This map shows the general area of the cruise that started at Redcliffe Farm's launching slipway, Wareham, and ended at Rockley Point Sailing Centre, Hamworthy, Poole.

Having loaded the car with three adults, one child and myself, along with luggage for their fortnight's holiday in Florida, I started the drive to Gatwick Airport. We left home at 0430 am on Saturday, 11th August, 2001. If anything, the extra load improved the towing characteristics of my old, but reliable Ford Seirra.

Stars were shining brightly, but, by the time my wife and other members of the family had placed their baggage on trolleys outside the Departure Lounge, daylight had dawned and dark grey clouds were scudding across the sky. Such inhospitable clouds were to dominate the scene of the two day cruise. They heralded south-west winds, which turned out to be usually above force three and recorded on one occasion as gusting to seven!

At about mid-day, the car drew up beside Redcliffe Farm's slipway. Moored beside it was the Cormorant dinghy of Liz Baker. She was acting as coordinator of the rally. Shortly after meeting her she introduced me to Chris Heakey and his friend Doug who were the crew of a Wanderer.

As I prepared 'Micro' for launching, the other boats under reefed sail set off.

Half an hour later, with the strong wind helping me to row down the winding River Frome, I was surprised how many yachts lay to a continuous trot. They were close to the reed-fringed bank on my starboard hand. Some were alive with crews; others lay abandoned in a state of decay. There were quiet intervals between the comings and goings of several yachts motoring up or down the river. Briefly the sun shone and its heat added to my body heat as I rowed. Sometimes it was only necessary to use the oars to guide 'Micro' because she was drifted by the wind. I tried to keep her to the right hand side of the fairway, thus avoiding on-coming traffic in accordance with the regulations set out in the International Rules for the Prevention of Collisions at Sea.

I made sail near Swineham Point. There the Frome opens out to reveal Gigger's Island a short distance to the north-east. The secondhand tiny jib started to pull well, but I wanted to make smart progress to the rendezvous between Shipstal Point and Long Island - that was about seven nautical. Once the reefed mainsail was hoisted, 'Micro' shot off like a rocket. Almost immediately we touched bottom. It was a place where the harbour chart shows a depth at low water springs at 0.6 metres. The rudder was forced up and came adrift, but was not lost, because the tiller was being held by the Huntingford Helm Impeder. I had failed to tie the rudder's retaining cord to the stern post.

The wind tried to take us further onto the extensive mud flats. By downing sail quickly and rowing with all my strength, I was able to edge slowly into deeper water. I was taken aback with how difficult it was to maintain a course in that strong wind without being able to use the rudder. There was no time to ship it, because any pause in rowing would set us back on the mud. After pulling hard for a quarter of a mile the water became deeper in the well-marked, but very narrow channel. I managed to grab a starboard-hand marker and attach the painter to it. That gave respite for a quick energy input by way of a chocolate bar and some ginger ale. Meanwhile, several fast speedboats and motor yachts charged by. Their 'drivers' were oblivious of the fact that a small boat lay only a short distance from their wakes.

In times gone by for such unthinking action, I would have shaken my hand in anger at the culprits. Fitting words would have been shouted to express my indignation and irritation. Now, I have come to accept that such people either do not think, or they are only interested in self.

With the rudder suitably secured and the sail hoisted I released the painter. Then, one of the most exhilarating sails of my life took place. 'Micro' just about lifted off the water. I needed absolute concentration to keep her on course. With a force six wind from directly astern, an error of steering could bring the disaster of a capsize. It was a wind against tide situation as we smashed over crested waves to the north-east. Explosions of spray were whisked into my eyes causing them to smart because of the salt. Nature's response was to make tears in an effort to cleanse my eyes of the stinging substance.

There was no opportunity to consult the harbour chart or the ordnance survey map, although I managed to shove on my spectacles, hoping to get a glance of them. Even if I could have got my hands on them they would have been instantly rendered useless by the spray. Therefore I had to read the channel by navigation markers and note courses made by other boats. The north-west shore of the Arne peninsular was a good guide. If I followed it about two cables off, that should take me clear of all dangers.

