G
Guest
Guest
...outstanding bloody-mindedness and stupidity above and beyond the call of duty goes to the crew of the yacht Marigold.
We fuelled up in Yarmouth on Sunday morning, and the guy on the pontoon pushed our bows out to get us clear. At this point, said yacht decides to dash forward on the wrong side of the channel, straight at my starboard bow forcing me to make a crash stop. The yacht stops, and reverses slightly. We move ahead slowly, so the yacht charges us again. Another crash stop, and we are now trapped with our starboard quarter on the quay wall, and starboard midships being fended off from a moored yacht, so we're stuck at about 45 deg to the channel. The yacht now has a third go at charging at us, which gets his port rail fouled up on my anchor. All the while, I am having a stream of abuse (of the sort that would make a stevedore blush) hurled at me by a little grey haired old lady on the yacht. As one of her port stanchions gets ripped out on my anchor, she screams "What the f*** are you doing?". "Absolutely nothing, Madam. Your husband is motoring across my bows."
Her excuse was that they were trying to get onto the fuel pontoon. Which is where I was. When she looked, we were tied up to it. Begs the question why they were in such a hurry to get to the fuel pontoon if it was obviously busy, of course, or do raggies raft up to take on their half a gallon of diesel?
The sheepish look, the glare at hubby, the audience on the quay and the complete lack of damage to my boat made this a truly memorable occassion.
We fuelled up in Yarmouth on Sunday morning, and the guy on the pontoon pushed our bows out to get us clear. At this point, said yacht decides to dash forward on the wrong side of the channel, straight at my starboard bow forcing me to make a crash stop. The yacht stops, and reverses slightly. We move ahead slowly, so the yacht charges us again. Another crash stop, and we are now trapped with our starboard quarter on the quay wall, and starboard midships being fended off from a moored yacht, so we're stuck at about 45 deg to the channel. The yacht now has a third go at charging at us, which gets his port rail fouled up on my anchor. All the while, I am having a stream of abuse (of the sort that would make a stevedore blush) hurled at me by a little grey haired old lady on the yacht. As one of her port stanchions gets ripped out on my anchor, she screams "What the f*** are you doing?". "Absolutely nothing, Madam. Your husband is motoring across my bows."
Her excuse was that they were trying to get onto the fuel pontoon. Which is where I was. When she looked, we were tied up to it. Begs the question why they were in such a hurry to get to the fuel pontoon if it was obviously busy, of course, or do raggies raft up to take on their half a gallon of diesel?
The sheepish look, the glare at hubby, the audience on the quay and the complete lack of damage to my boat made this a truly memorable occassion.