That summer we had been down the
east coast of Ireland as far as
Dunlaoghaire and were on our way
back to the Clyde. One of our
stopping places was Portpatrick.
We were still enjoying a
tremendous run of good weather.
I suppose you could
have called us The Twenties.
The skipper was sixty-three. I
was twenty years younger and our
stalwart third man was twenty
years younger again.
When we arrived at
Portpatrick we lay alongside a
36 foot yacht that was obviously
fitted out for long distance
sailing. We noted substantial
jackstays running from outside
the cockpit to right forward.
Aries wind vane self steering.
Wind and Water driven
generators. Steps running all
the way up the mast for ease of
rigging repairs. VHF aerial at
top of mast and spare aerial
attached to the pushpit.
Navigation aerials. SSB radio
aerial. American style radar
reflector and radar. Strong
‘granny-rails’ on the deck
around the base of the mast for
clipping on. Lots of other
sensible extras for the long
distance cruising man.
We met the owner, a
very fit man of 72 years who
cruised extensively
single-handed . From the time
of meeting this fine specimen of
Senior Citiizenship our skipper
wanted to prove that he was as
fit as our neighbour. And he
wasn’t.
Our boat was lying
rafted out to five other boats.
We decided in the cause of good
seamanship to run our warps
ashore rather than rely on being
secured to the next boat.
Normally our third man would
have taken the heavy warp ashore
to do the job. But no. This
time the skipper insisted that
he would do it.
As I have said, it was
great weather. Everyone was
dressed to take advantage of
it. Our skipper was also
dressed for the clement weather
– with a difference. One of
those white Aussie tennis hats
on his head, the brim pulled
down low to protect his already
blistered nose. His glowing
upper body had been bare since
he had seen the 72 year old’s
firm brown body. His shorts
were the very wide legged
variety and on his feet were a
nice new pair of plimsolls.
We tried to dissuade
him but short of hurting his
feelings, had to let him go.
Slowly he worked his way over
the rails and decks of the other
five yachts with our longest and
heaviest warp carried over his
shoulder like a bandolier.
Refusing several offers of help
on the way, he payed it out bit
by bit. At last he was at the
quay wall and we were really
worried. It was low water and
it was a long way to the top.
Very carefully he worked his way
up the buckled ladder.
On the innermost boat
there were four fine lassies
sunbathing on the foredeck just
beside the ladder. We noticed
that now they were rolling about
in paroxysms of laughter and
pointing upwards. As our
skipper got higher up the ladder
more people started looking up
and laughing. Embarrassed, the
two of us retired into the cabin
as we remembered that our Sherpa
skipper also wore wide legged
underpants.
In his defence let me
say that he did get the warp
ashore and secured in a
seamanlike fashion but he
couldn’t understand why his crew
were suddenly loath to leave the
cabin to go ashore to the pub
for a drink.
Bill Mills