Reaching along the Wareham Channel to the east provided a little shelter. The sands of Gold Point ahead, marked what I hoped would be the extent of the reach before coming on the wind to make toward Long Island in the south. These shallow waters over a muddy bottom were similar to the dark brown soup found at the Thames estuary. I was used to such conditions, except I was surprised at the extent of broken water. Windsurfers were in their element. Likewise, lightweight catamarans skimmed over the wave tops, but 'Micro' was finding the beat really hard work. The short steep waves did all they could to prevent our progress southwards, but sitting her out was fantastic fun.

For the first time, I had gained confidence to sit right on the gunwale near the stern deck. The reason for this was to reduce weather helm. Because she was flying the small jib, wind pressure on the reefed mainsail was trying to gripe the boat into the wind. This required excessive use of the rudder to compensate. (A skeg could be the answer for overcoming the problem; alternatively, a reduction of the mainsail area by trimming its leech.)

On approaching the rendezvous spot by Shipstal Point, I could make out several dinghies anchored near it. An adverse tidal eddy going north from the Wych Channel made my approach agonisingly slow, but the main lack of progress was the decrease of wind, because of the protection afforded by raised ground off the Point.

Eventually, I downed sail in an untidy state - because of my tiredness and need for quick action to row the last cable before I could drop anchor in the company of the others. I noted Liz Baker with her camera to the ready. Perhaps she took that shot we all dread - our boat looking a complete shambles? I felt I just wanted to shrink below deck and hide my head from many inquisitive stares. All heads were turned in the direction of 'Micro'.

Derek Milbourne, known as Jay, was the first person with whom I spoke. At the stern of his Dodnor Star Trekka there flew the American yachtsman's flag, since he has dual nationality and has registered his craft under the rules and regulations of that free country. He tells me he hates the numerous EEC edicts affecting small vessels and his 'dinghy with a lid' cannot be bound by them. His tiny boat was festooned with multi-coloured flags and pennants, but the one I liked most sported the words, 'I love sailing' in scarlet letters against a white background.

Next to greet me was Chris Jenkins in his spotless blue Potter AX. His tiny yacht has great character and charm, as well as being very practical. Her cabin affords excellent accommodation, while the boat is not too heavy for one man to retrieve from the water by winching her on a road trailer. Additionally, she can sail in shallow water and take the ground in an upright position.

The lads with the Wanderer welcomed me to raft up to their boat. I regained my strength and prepared to anchor. Liz, in her Cormorant, was nearby. She informed me about the nature of the ground for anchoring and offered to let 'Micro' be attached by line to her boat so that my only anchor could be set on the beach. Thereby, both boats could be hauled in to the beach. I declined her kindness, since I preferred my boat to swing according to wind and tide from a single anchor.

For an hour or so before my arrival at the rendezvous there had been some sunshine, and that continued during the evening until nightfall.

Three other boats arrived, the first designed and built by Keith Holdsworth. She was even shorter than 'Micro', with a mast at her pram shaped bow and another at the transom. I understand that the boat's name is 'Flying Pig', which made me wonder if she could be a bit of a swine at times! I thought she looked quite cute. Keith obviously was devoted to her. He enthusiastically explained about her ingenious metal bilge keels which flapped down under ones attached to the hull. They markedly improved windward performance. Perhaps it is a system I could use for the same purpose with 'Micro'?

The second late arrival was a severely reefed Mirror dinghy, sailed by Dave Sumner. He beached her and propped her level by the use of fenders. I also noted two fenders at the masthead - presumably they were to prevent a total capsize if the boat were knocked over 90 degrees by the wind.

Len Wingfield, a very experienced dinghy sailor, who often writes articles for the DCA bulletins, was the last of the late arrivals. He cruises a Leader dinghy.

It wasn't long after I had set the anchor when Jay used his outboard engine to bring his boat beside 'Micro'. He invited me to see his 'floating home'. While grabbing the shroud, I steadied myself and carefully climbed aboard. He stopped the engine, allowing us to drift until we were brought up on his anchor cable, since the anchor had not been broken out.

For the next hour I sat in the cabin exchanging conversations about various topics, including the complications of filming 'rush' shots done on location. His father had been a professional cameraman. Jay also told me a hair-raising tale of him riding out a force nine gale in the Bay of Biscay while in charge of a huge schooner. He had done some very serious ocean cruising, and if my memory doesn't fail me, at least one Pacific crossings.

