98 http://www.yachtingmonthly.com November 2017Own up tO yOur sailing sins
the confessional
The confession of the
month wins a floating
Standard Horizon
handheld VHF radio worth £140
PlUs an original Bill Caldwell cartoonmanoeuvre. The only thing I
was unclear about, was why
he had opted to keep the
mainsail up throughout
the manoeuvre. Red faced
we quickly dropped it and
packed it away before
heading below to hide.
Perhaps I shouldn’t follow
everything he does ...Ionian Italians
an apology
By Don Fitzroy Smith
On holiday, most of us are happy
to miss rush hour but it seems you
can’t quite get away from it on an Ionian
flotilla. Just as the good afternoon sailing
wind sweeps into the Ionian from the
northwest, yachts begin to converge on
their evening berth. Having enjoyed our
afternoon sail, we arrived at Frikes just as
the day-trip ferry was clearing out. Opting
for good seamanship and feeling self-
righteous, we stood off, out of the way
to give the ferry room. Sadly, commuter
habits die hard and newcomers piled in
ahead of us through the gap we had left,
getting all the best berths.
My ire was roused. No more polite,
‘After you, Claude.’ Oh no! If I waited for
the queue-jumpers to have their fill I
would be berthing in the shallows to be
rolled by any wash that came through in
the night. That wouldn’t do.
With the day-trip ferry now gone and
out of the way, I saw my spot and went
for it with gusto.
I shot past an Italian yacht, the latest
arrival. He was clearly eyeing up the same
berth and I was met by howls of outrage
and energetic arm waving from their
whole crew. I pressed on, pretending that
I could neither hear nor understand him.
Smugly, I made a perfect approach, got
lines ashore and then I walked down the
quay. With my arms raised like aircraft
batsman I directed in the milling yachts.
First in, of course, were the outraged
Italians. I brazened it out and took their
lines, but perhaps an apology is due after
all. So, mi dispiace. WIn the dark about
seeing the lights
Confession of
the month
By Louise Hoggins
Things look different at night.
Some years ago we were
moving the boat from Puerto
de Mogan on the southern tip
of Grand Canaria to Las Palmas,
to provision for a transatlantic
passage. There was no northerly
wind, thank goodness, so it was
an easy overnight motor up the
eastern shore to arrive at dawn. The
coast was sharply defined by the
orange glow of street lights; the sea
was inky black.
A sweep around the horizon showed
that nothing much was happening apart
from the strangely twinkly nav lights of
a big vessel with a very bright steaming
light a long way away off the starboard
bow. Red twinkly light, green twinkly
light, very bright white light. It was head
on but far enough away not to be an
immediate danger, so back to watching
the coast roll by. A minute later and a
quick check to starboard showed the
lights much brighter, bigger and closer.
Still twinkly though. Maybe it’s a small
thing, a bit closer. In the time it took
for that thought to form the lights were
getting very close, too close, crunchingly
close. Ohmygodhelmhardovertostarboard!
With a roar of jet engines the airliner
passed overhead and continued its
descent to Las Palmas airport, its nav
light flashing in a twinkly sort of way. The
darkness hid my blushes.Plain sailing
By Bill Main
I have been very fortunate to sail with
a friend who is an RYA Yachtmaster
instructor on many occasions. Our
adventures have included cruises in the
Solent, a Round the Island Race, and
trips further afield to Dartmouth and
Plymouth.
As a novice sailor studying for myDay Skipper exams, every sail was like
a training course with questions and
tests covering all aspects of sailing both
practical and theoretical. I trust his
seamanship without reservation and I
hung on his every word.
One particular day we were sailing
down Southampton Water with my
objective to anchor the yacht in Osborne
Bay safely without using any electronic
navigational aids. I successfully completed
the task and after lunch we headed for
Haslar Marina in Gosport.
Sailing into Portsmouth Harbour we
discussed the pilotage, risks of large
ships and the various tasks we would
each undertake to tie up alongside.
The marina had already been called
and we knew which berth we were to
occupy. I prepared the fenders and lines
for docking, we rolled away the genoa
and my friend manned the wheel to
demonstrate how the manoeuvre should
be done.
It was busy in the harbour with the pilot
boats and other yachts buzzing around,
demanding concentration to avoid
collision and make safe progress into the
marina. I watched intently, noting how
and when we did each little task. Safely
tied up alongside in our allotted berth,
I congratulated my friend on a perfectWin
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