The sailor's major virtue

I MAY HAVE MENTIONED this before but you probably don’t remember it. Besides, it bears repeating: One of the most valuable assets a sailor can cultivate is patience, followed closely by serenity.
Imagine that you’re nicely tucked into a snug anchorage on the rugged west coast of Vancouver Island. You got in just before the wind really started howling, and now the rain is starting to pelt down.
The VHF, tuned to the British Columbian weather forecast, is relaying a doleful message:
“ ... mostly awful with occasional ghastliness ... periods of low depression followed by unremitting rain ... wind from the southeast at umpteen knots ... large-boat advisory for tonight and all day tomorrow ... wind-waves 15 feet ...”
Your course is southeast, of course. So, if you have any sense, you’re stuck.
Well, then, what did sailors do with themselves in the Great Age of Sail when they were anchored in open roadsteads waiting for the wind to change? How did they pass the time? If they were in the navy, I expect they painted the anchor cable and holystoned the deck. But how do people stop themselves from going crazy on smaller boats? What would you do with yourself while waiting out bad weather, especially in places where you can’t get cell phone service or browse the Internet?
You can only sleep or play Patience for so long before you go nuts. You might take the opportunity to change the engine oil or do some all-day job like grinding the valves — but what if the forecast is wrong? You wouldn’t want to miss a good sailing day with bits of engine spread all over the cabin.
You can’t spend days at a time doing nothing but listening to Beethoven or the Beatles, and if you spend all day cooking you’ll have to eat it all and you know what that’s going to do to your waistline.
I guess you could call the Coasties on Channel 16 but I suspect that even the nice, friendly Canadian Coast Guards would get kinda grumpy if you just want to chat and tell them how depressed you are.
You could make love, I suppose, given the right circumstances, but I’m told that the average is eight minutes, which doesn’t take up an awful lot of the day.
For these reasons, yachtsmen cooped up in port — and fearful of being criticized for wimpishness — often try to make a break for it despite the bad weather. And all too often that’s a very bad idea unless you have an exceptional boat and an exceptional crew. If you do that, you might find yourself talking to the Coasties again pretty soon, and not just for fun.
If ignorance and ill preparation are the parents of adventure, then patience and serenity are the parents of safe cruising. They don’t come easily. They have to be cultivated, like most other sailorly pursuits. Learning how to extend your love life might be a good way to start.
Today’s Thought Patience, n. A minor form of despair disguised as a virtue. — Ambrose Bierce, The Devil’s Dictionary
Tailpiece Ms. Smith, your work during your trial period indicates a standard of mediocrity, inadequacy, and chronic incompetence.” “Oh thank goodness. I had a silly feeling you weren’t satisfied with me.”

Patience and good seamanship

BRITISH AUTHOR AND SAILOR Dylan Winter, producer of the popular video series Keep Turning Left, says patience is the sailor’s best friend. That seems to be one of the major lessons he has learned during his quest to sail around Britain in small boats.

“When correctly applied in large quantities, it will keep you out of trouble,” he says. “Patience can also be of great assistance when trying to get out of trouble.”

The problem is that many people find it very difficult to be patient in a modern world where we have got gotten used to instant results.

There seems to have been much more patience around in the days of the old windjammers. When people and cargo were moved around the globe by sail it was only natural to wait for a fair wind before starting your passage, out or home. Ships sometimes waited at anchor for weeks for conditions to improve, and everybody accepted this as the conventional wisdom. Patience was regarded as an important part of good seamanship, even though the owners of ships and consignors of cargoes did their best to hurry things along.

But we don’t hear much about patience in connection with seamanship these days, especially among weekend yachtsmen, many of whom are committed to be in their offices by 9 a.m. on Monday.

Last time I sailed around Vancouver Island I was accompanied by a buddy boat. Both of us were singlehanding, and we managed to stay together most of the way. But there came a time when my companion ran out of patience and broke away, running ahead non-stop for home.

I had stopped because the forecasts were for contrary winds in the open Pacific and I knew from experience what it would be like to try to beat 40 miles to windward to the next anchorage in a heavy cruising boat.

“But I have raced,” my companion protested. “I know how to beat. C’mon, let’s go.”

But I was stubborn. I waited three days for the wind to change. I went ashore every day in that deserted part of the world and smelled the wild roses. I was perfectly happy, in no hurry at all.

My buddy boat went on its way without me, though, motor-sailing down the coast, and I have to admit that my former companion made good progress and experienced no trouble.

I guess I can’t claim to possess superior seamanship because I was more patient than he was. Patience just comes naturally to me, though some people might describe it, in my case, as more of a combination of caution and laziness. Yes, I love the quiet, lazy days. And if other people think that my patience makes me a better sailor, who am I to disabuse them of that fine notion?

Today’s Thought

Patience, n. A minor form of despair, disguised as a virtue.

— Ambrose Bierce, The Devil’s Dictionary

Tailpiece

“Barman! Barman! Do your lemons have legs?”

“No, sir, of course not.”

“Then I guess I just squeezed your canary into my drink.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

 

Life doesn't end at 30

 THE OTHER DAY I read a blog written by a young woman in Georgia. She has a lovely home, two handsome kids, and a good-looking husband. But when you read her posts you get the feeling that  she seems (against all the odds) vaguely dissatisfied, vaguely unfulfilled.

