2025: A Good Year for Sailing on the River Thames

 

2025: A Good Year for Sailing on the River Thames

By Thames standards, 2025 was a very kind year to sailors.

The season started noticeably early, with plenty of sailable days before many of us had even finished convincing ourselves it was really spring. Week after week, the river delivered usable winds, manageable water levels, and that familiar mix of calm evenings and lively race days that makes Thames sailing so addictive.

Remarkably, it was only in the final few weeks of the year that red boards finally put a stop to proceedings. Compared with previous seasons — where high flow often curtailed sailing for long stretches — 2025 felt refreshingly generous.

River sailing is always a balance between wind and water. Too little of one, too much of the other, and plans are quickly revised. This year, though, the River Thames struck that balance more often than not. Training sessions went ahead, races were run, safety boats stayed busy for the right reasons, and there were plenty of those quiet moments drifting back to the moorings as the light faded.

So here’s to 2026 🍾
Here’s to:

• another early start

• fewer red boards

• plenty of wind in the right direction

• and many more days afloat on the Thames

If 2026 treats us anything like 2025 did, we’ll all be very happy sailors indeed.

 

Why Is Tacking So Important When River Racing?

On open water, sailing upwind is about angles, boat speed, and holding a steady course. On a river, it’s an entirely different game. When racing on a confined stretch like the River Thames, tacking isn’t just a manoeuvre – it’s the race strategy itself.

Here’s why tacking matters so much when river racing.

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1. Rivers Don’t Run Straight

Unlike a lake or the sea, rivers bend, narrow, widen, and twist. If you try to hold one long tack, you’ll often sail yourself straight into:

• A bank

• Shallow water

• Slower flow

• Dead air behind trees or buildings

Frequent, well-timed tacks let you follow the shape of the river, staying in navigable water and keeping the boat moving efficiently upwind.

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2. Wind Is Fragmented and Unpredictable

On rivers, the wind:

• Bends around trees and buildings

• Accelerates through gaps

• Shuts off entirely behind high banks

Tacking allows you to hunt for pressure. A short tack into a gust on one side of the river can gain more ground than staying stubbornly on a dying breeze mid-stream.

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3. Stream and Current Matter (A Lot)

In river racing, you’re sailing in moving water. Often:

• The strongest stream is mid-river

• Slower water is near the banks

Smart tacking lets you:

• Use slower water when heading upstream

• Cross faster flow quickly rather than fighting it

• Avoid being swept sideways while slow

Sometimes the best tack is the one that feels wrong until you look at your track over the ground.

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4. Laylines Are Short and Constantly Changing

On open water, laylines are long and predictable. On a river:

• The next mark might be only a few boat lengths away

• Wind shifts every bend

• Banks redefine the “edge” of the course

This means micro-laylines. Tacking becomes a series of small, deliberate decisions rather than one big commitment.

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5. River Racing Rewards Decision-Making Over Muscle

Because river courses are short and tactical:

• One bad tack can lose multiple places

• One smart tack can leapfrog half the fleet

Boat handling still matters, but knowing when to tack often beats raw boat speed. Crews who communicate well and tack cleanly gain disproportionately large advantages.

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6. You’re Racing the River as Much as the Fleet

In river racing you’re not just racing other boats:

• You’re racing geography

• You’re racing wind shadows

• You’re racing the current itself

Tacking is how you negotiate with the river rather than fighting it.

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In Short

Tacking is vital in river racing because it allows you to:

• Follow the river’s shape

• Find and keep pressure

• Minimise the effect of current

• React instantly to changing conditions

• Turn local knowledge into race wins

On a river, the boat that tacks best rarely sails the longest distance – but almost always sails the fastest route.

 

Why Personal Handicaps Work So Much Better on a River

Handicap racing is meant to level the playing field.
Boat speed differences are adjusted out, and skill decides the result.

On open water, that’s hard enough.
On a river, it’s almost impossible — unless you use personal handicaps.

And that’s why rivers quietly prove that personal handicapping works far better than relying on boat numbers alone.

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Rivers amplify people, not boats

On a lake or the sea, raw boat speed has room to express itself.
On a river, performance is dominated by:

• Wind bends and shadows

• Stream strength and direction

• Bank effects

• Tactical positioning

• Decision-making under pressure

Two identical boats, sailed by different helms, can finish minutes apart — not because of hull speed, but because one sailor read the river better.

