Gerald Levenson’s advocacy of a waterproof telephone for dinghy use (Issue 117) is an interesting proposition which I hope will prompt other members’ opinions on radio-telephony in small craft. To my mind, we tend to resist its use for a number of reasons which are worth re-examining in the light of present trends. The main objections have always been the cost, the expertise needed to install and use it, the difficulty of keeping it working in a damp environment and the feeling that being able to call for help is basically unseamanlike and militates against the sense of independence to which we all aspire. This last point was most clearly expressed by the late Bill Tilman, who said that “every mackerel should hang by its own tail”, and if shipwreck threatens one should “drown like a gentleman, without bothering anyone”.

The individual skipper has to decide whether to reject radio on this principle at the outset, bearing in mind his crew’s safety as well as his own. All I would say is that this emotive subject tends to obscure the many practical, if less dramatic, uses of marine VHF. I have been weaned away from the traditional objections by many years of skippering charter yachts off the west coast of Scotland, where keeping the coastguard informed of intentions, departures and arrivals is regarded as an unwritten law by most yachtsmen. In an area like this, it is worth having a set just to listen-in to radio traffic, which is always of interest. The point is that the information received is always localised. Take, for instance, the weather reports which the coastguard broadcast every two or four hours, or on request.

It is easy to become anxious on the announcement of gales in sea area Malin when one is cruising off, say, Arran, only to find later that they have moderated to a good sailing breeze by the time they have crossed the Mull of Kintyre (yes, this has happened to me). The Radio 4 Shipping Forecast covers very large areas, excellent though it is. Also, being able to communicate with sailors and professional fishermen over many miles can be most useful. It can be a great help when seeking refuge to discover what the sea conditions are like in the mouths of lochs and harbours from those who are on the spot, as I found when I was caught in a rising gale off the island of Rhum in 1985. I was able to make a safe landfall on the mainland as a result, when the only other alternative was to be bottled up somewhere in the Small Isles for 3 or 4 days.

Do not underestimate the value of being able to enter the main telephone system via marine radio, either. There are times when you have to put into some secluded place, having failed to make your destination because of some vagary of tide or wind. The evening phone call home does not materialise and people start to worry about you. By contacting a coast radio station you can make the call, allay fears and perhaps avoid the temptation to press on unwisely. On my first cruise of any duration I was appalled to see my skipper, all 17 stone of him, rowing ashore through surf in a 7’ tender to Spanish Head on the Isle of Man, intoning the words, “I promised to phone my wife tonight, and phone her I will.” In the heat of the moment he had forgotten that he was leaving his 46’ gaff rigged ketch, all 16 tons of her, in the hands of a novice who had previously sailed nothing more fearsome than a GP14 (me) and two young teenagers (his sons).

Gerald Levenson does not like using this method of telephoning because one can be overheard, and also the call (which will undoubtedly be made on Simplex equipment) will be on a ‘speak-and-over’ basis. Well, yes — but the only probable eavesdropper will be another sailor queuing to use the channel; he will know that the ‘line’ is engaged by hearing either your conversation or a series of blips. The mass of users will be tuned to channel 16 and the legal ship-to-ship channels, i.e. 06, 08, 72, 77. Regarding the second objection, ‘speak-and-over’ discipline is easy to assimilate, and only the VHF operator has to remember to ‘press to speak’, not the receiver of the call. In any case, when was the last time you spoke simultaneously with the other party in an ordinary telephone chat?

Car phones do not, of course, offer you privacy. For a little over £100 a scanner radio receiver can be purchased which sweeps all the wavelengths in sequence, including police channels, private channels and, yes, also the one used by your daughter’s car phone These are becoming far more popular than you might imagine, and are freely available in high street shops, which is a disturbing thought. The sheer versatility of marine VHF must give it the edge over the concept of the car/dinghy phone. But what other options are there?

I am almost as keen a fisherman as I am a sailor, and my home base for this is Trearddur Bay in Anglesey. Without exception, the small amateur fishing boats operating from there carry car-type CB radios. At first I scoffed at this poor relation in the VHF family, but then became a convert through keeping an open mind. Long usage has secured one channel for exclusive marine use in that area; it has also aroused the interest of Holyhead coastguard, who now have details of all boats who use it on file. Contact with them is possible through a user who carries both CB and marine VHF. Communication with home bases on shore is obviously valuable, and there have been informal rescues of disabled pleasure craft co-ordinated by radio which have obviated the need for calls on the rescue services.

