I was having a hard time a few years ago, things were very difficult at work, my family had gone through a sequence of illnesses and I was pretty much at the end of my tether. I was aware that a group of friends at my local sailing club were organising a Big Trip and while I was not invited I did listen to the conversations with a mixture of awe and envy.
For those of us who have teenage children you may have noticed that the 'orrible little sods often watch TV with subtitles on. I queried it and they just said it was better for them, but I never really understood why. It was not until later on that I learned that the kids these days (the millennials as they are pigeon-holed) spend so much of their time reading text from their electronic devices that they are not so adept at listening. I, however, am old school and have learned to listen properly; to actually take in what is being said and assimilate the information being given.
So it was as I was listening to the conversations on the Big Trip I gleaned much of what was going on and what the planning process was. I learned that the following weekend they were doing a three day trial run down the coast, giving the boat and the crew a shakedown.
A fortnight later (that's two weeks for our American chums) I am back in the bar listening to the conversation, but this time only three of the guys were there, not the original four. It turned out that while the forth member was extremely capable, a good dingy sailor and very keen - his body had other ideas. The outbound journey had gone exactly to plan, but the weather picked up and things had got a bit bouncy on the way back. They had taken shelter behind an island and while the boat was on anchor the fourth guy started to have a disastrous bout of seasickness. We were all sympathetic, it can strike anyone and nobody is immune. However he decided that it was the end of the line for him. A decision hard taken and if anything he was seen in a better light for having the strength of character to take it.
The remaining three were planning a night trip that evening and I was asked if I would like to come along, given that I have quite a bit of night sailing experience as far as they were concerned. The reality was that I had gone out several times with a friend, usually with the aim of having a little potter about on the water, but ending up finishing a bottle of rum and coming back in the wee small hours. I quite like sailing at night, it is remarkably well lit and fun to do, all you need to know is your ColRegs and lights.
So we boarded the boat around 8pm and set off for a little jaunt downstream. I was given the helm and worked the boat happily through the surrounding Christmas tree lights. I have a principle which is that if I am driving, sailing or whatever, when I am on the helm I am in charge until relieved. I find it makes things simpler, it allows me to adjust things to my preference and lets others relax. I did the same on the yacht that evening, clearly indicating that I was happy to be relieved at anytime. As it turned out I was on the helm for the next 5 hours, the wind gently rising all evening until it peaked at 38 knots, with our boat crashing through the waves on the way back to the mooring. I rather enjoyed it and we all had a bit of fun before arriving back on shore about 2am.
The following week I was at the boat owner's house for a party, wives and beer in tow, good food and great chat. We had guitars out and were singing various songs with a huge spread of skills. The boat owner waited until there was a lull in the music and asked me "Would you like to come on the Norway trip?". I considered this for a few moments, the rest of the crowd also silent waiting on my decision. I thought about the support I had given my wife through the illnesses she had, the potential for more care being required, how I should focus on my work commitments, how I would happily shove my boss' head down a toilet if I could and I was about to decline his kind offer when my wife broke the silence...
"Of course he would!"
The following two months were a blur of getting kit, honing skills and generally preparing myself for the leap into the unknown. This in itself was a joy, it became a passion thinking about everything and making decisions over what kit I should take and what was a hindrance. The joy of yachts is that there is usually a lot of space available for kit so it differs from survival as it does allow for luxury items.
The day arrived and we boarded the boat in the harbour. My daughter had driven me down, I think expecting some grand kind of farewell, but it really was a case of stepping on the boat and casting off.
I remember saying, "Right boys, this is as far as I have been!", as we approached the furthest point on the previous sail I had been with them. This sparked a conversation where I discovered that I was not alone and for half the group this really was an adventure into the unknown.
There was a moment that I realised that no matter how good I was at swimming, how good my sailing kit was, or how well prepared I was, the boat was the only way I could survive at my location. Initially this feeling was alarming, but then I realised that the boat was my life support system, I found a deep affection for her shortly afterwards. I 'get it' when sailors bond to their vessel, no matter how crappy the interior is, how scruffy the boat looks or how badly she looks, that is someone's love and I respect that.
I found myself making the transition from a coastal sailor to an open water sailor over the next few hours, landmarks rarely exist and the compass becomes ever more important. We had something like nine GPS receivers on board, either in the form of dedicated kit for the boat or on mobile phones, and I do appreciate how wonderfully easy they make it; but I still like the availability of the old school methods, it somehow puts you in touch with the huge history that has got us to this point.
There is plenty of time on a long trip to think about things too. I mulled over some of my issues at work, my own levels of stress and the seemingly impenetrable wall of responsibilities that I shouldered. The sea did not give a shit for these things. The sea was the one, the only and the everything. I found this to be reassuring at first, then comforting. There is nothing you can do for others while at sea, there is nothing expected of you at sea, the worries of the land are not with you. This was like a drug for me, the twitch in my eyelid disappeared, my breathing became regular and controlled, my speech became relaxed and cool.
Waves crashed over the boat in the middle of the North Sea and all I did was close my eyes and let it wash over me, like a salty baptism. I had not felt this relaxed and happy in years. I looked around and figured that I had about three miles of visibility, thirty square miles of fuck all.
I came home after two weeks, renewed, refreshed and strong. Full of stories of adventure, sights, sounds, places and people, but the truth is that the thirty square miles draws me back every time.
I've read a few sailing blogs and they use language like 'The wind was abaft our aft gunnel as we ran from the leeward shore'. I'm sure this is interesting to sailors but I personally find it a bit dull and unapproachable. While my stories are true, I prefer to assume that the sailors who read them can embellish in their heads the bits they like and I can press on with the actual storytelling
We made it to Stavanger, Norway, having left the Forth near Edinburgh some three days earlier. We spent a couple of delightful nights in the town then headed up one of the fjords. I had taken my hammock with me and when afforded the chance, set it up on an island, within a crescent island on fjord, in Norway. I fell asleep like a baby. When I returned to the boat my crewmates had been discussing my departure and decided to name the island in my honour. To this day it is referred to as "Wank Island", no matter how much I protest my innocence!