How to adjust to working life, “that tiresome period between University and retirement”, with a mere three weeks’ holiday for sailing? With two weeks already allotted to the Three Peaks Race, it looked as if I could only spend a week on Eel this year. But I hadn’t counted on exploiting the loophole in the ‘working week’: employers, unlike rowing coaches and dons, actually give you two days off every week to go sailing!

17th/18th March, 1984 — Boat Race Days

I couldn’t face watching a Boat Race start live. So I was sitting on board Eel above Barnes Bridge, a suitably optimistic signal flying in the rigging, when I heard on the radio that the Cambridge cox had managed to write-off his boat on the PLA barge. I’ve never known a cox who sat still enough, or steered straight enough, to miss seeing something as large as a lighter.

On Sunday it was my turn to make a silly mistake. Putney on Boat Race day is not a good place to launch a boat; second time round I launched Eel by the Ship at Mortlake, and my sister-in-law and I left our cars above the high water mark in front of the pub. The race went off fine; we all cheered twin Robert at bow in the Oxford boat, and then sailed up to the finish to congratulate him and other friends in the crew. Now you may remember that this year’s race was rowed on a record breaking spring tide. As soon as I got back on board I realised the full implications of this. I rowed at full pressure over to Mortlake to find both cars knee deep in water. Once salvage operations began, a little crowd gathered, including the inevitable child voicing all the obvious questions: “Why are those cars in the water Daddy?”… “Why did they leave them there?” and, worst of all… “Will they ever go again?”. Luckily they did, as I and the waterlogged Metro were expected at home within the hour to join my parents for a company sponsored concert at the Festival Hall.

14th/15th April, 1984

My nephew, Edward, received two christening presents intended as much for his father as himself; one was life membership of the Exeter Maritime Museum, the other was a coracle made at Ironbridge by Mr Eustace Rogers. So the highlight of my weekend in Bewdley was a coracle expedition down the Severn. I was sat on it and pushed into mid-stream, where I flailed a paddle ineffectively and spun slowly round. Then brother Henry warned me of some nonexistent rapids downstream, at which my technique improved rapidly!

20th-22nd April, 1984 — Easter Weekend

I made up the numbers for the duty-free on board Jinty, my parents’ boat. We had a good sail from the Medway to Calais and back, with a peaceful night off Margate en route and a good meal in Calais.

5th-7th May and 25th-28th May, 1984 — Bank Holiday Weekends

On board Assent, the Contessa 32 we used for the Three Peaks Race.

2nd/3rd June, 1984 — OSTAR Start

I towed Eel down to Plymouth for the OSTAR start. In fact I drove via Plymouth and Tavistock to Hooe Passage on the Tamar, the lovely spot where Assent is moored. I rigged Eel in the dark and spent the night on board, ashore. I launched in the morning but, even with a sluicing ebb, made poor time against a fresh southerly. My parents met me by the Tamar Bridge and gave me a tow to the Royal Western (where I failed to pick up a friend), and then out to the start where I spent most of my time looking after Eel and saw little of the OSTAR.

We had an idyllic day on Sunday sailing Eel up the Tamar to Cotehele to see the house and the Tamar barge Shamrock. The upper Tamar is really very lovely. Anthony Parines, who owns the farm at Hooe Passage and the new Oyster Heritage 37 lying off it, kindly lent us a mooring for Jinty and space for Eel ashore.

16th-19th June, 1984

While I was aboard Assent for the Three Peaks Race, Eel was used as a playpen and dayboat on the Tamar by nephew Edward (15 months), his friend Tom Bradley (2) and their parents.

7th/8th July, 1984 — RCC West Country Meet

Father went to watch twin Robert losing at Henley Regatta, and had his new car written off by a Mini. So Mother’s Metro was not available for trailing Eel to Falmouth for the meet. So I had to sail.

