Time and tide

Sometimes my commitments as freelance writer and father conspire to prevent me sailing. This usually happens when it's gloriously sunny with a mid-afternoon high tide and the promise of a steady sea breeze coming up after lunch. Today is just such a day.

My irksome task is to interview an accountant on the implications to accountancy of NHS reform while far less irksomely amusing my kids who are off school for the Easter holidays.

I recently started reading Swallows and Amazons to them in a bid to induce early onset sailing mania with some promising results in the seven-year-old who now regularly expresses a desire to take to the harbour.

Toying with the idea of taking them both afloat on my own, I lay in bed this morning running a 'what's the worse that can happen' mental algorithm. Coming up with a 'one overboard, one on the boat' Sophie's Choice-type scenario, I quickly abandoned the idea.

So after interviewing the bean counter, I will head off to West Wittering beach, erect our newly acquired shelter and loaf on the sands while watching the hot shots from Hayling Island Sailing Club in what are sure to be perfect sailing conditions.

Meanwhile here's a pic of fellow idle sailor Dave in his Laser.

Cold weather sailing

Some sailors never give up. Take the die-hard crew at the Chichester Yacht Club who run two race series over the winter. Before Christmas we have the grimly-named Frozen Toe series followed by the more lyrical Snowflake series which runs up to March when normal people return to the water.

I was down on the pontoon in January to take a few snaps. Unfortunately there was very little wind and the contestants soon found themselves becalmed. Returning to shore in sub-zero temperatures using the time-honoured overarm-paddle-while-lying-on-the-prow technique is a feat in itself.

The art of the dry capsize

What can be more in the spirit of idle sailing than the dry capsize?

Faced with the inevitable and disdainful of thrashing around in the water, the idler afloat merely rolls over the gunwale as his craft capsizes and steps casually on to the centreboard where he is free to right the vessel at his leisure.

Well done that man!

Windsurfing - the non-idle side of sailing

Shot this morning at West Wittering. Need I say more?

Dog day sailing

Perfect sailing days arrive unexpectedly like a good friend calling round for a few pints on a wet Tuesday. Autumn in the UK can bring just such delights this month was no exception.

I had seven days of superb October idling on Chichester harbour, with the sun shining most of the time and a generous but manageable easterly or northerly.

What more can one ask for? Nothing is the short answer.

Here are some snaps taken by Mark who, being Australian, declined the Sunday 8am cruise undertaken by myself and my brother in the delightful RS Vision on the grounds that it was 'too bloody cold'.

I particularly like the thoughtful swan composition.

Wolfy

Wolfy is a Chihuahua owned by my Australian friend Mark and an enthusiastic crew member on his classic Wanderer dinghy.

Mark is very attached to Wolfy and will often say that he worries about him falling out if the boat heels over too far. Some might say that this is an excuse for a 'wuss-like' attitude close-hauling. There is of course no truth to this sort of nonsense.

On a recent excursion to the sands of East head, Wolfy was seen to leap from the bow of the Wanderer and see off a Great Dane. Mark says that small dogs know no fear because they don't realise they are small. Interesting theory.

Sailing talk

Sailing talk gets everywhere. Like it or not, you use the language of sailing every day. English was born of a seafaring nation.

Consider the sentence: 'I rather liked the cut of his jib as he was always above board but never aloof, no one could bamboozle him, he hung on to the bitter end and would batten down the hatches rather than cut and run.'

No less than seven sailing metaphors there.

Gybing

Gybing - mention the very word among a group of sailors and expect a sudden darkening of the mood accompanied by hollow laughter. Changing direction when heading downwind may not sound like a big deal but is the cause of more capsizes than any other manoeuvre. Even the most experienced helmsman will fear a gybe when the wind is blowing with any degree of enthusiasm.

The casual observer aboard a dinghy for the first time may think the gybe appears deceptively relaxed when compared with the seemingly more dramatic tack. This is because the boat has the wind at its stern and its occupants feel little or no breeze on their faces. But things are a lot more marginal than they seem. Whereas in the tack, where the dinghy will slow dramatically as it passes through the no-go zone, during a gybe, it retains full speed ahead and gets no relief from the power of the wind.

The result can be a fearful scything of the boom across the cockpit and unless the helmsman quickly centres the rudder, the boat will crash round on to a beam reach and most likely capsize.

When idly sailing on a training run, with the wind more or less exactly from behind, there is a distinct danger of the dreaded 'crash gybe' when main sail accidentally passes through the wind and sailing bliss rapidly turns to sailing horror.

Oh no the gybe is not to be mocked my friend.