The Post Email or post letters and replies to the editor – see opposite; we’ll make sure responses to queries are forwarded on. Wearing right diguise ...and box set mania Congratulations – unlike many other magazines, I seem to be finding interest in every page of your new sailing magazine. It’s proving to be a feast for the eye as well. I don’t know how you’ve managed it, but even the adverts are a pleasant sight! Long may it continue. When reading Guy Venables’ advice on the etiquette of yachting, my mind was cast back to the OGA’s 50th anniversary celebrations in Cowes. Appreciation for the kind and generous sponsorship of the
The editor with the photographer Emily Harris offering her own opinion on his sartorial appearance at the OGA’s 50th
Hall and Woodhouse brewery was obvious. Some bloke was particularly memorable because he’d also got the aesthetics just right for the occasion. He’d gone to the trouble of wearing a simple sweatshirt – printed to look like a very smart blazer with collared shirt and tie. Anyway – as you’ve mastered the art of making things look widely appealing, as well as relaying info of interest, I wondered if you’d be supplying a box to help some of us disguise our magazines. Anyone who has tried to store magazines on a bookshelf will know they tend to keep falling over until they mysteriously disappear (into the bin?). My wife has noticed that I’m avoiding creasing the CS pages and I just bought the back issue of CS No 1. She’s starting to worry about a tendency towards ‘magazine collector’ status. Could anything be more anal? Such a box is needed from the outset so that old issues might quickly be perceived as being worthy of a bookshelf box rather than the bin. An index every so often might be a nice touch as well. Tom Taylor, Heathfield, Sussex
Oops! Some bloke... I think it might have been me! Good idea about the box file. Ed
SEAGULL ADDICT I feel after two years of being in the closet (shed) about my addiction I must come clean to you, the sailing community and my long-suffering wife. It all started two years ago when my brother-in-law gave me a seagull 40 featherweight outboard – perfect to go on the back of our little sailing dinghy. A few afternoons firing it up on our recycling dustbin got me to grips with starting and fettling this curious old machine. The smell of the 2-stroke mix, the ‘putt putt’ of the engine and the challenge of man vs machine got me hooked. Then our local paper had an ad: “Seagull £30”. I thought “That’ll be useful for spares”... oh what a fool am I! It came
14 CLASSIC SAILOR
Harrier memories
I read of the sad loss of Julian Mustoe’s Harrier in the December issue. But I am pleased that he completed his journey ‘in the wake of the Beagle’. Quite by chance I met Julian in February 2006 whilst he was on that journey. I’d called in to Puerto Deseado, on the coast of Argentina, to top up Cracklin’ Rosie’s fuel tank, on my way to Cape Horn. Harrier was hanging on a buoy
along with another one: a ‘Silver Century’ that the seller gave me. I now had a full set. What more could a man need? I went to buy a piano at auction... bad mistake. “Three seagull outboards guide price £20 to £30”. On return from the auction they were hidden under a blanket in the shed. It was official… I was addicted. I think all of us men have an inner child that loves to collect things. It started with Beano mags, Corgi cars, musical instruments and now outboards. Help, Father Dan. What should I do? My wife doesn’t understand me and my children write about Daddy’s obsession with Seagulls in their school: “What we did on our holiday” essays. Desperate from Dorset
Trevor’s Twister Cracklin’ Rosie ashore for a scrub at Puerto Deseado
Above: you’ll soon find that you need more than one Seagull outboard...
in the tiny bay just inside the river mouth. Julian invited me aboard for drink and a yarn and told me of his plans, the most immediate of which was to drive up the river which Charles Darwin had explored by boat. I was invited along but the four-wheel-drive vehicle Julian had arranged to hire had developed a fault. I decided to scrub off instead. Members of the little Nautical Club at the head of the bay had been welcoming, friendly, and had given me leave to come alongside their pier. It was about half-tide when I made my approach. I misjudged the slope of the beach and went aground about two metres off the pier. The tide was falling fast. She wouldn’t budge. I leapt into the dinghy with a long line and an anchor, dug in the anchor some way along the shore, rushed back, tied the line to the spinnaker halyard and winched. She leaned away from the pier. A line from the pier back to a sheet winch soon had her braced almost upright. I rigged a couple more lines for safety then sat for a moment, in the cockpit, perspiring a little. When the water was down to