I took the train from Slough (17.48) to Plymouth (21.15) and up the nice branch line to Berealston (21.40), and then walked two miles to Hooe Passage. It was a lovely evening: a slow, almost Norwegian, cloudy-red sunset giving way to a splendid, clear moonlit night. High water was after midnight, so I rigged and launched straight away, with the kind help of a boatbuilder living on board a C19 yacht on the foreshore. I had the tent rigged and my sleeping bag out by 00.30.

I was up at 04.30 to catch the last of the ebb downstream. There was no wind at all, and I rowed beyond Rame Head before picking up the first breeze of the day. But then I had a gentle breeze for most of the day to carry me almost to the Dodman. I just sat in the sun listening to Wimbledon on the radio. The tide turned in my favour as I reached the Dodman, but the wind then died. So I rowed into Falmouth, arriving at 20.45. My uncle had the cheek to tell me I should have made my entrance an hour earlier when everyone was at the party on board Jolie Brise.

I had a good day’s visiting on Sunday, but just missed my train at 16.25, and British Rail took from 17.25 to 05.00 to get me back to Slough.

21st/22nd July, 1984

The boatman at the Royal Cornwall kindly let me leave Eel on two anchors off the club, inside all the moorings. Despite my every intention of sailing further west, Eel stayed there for more than a month, and I spent four weekends on board, exploring Falmouth Harbour and Helford River.

In return for the use of their car during their month’s cruise in Ireland, I had to drive my parents to Falmouth, only arriving on Saturday evening. I followed Velsia, a lovely Colin Archer boat, out of the harbour and discovered they were heading for an Old Gaffers’ meet at King Harry Ferry. Somehow I found myself entering for the Cornwall Old Gaffers’ Race on the Sunday. I improvised a racing flag out of Jinty’s Belgian courtesy flag, and doused the ensign. The measurer ran a tape measure over Eel and gave me a tow to the start. A nice breeze tempted the committee into setting a course of nearly 15 miles, but it died as soon as the fleet was out of the harbour. I spent the rest of the day drifting with the fleet to the outer mark and almost back to the harbour. Everyone retired at 18.00.

28th/29th July; 4th/5th & 11th/12th August, 1984

Over the next three weekends, in superb weather, I explored some of the local backwaters: St. Mawes and St. Just, the Fal River nearly up to Lamorran, Mylor Creek up to Mylor Bridge, Gillan Creek and St. Anthony’s Church, and the Helford up to the bridge near Mawgan. At the same time I was reading a splendid book, Down West by H V Willyams, an early Cruising Club member and dinghy cruising enthusiast who explored all these creeks in various dinghies and canoe-yawls in the 1890’s. He waxes lyrical about the delights of an empty, unspoilt, Helford River.

18th-27th August, 1984 — A Week’s Holiday

My week’s holiday was stretched to ten days by two weekends and a bank holiday. I got a lift to Falmouth with friends going windsurfing at Marazion, and gave them a quick sail on Eel from Mylor on Saturday morning. Then, as there was a nice breeze, I decided I could just get round the Lizard on that tide. Unfortunately the breeze died on me between the Manacles and Black Head, and by the time I had rowed to the Lizard, the tide had turned against me. Leaving the sails up, I rowed very slowly past the coastguard look-out. They hailed me, but as I couldn’t hear I just waved once and continued rowing. I hoped to pick up an eddy, so I kept inshore and then headed out on a bearing from the shore to clear the rocks. I see now that this must have looked alarming to the coastguards north-east of me.

Next thing I knew, a large rubber dinghy from MFV Offshore was coming alongside. The MFV skipper told me the coastguard thought I was dismasted and dangerously close to the rocks, and that they were about to send out the lifeboat; they had sent him instead. I assured him that I wasn’t dismasted, merely becalmed, that I knew exactly what I was doing, that I was clear of the rocks (there were lobster pots inshore of me), that I was making adequate progress and had buoyancy, lifejackets and flares on board (in the unlikely event of needing assistance in a flat calm). I agreed to a tow a short way westwards to keep the coastguard happy, and asked the MFV skipper to tell them I was heading for Porthleven and would contact them on arrival. I sent a draft of this account to the Falmouth coastguard and received a very nice reply, saying there seemed to have been a genuine error, but pointing out that they would far rather launch SAR resources when there is the slightest doubt. The whole incident left me feeling quite shaken.

