HOVE TO

I once watched a roguish sailing acquaintance of mine throw his delightful Owen Woolley sloop into a hove to position, with jib backed and helm over, while he casually stepped down into his dinghy and rowed over to our boat.

He proceeded to lean on our rail, order a short rum and drink it while never once looking over his shoulder at his boat sitting faithfully there like a dog tied to a lamppost outside the dairy. Sure, it was five knots and flat seas but you had to admire the courage of the cheeky bastard.

In a short-handed cruising yacht heaving to and getting the boat to sail