"Who pays the piper calls the tune"

The concept was very simple.

When the travelling musicians came to our village we could pay them,  or not.

If we paid them we could ask for a tune,  to which we might dance.   If others in the village wanted to listen and dance to the same tune we might let them,  or not;  it was our money.

Often we would put money into a small chest so that everyone paid the piper.

Before the author was born,  of course,  but he understands the concept:  he was once a Morrisman..

The concept was similar when the author was a young man.

If I put sixpence into the jukebox I could choose which record was played.   If you paid,  you chose.

Occasionally the local bully would intervene and,  using his superior strength and inferior sensitivity,  would wait until the sixpence was inserted and then press his predetermined button.

But we didn’t let that happen often;  if he was in the cafe we went elsewhere.   If he came in,  we went out.   The cafe proprietor (no fool!) quickly understood and banished the bully.   Henceforth,  “Who inserts the sixpence calls the tune”.

And then the author was no longer a young man.

He bought a boat.

Actually,  over the years he bought several boats;  sometimes more than one at a time.

He paid his money and bought the boat he wanted.   (or thought he wanted!)

Some were very small,  8 or 10 feet (say,  3 metres);  the biggest was 22 feet (7 metres).

He sailed on the Avon,  on the Severn Estuary,  on the Crouch and in the North Sea.   He was troubled by Authority once.   On the Avon he was asked for his river licence;  who knew?

It seemed fair.   The river needs maintenance and those who use it should pay.   The licence fee was a bit high,  he thought,  for a single use:  could he pay by the day or even by the hour?   Sadly no;  by the season.   So he didn’t go back.

No authority on the Severn,  the Crouch,  the Deben,  the Orwell or the Stour ever asked the author for a licence.   You don’t need one for the North Sea.   The author understood SOLAS,  the IRPCS and insurance (he’s taught navigation for some years).

A legacy (from M’s father) paid for a narrowboat.   A fairly cheap boat,  with ply inside rather than wood,  and with a BMC/Thorneycroft diesel under the cruising deck.   The Conservators of the River Cam demanded a licence fee which,  again,  seemed fair.   They pretended to maintain the river,  although in reality they focussed entirely on the rowers and especially on the needs of the Cambridge crews.

The concept of paying the piper and calling the tune was stretched a bit thin.   It seemed that the boatowners paid the piper to play the only tune he knew.

It rather reminded the author of the BBC.   In his youth and early middle age owning a wireless (radio),  and then a television meant that you must pay a licence fee.   This entitled you to listen to,  and watch,  the very few programmes (channels) which the BBC broadcast.   The radio listener paid the piper and listened to the only tune he played.

But the BBC licence-payer had some influence;  public opinion persuaded the BBC to broadcast the programmes which the public said it wanted.   Of course,  not all individuals of the ‘public’ agreed on what they wanted,  but the individuals had some choice,  and,  over time,  the choice broadened.

The author and M (and their sons) enjoyed the narrowboat for many years.

It was insured,  of course.

This is a scheme whereby the owner pays a company which promises to repay the cost of the boat if it’s lost,  damaged or stolen.

At least,  that’s broadly the idea.   Within certain limits the owner can pay for whatever insurance cover he thinks he needs.   The insurance company retaliates with ‘small print’:  a long list of things with which the owner must comply if he’s to get the money when the boat is lost,  damaged or stolen.   If the insurance company thinks you didn’t look after it properly,  you won’t get your money.

Imagine the piper coming to the village with a pre-prepared list of tunes.   You can pay for one,  or any;  but you must sit still and listen carefully.   If you cough,  or your stool squeaks,  you’ve broken the contract and you don’t get your tune.   Dancing is extra.   If you agreed to the contract,  that seems fair enough.

And then Authority decided that boaters were not safe.   (The people,  not the hats)

One or two boatowners had allowed gas to leak into their bilges and had blown themselves up when they lit the stove.

One or two had kept their engines running overnight,  for warmth, and had killed themselves with Carbon Monoxide.

If they don’t blow up,  or poison,  anyone else isn’t that their prerogative?

And so the Boat Safety Scheme was born.

You won’t get insurance or a river licence until your boat has passed the Boat Safety Scheme Inspection.

If you don’t get a river licence the Conservators of the River Cam will hound you for a few months and then impound your boat.

As the author types this the Boat Safety Scheme Inspector is inspecting the narrowboat.

