PILGRIM’S PROGRESS

The bow plunges, kisses the spume, and rears skywards. We hang in the air for a second, dip, then soar again. I jam my foot against a rail to steady myself and untie the staysail sheet.

A wave floods the foredeck. My rope, half free of its fastening, becomes an angry hydra, snapping hungrily at my fingers. I fix my eyes on the horizon, trying to quell a creeping queasiness.

And this is meant to be a leisurely day out.

I’m sailing on , the oldest Brixham-built sailing trawler still operating today: 106 glorious tonnes of English oak, Douglas fir, larch and Canadian pine. In late Victorian times, up to 300 such boats plied the waters out of Brixham, making the town home