A personal handicap reflects that reality far more honestly.

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The myth of the “perfect number”

Boat handicaps assume:

• Consistent wind

• Clear lanes

• Predictable angles

• Time for speed to matter

Rivers offer none of these.

Instead, success often comes down to:

• Who avoided the early layline

• Who escaped bad air first

• Who timed a tack to miss a tree-shadow

• Who spotted the lift near a bend

No Portsmouth Yardstick can quantify that — but a personal handicap quietly does.

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Personal handicaps reward learning, not just equipment

One of the hidden strengths of personal handicaps on rivers is progression.

• Beginners aren’t instantly demoralised

• Improving sailors see tangible reward for better decisions

• Experienced sailors still have to sail well — there’s nowhere to hide

It encourages experimentation:

• Trying different banks

• Delaying laylines

• Sailing the shifts instead of the centre of the river

On a river, that learning curve is steep — and personal handicaps track it beautifully.

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Rivers expose consistency (or lack of it)

Open water can forgive a bad leg.
Rivers rarely do.

Personal handicaps quickly reflect:

• Consistency under pressure

• Ability to recover from mistakes

• Judgment in marginal conditions

A sailor who usually gets it right will rise through the handicaps.
One who relies on occasional brilliance won’t.

That’s not punishment — it’s honesty.

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Closer racing, better behaviour

Another quiet benefit: closer finishes.

Personal handicaps on rivers tend to:

• Compress fleets

• Reduce runaway winners

• Keep boats racing to the line

• Make mid-fleet racing meaningful

And when racing stays close, behaviour improves:

• Fewer desperate last-ditch moves

• More tactical thinking

• Better seamanship

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In short

Rivers don’t reward brute speed.
They reward judgment, timing, and adaptability.

Personal handicaps recognise:

• The sailor, not just the boat

• Learning, not just owning

• Consistency, not luck

On a river, that’s not just fairer — it’s better racing.

 

How to Judge Laylines When the River Isn’t Straight

Laylines are tidy, elegant things on open water. Draw two straight lines from the mark, sail to one of them, tack once, arrive looking smug.
Rivers, however, did not get that memo.

On the Thames (and most inland rivers), the course bends, the banks pinch in and out, trees mess with the wind, and the “obvious” layline often leads you neatly into trouble. Learning to judge laylines on a twisting river is less about geometry and more about anticipation.

First: what a river does to your assumptions

On a river, three things quietly undermine textbook laylines:

• The river bends – the mark may be upwind now, but relative to the next reach it won’t be.

• Wind shifts with the banks – the wind near one bank may be lifted, while the other is headed.

• The stream matters – even gentle flow changes angles and time-on-tack.

If you sail a river as if it were a straight beat, you usually end up overstanding, underpowered, or parked in bad air under the trees.

Look beyond the mark

Instead of staring at the buoy or turning mark, look past it:

• Which way does the river turn after the mark?

• Which bank will you want to be on next?

• Where is the wind likely to bend or lift?

Often the “best” layline is deliberately late or early so you exit the mark already set up for what comes next.

The golden river rule: avoid the early layline

On rivers, an early layline is usually a trap.

Why?

• You lose flexibility.

• Any header means two extra tacks.

• You risk being pinned against a bank with nowhere to go.

It’s usually better to sail slightly inside the layline, keeping options open, especially as the wind funnels and twists near bends.

Watch the banks, not just the sails

River sailing rewards observation:

• Upwind bank: often gives lifted wind but more turbulence.

• Leeward bank: steadier wind but may be headed.

• Tree gaps and buildings: wind accelerates through them.

If boats ahead suddenly tack and look happier, they’ve probably just found a bend-induced shift — that’s your moving layline revealing itself.

Think in curves, not straight lines

A useful mental trick:
Don’t imagine straight laylines — imagine curved corridors that move with the river.

As you approach the mark, ask:

• “If the river bends left, will this tack still work in 30 seconds?”

• “Am I sailing toward future space, or into a dead end?”

Good river sailors are constantly adjusting the layline in their heads as the picture evolves.