He’s a remarkably pleasant,  affable young man *,  quite unlike the chap who came last time.

If he is the piper,  we have paid him,  whether the boat is deemed safe or not.

We have absolutely no say in the tune being played.

As an RYA instructor the author decided to use the narrowboat to teach Inland Waterways Helmsmanship.

The RYA licence fee (to be an instructor) is almost as much as the river licence (which is much more than it was because the boat is now a commercial vessel!).   This RYA licence allows the author to teach and to issue certificates.   It also covers the cost of an inspector to inspect the boat and the instructors.

We’ve seen this before,  with the BSS:  we pay the piper and the piper calls the tune.

*

He was pleasant and affable both before and after the boat passed its inspection!

Sandweaver shakedown cruise

When the baby son (TBS,  as opposed to the elder son (TES),  who is a year or so older) returned from his US road trip one of his first duties was to spend a day or two at school checking his students' A level results (better than expected) and then to check the GCSE results and begin enrolling students into this September's 6th Form classes.

One of his filial duties was to 'phone his Mum and Dad (to discover whether or not they were still alive) and to chide the LS into launching the Sandweaver.

A moment of truth:  a shakedown cruise.

Rutland Water was the obvious place.   An hour or so up the A1;  no tides;   a decent slipway;  friendly,  helpful staff;  safety boats nearby.

Friday 23rd seemed as good a date as any.   0845BST outside the gate.

The roadworks on the A14 have a speed limit of 40mph;   stationary didn't seem reasonable until it became clear that a small van had broken down in the outside lane.

After that,  stationary seemed entirely unreasonable until it became clear that a lorry had broken down in the nearside lane.

Later,  on the A1,  the LS received a 'phone call from TBS to say that a mudguard had fallen off the trailer.

At purchase,  these mudguards look very solid,  capable steps.   The first step revealed that they were thin,  brittle plastic which,  in the event,  wouldn't even survive a road journey.

Later in the journey,  the bow snubber fell off and had to be retrieved.

TBS,  following the LS,  reported that the boat was riding smoothly and steadily on its trailer,  but that the trailer wheels were bouncing very fast and very violently.

Note to LS:  replace the mudguards with steps.

"Shakedown" in a very literal sense!

The people at Rutland Water are so very friendly and helpful.   The Watersports Centre is operated by Anglian Water,  which owns the reservoir and supplies drinking water.

The Sandweaver was rigged quickly and easily . . 

(More quickly and easily than a smart GP14 nearby;  stepping that GP14 mast is a nightmare.)
(Actually,  there was a hitch:  the mast has a heel fitting which carries the sheaves for the jib,  main & spinnaker ha'lyards.   This fitting should be held to the mast by two small screws.   The absence of these screws allowed the fitting to come loose and jam into the step.)

 . . and reversed down to the slipway.   A wide,  shallow,  gently-sloping slipway.   The trailer had to be detached from the car and fully immersed before the boat would float.

Three things,  perhaps.

1   The centreboard must be lifted fully and held up,  out of the way.

2    The break-back mechanism of the trailer must be made to work.

3    The rear skids of the trailer might be replaced with tilting rollers.

With the boat afloat and secured to the pontoon the engine was mounted and tested;  no problem.

Water bottles and luncheon were loaded;  no problems.

The A frame,  to hold up the after end of the boom,  was a success.

The real problem was the amount of water gushing into the boat from the centreboard case.   The vibration of the journey had loosened the pivot nut,  which,  with its washer had fallen into the bilge.   With the nut and washer replaced the gush was reduced to a seep.   The LS can live with a seep.

Note to LS:  replace the nut with a Nylock nut,  and replace the rubber sealing washers.

Why,  why do boatbuilders put the centreboard pivot bolt below the water line?

Paul Fisher often puts his below the boat,  in the keel,  where it cannot leak.

Francoir Vivier often puts his at the top of the board,  well above the waterline.

The Torqeedo 503 pushed the Sandweaver away from the pontoon,  between the children on their paddle boards,  canoes and inflatable things,  and out into clear water.

The Wykeham Martin furling gear worked perfectly,  but the jib set badly.   The ha'lyard is thin Dyneema with no purchase.   The LS couldn't get the luff tight enough,  and the line slipped on the cleat.

