Practical Boat Owner - January 2016

Dave Selby is the proud owner of a 5.48m (18ft) Sailfish, which he keeps on a swinging mooring on the picturesque Blackwater estuary in Essex

LISTEN ONLINEHear Dave Selby’s podcasts on the PBO

website http://www.pbo.co.uk

Dave Selby

Mad about the boat

B

race yourself! It hasn’t happened yet, but it’s about to. I can feel it in
of your favourite waterside pub will burst wide open, an my bones. Any day now the door
unfeasibly cheery and ruddy-faced bunch of Famous Five hearty winter sailors will tumble in, leave the door open, throw
their salt-drenched oilies into a steaming heap on top of the pub dog, back up to the fiwhile making jokes about prop re
walk, start rubbing their buttocks in an unsavoury fashion, then roast their chestnuts – that’s if they’ve got too close.
downright unsailorly conduct. For a start, you can tell by their insufferable enthusiasm and Let’s be clear, this is
the newness of their spotless branded boutique sailor wear that they’ve recently been on a course, and have closed all
their seacocks before coming

ashore. If they can do that, why can’t they close a pub door? Haven’t they done that course? Of course, as locals we

don’t say anything, but just glower at the open door, for nothing since the big freeze of ’63 has actually stunned us

into speech – and even then no one’s really sure if it was actual speech or just teeth chattering.Other giveaways are the

fact that they’ve put their lifejackets back on after removing their oilies, and in a fi t of giggles have snapped

their lifelines on to the brass foot rail around the bar. The fact is, though, that they’ve made a very basic navigational

error. They’ve failed to correct for deviation – ours, that is – and have ended up in the wrong bar; ours, that is. The

back bar at The Queen’s Head, which is, errr, actually at the front, is also known as the members’ bar. It’s for locals. It’s

the way of the waterfront. The

front bar, which is actually at the back, is the one for ‘blow-ins’ or ‘randoms’, as we call anyone who lands in

Maldon wearing a lifejacket to the pub.truly fundamental error, for But they’ve made one more

anyone with any sense at all has by now swaddled their boat in layers of shredded tarps, roofi ng felt, rubble sacks,

old sails and mildewed army surplus canvas ground sheets. The true aim of this is not to protect your boat from the

ravages of our British winter, but something far more practical: in the fiprevent you getting on board rst place, to

to do any maintenance; and second, to stop you doing anything as utterly foolish as going sailing in Britain in

December, January, February or March.‘cos in the past I’ve sailed Perhaps I’m being cynical,

in December in my Sailfi sh,

which has all the thermal insulation of a soggy thong. It was wondrous for the fiseconds, until my frozen feet rst fi ve

froze solid to the frozen cabin sole. I’ve sailed in snow too, and that was magical too, for three seconds, until it

started stinging. Once, when I was younger, I was enticed sailing on New Year’s Day by super-eager friends who’d

read so much Arthur Ransome it had affected their minds. ‘Isn’t it perfectly magical? There’s no one else out

here,’ said one. I offered an explanation you won’t read in children’s sailing books.

The Frostbite raceI’ve also sailed in the Frostbite race from Limehouse to Erith on the Thames in February on

an old mate’s ancient Westerly Renown, which had a domestic parafficompression post (you won’t n heater lashed to the

learn that on courses!). Trouble was, we couldn’t go below at all ‘cos it was so hot down there we’d melt; so we had to

freeze in the cockpit and just hope the paraffibefore the compression post caught alight. n ran out

building, but I realised I’d had enough of that years ago when, after four hours freezing my Of course, all this is character-

futtocks off, the skipper said: ‘I think we can head back now, honour has been satisfi‘Honour had been satisfi ed’. ed’ is

sailor code talk for: ‘It’s bloody miserable out here, so let’s pile into the yacht club bar and pretend it wasn’t’.

exception. If a band of gung-ho types walks into your favourite waterside pub or sailing club There is, however, one

bar on Boxing Day in spotless branded boutique sailor wear, lifejackets and lifelines, don’t be fooled. They’ve not been

sailing, they’re just trying on their Christmas presents! And that’s really bonkers.

Gracing us with their presentsTo the seasoned observer, the sight of boutique branded sailor
wear in the pub at this time of year signifi es a successful Christmas haul as opposed to an intrepid bout of winter sailing

‘We’re bound to fi nd some jolly fellow sailors in here...’