You can't win them all, all the time. But if you are lucky enough you can sometimes win the lot. Sailboat cruising is like this. You set off on a sailing tour with certain fixed objectives, apart from just having a good time, but usually a combination of weather, tides and something else works against you, so part of your objectives have to be changed or left for another time.

Now and again, however, it all goes right, like magic, just the way you planned and hoped. That is how it was for my little cruise of last May. I still marvel at the way it worked out.

It has been my great pleasure each May, for some years past, to join in the Otter meeting a Hickling and then to stay on for the following week, sailing off in various directions to explore the waterways to their very ends; as far, that is, as one can get with a nine-inch draught.

On the last two occasions I headed south to fill in some bits of the Waveney and Yare but, on sailing up the Yare towards Norwich, I was obliged to pause at Rockland St. Mary. Once you get into that bosky (?) spot, in its May finery, it is difficult to get out. Harsh winds are excluded; only the sunshine comes in. The harbour master mows the lawn at the head of the staithe and mine host of the pub facing the water once played soccer for Kings Lynn and now keeps the best-tended pub in the district.

This Hickling-and-cruise is a fixture in my calendar. Other affairs, such as business trips abroad, have to be arranged so as not to interfere. This year, however, things had to be changed round. Daughter Susan was expecting her third son at the time of the Hickling weekend and I was due to crew in a cross-Channel yacht race the following Friday. So this time I set off for Norfolk a week early to get in my cruise and finish up at the Otter meeting.

This reversed plan meant I could resist the siren song of Rockland St. Mary, not by filling my ears with wax and being lashed to the mast, but by launching at Brundall, just upstream, the highest point on the Yare reached previously. I wanted to finish the Yare and Wensum to their limits and the little river Chat that runs from Loddon to Reedham.

Sunday midday saw me launching Windflower (206) at one of Broom's several slips. A fine yard this. The sun was blazing in a blue sky, but there was a nice SW breeze which allowed easy tacking to near the White House at Whitlingham, six miles up river and as close to Norwich as I could expect to find a quiet night. Monday morning early I was to be seen rowing upstream, all spars and rigging down, through the Thorpe St. Andrew arm of the river, then into the Wensum past the shipping quays, then past the yacht station. A moment of satisfaction came as Windflower went under Bishop's bridge, for this marks the end for hire craft. On past the playing fields and Cow tower. Here and there folk sat in the shade or roasted in the sun according, to their fancy. The river wound past the backs of factories, past cottages old and new, and under six more bridges, with an occasional glimpse of a tempting pub until, rounding a corner, we came to the basin at New Mills where the upper Wensum came down a chute. There was just time to row back downstream, with a brief pause at the Compleat Angler, to catch the tide making into the upper Yare, and I followed this little stream to its end at a chute just above Trowse bridge.

The westerly breeze was still holding and it took me back down river and through Surlingham broad. I resisted the call of Rockland and held course past there for Langley dyke, (erst Purcully's Fleet). A bath, with soap and flannel, in the river washed away the day's travel stains.

Tuesday the sun still shone, the breeze held and I was able to sail upwind clear to Loddon. Much of the Chet is barely 10 yards wide. After a couple of shandies at Loddon, the sail went up and I was heading down wind for Yarmouth. In fact, I had a couple of days in hand that could have been spent on these fine south rivers, but certain considerations made it wise to get through Yarmouth without delay. I had a fair wind and the sun was shining, but last evening there had been high mare's tails in the sky, and now the glass was falling,.

The tide dictated that I could get through Yarmouth at dusk that evening, or early next morning which would mean a very early start. So I aimed for Yarmouth. With the fair wind and full ebb tide we swept over Breydon and I tucked Windflower into the eddy at the entrance to the Bure where she swung to her mud anchor. I cooked up a stew and ate my supper at the edge of the mudbank. It was getting dark before the ebb slackened enough to allow me to row under the bridges and tie up for the night alongside a private dayboat at the quay.

Next morning at nine I was sailing up the Bure. The sun shone, the breeze held. It was almost too good to be true. But by mid-morning the breeze had hardened enough to indicate a few turns of reef to avoid a hand gybe. After Acle bridge the wind was strong and Windflower foamed upstream with just the single sail reefed to the first batten. At Potter Heigham the wind prevented the cruisers from being taken through the bridge. I sought the best lee I could for Windflower behind some sparse willows and young nettles. That night I was much aware of the wind in the willows - a great rushing noise - and next day, Thursday, it was blowing really hard. I had to put out extra lines to stop Windflower taking off under the pressure of the wind on her canopy. I used this sunny, windy day to go shopping in Norwich and to pick up the car from Brundall, and next day I motored round to renew old acquaintances.

On Saturday I met the Otterites at Martham, and during this sparkling day sailed over Hickling and Horsey mere before joining the others for the dinner at Acle. This was a splendid meal, fit for the Gods, and a fitting end to a perfect week.