Two possible solutions:

1    Ditch the Wykeham Martin (TBS loves them,  but the LS is not so sure) and hank the jib to the forestay.

2    Attach a block to the head of the jib to give a 2:1 purchase.   This might be quite difficult.  The ha'lyard is part Dyneema and part wire;  the join (inside the mast) won't pass the sheaves at the top or the bottom.

The mainsail was set quickly and easily.   Again,  the LS couldn't get enough tension on the ha'lyard and the Cunningham has only one part.   The gooseneck is fixed.

The sail worked well enough,  but it's old and baggy.

The boat sailed well.   3.5 knots with little or no heeling when hard on the F2 to 3 wind.  4.3 knots downwind with (maybe) F3.

When the wind picked up a little,  and the boat heeled,  the reefing lines worked almost perfectly:  the starboard cheek block needs to be moved 2 inches forward on the boom.

The rest of the shakedown cruise was idyllic.

The reservoir is set in beautiful countryside,  the fishermen weren't too obnoxious,  and the two sailors didn't quarrel (much).   The wind was light,  but enough to give up to 4.5 knots on the beam.

Returning to the pontoon,  the jib furled perfectly;  the mainsail came down easily and was tied to the boom;   the electric motor gave perfect control between the children.

With the trailer fully immersed the boat floated on and was secured.   Taking down the mast and securing the boat for the road was easy and leisurely.

The road journey home was hell.

At 40mph the trailer ran fairly smoothly.

At 50mph it set up a vibration which shook the entire car.

The lighting board finally gave up;  it'll be replaced with LED lamps.

Perhaps a visit to the trailer workshop at Bury is called for?

Can I cruise my dinghy yet?

The myriad things to be done before the dinghy is ready to cruise.

A small item:  the anchor.

The boat came with a folding fisherman,  with no rode,  and a folding grapnel with 2m of chain and enough line.

The old chap doesn't trust either of these,  but he had a Danforth with 3m of chain which he knew was reliable (if dangerous to fingers).

He knew because it had held the West Wight Potter in a violent overnight thunderstorm on the Stour when the rode was bar taut and dead straight.
That thunderstorm had been a beast.
He'd been reading in the well as the evening drifted toward dusk and the sun sank over Essex.   At first he'd thought the flashes to the South were the electric trains between London and Harwich (the ones that serve the North Sea ferries out of Parkeston Quay) but they became too frequent and too bright   The constant low rumbling should have been a hint but then the wind began to rise and the rain began to fall.   By midnight the rain was torrential,  the wind screamed in the rigging and the thunder & lightning were continuous.   He peered out of the tiny cabin at the glittering mud on the North bank and tried to guess how hard the little boat would be driven onto it when the rode failed;   would he be able to crawl through the mud to firm ground?
As the dawn sun struggled through the cloud the thunder still rumbled away to the East and North.

But;  back to that small item,  the anchor.

Simple.   Unshackle the grapnel,  cut the rode from the Danforth and shackle the two chains together.   Except that the shackle on the grapnel was a block of rust and had to be cut away from the anchor with a hacksaw.   The old fool cut the bow (in two places) and then found that the pin section would not pass through the link of the chain.   So then he had to saw through the pin.   We won't mention the complication of holding it all still because the shackle was too small to be held in the vice.

The shackle on the Danforth chain was bronze,  so not rusted,  but it took half an hour with WD40 and a shackle key to move the pin.   And then it wouldn't fit through the links of either chain.   The ditty box supplied a smaller shackle which did fit.   But,  being stainless steel,  it will,  one day,  fail without warning.

A 15 minute job became 2 hours of frustration.

The old man hates shackles,  and he hates Monel wire even more.

Which is why his mainsheet blocks are attached to the boom and the traveller with selvagee strops:  simple,  reliable,  replaceable bits of cordage.

So why didn't he replace the anchor chain shackles with strops?

Sandweaver 16

The LS has bought another boat.

Sandweaver 16

He had become too old and fat and lazy for the Hobie Tandem Island.   It was an exciting and fast boat,  but not the coastal cruiser he had hoped for.   He resented the need to find a beach on which to pitch his tent.   Pitching a tent is something to be done overnight,  especially when coastal wild-camping,  and tides simply don't coordinate with day and night.   When cruising the coast in a dinghy it's necessary to sail with the tide,  and anchor,  sleep and eat when the tide is contrary.