I rowed and sailed slowly north, listening to the Glyndebourne ‘Figaro’ on the radio as darkness fell. I did consider the harbour at Mullion Cove at dusk but (hoisting the navigation light for the first time) carried on to Porthleven instead, arriving at 23.00. An auxiliary coastguard was finishing his drink outside the pub and kindly informed the Lizard coastguard of my arrival.

In the morning I had a quiet sail to St. Michael’s Mount and, after ‘doing’ the castle, anchored off for the night. But when the causeway covered the anchorage became untenable and a castle boatman invited me into the harbour for free, and let me moor where I could stay afloat. In the morning I went out to have a look, but it was blowing rather too hard for me. I spent another day on the Mount, a very pleasant place when the tide is in.

On Tuesday I beat to Mullion Cove, another good National Trust spot, but rather gloomy on an overcast, drizzly day. The harbourmaster was not helpful, saying I couldn’t use the harbour. In fact he suggested I go back where I’d come from, or beat round the Lizard to Cadgwith, which was exposed to the easterly wind. He let me stay in the end, and later unbent so much as to tell me it was a pleasure to watch me mooring up (with a pulley system to keep Eel off the wall). In the evening I was entertained very hospitably aboard Black Panther (LSC) anchored in the cove.

I beat round the Lizard in the morning and fetched north to the Helford River where I was invited to a second supper on the same boat!

I didn’t have another proper breeze for the rest of the week, and worked my way slowly from Falmouth to Fowey — where I moored alongside Duet (LSC), looking very lovely — and back to Plymouth. I drifted and rowed across Whitesand Bay in the mist and arrived at Mount Edgecumbe just after Duet, to the surprise of her crew. By now I was tired of rowing and correspondingly grateful to the people who towed me from the Mewstone to Salcombe. Salcombe was packed, but family friends in East Portlemouth looked after me very well. When I missed my tide round the Start because of the fog, they found me a mooring and drove me to a train at Newton Abbot.

That was my week on Eel last year.

8th/9th September, 1984 — RCC Beaulieu Meet

Eel was in Salcombe, her trailer with friends in Exeter, mother’s Metro in Kent, myself in Slough and the meet at Beaulieu. Even so I was sailing from the Beaulieu River by 11.00 on Saturday. I found Assent hove-to just outside and had a quick chat. Then I fetched across to Newtown and had to reef for a squall just before I got there. I was looking for the 8’ revenue cutter, à la Illusion, designed and built by David Ellis (featured in Yachts and Yachting). I found the Ellis family about to sail across to Beaulieu, so Eel and the Ellis Drascombe formed a flotilla shepherding the revenue cutter. I just got into the river through the swatchway and was pleased to find Eel made to windward against the tide more effectively than the Drascombe.

We had a good party and a slightly disturbed night. In the morning I tried beating up river, but it was blowing too hard. Instead someone kindly towed me up in the afternoon. I was late home again: the Metro had a flat tyre and lost its exhaust.

29th/30th September, 1984

With Eel laid-up, my season was effectively over. But I was left to babysit for my nephew, Edward, while his parents were racing at Datchet Reservoir. There I spotted a lovely small cold-moulded canoe-yawl, which turned out to be an exact copy of G F Holmes’ 13’ Humber Yawl Ethel, designed for dinghy cruising at the end of the last century. Her length and rig were dictated by the size of a railway guard’s van and, using British and Continental railway systems, Holmes cruised her extensively. It was the maiden voyage of the new Ethel, and her owner was very pleased with her. I left feeling rather envious of him.

If you add up my weekends, I think you’ll find I’ve spent as much time on the water as ever. So I’m looking forward to the next season of my ‘working’ life.