Returning to my boat turned out to be a disaster. Jay nicely manoeuvred beside 'Micro' and I foolishly leapt into her cockpit, with the result that I lost my balance and fell in the water. I quickly scrambled back into the cockpit by climbing over the stern coaming. Since the topsides are low it did not present a problem.

Once again, I felt like burrowing my head with shame, but instead, I tried to make a joke of the event. Fortunately, my watch, which was only a very cheap digital one, was miraculously kept dry; likewise my wallet did not get wet. Not so fortunate, however, was the fact that the galley box had been on the cockpit deck, hence it was not attached to the boat and therefore it fell into the water. Immediately it almost sank, because of the weight of its contents.

To my amazement, Keith quickly rowed 'Flying Pig' to the spot where floating articles had escaped from the box. Jay had made an unsuccessful attempt at saving it, but had inadvertently motored his boat right over it; thus heavy articles such as the cooker and cutlery, were scattered on the mud below. A second attempt by Jay brought his boat over 'Micro's' anchor rope, so that the bilge keels were lodged on it. Somehow, he managed to extricate the boat by going astern, then proceeding forward he raised the outboard so that its propeller passed clear of the rope.

I was grateful to those who had retrieved the floating articles, especially the galley box that had taken a long time to make. The next morning, at low water, I found a missing saucepan lid and Len kindly waded in deep mud to collect the cutlery. Nothing had been lost except two lead weights that had become detached from the cooker.

When cruising, I always take at least one change of clothing and therefore I was able to avail myself of it to bring back warmth to my body.

Soon after sunset fast moving clouds began to develop, but they were not able to hide some of the stars and the crescent moon. I had a restless night, due in part to the wind shaking the tent and also setting up a wailing noise made by its interaction with the rigging of nearby moored yachts in the main channel. After some slumber I awoke to find a grim grey morning of fast moving clouds, giving periodic showers. Trees on the brow of the bluff waved to and fro as the wind buffeted them.

From a neighbouring boat I heard someone say, "The forecast is for south-westerly four to five winds, gusting to six; rain at times; occasionally moderate to poor visibility."

Not a good prospect! I decided to try to sneak some more 'shuteye'. Low water would be at 0830, or thereabouts, meaning we couldn't start sailing until at least an hour later.

After breakfast and the usual ablutions, 'Micro' was visited by most of those attending the rally. Among them were John Perry and Josephine Street who had arrived by car and on foot. John has a Web site for the Hostellers Sailing Club that is based at Paglesham, on the River Roach. Wayfarers are jointly owned by the members who use them mainly for cruising.

My observations of the weather led me to the conclusion that 'Micro' would find returning to Redcliffe Farm virtually impossible that day. She would never be able to battle against the south-westerly wind. I therefore decided to sail downwind to Rockley Point Sailing Centre where some of the others were also planning to go. John offered to meet me there in his car and give me a lift to Redcliffe Farm to collect the road trailer for use at Rockley Point.

It was a very kind of him and Josephine to spend time doing it, especially as they would not accept any cash by way of recompense or as an expression of my gratitude.

The sail to Rockley Point was exhilarating, to say the least. Perhaps the most exciting part was gaining entrance to the small marina by way of the channel where there were moored yachts. I fastidiously followed the marked channel and before getting into the trots, downed the mainsail. Even the jib powered us between the yachts at an alarming speed; therefore I quickly took it down, but the hull and rigging windage still pushed us at a rate of knots. Controlling direction by rudder and oars, I brought 'Micro' towards the slipway, and at the last moment decided to steer into the shelter provided by the marina pontoons. This meant rowing across the wind and tide while going astern. My strength was taxed to the extent that we just made it without being impaled on one of the yachts.

By 1600 the little boat was secured on the trailer ready for the most dangerous leg of the whole trip - the road journey home! You'll be pleased to learn there was no mishap and that 'Micro' was made secure in her boat shed (the garage), to be prepared for yet more adventures.

Bill.

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All maps are reproduced with kind permission of Ordnance Survey and Ordnance Survey of Northern Ireland.