All at sea: bungling boat owners break all the rules or carry on carping

Andy showing the boys how it's done

As many of you know, we spend a great deal of time in Cornwall and, despite knowing bugger all about sailing, have borrowed boats lent by generous and, some might argue foolhardy, friends. This has led to nursing a hankering for our own boat, something Hubbie and the boys have been going on about for some time. So to great cheers and whoops from the boys we took the family down to the Gaverne quay on Sunday evening to reveal the small boat that is now the Ogden-Newton fishing vessel. Surprise!

The weather was lovely on Sunday and, with much needed help from our friend Andy, we launched the boat from Port Gaverne and set off around the bay for a delightful evening trip where conditions were ideal to admire the stunning coastline. Obviously the boys had plans for a full blown fishing trip the next day and were not put off by a change in the weather. It was raining and although the sea was relatively calm there was a nasty offshore wind. Hubbie, however, was reluctant to take the boat out but buckled under family pressure, and so after a great deal of carry-on, we launched the boat and set off.

The bay of Gaverne 

Very quickly, Joe and Sam started landing mackerel aplenty, in fact as fishing trips go, the catch became biblical with Hubbie reeling in five fish on his first cast. Distracted by our success and the need to throw most of the fish back for being too small or too many we had not seen that we had been blown quite a way out to sea. Once we clocked this and the worsening conditions we decided to head back.

We hadn't got far before the engine stopped and we realised that not only had we run out of petrol, oh dear, we hadn't brought the spare tank. I dispensed life jackets and offered a rousing version of 'Row, row, row your boat' as Hubbie broke out the new oars. The rowing position is high on the bow of the boat and means that two people are really necessary to do the deed. This led to hilarious antics as Hubbie's rowing was, of course, far more powerful than ours and so no matter who his rowing companion was, we kept going around in circles. As morale deteriorated the boys objected to my song so I put my singing voice away and looked for my phone.

After guaging our slow progress I decided to call our friend Richard Cook who is a local coastguard and takes great care over the boating traffic in Port Gaverne. Richard lives in the Harbour Master's House, which has a commanding view of the bay and explains why, when I rang, he was already watching us through his binoculars and had put his waders on ready to launch.

In minutes Richard came to our aid towing our stricken vessel back to harbour and saving us the humiliation of having to call out the RNLI. Later, in his kitchen having been offered a much welcome cup of tea and slices of lovely homemade lemon cake, he told his bedraggled guests that when he goes out he takes two petrol tanks, one to top up and an extra gallon, just in case. He also pointed out that if the other boats aren't going out, there is probably a reason for that as, for instance, on that day the wind was strong enough to cause a small vessel quite a lot of problems should it run into trouble, as we did.

Richard couldn't help but add that we had had the boat for less than 24 hours and had already needed a rescue! Let's hope it's our last ehh? Next time we won't be going anywhere unless conditions are good and the petrol tanks are with us. I told Richard, had he ever seen us erect a tent (Hubbie's first attempt is in my top three laughs ever), he would know how steep our sailing learning curve is.

Still you can't knock us for our enthusiasm and thank god for the internet which offers helpful videos such as how to back a car with a trailer, and getting your engine started! Monday night we dined on line-caught mackerel with potatoes and green beans from the allotment, so despite being rubbish sailors, we did enjoy our home harvest and with a little help from our friends to escape calamity, we felt up on the day.

Sink, swim or float?

Not my best look. Note: lifeguards to the rear, ready and waiting
 to effect assorted rescues

Well the good news is I did The Big Swim and didn't need rescuing, the bad news is ... wait for it ... completing the race in 53 minutes. I came last!!! Local fisherman and member of the internationally famous shanty singers Fisherman's Friends, John Brown said I had inspired him to think about doing the race next year in that the way I drifted into port demonstrated for him a technique he felt he could emulate. Thanks John.

I wasn't sure I could do it at all as, for the first time in my adult life, I have been suffering from acute hay fever. The medication for my endless snivelling has knocked me for six and training was not possible, so when I got in the water I'm afraid it all came as a bit of a shock. But that's just an excuse. The bottom line is I am not as fit as I should be and unless you are Usain Bolt you really do need to train or at least be our friend Andy, who owns the local surf school, Wavehunters and is the fittest man I know in a general everyday, without trying sort of way. He did the race in 23 minutes no less! Ouch.

As 300 of us ploughed into the water I only got 100 meters in before I realised my breathing was not going to let me progress at more than a snail's pace, so I gave up trying to compete and concentrated on finishing. Sam my 14 year old had long since disappeared from view and judging by his pace I knew he was going to be alright, even though it was his first race (he did it in 35 minutes!).

As I left the bay I saw a number of much fitter, stronger swimmers put their hands up giving the signal to be pulled from the water. The conditions were far from ideal with a heavy swell in the sea, which can come as quite a shock to those who swim well in pools but have never had to work their way through currents and waves.

Joe gives Sam a brotherly send off

I made a few critical errors while I was trying to stabilise my breathing, namely cutting across the bay in the wrong direction! When I bobbed up, imagine my surprise to find myself surrounded by RNLI bloats and earnest looking chaps ready to pull me out. I apologised for giving them a scare and headed back the other way feeling a right tit.

The race has to be surmounted in roughly three parts: first getting out the bay of Port Gaverne, which seems to take longer than you would think, then just as you round the corner, the hard swim is open sea which hits you, literally. After a good distance in open water, elongated by the race buoys set out to make you go out to sea before the last part, which is when you can swim passed the fishing boats into Port Isaac, this last bit is usually done against the tide which is tricky as by this stage you are quite tired. Or at least I am.

As I was making funereal progress, I fell into conversation with a woman who had accidentally gone into me (there is a lot of bashing about Sam couldn't believe how aggressive some swimmers are), she made some comment about the conditions which I agreed with, adding that I wished the sea would stop hitting me in the face, I was starting to take it personally. She asked me not to make her laugh which was a good idea as we were both struggling to find the next race buoy given that the horizon kept dipping in and out of view.

This year we all had fancy timing devises on our ankles and once we had done the swim there was the business of running up the beach and on to the timing mat which logged our times and confirmed what everyone on the slipway already knew as they gave me an alcohol-fuelled welcoming cheer, that I had come last! I did it in a miserable 53 minutes which is better than a few people last year and a lot better than the dozen or so who had to be rescued, but really, I ask you?

I shall train next year, if they let me do it at all. It appears to be getting more and more serious with this year's race fully booked out months before, competitors looking leaner and meaner than ever and the day itself augmented by the local radio station broadcasting from the beach, a fantastic rock concert from the afternoon late into the night and a great party atmosphere, presumably for those who had not done the swim and still had the energy.

Richard Cook, coastguard at Port Gaverne and the man responsible for everyone's safety on the day, told me that evening that 324 swimmers went into the water and one way or another 324 came out and were duly accounted for. In the chaos of a choppy sea that is no mean feat, with people looking out for us every step of the way, fun was had by all. He went on to tell me that when I slowed down there was a discussion amongst the lifeboats about whether to pull me out and he had said that he knew me and that I was a strong swimmer, just slow. Which accounts for the offers of rescue waining after the first leg. Thanks Richard.

I suppose next year it will all be more competitive as sea swimming and triathalons become more popular but no matter how many perfectly proprotioned triathletes join the ranks, I shall continue to enjoy the race for its unmatched stunning views of the Cornish coastland and the simple fun of doing something I love until it makes me really, really tired.