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Listen online or download via:
http://www.yachtingmonthly.com/podcastsWhy does a harbour or town wanting to attact sailors
assume that the only thing to do is build a big marina?10 http://www.yachtingmonthly.com APRIL 2016
I
have been brooding about harbours,
what we cruising yachtsmen want and
what we ought to tell the industry, our
local authorities and tourist authorities
abroad. Yachts and ‘leisure boating’ in general
are now considered important interests,
alongside commercial
shipping and fi shing. We
ought to make ourselves heard- not just RYA legal matters,
but subtler, aesthetic matters
that are hard to represent
en masse. Sometimes we
should murmur our desires
in the relevant ear. Especially
those desires that may seem counter-intuitive.
Because the industry, such as it is, seems to
think that what we want is more marinas. Huge,
secure marinas surrounded by razor-wire like
prison camps; or smaller ones, taking concrete
bites out of peaceful estuaries as well as fi lling
disused docks. They think we want to potter
between one set of Walcon pontoons and the
next, expecting ritzy shower-blocks and WiFi.
They think, to be blunt, that we’re waterborne
caravanners. Therefore, even the more secluded
harbours of the British Isles, Ireland and
Western Europe build marinas and think it will
fulfi ll our desires, even if the one we slot into
for the night is, for the most part, basically a
parking-lot for seldom-used plastic motorboats.
They don’t remember that some of us are
romantics, and took to the sea in the fi rst place
because it is different, and temperamental, and
a way to fi nd beautiful and historic foreshores
and inlets. We like to lean on a harbour wall
as the tide goes out, or drop anchor in a
peaceful roadstead, row ashore in the quiet of
the evening, wash in a bowl in the cockpit and
spit over the side as we brush our teeth (yes,
we do. Quiet there at the back, you’ve got your
caravanny shower-blocks).
So when we grow to love a harbour, we
sometimes take it amiss when a jangling,
clanking, barbed-wire bog-standard marina
is the only place to stop the night. No rafting
up alongside the pier, no anchoring space, no
moorings. We think our boats are beautiful
(well, some of them) and enjoy rowing round
them, coming home to a swaying anchor-light,
waking with a sunrise all around. And even when
we’re not in remote waters, we want that feeling.
And we won’t get it in a marina.
So, when an attractive locality – here or
abroad – starts to like the idea of getting yachts
to come in and spend money
in the pubs and shops, it
should think twice or three
times before assuming that
the only thing to do is to
build an expensive fl oating
boat-parking lot. There are
places that have done this
and recklessly spoiled their
original charm; not least their attractiveness
in the empty winter season (few things drearier
than a deserted marina in February, where once
the wild birds fl ew and the open water rippled).
Of course they are right about quite a lot of
cruising families, either new skippers nervous
of anchoring, or families in which various
members have sworn never to trust an outboard
again, or rebelled after too many dinners ashore
being eaten with wet bums from the Avon with
lifejackets under the table. There are cries of
‘We’re not going into Mudhaven! For God’s sake
George, let’s stand on for Marinaport and have a
proper wash while the kids do Facebook!’
But there are compromises. Some of the nicest
harbours have, rather than extending their
pontoons way beyond local need, laid a slew of
visitors’ moorings – single or multiple – and,
here’s the clever bit, set up a cracking good
water-taxi service to whisk you to the civilization
of shore and shower-block. You can still feel as
if you are adventuring, watch the sunset and
moonrise across the quiet water beyond your
guardrails, and get the sense of voyaging to
new places, rather than another unit slotted in
between rows of sad empty boats. You keep your
bum dry on the way ashore and can be glad that
a local lad has the water-taxi job. Result. W‘ They think, to be
blunt, that we’re
waterborne
caravanners’