The quiet skill: arriving slow but correctly placed

On rivers, arriving at the mark perfectly powered but on the wrong side is worse than arriving slightly slow but well placed.

A gentle final approach, with one last short tack if needed, often beats charging in on a rigid layline and having nowhere to go.

In short

Judging laylines on a river isn’t about precision — it’s about reading ahead.

• Delay committing.

• Watch how the river bends.

• Treat laylines as flexible, moving targets.

• Prioritise exit position over textbook angles.

On a river, the sailor who looks past the mark nearly always beats the sailor who stares at it.

What Does “Luff” Mean in Sailing?

 

🌬️ What Does “Luff” Mean in Sailing?

The sailing world is full of magical words — and luff is one of the most interesting!

Luff has two key meanings in sailing:

1️⃣ As a noun — the leading edge of a sail
The luff is the front edge of a fore-and-aft sail — that’s the part closest to the wind and usually attached to the mast or forestay. It’s one of the main edges of a sail, alongside the leech (aft edge) and the foot (bottom). American Sailing+1

2️⃣ As a verb — to turn towards the wind
When your boat luffs up, you steer closer to the wind so that the sails start to flap or “luff.” This happens when the wind comes too far forward of the sail or the sail is not trimmed correctly for the wind direction. Wikipedia+1

🚤 Why does this matter?

• If you luff too much, the sail loses its shape and power, and the boat slows down. NauticEd Sailing Blog

• Skilled sailors use luffing deliberately to slow the boat, adjust heading, or sail as close to the wind as possible. Wikipedia

So next time you hear someone say “don’t luff the sails,” you’ll know they’re talking about keeping the sail set just right so it doesn’t flutter and lose power — and you’ll know exactly where the luff is on the sail too!

👉 Want to explore 80+ weird and wonderful sailing terms like this? Head over to our Sailing Terms page:
https://pmrsailing.uk/sailing-lessons/Sailing-Terms.html

 

Landing Beautifully on a Pontoon in a Dinghy

Turning into the wind at the very last moment

There’s a special kind of quiet satisfaction when a dinghy glides in, turns neatly into wind, and comes to rest alongside a pontoon without a bang, a scramble, or an apology shouted across the river.

On the River Thames, where wind, stream, and limited space all conspire against elegance, landing well is a genuine sailing skill — and one that repays calm thinking far more than brute force.

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🌬️ The Big Idea: Let the Wind Do the Braking

The secret to a graceful pontoon landing is simple in theory:

Approach slowly, stay in control, and turn head-to-wind at the last moment.

When you turn into the wind:

• The sails lose drive

• Boat speed drops naturally

• The dinghy becomes stable rather than twitchy

No frantic sheeting. No last-second lunges. Just physics quietly on your side.

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🧭 Step-by-Step: The Controlled Approach

1. Plan before you commit

Before you even head in:

• Which way is the wind blowing?

• Is there stream pushing you along or holding you back?

• Where will the boat naturally end up if you stop sailing?

A good landing starts upstream and upwind of where you want to finish.

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2. Approach slowly – slower than feels sensible

Speed is rarely your friend near a pontoon.

• Keep sails eased

• Sit still and balanced

• Let the boat ghost in rather than charge

If you think you’re going too slowly… you’re probably doing it right.

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3. Aim to arrive slightly past your stopping point

This feels wrong — but it works.

By aiming just beyond where you want to stop, you give yourself space to:

• Turn into wind

• Lose momentum cleanly

• Drift back gently alongside

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4. Turn into the wind at the last moment

This is the magic move.

A smooth, deliberate turn:

• Brings the bow head-to-wind

• Bleeds off speed instantly

• Leaves the boat controllable and calm

As the sails flap and the boat settles, you should be close enough to step ashore — not leap.

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5. One step. One line. Job done.

The best landings:

• Involve one controlled step onto the pontoon

• Use a single line or a steady hand

• End with the boat exactly where you intended

No shouting. No drama. No spectators pretending not to watch.

