Blue Moon's trip around the UK

In the world of Yacht cruising, owners’ associations get a bit of a bad press. The general impression is that it is a home for the anorak, someone a little more interested in the history and mechanics of the class in question than in going sailing.

The Parker & Seal Sailing Association is not like this. Granted, there is an element of geekery around the alchemy of a lifting keel, but I for one am pleased to be the recipient of a lot a wisdom on a subject so arcane and yet so vital. You aren’t going to find out how to change the keel ram anode in the RYA Guide to Yachting now, are you? I am proud to stand up and be counted among the numbers of Lift Keel Geeks.

But the real appeal of the PSSA is that it brings together people who have chosen to own a rather quirky boat – one that goes quite fast up muddy creeks (or sandy beaches if you don’t come from the Medway) where you can walk ashore to a better class of pub/ice cream/fish and chips. And these people are mainly very friendly ex dinghy sailors who like going fast and eating ice cream and fish and chips and going to a better class of pub. They organise rallies around pubs and ice cream and even race each other from time to time, which suits me very well. What I hadn’t appreciated until venturing onto distant shores was the warmth of the welcome one might receive just by turning up in the right kind of boat.

I bought Blue Moon from a chap called Jan who kept her in Milford Haven. I can’t vouch for his ice cream or pub tastes but he did point me to the best fish and chips, and more to the point kindly showed me how to change my keel ram anode (actually he did it while I looked on, speechless at the complexity of it). He also turned out to be an ex dinghy sailor who thought nothing of beating to the south coast of Ireland and back on his own, and in spite of having upgraded to a bigger boat (hence selling Blue Moon to me) remained a member of the PSSA and indeed still has another Parker 325 for sale to do up if I’ve whetted your appetite for lift keel shenanigans. So it was that he heard about my trip and got in touch and I promised to let him know if/when I was in Milford Haven.

Well as you have gathered I got there about a week earlier than I’d planned, and I had idly though I ought to let Jan know. But I didn’t need to: you may remember a post or two ago I mentioned a conversation with the man on the range with the Challenger tanks? Well shortly after that we headed into Milford Haven and noticed a yacht to leeward, the first I had seen since Devon (very unusual for a Solent sailor). I looked at Gary (there you are Karen, another instrument with a name) who tells you the name of the ship about to run you down, or next to you in this case, and it was Jan. On his way back from celebrating the Obby Oss of Padstow (you may want to Google that). Of course he would – a town devoted to beer, ice cream and fish and chips. There he was, right next to us. I reached for my phone to make contact but he’d beaten me to it: there was already an email referring to my being chased off the range (anyone can can listen in if they have a VHF). We’d planned to anchor somewhere remote but it was the conversation of a minute to change plans and head to the marina that Blue Moon had left – with me and Doug nervously working out how to make her go – almost exactly two years ago.

That’s where the Prosecco came in, and Jan’s was even nicer than the bottle my mother-in-law gave me when we set off. How’s that for diplomacy. It was good to see him again and reassure him that I had taken good care of his boat, and to meet Chrstine and their friend Stephen and hear about their tales of derring-do in Blue Moon. “Oh yes, she’s quite well known in these parts” said Jan, recounting the time he called the lifeboat out twice in one day.

Funnily enough, everyone at the marina and operating the lock did seem to know the boat, and making my way innocently out of the Haven I was called out of the blue by the range. He’d seen Blue Moon coming and wanted to know if I was going anywhere near his tanks. I was wondering if I need to put an ‘Under New Ownership’ sign up somewhere.

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Whlist chatting, I mentioned that I was going to Fishguard next and Jan said I must get in touch with Geoff Turner, another PSSA member and highly esteemed (I think he used to run the excellent website). I wondered if it was a bit odd just to tell someone I’d never met that I was coming, but Jan assured me that he would seek me out anyway if I didn’t. So I messaged Geoff and he called me back almost instantly, so there was a warm welcome waiting in Fishguard too, He’d come from home just to meet me on the quay, and to buy me a beer in the yacht club.

I’m so glad he did – Fishguard was the location for one of my very first championship weeks (the Hornet Nationals in, probably, er, 1980?). I had driven there in my mum’s Renault 5 and we had the best week in one of the friendliest clubs I’ve ever been to. I told Geoff this and he pointed behind me. There on the wall was a photo of that very event. I remember all these sail numbers but not for the life of me who sailed which. Needless to say David Cooper and I in his once-fast-now-tired Tidos weren’t in the picture.

I told Geoff I had seen Jan. “I know”, he replied. “Did he tell you about the time we called the lifeboat out twice in one day?”

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Fishguard was so relaxing I stayed the next day – and only sneaked up into the sheltered inner harbour because I can lift my keel up.