Tense shortcut

A stone-lined hole or a 60-mile hike around one of Britain's least hospitable headlands?

- Sam Llewellyn

The sun is shining and there is a light breeze ruffling a blue, blue sea. The engine goes on, and the genoa rolls up, and the mainsail concertinas down into the stackpack. And we direct our thoughts towards the Gate. A pair of gates, actually. A pair, in fact, of lock gates. We are not feeling good about going into the lock gates, because we are not feeling good about the Canal.

The alternative to the Canal is, however, a 60-mile hike round one of Britain's least charming headlands, and the forecast is advertising strong southerlies for the southward part of the voyage, followed by strong northerlies for the northward part of the voyage - a prospect even less seductive than the Canal. The gates open a crack, which widens. We toss every fender we possess over Dahlia's sides, engage slow ahead, and through the gates we go.

A lock is a hole in the ground, lined with stone, into which the mariner must proceed with terrible inevitability - a description that also applies to the tomb.