The pint we never drank

I then realised that in the night, the yacht astern had dropped its anchor into our tender, which was lying off our transom. I towed the boat just around the corner to Marcona Inlet and dropped their anchor in the water. No one in the following yacht was woken but they would have been totally confused to find themselves safely anchored in a different inlet.

By Phil Gillman A friend and I planned a weekend sailing to the Isle of Wight. This was to be my first skippering other than a couple of flotilla holidays many years ago. The waves were quite high and, with a strong wind on the nose, we weren’t making much progress so we turned back. Picking up a swinging mooring wasn’t as easy as I’d thought. I lost the boathook. Somehow, we managed to tie up and were anticipating a few pints locally.

At 1800 we clambered into the dinghy to head for the slipway. But the tide was well on its way out and we grounded less than half way to the shore. Luckily, we pushed clear and made it back to the boat to sit it out.

But while I fiddled with the dinghy outboard my mate fell overboard. He can’t swim. His phone and tobacco were in his pockets. All ruined. We had to wait until 2300 to get back to land. Then we were locked in the boatyard for the night and had to sleep in the car. We felt dreadful in the morning, and never did get that much-anticipated pint.