Maybe she feels trapped. Maybe she feels she’s not getting all she should be getting out of life. She certainly seems unduly concerned with the fact that she will be turning 30 later this year. She has a large countdown clock on her website, and it’s ticking over seconds and minutes as you look at it.   

She has the word “Wanderlust” tattooed on her foot. And somewhere along the way, I believe, she has been entertaining thoughts of escaping from it all by sailing away on a yacht. But she is stuck in that tide in the affairs of mankind that sucks them swiftly away from the sea and boats, and strands them for the best part of two decades on the reefs of Marriage, Career, Home, and Bringing up Children.

This a dilemma faced by many adventurous souls, and the message is plain: you have two realistic choices. You either do it before you settle down and raise a family, or you do it afterward. It’s true that there are a few couples who go cruising with small kids, but for obvious reasons they are few and far between.

This young woman’s problem is that by the time she and her husband are free to fulfill her adventurous dreams of cruising and voyaging under sail, they will be 50-plus and faint-hearted.

But it doesn’t have to be that way. Somewhere this young woman has gotten the idea that life, any decent kind of life, ends at 30.  I can tell her from my own experience that it doesn’t. One of the best days in my life came when I was 35 and a policeman called me “Sir” for the first time. I felt grown-up at last. The decade of my 40s was terrific. When I was 50 I packed my wife and youngest son on a 31-footer and sailed for six months from South Africa to America.

I know it’s hard for a 29-year-old to believe that a 50-year-old can feel as fit as he or she did at 21, and enjoy life every bit as much, if not more, but it’s absolutely true. And the extra years bring many compensations, not the least of which is a larger cruising kitty that enables you to lead a fuller life while you explore.

At any one time, hundreds of couples in their 50s, 60s, and even 70s are cruising around the world in small sailboats. A friend once met a yachtsman in the British Virgin Islands. He was in his early 80s, and he was battling to free a rusted shackle from his anchor chain.  You or I would have taken a hacksaw to the shackle and bought a new one for a couple of bucks. Not him. He was determined to get it working again.  “If this old bitch of a boat didn’t give me so much trouble I would have died long ago,” he said.

So I would counsel the Georgia woman to cultivate patience. The good life is not as short as you seem to think, ma’am.

Today’s Thought

If time were the wicked sheriff in a horse opera, I’d pay for riding lessons and take his gun away.
— W. H. Auden

Tailpiece

Teacher: “How many times can 2 be subtracted from 6?”
Pupil: “I’ve done it 10 times and it always comes to 4.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)
   

The sailor’s virtue

I MAY HAVE MENTIONED this before but you probably don’t remember it. Besides, it bears repeating: One of the most valuable assets a sailor can cultivate is patience, followed closely by serenity.

Imagine that you’re nicely tucked into a snug anchorage on the rugged west coast of Vancouver Island. You got in just before the wind really started howling, and now the rain is starting to pelt down.

The VHF, tuned to the British Columbian weather forecast, is relaying a doleful message:
“ ... mostly awful with occasional ghastliness ... periods of low depression followed by unremitting rain ... wind from the southeast at umpteen knots ... large-boat advisory for tonight and all day tomorrow ... wind-waves 15 feet ...”

Your course is southeast, of course. So, if you have any sense, you’re stuck.

Well, then, what did sailors do with themselves in the Great Age of Sail when they were anchored in open roadsteads waiting for the wind to change? How did they pass the time? If they were in the navy, I expect they painted the anchor cable and holystoned the deck. But how do people stop themselves from going crazy on smaller boats? What would you do with yourself while waiting out bad weather, especially in places where you can’t get cell phone service or browse the Internet?

You can only sleep or play Patience for so long before you go nuts. You might take the opportunity to change the engine oil or do some all-day job like grinding the valves – but what if the forecast is wrong? You wouldn’t want to miss a good sailing day with bits of engine spread all over the cabin.

You can’t spend days at a time doing nothing but listening to Beethoven or the Beatles, and if you spend all day cooking you’ll have to eat it all and you know what that’s going to do to your waistline.

I guess you could call the Coasties on Channel 16 but I suspect that even the nice, friendly Canadian Coast Guards would get kinda grumpy if you just want to chat and tell them how depressed you are.

You could make love, I suppose, given the right circumstances, but I’m told that the average is eight minutes, which doesn’t take up an awful lot of the day.

For these reasons, yachtsmen cooped up in port -- and fearful of being criticized for wimpishness -- often try to make a break for it despite the bad weather. And all too often that’s a very bad idea unless you have an exceptional boat and an exceptional crew. If you do that, you might find yourself talking to the Coasties again pretty soon, and not just for fun.

If ignorance and ill preparation are the parents of adventure, then patience and serenity are the parents of safe cruising. They don’t come easily. They have to be cultivated, like most other sailorly pursuits. Learning how to extend your love life might be a good way to start.

Today’s Thought
Patience, n. A minor form of despair disguised as a virtue.
— Ambrose Bierce, The Devil’s Dictionary

Tailpiece
Mr. Smith, your work during your trial period indicates a standard of mediocrity, inadequacy, and chronic incompetence.”
“Oh thank goodness. I had a silly feeling you weren’t satisfied with me.”