I was sailing my halfdecker onto Oulton Broad, having tacked the entire length of the Waveney from Beccles, on a miserable May weekend which had been unrelentingly damp and grey. By the time I had arrived I was tired, cold and deeply envious of other yachts nearby. The sum total of my weather proofing equated to a PVC awning covering the cockpit, the floor of which was also my bunk.
I moored at the yacht station, put the cover on and tried to stop shivering. I begin squaring away;
Dry floor. Watch sail dripping onto floor. Realize this will not dry. Swear quietly and dig out clothing and sleeping bag from forepeak. Realise these are all soaking. Swear more.
Resigned to my fate, I cook over the Primus and trudge up an increasingly rain soaked highstreet to the George Borrow pub, where everyone is.
11:30pm. Return to ‘Grace’ – realise it’s now a NE F9, with driving rain and everything is rattling, howling and thumping up and down in the squalls. Not much sleep to be had, especially when rafted four yachts deep.
3am. Stuffing ropes, spare sails and anything else to hand in the gap between awning and deck, as cold driving spray is soaking everything.
6am. Give up, attempt to make tea, struggle with lighting Primus. Feeling dejected I walk around Nicolas Everitt Park, to try and warm up. Everything is soaked.
That Sunday lunchtime, following the dampest night imaginable without a periscope. The fleet convened, having reached Somerleyton. We all crowded into the bar of the Dukes Head. Stories are exchanged about late-night escapades, adjusting warps, putting more fenders on, deck leaks and such.
CF – a departed friend, astutely remarks that my night can’t have been comfortable. My heartfelt confirmation caused him to pause. He turned and summoned Julia “Oh, Julia – this is Joe. You want to talk to him, he wants to buy a river cruiser”.
Julia, and Joe promptly move to sit either side of me (in a classic pincer move), to talk more about ‘Corsair’. After the 3rd pint, I hear myself agreeing to come and visit them next weekend to talk more…
I returned to my mooring, having been towed by s/n 219 much of the way. Having been deposited, I relied on my outboard, an ancient Evinrude (read Evil&Rude) which spluttered and coughed my way back up the Yare. The weather had abated to rain, with low cloud and a brisk N f3. Hours later, with the covers on, I put thoughts of boating away as I drove silently home.
A Broadsman 