Tom Cunliffe
Once upon a breezy day, my Yachtmaster Examiner’s hat was jammed down hard on my head as the boat provided by the sailing school bore away into Bomb Ketch Lake in Portsmouth Harbour. The boat had a wide stern, a lovely aft cabin and a clean, modern rig. The candidate in charge was a very senior officer in the Royal Navy. So far his performance had been exemplary. He’d answered my tricky questions about tugs and tows in the dark with aplomb. When confronted by a steady-bearing yacht on port tack – he being on starboard – in a situation made awkward by the imminent arrival of a homicidal high-speed ferry, he’d done the right thing by all concerned. His chartwork was beyond reproach, and the task now in hand was to choose a suitable free mooring buoy to secure
