‘We tied up our wet boat, with wet ropes, to the wet quay’ – Libby Purves

Drying out my be a term used to describe a boat on a tidal mooring, but it's also something one often needs to do to the body after sailing in the UK

Shuddering our way through the latest cold front, accompanied by dank spring drizzle, it seems fitting to talk of the glory of dryness.

A lot of our sailing, down the decades, has been preoccupied with dehumidification, both intimately personal and saloon-related. I never forget one particular moment, in Falmouth, when we squelched up in the dusk from the town pontoons in full oilskins, steaming gently from underpants to thermal vest, and paused for a moment outside a branch of, if I remember, Milletts.

We gazed, like starstruck Carrie Bradshaws in Sex and the City contemplating the latest line in Louboutin stilettos. ‘Look!’ croaked Paul, awestruck. ‘DRY CLOTHES!’

The sight of unremarkable cotton jeans and acrylic hoodies from the Far East was almost too much for us. We yearned for them, at any price. The shop was, obviously, closed, but at least we could look.

We had sailed from Ireland, the boat already nastily damp from a series of anchorages where we would put the pathetic little heater on and dangle our sodden socks and underpants from the grab-rails to catch the heat as it rose. There had been no sun on the way over, at least not in calm enough weather to stretch anything on the cabin top, and now it was raining again.

We have been through many a heating system over the years, from catabatic and paraffin and electric to diesel (leaked into the upholstery, resulting in two hours stamping Bilgex through it up a Spanish ria).

Right now it’s a little wood stove with a cute fairytale chimney up through the deck: best of the lot so far, though not, of course, viable underway. But wetness is part of the game, especially when there’s added salinity to draw back in every speck of aerial moisture just when you thought the damn garment was dry.

The most proudly poetic sentence in my round-Britain book One Summer’s Grace is from a Scottish east coast moment: ‘We tied up our wet boat, with wet ropes, to the wet quay.’

Of course things have got far, far better than they were in older times. Even within my sailing lifespan fabrics have magically improved – HeatTech, fleeces, all that – and so has breathability.

Though I have to say that there is a troubling effect to cat-napping in full oilies over trousers and long johns during a rough watch-below (the kind of weather where you keep your boots on in case of some Irish Sea crisis). To be frank, it does not make a lady feel fragrantly feminine.

Well, let’s pass on hastily. I actually meant to write, this month, about the other kind of drying-out: leaning on a quayside on your wobbly fin keel, or propped on detachable legs. Grace O’Malley had a fine pair, though I never quite got over the crisis moment in Peel harbour when suddenly the wind changed, a big fetch rolled in, and we started dancing damagingly from leg to leg while I grappled with the spanner to get the damn things off.

Article continues below…

But as this issue has taken on the topic of good advice about drying harbours, let me just say that although we generally avoid them now – wrong kind of keel – I am oddly thrilled to have experienced them over the years. There is excitement in seeing police horses on exercise trotting in and out of Bridlington harbour as you lean on a quay, masthead line prudently fixed to a strong-looking ring.

Or in wandering around the underside of your own beached craft, awestruck at how big it looks out of the water, while your children dig for sand eels under the propeller. It makes you marvel properly at the power of the tides and the moon, the immense inexorable power of huge quantities of water creeping across the world.

Sit on deck, gaze down and see the flood tide crawling across the sand, rising, making the boat shift a little as if it suddenly remembered its job and the miracle of flotation. Well, you never get that kind of philosophical moment in a marina, do you?

So there you are. Two kinds of drying-out: body and boat. Miserable shivering in the wet, and spiritual inspiration on a summer’s day in Solva. Happy sailing!

Enjoyed reading this?

A subscription to Yachting Monthly magazine costs around 40% less than the cover price, so you can save money compared to buying single issues.

Print and digital editions are available through Magazines Direct – where you can also find the latest deals.

YM is packed with information to help you get the most from your time on the water.

• • • Take your seamanship to the next level with tips, advice and skills from our experts
    • Impartial in-depth reviews of the latest yachts and equipment
    • Cruising guides to help you reach those dream destinations

Follow us on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

Note: We may earn a commission when you buy through links on our site, at no extra cost to you. This doesn’t affect our editorial independence.

The post ‘We tied up our wet boat, with wet ropes, to the wet quay’ – Libby Purves appeared first on Yachting Monthly.