A time of high hopes and shared dreams

It is a special time of year for those who love to be on the water. For boaters (and here I include those who own powered craft as well as the “stick and rag” brigade) Easter is traditionally the start of the season. Now the cushions will be brought down from the attic, the charts sorted out, the lengths of rope checked for fraying, and the craft made shipshape for the forthcoming season. Bottoms will, God willing, have been scraped by now, the antifouling renewed and the rigging tightened. It is a time of high hopes and shared dreams; a time to promise oneself that the voyage to the West Country or St Malo, the upper reaches of the Thames, or the Caledonian Canal will no longer remain just dreams but can, indeed, become reality. For this summer the sun will shine endlessly, those of us who need them will have fair winds, and those of us who prefer it calm will admire the glassy stillness of the Solent on a bright morning at 6am when we are woken by the call of gulls. Oh, yes. My plans are taking shape already. Time was when venturing out in the car Shipshape and Bristol fashion: the boats of Penberth in Cornwall are ready to go for a pleasurable run on a Sunday required the same sort of forward planning and engendered the same sort of fevered anticipation. Before journeying up the Yorkshire Dales in my dad’s van in the Fifties there would be the road map to locate, the route to decide upon, the Thermos, the rug and the picnic basket to pack. Today it is simply a matter of switching on the GPS and setting off, knowing that there will be a gastropub on the way. And although I find this state of affairs comforting to a degree, I do miss the Thermos with the cork and the bit of tissue paper that helped to prevent leakages, the egg sandwiches wrapped in greaseproof paper, and the vanilla slices that were a special treat – their custard oozing from the sides as we bit into them. But if the anticipatory joy of car journeys has vanished forever, the joy of boating remains, for the large part, intact, whether on river or sea. It is still a voyage, subject to the vicissitudes of the weather that the motorist has largely overcome. There are rules to remember, of course: take note of the tide times to avoid being stranded on a Sunday afternoon; make sure the mobile is charged up (that’s a development since Nelson’s time), always have a chart open in front of you, regardless of your fancy GPS, and remember not to shout at the crew. It’s an important one this. Raised voices, coupled with that readily identifiable note of impatience, can lead to mutiny, as many latter-day Captain Blighs have discovered. Unless your boat is very small, and you are a single-handed sailor, you will need to rely on your crew, especially if they number just the one. Do not expect them to leap with the agility of a gazelle when you are approaching a mooring. You should be able to get them close enough to step off comfortably. It is both unfair and unwise to expect them to make up for your lack of boat-handling skills by equalling the British longjump record. But when your voyage, however small, has been accomplished safely and enjoyably, and you are tied up at the end of the day, the bottle has been opened, the food located and you are settled in the back of your boat with a good meal and good company, then you will remember just how much you missed the old girl during the winter. She is on the water again, pulling at her moorings and tempting you to waters new. Happy Easter me old tars – and happy boating!