First sail of the year

As the days slowly, slowly lengthened and the sun's rays grew imperceptibly warmer, I got to feeling enough was enough and last week started to prepare for a sail. Admittedly, a couple of matelots in the marina chivied me a bit. They'd never sailed a cutter and the thought of The Promises bow-sprite fair made their eyes water. I was going to await the spring tides but thought better as although there'd be more water over the bar at the Cap, there would also be a noticeable amount of current to boot. I suggested we go out with the half ebb on Tuesday. I'd have to mind my depth but the channels are well marked and the bay was just too damned pretty to waste.

I was doubly pleased to haver the crew back too. I like to think they missed me but they probably ran out of cash and the fore-peak was a cheaper option, once Paris had been exhausted. I could have managed with the novice marina hands, but the crew know how she goes and if there's trouble, a jammed sheet or flogging stays'l to bowse, I can always send the practiced team.

So it was we slid out of the winter berth with the iron tops'l just ticking, rounded up and hauled the main straight away, followed by no. 2 jib to ease her head. As we cleared the pontoons and she started to heel, just a bit, there was a palpable air of excitement aboard. The new boys exchanged wide eyed glances, the crew grinned and me? Well, I was as happy to be afloat as a duck in a bath. I tweaked the main in a foot and one crew instinctively responded with the jib sheet. Now we're in our chosen world, cut the engine and be damned; we're a sailing boat after all. There was plenty of water under the keel and once in the bay, we had up stays'l and the next jib in the bag on deck in readiness.

You soon realise why winter sailing is for toughies though. Even in this latitude, well over a hundred miles south of Blighty, there's still a persistent chill in the wind in late February. It whips over the deck with a cutting edge, the spray is icy and everyone stays huddled with hands in pockets. Even with two pair of socks and new boots, your toes are soon numb standing about. Sail drill then. I had the hands and the crew changing sails and coiling ropes as the galley kettle hummed. Once coffees and a tot appeared, plus ginger biscuits and some 80% chocolate from G&B, there was a happy cockpit. Before us spread a serene horizon; a-port, the coast to Concarneau, and as we flew past the Cap, we could see the acid colours of windsurfers and para-gliders florescing in the low sun out at Mousterlin.

We broad reached out to the point, tacked under the coastguards noses and ran away to the south. I felt a bit like Jack Aubrey, daring some Frenchie guns and smiled at the thought. Grow up Treliven, The Surprise had bigger guns that you and a complement of two hundred. He didn't have to take his novices back for tea though and as pinks began to streak the sky, we tacked about, a green curl to our lee bow wave and headed home for hot soup, the remains of the baguettes and a fruit cake. Perfect.