It’s a well worn cliche that ships are safe in harbour, but that’s not what they were built for. Turns out, those words weren’t just made up to fill a gap in conversation. They’re also completely true. Got thinking about this a hours ago as my son and I were sitting on the edge of a boat, watching the sea come up to cover our boots, before falling away to leave us high and soggy, several metres above the spray. Was a most impressive sight. If a trifle disconcerting at times.
Should probably explain at this point that we were on a sailing boat. A yacht actually. But a very old and saggy one. The Bagpuss of boats. More like a scruffy caravan with masts on than an ocean going superyacht. Along with a couple of my mates, we were taking part in a race around the Isle of Wight. Which had sounded like a great idea when it was first suggested.
However, on the big day, seemed as if the weather gods hadn’t got the memo. The day before the race was lovely. We went out for a practise and everything was absolutely tickety boo. The sea was mildly skittish, the winds were sensibly strong and the sailing was mighty fine. However, when the actual factual day of the race dawned, the coastguard put out a heavy weather warning, which in the end, turned out to be a bit of an understatement. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Before sun up, we set out for the starting line of the race, sailed up to the rest of the flotilla and all the while, the weather was dreamy. Delightful. But when the cannon boomed and we all set off, racing over the waves, the weather decided it was bored of being nice. So the wind got all big and bouncy, the waves decided to join in with the fun and before we knew it, boats were pulling down their sails, turning tail, and limping home as fast as their engines would take them.
But not our little boat, oh no. Our captain was made of sterner stuff. At this point, should probably explain a bit about boat etiquette on board the good ship Bagpuss. (Spoiler alert - not her real name.) The yacht belonged to my mate and his friend. They’re salty old sea dogs who have sailed all over everywhere. And back again. Which meant they stayed at the helm, at the back, making decisions. Whilst my son and I, the less experienced members of the crew, went forward on deck to carry out their orders.
All of this made perfect sense. As did the bit about clipping yourself to the boat when you went on deck. You see, whilst you are busily pulling on ropes, winching sails into position or stowing them away, you don’t always have time to keep an eye out for the sea. Which means there is always the chance for a sneaky wave to come along, catch you unawares and wash you overboard.
Trouble is, we quickly realised that clipping and unclipping the safety line every time you moved around was a pain. Especially when you were making weight. So we stopped doing it.
By the way, in case you’re not familiar with the term, making weight is when you go and sit on the edge of the boat. The edge that isn’t being pushed into the water by the force of the sail. Your job is to sit on the edge sticking up into the air, acting as a counterweight. Trying to keep the boat from falling over. Of course, the other part of the job is not falling overboard yourself. Which is surprisingly tricky when the waves are so big and the wind so strong that the boat is rocking about like a badger on a bicycle. A drunken badger, at that. Drunk on cider too.
All of which is why my son and I were sitting on the edge of a sailing boat round about Fathers Day, half the time with soggy feet and the other half with mild vertigo. Which brings me neatly back to the bit about boats and harbours. You see, after one particularly excitable wave had crashed over the boat, leaving more sea on deck than under the keel, my son and I found ourselves swirling together in a soggy mass of salt water. Both hanging on to a handrail for dear life, hoping desperately to be left on board when the water drained back into the ocean below. At which point, we looked across at each other, and grinned happily. From ear to ear, to ear. Like a pair of loopy loons. After whooping and hollering with joy, we both agreed this was a most excellent way to pass the time. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Glad we got to do it together.
Mind
, we were both equally delighted when we got the order to turn tail, trim the sails and head for home. Turns out, harbours aren’t so bad after all.
Until next time, all the best
Stan
Can’t stop seeing “a badger on a bicycle “! What a great day for you and your son!