The summer visitors are long gone home, we have had our first gale rattling the boatshed doors and threatening to tear the roof off. The first decent frost (-4) and the flood of autumn with a tide 1 metre over prediction rapidly switched off our Indian summer and had us overhauling our winter defences. Fortunately we had lifted out the week before and everybody was well snuggled down

Looking back in time pre grp, then we had our boats ashore and tightly sheeted down well before the end of October if we wanted to save our varnish work. The mast would be in the rack and stripped of all the various blocks, which in turn would be stripped down of metalwork and my block shells usually spent the winter in the toolshed pickling in Boiled Linseed and turpentine.

Today few boats come out yearly; it’s a bi or tri annual event for most. With more seagoing boats sporting epoxy copper antifouling, before long, coming ashore to dry out becoming a thing of the past. A quick lift in spring, quick squirt with the pressure washer, poke the anodes, shake the propeller shafts, make sure the rudders still hanging there, ah well that’s the underwater refit done.

To be honest, the boat is a huge investment for many of us and it makes sense to use it all the year round. As Marina’s upgrade power supplies, improve shore facilities, hot showers even wireless Internet communications; the boat can transform into the winter cottage on the Broads. Quite a few prefer the winter and love the crisp walks in the late afternoon. The awe inspiring sight of a starfilled sky on a frosty night makes you linger on the stroll back to the boat and forget the pub’s log fire crackling up the chimney.

At the back of the boatshed our regular winter visitors have returned. A flight of tufted duck with bright blue scooped beaks, golden eye and lovely white wing panels are back diving down to the bottom for shellfish. The other fishermen in their hi tech aluminium punts with electric outboards and electronic fishfinders whirr up and down the river under the ever watchful eye of Charlie the heron who knows which punt to scrounge a sprat from. What variety we have in Broadland, perhaps with a bit of Boiled Linseed and turps it could be Heaven.