A tender brake

Over 40 years ago I invited a landlubber friend on my Hirondelle 23-foot catamaran, Concordia. After a lovely sail from the Blackwater to the Crouch, we were ghosting up-river with a light easterly behind us.

The tide turned just before we reached the moorings at Burnham. They were laid in long lines, parallel to the bank. We continued serenely, stemming the ebb, when we came to a gentle halt. Suspecting the tide had increased I looked under the genoa, and to my horror found we had neatly ridden over the stern of a highly varnished dinghy, perfectly lodged between the two hulls.

The lines of moorings had a step in them. Just as I was pondering my options, a smartly dressed boatman on a club launch came by and said, ‘You can’t moor there, you know’… Did I know? Oh yes!