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⚠️ Common Mistakes (We’ve All Made Them)

• Coming in too fast → panic turns and noisy arrivals

• Turning too early → drifting sideways away from the pontoon

• Turning too late → arriving with enthusiasm but no dignity

• Forgetting the stream → Thames water always has an opinion

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😌 Why It Feels So Good When It Works

A neat pontoon landing shows:

• Good boat control

• Awareness of wind and water

• Confidence rather than haste

It’s also deeply reassuring for crews, learners, and anyone watching from the pontoon with a mug of tea and a judging eye.

Would It Be Possible to Foil on the Thames?

 

As much fun as foiling - a dinghy at speed on the River Thames

Would It Be Possible to Foil on the Thames?

Foiling looks magical. Boats lift clear of the water, drag all but disappears, and suddenly sailing feels more like flying. But could that really work on the River Thames?

The short answer: yes – but only in very specific places, with very specific craft, and a great deal of caution.

What foiling actually needs

Foils work best when three things come together:

• Consistent wind or power to get up onto the foil

• Clear, open water with room to accelerate

• Predictable conditions – minimal obstacles, traffic, and wash

That combination is rare on inland rivers.

The Thames reality

The Thames is a wonderful training and cruising river, but it comes with challenges that foiling doesn’t forgive:

• Variable depth – shoals, shelves, and sudden shallows

• Hidden hazards – mooring chains, weed, debris, submerged structures

• Traffic – rowers, safety boats, cruisers, paddleboards

• Narrow reaches – limited room to bear away and build speed

A foil doesn’t just skim the surface; it extends well below it. That makes unexpected depth changes more than inconvenient — they’re dangerous.

Where it might work

There are limited scenarios where foiling could be feasible:

• Wide, deep reaches with few moorings

• Early mornings or quiet periods with minimal traffic

• Experienced riders only, fully aware of local hazards

Wind foiling (windsurf foils) or electric foils (e-foils) are more realistic than foiling dinghies, because they can lift earlier and don’t rely on perfect sailing angles.

Even then, it’s very much a “just because you can doesn’t mean you should” situation.

Club sailing and safety cover

From a club and safety-boat perspective, foiling introduces complications:

• Foilers travel fast and silently

• Recovery after a fall is harder

• Safety boats must keep greater distance from submerged foils

On a busy training river, that’s a big ask.

The sensible conclusion

Foiling belongs where it has space, depth, and freedom — open water, reservoirs, and coastal venues. The Thames excels at many things: learning, racing, family sailing, gentle adventure.

Foiling?
Possible in theory. Questionable in practice.

The only alternative is the A-Rater. Designed for the River Thames, the fastest boat on the Thames and trills a minute.

And sometimes, staying wet and close to the water is half the fun anyway.

 

Time to work on the boat (and finally do those jobs you’ve been putting off)

When the red boards go up on the River Thames, sailing stops.
The river is in spate, the stream is strong, and common sense (and the Harbour Master) says stay ashore.

But red boards don’t mean the sailing season is over.
They mean the maintenance season has begun.

And even if your boat is made of GRP, there is still plenty to do.

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🛠️ GRP Isn’t “Maintenance-Free”

Glass Reinforced Plastic has a reputation for being indestructible.
It isn’t. It’s just forgiving.

Red board days are perfect for:

• Cleaning and inspection – hull, cockpit, centreboard case

• Checking fittings – loose screws, worn shackles, tired cleats

• Control lines – frayed sheets, stiff halyards, mysterious knots that appeared during the season

• Buoyancy checks – bags inflated, valves sound, no slow leaks

• Rudder and centreboard – pivots tight, blades smooth, no unexpected play

You’ll almost always find something that makes you think
“Ah… that explains that.”

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⚓ The Jobs We All Put Off

Red boards are when honesty kicks in.

That list you’ve been mentally maintaining all summer:

• “I’ll sort that later”

• “It still works… mostly”

• “That creak is probably fine”

Now’s the time.

It’s much nicer discovering issues in wellies on the bank than waist-deep in February water.

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❄️ Winter Work = Spring Confidence

A winter spent quietly fettling pays off hugely:

• Faster rigging in spring

• Fewer failures afloat

• More time sailing, less time fixing

And perhaps most importantly:
you start the new season knowing your boat is ready — not hoping it is.

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🌧️ Red Boards as a Gift

Yes, we’d all rather be sailing.
But red boards force a pause — and that pause makes the rest of the season better.