So he sold the Hobie to a charming lady in Norfolk who knew exactly where and how she wanted to sail it.   She's about half the age (and girth) of the LS,  with ten times his energy.

The LS has bought a Sandweaver 16.   Sixteen feet (4.87m to you) of fibreglass with (alas) an aluminium Marconi mast and a Bermudan mainsail with roller-furling jib.   It's astonishing how a grown man can dream for so long about a varnished clinker dinghy with a balanced lugsail and then get a Sandweaver 16.   A triumph of common sense over romanticism?

The keel didn't rest on the rollers

One of the essential features of a cruising dinghy is that it can,  unlike most yachts,  be trailed from home to a launch site,  and then taken home from the same,  or another,  launch site.
The trailer,  and the position of the boat on the trailer,  are important.
The weight of the boat should be taken on all of the keel rollers.   The side rollers and slides are there to prevent the boat rocking side to side,  not to take its weight.   At purchase,  the Sandweaver was not fitted to its trailer:  its keel didn't touch two of the rollers  at all,  and its entire weight was borne on the two slides and the forward roller.   A couple of hours of anxious (scary) work with blocks,  jacks and spanners underneath the boat readjusted it all.

Break-back release pin & spring

The boat should be fore and aft on the trailer so that the weight of the tow hitch is about the same as a person:  no more than 7% of the weight of the fully loaded trailer:  in this case 35Kg (95lbs).   With the keel on the rollers the boat moved fore and aft fairly easily,  and the bow snubber of the trailer was adjusted to this.
It's important,  of course that the boat is easy to launch and recover:  a break-back trailer is one of the best ways to achieve this.   The pivot was oiled and the release pin & spring sprayed with easing oil,  and cleaned.   Sadly,  the outer arms of the trailer had been pinched tightly to the draw bar.   Adam advised that spreading the trailer arms might damage them or the weld,  and that it might be better to use the trailer without breaking its back for the time being.

The trailer was tested (to partial destruction) on the A14 and A1 for the Sandweaver's shakedown cruise.   It did not do well,  so it was taken to F S Trailers at Huntindon,  where Paul declared that "the bearings are shot:  the stub axle might be bent".   The tyres and mudguards need replacing,  and he quoted a very reasonable price for freeing the breakback mechanism.

The winch strap was at the wrong angle

The trailer winch,  which hauls the boat onto the trailer,  was in good condition and needed only cleaning and oiling.   The winch strap was sound and the carabiner which links the strap to the boat was not too bad.
But the U bolt in the stem of the boat was in entirely the wrong place,  so that the strain on the winch forced the bows down toward the trailer.   The best place for that U bolt is at the same height as the winch so that the boat is pulled straight onto the trailer.   The angle had caused the U bolt partially to pull out and had caused stress crazing in the fibreglass of the stem.
The U bolt was replaced with an M12 ring bolt through the stem band and stem,  and held with a shaped timber pad,  a large square washer and Nylock nuts.

The boat was described in the advertisement as "ready to sail":  an exaggeration bordering on an untruth.

The end-stop was missing from the mainsheet track,  and the mainsheet had been cobbled together with a set of blocks and jamcleats,  but no traveller car.   The first tack would have brought disaster.   A pair of blocks from the LS's bo's'n's* store and an endstop & car from Force 4 chandlery sorted out the mainsheet.   The shakedown cruise revealed that the mainsheet was a little heavy,  so the 2-part purchase was replaced with 3 parts.

The reefing lines were harder.   The mainsail had cringles for slab reefing,  but the boom had no cheek blocks:  it did have two tube cleats,  but they both faced aft!?   The LG's jury-rig involved 4 lengths of Hempex (and is too embarrassing to be shown in a photograph).
Later,  a pair of cheek blocks was screwed to the after end of the boom and 6mm Hempex used as reefing lines.   They are led forward to tube cleats on the boom.   The two forward reefing lines were led to nylon horn cleats on the mast below the gooseneck.

The main ha'lyard appeared to be OK.
The shrouds are held out by adjustable spreaders,  the ends of which,  being sharp metal and wire,  are covered by plastic or rubber boots to prevent the spreaders tearing or chafing the sails.   The boots had perished and cracked;  they were easily replaced.   

