I'm an antsy sort of guy. I like to get wherever I'm going with all due diligence unless I'm headed for the dentist's office or some dicey place like that. So when I'm approaching a marina--and usually I'm pretty excited about going to most marinas--I'd rather not cut down on Betty Jane's amiable little cruising velocity for any reason, and certainly I'd rather not actually pause for a moment. Heck no!
But I've formed a habit over the years that militates against this overly-intense approach to marinized travel--as I approach virtually any place while operating Betty, I slow to a stop for a minute or two well before arrival.
Why? To simply sit there at the helm and gauge the effects of the wind (how robustly is it blowing and from what direction?) and of the current (how robustly is it moving Betty and in what direction?). And then to approximate how the combined effects of these two forces will affect Betty as I'm backing her into her slip.
How do I do this last part really? By picking some impromptu ranges ashore, one abeam (whether to port or starboard makes little difference) and the other ahead, and briefly observing by means of these ranges the manner in which the wind and current is actually going to move the boat one way or the other once I get to my slip. A range, of course, consists of two objects that can be lined up fore and aft, rifle-sight-fashion, as an indicator of a vessel's relative motion. Typically, ranges are used to indicate proper positioning within a stretch of channel and they occur either ahead or astern of said channel.
At any rate, the habit's served me well over the years. Since first incorporating it into my navigational routine, I've rarely been surprised by meteorological conditions when I enter a marina, whether it's the one Betty calls home or some other little spot I've never been to before.
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