THE BAREBOATER

by Peter Canham "Seamist"  (a non-racing yachtie)

                                           
© Peter Canham - October 1997

I'm a Bareboat sailor,

And I've found I've many mates.
But the number it does vary,

Dependant on daily rates.

We stroll down to the jetty,

With some clothes and fishing gear.
And don't forget to store aboard,

A dozen eskies full of beer.

Now here comes our instructor,

"Much experience?" he quips.
As a smile comes unto my eyes,

Then the lie unto my lips.

I mean, what a silly question,
How hard could it be?
We're such a tiny boat,
And it's such a great big sea.

Just point it where we want to go,

Run the engines at their best.
Crack a beer and put up our feet,

And maybe get a little rest.

And when it's time to anchor,

In the rules it's clearly wrote.
Drop the pick as close as close,

To the nearest Cruising boat.

The inflatable rubber tender,

It's a real terrific toy.
'Cos you can use any anchored yacht,

As a racing turning buoy.

Well now the sun has set,

And we're anchored standing proud.
So we'll shatter the tranquillity,

By singing really loud.

Our boozing and carousing,

Well it's just simple fun.
And our simple yobbo antics,

Sure can't annoy anyone.

Now we've completed our adventure,

Suffered curse and threat and jeer.
So with mid-finger we salute you,

Yelling, "SEE YOU ALL NEXT YEAR !".