At purchase the jib had a wire luff with a swivel at the peak:  the tack roller lay on the broker's desk and was thrown into the sale.   The boat is now rigged with the Martin-Wykeham furling gear:  it can't be reefed.   A block at the stemhead and a 6mm line from the well through the block to the forestay ensured that the mast could be raised and lowered by one person.

Jib sheet fairlead and camcleat

The jib sheet sliders had been adjusted to be used by crew sitting forward in the boat,  but the LS will usually sail alone.   It was a simple matter to readjust the angle of the camcleats.

Rudder:  screw removed!

For a while the rudder was a mystery.   The vendor had pointed out that the uphaul didn't work:  had the bungee downhaul hardened over time?   No,  it hadn't:  to prevent the rudder floating up someone had driven a screw through the rudder cheeks into the rudder!   With the screw removed,  a spare length of cord as an uphaul and the fairlead moved to provide a fair lead the rudder lifted perfectly.
At the shakedown cruise it became clear that the downhaul bungee cord was not up (?down) to the job.   It was replaced with a downhaul cord and safety-release cleat.
The entire assembly was dismantled and given three coats of varnish.

Stainless steel engine mount
bolted to the stern deck

Electric outboard motor

The bracket for the outboard motor is something that the LS has not seen before.   Even though it's stainless steel it's lighter and smaller than most,  and it can be mounted and dismounted from within the boat.   It holds the Torqeedo 503 perfectly:  the long shaft projects well below the transom so that the propeller is in clear water.   The motor itself,  when not in use,  fits across the stern of the boat forward of the transom,  aft of the thwart.
If one must have an outboard motor an electric machine is a joy.   No petrol or oil,  no plugs to foul, no ignition to fail.   Virtually no noise,  and enormous torque from a big,  slow-turning propeller.

Rope tidies

The boat itself is spacious,  being nearly 2m in the beam,  but has little stowage space.   There are no lockers or lazarettes;  no bins or crates.   It's a day-boat,  with no attempt to provide sleeping space.   Curiously,  there was nowhere to hang lines,  but this was quickly put right with a set of rope tidies from Bayside Marine.   There is no galley,  no pantry,  no heads,  no tent and no bed.
There are two anchors:  one is a grapnel,  which most sailors don't like,  although it does have 2m of chain and 15m of line;  the other is a folding Fisherman,  which the LS doesn't like.   A coastal cruising dinghy is unlikely to anchor in water deeper than 5m (although Margaret Dye would have disagreed) so about 30m of line would be better than the 15m available.
The bo's'n's store has a Danforth anchor with 5m of chain and 50m of line,  but,  having seen a Danforth trap and ruin someone's fingers,  the LS is likely to use this only if nothing else is available. In the event,  he did use it.

There are two thwarts;  one aft at the helm,  the other forward across the centreboard case.   They are nearly 6 feet (2m) apart.   Two six foot planks,  resting on these thwarts,  alongside the side benches,  became an excellent bed.   Even better with the inflatable mattress and a sleeping bag.

*

For those who enjoy apostrophes this is a lovely word:  two sets of missing letters and a possessive!

Those who don't enjoy apostrophes can ignore my glee.

Challenger

Gerry had arranged to take ten cadets aboard one of the TSYT Challengers for a week:  he needed another adult volunteer;  he preferred one with some sailing experience.

Guess who had sailed a Challenger some years ago!   And guess who agreed with alacrity!!

We met at 0830BST on Monday outside the school and assembled the luggage.   Some of the youngsters were travelling light:  a sleeping bag and a small holdall.   Others had brought everything they might (or might not) need for a month on a cruise liner.

They were all lads;  no lasses.   This was not sexist:   the layout of a Challenger is such that there must be an equal number of lads and lasses,  and not enough lasses elected to go.

Lads in a group tend to go feral quite quickly;  as we assembled at the bus it had already begun.

Gerry was more afraid of a 'starburst' and that he might lose cadets to all points of the compass;  that, too,  had already begun!

The drive to Portsmouth (ably executed by Brian) was boring.   The halfway stop at a service station on the A3 was nothing special (apart from the mini-starburst!).   The arrival at Gunwharf Quays was unremarkable.   Chas,  as ever,  was cheerful and smiling when he met us,  but the lads were horrified at the prospect of carrying their own kit half a mile to the boat.

