The Boat Whisperer

Bow Thrusters are fitted to help large yachts and ships move the sharp-end sideways.  Big boats often have them incorporated into the design, but it is possible to have one retro-fitted by someone with a big drill bit and a talent for working with fibreglass.  

They work by producing thrust in either direction and pushing or pulling the bow to port or starboard, thus considerably improving the manoeuvrability of a typical boat.  Of course there are far cheaper methodologies one can employ to get a yacht to go sideways - the one we currently specialise in is parking.

GB-SUE makes her home in a double-finger berth - she has pontoons on both sides of her.  Getting her settled in is similar to reversing a five-tonne motorised shopping trolley uphill across an ice rink and into a single garage.  Most attempts end with her resting sideways across the entrance.  She does this without the aid of a bow-thruster but with the benefit of a large audience of fascinated onlookers.

It’s hard to blame the boat when on the face of it it’s the driver that ought to carry the responsibility, but I will not shy from a tough decision – it’s the boat’s fault.  She does not like her berth and she makes her displeasure known by trying to squeeze into it laterally.

Nothing in life teaches humility quite like reversing a yacht into a narrow space in front of a pub full of spectators. The process is commenced knowing full well that there isn’t a one-in-a-thousand chance of it all working out and that your lovely boat (so well mannered in every other situation) is waiting to help you snatch defeat from victory’s jaws in the most cringe-inducing manner possible.  It’s like a combination of the Monday-morning blues, an imminent session of root canal work and an interview with Malaysian customs officers (regarding the kilo of heroin they have just found hidden in your platform soles) all united into one hideous tsunami of dread.

We could move to an easier berth – it’s winter and we can more or less take our pick.  We could wait on the hammer-head at the top of our row and drop off a crew member to take a line and have them haul us in.  We could go in forwards and save the problems for when we leave...

Out of sheer bloody-mindedness we have refused to take all or any of those options.  We reason that when it’s just the two of us – at night, with the wind blowing and no one ashore to take those lines – we want to be able to do it on our own.  This sounds sensible in principle, but principles are often costly to maintain.

And so the ritual humiliation of man by boat continues.  By the time we get it sorted it will be midwinter and there will be no customers outside the pub to cheer us triumphantly as we glide easily into her home.  I don’t care – I will talk to her gently, plead with and cajole her. By earning her trust and listening carefully I’ll let her help me persuade her to do as I ask... 

Or if we get to January with no success – I’ll fit a sodding bow-thruster.