The little boat butted her way through the chop, the tide running out strongly into the sea breeze setting up steep whitecaps out in the channel, sheltered in the tiny cruisers deep cockpit her skipper chose to stay out with the current behind him where progress would be best. His wife was waiting at the boat ramp where he had launched three days earlier, she would be happy to see him, and keen to exchange stories of the previous few days.

It hadn’t always been so. They’d just managed to get by during his working days, the boys had gone to the local Tech, University had been beyond their finances but paid for by a lot of overtime at the engineering works. They were now qualified, had married and were doing well. There had been little time for hobbies so when he retired there had been little to do. He’d tried to help around the house and was dismayed when his wife of almost 40 years had resented the disturbing of long established routines.

The old tradesman had lost more than a job when he retired, he’d lost a whole reason for being, and was lost without the routine and prestige of his position as foreman engineer in a prominent local company. And it was with some trepidation that he went to a 'retirement seminar' (but they’re all old!) Where they suggested that he take up a hobby. “Build something,” They said. “How about some furniture? Or a small boat so you can go fishing with some mates” Treat it as a job, go out to your workshop at 8 30, come home for lunch, and finish at 4 pm! That gives you a routine, and leaves Maggie some space too!

Well, he’d sailed with his grandad when a boy, enjoyed the estuary near home and although not a fisherman thought that exploring the rivers and lakes could give him an opportunity to use his camera on the wildlife, to see the natural side of the world that had been always out of sight from the welders and lathes of his life at work.

A neighbour was building a boat, he could hear the hammer and router in the evenings, and see the bow of the boat when he passed his garage. One Saturday morning he called in, was asked to “hold this please” and was soon an essential helper in the backyard boat works.

Lots of people called in, coffee was always on, friendships formed, skills were learned, opinions exchanged and dreams discussed, he became a part of a social circle of D I Y boat builders and his engineering skills were in strong demand

(“ Maggie, I’m off to Fred’s for a couple of hours, he needs a hand to get his rudder pintles made up”).

Life was getting better.

It came time to choose and get on with building his own, and after a lot of thought his friends in the sawhorse committee drew up a shortlist of wants.

Stay aboard, yes but only one bunk would be needed, as Maggie was not a sailor.

Cooking? Of course!

Type, sailing boat, a yacht but sort of a working boat flavour.

Centreboard so the upper reaches of the river could be reached.

Trailerable, there were other harbours and lakes within range.

Size, although he did not like to admit it, the budget was too tight to allow anything but the smallest and simplest of craft.

Budget, if this was to be achieved, it had to be cheap.

TREAD LIGHTLY featured in an article in a magazine that turned up in the boatshed one day, “ Look at this Bill. Look, a comfortable bunk, space for a camping stove, she is small enough to row, draws hardly any water with the board up and she should sail really well. It’s small but it’s got everything you need! ” And it did too, he fell in love with her instantly, and it was only the following week that the plans arrived, a trip was made to the local builders yard for some high grade construction ply and the back of the garage was cleaned out. (Its OK love, the car will still fit in there when I am not working) One momentous evening, before his friends from the sawhorse committee the first piece of wood was cut.

Building was fun, even if at times it took some puzzling, Bill found himself unexpectedly proud when Maggie brought friends out to look at the project and was wonderfully complimented when she volunteered to sew up curtains and bedding for the tiny cabin.

Working steadily, and enjoying the project it was only a winter before Tread Lightly was being fitted out, Maggie and Bill had enjoyed the trips to the second hand stores looking for the fittings that Bill had not been able to make himself. A local sailmaker cut down some second hand sails, the trailer towbar was extended and rollers fitted, and the big day was at hand.

The whole committee were there, plus the boys with wives and a couple of brand new grandchildren when Maggie sprinkled the stubby bow with lemonade and shared what was left with the toddlers, the boat was carefully carried to the waters edge by four of the committee and Bill, at the oars, gently sculled her out to where he could put the sails up and the centreboard down. The cameras clicked. Gently she heeled to the breeze and Tread Lightly, with a chuckle at her forefoot moved quietly off into the warm evening.

A year had gone by, the voyages getting longer as the skippers experience grew, the boat now had a dedicated toolkit and galley equipment, Christmas and Birthdays had seen unexpected gifts of wet weather clothing and a selection of plastic laminated charts. Tread Lightly had been thoroughly tested in a wide range of conditions including a scary few hours hove to when caught out in a serious squall and with practice his cooking on the tiny camp stove had improved out of all recognition.

Bill had been away in the upper reaches of the tidal harbour for three days, living comfortably and hugely proud of his self sufficient little home, busily sailing from one place to another with his camera at the ready, excited at the prospect of adding some photographs of the rare seabird he’d found to his collection. Maggie had got over her apprehension at having her partner away in such a tiny boat and had even been out occasionally for picnics. She enjoyed the tales of her mans voyaging, and talked happily to her friends at their craft circle about how cheerful he was now that he had something to keep him interested.

She waited at the ramp with the trailer ready for the wee cruiser, keen to hear how far he’d been, watching as Bill's grey head came into view sheltered behind the cabin, waving as he stood up to drop the main, the boats head held to the wind by the sheeted in mizzen as he got the oars out to scull the last few yards to the beach.

Their long hug said everything.

I’ve written the above to show how I work, and while the scenario is fiction it is very close to what I have seen among friends and relatives. The boat is designed as a serious estuary cruiser, stable, very capable, surprisingly comfortable for day sailing two or overnighting one, she will fit on most ordinary garden trailers, she should not cost a lot and should be achievable within a very tight budget.

I see my teenager looking at the drawings right now. I can imagine her appropriating a corner of my workshop so she could knock one of these together, and would be pleased to be the one waiting for her at the boatramp.