The Joy of the Motor Boat.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIX, Issue 21, 23 November 1907, Page 47

The Joy of the Motor Boat.

(By an Enthusiast in "Pall Mall.) “Steam up, captain,” says my friend the mate and crew in one of our new motor-boats as I step on board from the jetty of an East Coast village harbour and feel the purr of hidden life thrilling her frame from end to end. “Cast off then,” is my response, “and let her go!” The mate touches his hat to keep up our little deception, loosens the mooring rope, twists a tap, puts over a dainty brass lever, and instantoneously vitality quivers through the vessel, there is a prattle of water astern, a gently-increasing ripple under the prow, and we are off. Surely the motor-boat is the choicest wonder which science lias put into the hands of the man who loves loch and tideway, the great playgrounds of the fresh breezes and dancing waves, never overcrowded and never vulgarised. The oar is good in its way, whether one chances to pull it on Isis or in the blistering heat of a tropical sea, and a fine things is the sail when one lies in the shadow of towering canvas and feels the air, soft as a lady’s hand, come down from the great hollow'of the mainsail as one’s yacht breaks through the surges of mid-Channel. But surely the very subtlest imp ever imprisoned for the service of man lies in that unpretentious tin of petrol at yo.ur feet on the motor, leagues and leagues of unconditional travel comprised into the limits of a biscuit tin—could any’ man ask for more? My friend, in what he is pleased to call the stokehold, uttered a professional growl or two in comment on my enthusiasm as we started that day, but even he was bound to admit that the time of many difficulties is nearly over, and in an extraordinarily short space these dainty little ships have developed from the condition of perplexing toys into works of art approaching mechanical perfection and reliability. I/let , him grumble and trifle with oilcan and spanner about the engine he loved, while I lay back in the stern and watched the green water slip by in happy ripples from, our varnished sides, and marsh banks purple with autumn borage and dusted with golden weed unwind; bend after bend, „as._ we slipped towards the sea. No hauling on ropes, no tugging stubborn oars here, the indolent will enviously observe. The mate touches a lever again as we round the last corner, and our speed jumps from nine to twelve miles an hour. Another notch, and the white plume under the cut-water stands up crested with diamonds, while a dimpling hollow forms astern as the waters parted by our progress rush together again. Tie looks at opr wake,.-at the dial, and plays with the gallant little ship, putting her at dead slow, half, and full speed; subduing her fires till the brown weed floating alongside moves almost as fast, and. then stokes them up with a touch of the hand till she changes to a little sea fury, and, trembling with concentrated ardour/ buries her sharp nose in the spray ahead, and leaves a yeasty pathway behind that would not discredit a trans-Atlantic liner, six hours behind time. ~-en at last, having found all things satisfactory, he leaves her at a steady ten knots, and, reflectively uncorking a bottle of Bass, asks where we are going? * It -is one of the privileges of.the motor-boat man to be able to answer such a question in the most casual, manner. While his kindred ashore are of limited by considerations of -garage and turnpike, shut in mentally and physically by hedge and habitation, the lucky sailor knows no such restrictions. He may cruise, as'we did that ,day, at will into all-sorts of places, and 'along coast lines that become unexpectedly interesting when explored by a :craft of such shallow draught. What meed to be too nice as to one’s destination when all is charming, and five or fifty miles are alike to the bottled imj> in the oil tank? Sandy pits that would have been but a distant smudge of yellow to the coasting vessel develop into fairy headlands when closely explored, while within them lie neglected beaches and bights beyond penetrating deep into a country untroubled by longshoreman or navigator, a region of old-world hamlets, and a chance inn now and then whereat entertainment is Arcadian in simplicity and within whoso hospitable portals one may 'feel oneself in another age. If the hoatorist—to coin a word to fill an obvious gap—fishes or photographs, what better conveyance could

he have? While to the wildfowler the new craft may mean great things in the future.

Even in England, though the fact is little known, there are 4000 miles of canals, four times as much navigable river, and an endless mileage of lake and estuary coast line at command of the cruising motor-boat. Just across the Channel, again, France possesses a wonderful system of artificial waterways, communicating with those of Holland and Germany, which in turn lead to the great European rivers, so that our cruising grounds, leaving the sea out of consideration, are indefinite. In a well-chosen vessel with a comfortable cabin aft, one capable of travelling all day on a can of spirit, handy, speedy, and of fair sea qualities, one may cruise, picnic, and luxuriate to our heart’s content all through the summer, and in the winter house her snugly at some waterside yard with the certainty that she will come out fresh and serviceable again when better weather returns, and needing none of that costly refitting and overhauling a yacht calls for each spring. Of those wonders of the deep, the modern petrol racer, it is not for me to speak. They are a thing apart, the specialty of the, man whose joy is in rivalry and records, and who is ready to pay highly for his pastime. But the ordinary cruising motor-boat to its n."<ny other virtues adds a moderation in price backed by a simplicity of management such as may readily be mastered in a few lessons. For £ 150 one can get a first-class boat that will go everywhere and will do anything in land-lock-ed waters. For £2OO one may pick up an excellent 30ft 4-cylinder 20 or 24-h.p. motor for estuary work, which in summer weather may be used for extended

excursions along the fringe of salt water. The cost of docking a boat with occasional supervision by a professional is about five shillings a month. Other expenses are equally slight, depending chiefly bn whether the owner sails the craft himself or not, and the kind of cruisings he goes in for. Happy, then, is the man who possesses one of these docile little ships, and, free of dusty highway and conventional town, betakes himself to the water for an autumn holiday. Happy the early morning start; the long day of luxurious adyenture with a congenial companion, and the dreamless sleep of the night that follows in the snug cabin forward with the harbour, ripples playing the softest of lullabies outside. The man who could not appreciate these things does not deserve to own a motorboat.