The river will drop.
The boards will come down.
And when they do, the boat will be cleaner, safer, and quietly grateful.

How Close Is Too Close? Providing Effective Safety Boat Cover on the River Thames

 

How Close Is Too Close?

Providing Effective Safety Boat Cover on the River Thames

One of the great advantages of sailing on the River Thames is that help is never very far away.

Unlike large open waters where safety boats must shadow fleets continuously, river sailing offers a unique option: the safety boat can often be moored quietly on the bank, out of the way of racing and training, yet still seconds away from an incident.

But that raises an important question:

How close is close enough — and when does “being helpful” become “being a hazard”?

The Purpose of Safety Cover (and What It Isn’t)

A safety boat exists to:

• Respond quickly to incidents

• Recover sailors and boats safely

• Support training and racing without interfering

It is not there to:

• Sail the race from five metres away

• Hover permanently over inexperienced crews

• Add wash, noise, or distraction to already busy water

Good safety cover is often almost invisible — until it’s needed.

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Why the River Changes Everything

On the Thames, we benefit from:

• Narrow water with clear sightlines

• Defined sailing areas

• Easy access to the bank

• Short transit times upstream or downstream

This means a safety boat can often be:

• Moored head-to-stream on the bank

• Engine off

• Crew watching the water, not the throttle

From that position, the boat is:

• Out of the racing line

• Not creating wash

• Not intimidating learners

• Still able to reach an incident in moments

That’s a huge advantage — when used correctly.

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When “Too Close” Becomes a Problem

A safety boat that is too close can:

• Blank wind for dinghies

• Create wash at exactly the wrong moment

• Distract helms who are already overloaded

• Encourage over-reliance (“they’ll save me if it goes wrong”)

For learners especially, confidence grows when:

• They know help is available

• But are allowed to sail independently

Hovering just metres away removes that space to learn.

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So Where Should the Safety Boat Be?

There’s no single distance, but good practice on the river usually means:

Stationary cover

• Moored on the bank

• Clear view of the fleet

• Engine ready, crew alert

Mobile cover

• Moving only when necessary

• Approaching incidents at controlled speed

• Staying well clear of boats that are coping perfectly well

The key idea is reaction time, not proximity.

If you can reach any point of the sailing area quickly, you don’t need to be sitting on top of it.

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The Moment to Move In

A safety boat should close the gap decisively when:

• A boat is capsized and the crew are struggling

• A sailor is separated from their boat

• A mast or sail is fouled near hazards

• A boat is drifting into danger

• A clear signal for help has been given

When that moment comes, hesitation is worse than distance.

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A Calm Presence Builds Confidence

From a sailor’s point of view — especially beginners — the best safety cover feels:

• Calm

• Unhurried

• Competent

• Watchful rather than intrusive

Knowing that the safety boat is there, not right there, encourages better decision-making and faster learning.

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In Short: Close Enough, Not Closer

On the River Thames, the ideal safety boat position is often:

• On the bank

• Out of the way

• Engine ready

• Eyes on the water

Close enough to respond in seconds.
Far enough away to let sailing happen.

That balance is what turns safety cover from a nuisance into a quiet, reassuring presence — which is exactly what it should be.

 Unexpected Encounters with Wildlife

One of the quiet joys of learning to sail on the River Thames is that you are never really alone. You may launch with a carefully rehearsed plan — wind direction checked, centreboard down, mainsheet flaked — but the river has a habit of adding its own unscripted cast.

Some days it’s subtle. A heron lifts off from the bank just as you bear away, legs trailing like something from a prehistoric sketchbook. Kingfishers flash past in a streak of improbable blue, gone before you’ve had time to say, “Did you see that?” (You did. You’re just not sure you believe it.)

Other days, the encounters are rather more direct.

Swans, for example, have an unshakeable belief that they own the river and that your carefully trimmed course is merely a suggestion. They will hold station directly ahead of the bow, daring you to blink first. You ease the sheet, adjust the tiller, and mutter polite apologies while the swan remains magnificently unimpressed. The unwritten rule seems to be: the larger the bird, the more right of way it assumes.

Canada geese operate differently. They prefer ambush tactics. One moment the bank is quiet; the next, a flotilla erupts into the water with loud complaints about your presence. They are noisy, indignant, and utterly convinced this is all your fault.