But the sight of the boat was electrifying.   It brought back exciting,  long-forgotten memories to those of us (me!) who had sailed her before.   The long,  clean hull.   The tall mast.   The snake-pit of lines,  ha'lyards,  sheets and winches.   The stowing of kit and allocation of bunks.   The explanation of the heads.  The skipper's briefing.   The galley and the saloon.

We moved out of the marina about mid-afternoon and headed South down the channel.   At 5q-Outer Spit South Cardinal we turned West along the Solent.
It was a lovely afternoon,  calm water,  little wind and a sinking sun ahead.
There were no marina spaces at Cowes and we found ourselves alongside the breakwater in the North Basin.   With the tide falling the ladder became longer and longer:  the cadets had hoped to run ashore,  but the skipper thought the ladder too dangerous.   As the Westerly breeze rose the boat was pushed away up to 2 metres from the wall,  and reaching the ladder became almost impossible.   The lads were not pleased.   One or two had already decided that they wanted to be anywhere except on a boat.

High water on Tuesday morning made the ladder shorter,  so they used the marina showers and heads and felt a little better.

The weather had deteriorated and the wind had risen,  but the waves in the Solent had not yet built.
The lads were taught how to set the yankee and the staysail and we sailed Westward into the teeth of the rising gale.   Half a dozen tacks later we reached Yarmouth to discover that the skipper had recorded Force 8,  gusting 9,  during the afternoon.
Once again we moored on the breakwater,  this time within a few metres of the Ferry terminal.   but this time the wind pressed the boat against the ladder and running ashore became straightforward.

Wednesday was race day.   Three closely matched Challengers around a standard triangular course.
Your author hates racing.   It pushes people and machines to their limit;  sometimes beyond their limits.   With luck the machine breaks before the people break,  but the people always become aggressive.  Or perhaps those who race do so because they are already,  by nature,  aggressive.
Your author allows that the drive to win fosters improvements in the design and construction of the machine and,  possibly,  in the skills,  strength and fitness of the people.
The lads were bored.   When racing a big yacht the skipper and mate are intense and focussed;  the helmsman (in this case,  your author) did his best.   For the crew (the lads) it was hours of waiting punctuated by minutes of frantic hard work.
We came second.
That evening,  back in Cowes,  they desperately wanted to run ashore.

Thursday was a gentle day.
The afternoon and evening were devoted to the classroom.   The navigator showed them around a chart of the Solent and helped them with a night pilotage plan.   For the first time they were enthusiastic and excited.
The night exercise went well and the boat was sailed safely into Gunwharfs Quay.

Did the lads enjoy the trip?   It was hard to tell.   On the long journey home some slept and some used their smartphones.
Landlocked Sea Cadets!   It makes one wonder.

RYA Affiliated Clubs Conference-East

The following was submitted to the DCA Forum this morning:

"Yesterday I attended this Eastern Region RYA conference. 

Some people assumed that I was representing the DCA;  so I kept very quiet. 

Representatives from the local sailing clubs clearly didn't understand the concept of 'cruising,  not racing'. 

The thought of cruising a dinghy for more than an afternoon was obviously alien to them. 

They knew of no cruising dinghies other than the Wayfarer. 

They tended to smile gently,  and move away. 

By contrast,  the RYA is beginning to understand dinghy cruising.   Or,  at least,  pottering about with family and friends with a picnic for the day. 

The RYA doesn't yet know what to do about dinghy cruising,  but it's clear in its collective mind that it must harness members.   It's the only water-borne recreation over which it doesn't yet have some degree of control. 

Robbie Bell,  the Eastern Region Development Officer,  was explicit about his objectives at the conference: 

it's all about recruitment. 

Recruitment for the local affiliated clubs?   Yes,  but as a means of recruiting members for the RYA. 

Did you read Terry Pratchet's "Small Gods"? 

He described the power of a god as the number of people who believed in that god. 

The more believers (members?) the more power. 

The RYA is a not-so-small god;  by accumulating members it accumulates power. 

It genuinely believes that it uses that power for the benefit of sailors of all kinds.   It consults with government over wind farms,  red diesel and the results of Brexit.   It negotiates over the application of SOLAS to small boats and with Trinity House on the positioning of buoys. 

It has training schemes for most kinds of watercraft (except cruising dinghies!). 

When,  I wonder,  will they devise training schemes for dinghy cruising folk? 

Will the schemes be as badly thought-out and constructed as those for yachts? 

What will the RYA do about us?  the DCA? 

John Starkie"