I am constantly amazed by the survival of these cheap sets, despite gross neglect — some of them are left in the boats’ cuddies from one year to the next. Yes, they eventually breakdown, but invariably come back to life after the corrosion has been wire-brushed from the power terminals!

VHF radio waves travel in straight lines, and so are quickly affected by obstacles which impede them, such as mountains. Over the sea they are less likely to be baulked, so the sailor has an advantage over the shore-bound user. I achieve clear communication regularly over 20 miles with a standard 4-watt CB set. Big marine VHF sets push out 25 watts, not because this power is strictly necessary but because by the nature of their radio waves, you will either pick up transmissions very clearly or not at all.

So what should the skipper of a small open boat choose from the vast field now available? First decide whether you need marine VHF, which offers the most for your money, although this needs to be balanced against the outlay in spare time as well as cash (you have to pass an examination to be entitled to use it). These days the sets are relatively cheap — unless you want one which is sealed, filled with nitrogen and waterproof enough to use in an open cockpit, in which case the price tag will probably equal that of your boat. You can get around this one by using a hand-held set inside a heavy-duty plastic cover like those sold by Aquaman (the coastguards use them), although hand-portable sets are less powerful.

If you feel that your needs are more modest, then CB radio can offer a realistic alternative. In fact I have a CB which also has the facility of receiving on channel 16, 67 and 37 marine VHF — a nice compromise. The only qualification needed to use CB is a cheap GPO licence.

I would advise against an automobile-type ‘permanent’ installation on a small sailing boat for a number of reasons. First, the aerial and its wiring can be troublesome when there is a lot of rigging up there already. Also, tuning the aerial on a non-metallic hull can be a headache as a great part of the ground-plane necessary for the aerial’s efficient performance is then provided by the sea, and yachts do not maintain a steady angle to its surface (perhaps you have noticed this phenomenon — it’s called ‘heeling’). Next, somewhere fairly dry has to be found to house the set. Finally, whether you want to or not, you will have to become embroiled in the technicalities of the game if you set up your own aerial-radio rig.

No — the easy way to discover whether the whole business has anything to offer you is to go for the hand-portable plastic bag combination to begin with. My hand-held CB has 40 channels, is rechargeable from the mains (not often needed) and sports an extending 6’ aerial for transmitting over longish distances, although a 12” stub aerial is usually sufficient. It cost me £25 second-hand, but a similar brand-new set would be just over £100.

Imagine a number of open boats cruising in company; could it be a DCA rally? At least the leader and Tail-end Charlie have radio. In fair conditions they will maintain cohesion as a fleet over large distances, even when they lose sight of one another. In deteriorating conditions they can modify their plans at the press of a button — and even inform those ashore who are towing the trailers! In a really urgent situation they would certainly find a ‘breaker’ on land who would make a telephone call on their behalf. The price paid for this convenience is having to listen to the idle chatter of others — when you can’t ‘squelch’ it out on your set.

One of the structural changes I am presently making to my Mirror 16 is a cavernous locker which will extend almost 3’ forward of the transom. Eventually its dry interior will house, amongst other things, a marine VHF radio. The aerial will be a short, stainless steel whip on a light aluminium tube mounted on the transom, secured by one bolt and a wing-nut, so that it can be removed quickly for unambitious sailing. The hand-held CB will remain on board as its small size represents no inconvenience. I must return to this job, but not before I relate my favourite reminiscence of ‘marine communication’.

One clear Whitsun morning I was on deck early in Rothesay Harbour, preparing for the long haul down to the Mull of Kintyre. Our Hurley 25 was rafted up to a lovely old wooden sloop which reeked of tradition, boasting no mod. cons. or electronic aids. It had patently never encountered a microchip in its long life, and would have run a mile had it done so.

The boat was also redolent of alcohol from the previous evening when the all-male crew had investigated the flesh-pots of the town pretty thoroughly.

The harbourmaster, a small man with a big personality and a remorseless sense of humour, approached our neighbour from along the quay, the rising tones of his Scots burr penetrating every sleepy cabin:

“Yacht Barbican! Yacht Bar-r-bican!”

The sloop’s hatch cover crashed back and an unkempt head appeared, its owner obviously expecting to see some dire calamity on deck. The harbourmaster continued:

“Your gir-rlfriend has phoned me to say that she’ll be arriving here by ten o’clock, so mind ye don’t shame us! Be up and aboot and in a fit state to gr-reet her!”

He stumped off, chuckling, as the seagulls wheeled in alarm over the mastheads. The bloodshot eyes registered disbelief as the head turned in my direction and spoke:

“So that’s what they mean by ship-to-shore!”