the person gets into the boat
but leaves one leg on the shore. I've done it but, to my credit,
managed to extricate myself without getting wet.
This kind of evolution is always performed when there is a large
audience. A coach load of grannies from Manchester stand there, licking
their ice creams and shouting encouragement.
"Oopsy dear, mind you don't split your difference!"
"Bit wobbly innit love?"
"All aboard for the skylark!" (Apparently this was a catch phrase from
a radio series in the 1950s)
I recover my dignity, such as it is , and sally forth across the
sparkling waters of the harbour. It's a perfect day, the sky is blue,
gulls wheel overhead and the wind is perfect for the trip. I have
arranged to meet a friend on the island, we plan to share a couple of
beers and perhaps light a barbecue. A few yard from shore the plan
changes. The phone rings. I know I should have left it behind but it
comes in handy.
"Jeff, have you got your front door key with you? I've locked myself
out"
"Yes dear, meet me on the quay next to the bloke who sells crabs from
his boat"
I arrive at the quay to find SWMBO looking agitated. I pass my keys
over and make as if to veer off again.
"Are you coming back for lunch?"
"No I've got sandwiches, I'm meeting Tom over on the island."
"Huh! I suppose you'll be all day!"
"No I'll be back for tea"
This is apparently the wrong thing to say. What I should have said
is:
"Oh what the hell! I can't be bothered with sailing, why don't I come
home and spend the afternoon dragging around the shops with you?"
Finally I get across to the island, hoping Tom hasn't been waiting too
long.
On the beach there's a stick wedged upright between some stones. It has
been split and a piece of paper inserted into it.
It's a note from Tom:
We waited, but had to leave as
we just heard the weather forecast.
Hope you don't get too wet!
I eat my sandwiches, noticing that the sky is not so blue and the wind
is not so warm. I set sail again. So much for the forecast that
promised a moderate south easterly all day, temperatures in the mid 70s
and no rain.
Many people may remember the famous BBC weather forecaster Michael Fish
in October 1987 assuring people that, although winds would be quite
strong, the rumours of a hurricane were entirely groundless. 24 hours
later Southern England had lost an estimated 5 million trees and
several hundred houses were no longer habitable.
The wind gets colder and weaker.
I hear a popping noise as large drops of rain start to hit the sail.
The rain gathers in strength as the wind fails.
Over in the distance I can see the quay, about four miles off. There
are no other boats moving now, just me and sheets of water. I don my
waterproof and lean over the stern to raise my rudder.
In doing so I scoop up a bucketful of cold seawater in my sleeve and
shudder as it runs down inside my coat. The Minn Kota comes into play
and soon I am rippling along, the mainsail wrapped around me to keep
the rain off. Back on shore some *&;^$\%^ has parked his car across
the top of the slipway. Caring nought, I drag the boat out and across
the bonnet of the Ford. It's covered in scratches and sand, I drag the
boat home planning to take a nice warm bath. When I get there she's
still at the shops with my keys.
I spend the next hour in the back yard, washing the grit and salt off
my gear and watching our two cats who are inside, enjoying the
warmth.
I love sailing.
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