Then there are the moments that stop you mid-sentence. A seal surfacing briefly, as if checking the sailing standards upriver. A deer stepping delicately into the shallows at dawn. Even a cormorant, wings spread wide on a mooring post, drying itself like a piece of abstract art.

These encounters are reminders that the Thames is not just a training ground for tacks, gybes, and boat handling. It’s a living corridor, shared with creatures that have been here far longer than sailing clubs, safety boats, or carefully laminated briefing notes.

They also teach good seamanship. Slow down. Keep a proper lookout. Anticipate the unexpected. Wildlife doesn’t read the Racing Rules of Sailing, and it certainly hasn’t attended your pre-sail briefing.

And perhaps that’s the point. Among the drills, the corrections, and the quiet triumphs of getting it right, the river occasionally taps you on the shoulder and says: Look up. This is bigger than you.

Why Every Day on the River Teaches You Something New

One of the quiet joys of learning to sail on the River Thames is that no two days are ever quite the same.

The boat may be familiar.
The stretch of river may be one we’ve sailed dozens of times before.
But the river itself is always teaching.

Some days it’s obvious:
a stronger stream than expected, gusts funnelling through trees, or the challenge of sharing space with rowers, paddleboards, and launches. Other days the lessons are smaller and more personal – trimming the sail a fraction earlier, sitting a little further forward, or trusting the boat to keep moving instead of over-correcting.

As a sailor learning later in life, I’ve come to realise that progress isn’t about dramatic breakthroughs. It’s about noticing what felt different today compared with yesterday.
What worked.
What didn’t.
And what I might try next time.

That reflective habit has become as important as learning the technical skills themselves. Sailing rewards patience, observation, and a willingness to accept that you’re never really finished learning – especially on a river.

That’s why this blog exists.
Not to present myself as an expert, but to document the process honestly: the mistakes, the small wins, and the gradual building of confidence that comes from time on the water.

If you’re learning to sail, returning to it after a long break, or simply enjoy life on the river, you’re very welcome here.

👉 More sailing stories, tips, and river-specific lessons can be found at
https://pmrsailing.uk/

We also keep a daily blog of hints and tips, as well as adventures.

Fog on the Thames

Fog on the River Thames has a particular character.
It can arrive quietly, lift just enough to tempt you out, and then close in again without much warning. The water looks calm, the world feels hushed – and that can make fog deceptively inviting.

But fog is one of the few conditions where not sailing is often the most sensible decision.

What fog changes on a river

On open water, fog reduces visibility. On a river, it removes context.

You don’t just lose sight of other boats – you lose sight of:

• Bends in the river

• Overhanging trees and moored boats

• Rowing crews moving fast and silently

• Safety boats that may also be struggling to see you

Sound travels oddly in fog, and engines can seem closer or further away than they really are. A calm-looking river can still have a strong stream carrying you into trouble before you realise it.

Visibility isn’t just “can I see?”

A helpful rule of thumb on the Thames is simple:
If you cannot clearly see and identify hazards well ahead of you, you shouldn’t be sailing. Fog also usually equals no wind, and in that, you shouldn't be sailing.

That’s not just about spotting another boat. It’s about being able to recognise what you’re seeing early enough to make a calm, controlled decision.

If you’re relying on last-second reactions, you’re already too late.

Cold, damp, and concentration

Fog is usually accompanied by cold, damp air. Hands get stiff. Glasses mist up. Decision-making slows.
For less experienced sailors – or anyone sailing later in life – this combination increases risk far more than wind strength alone ever does.

When fog might be acceptable

There are rare occasions when controlled activity in light mist can be reasonable:

• Very light traffic

• Excellent local knowledge

• Safety boats in close attendance

• Clear club guidance and agreed limits

Even then, it’s usually a training exercise with strict boundaries, not a casual sail.

The best seamanship choice

Good seamanship isn’t about bravado.
It’s about judgment.

Choosing not to sail in fog isn’t “missing an opportunity” – it’s practising exactly the kind of decision-making that keeps you safe for many seasons to come.

With Fog, there is usually little wind, and little wind in any conditions means sailing is difficult.

Fog will lift.
The river will still be there.