Ten Things I Learned While Sailing

I recently spent a week on a sail boat—my first adventure off terra firma for more than just a few hours. I learned some things about sailing, and about myself, in what was a wonderful week of food, friends, and floating between Turkish ports. If you’d like to see some photos, please go here.   

Scopoderm works. Having had a bout with seasickness, I was concerned about being unwell and potentially ruining my holiday as well that of the rest of the “crew.” I visited my GP and requested the patch, worn for 72 hours behind the ear, and while not a guarantee I understood it to be a fairly reliable way to keep the queasiness at bay. And, it worked a treat! I never even took off the original patch, and I now have two in reserve for my next sail. (I sense Tim plotting a cruise in the Solent!)

Sleeping in the forepeak triangle is very different than a square bed. Tim and I don’t usually compete for space, but I did find myself wanting just a tad more space for my toes and not wanting to be too pushy! It was also quite warm in Turkey, and we had a windscoop to bring in the breezes through our overhead hatch—when there were breezes! Most nights were lovely, frankly. Kelly found herself often sleeping on deck; the midges were thankfully few and far between, and it was lovely in more ways than one—the sky, full of stars; the gentle breezes; the open air. I once or twice thought to join her! Spending appreciable hours on a boat takes some getting used to—the swaying, the loo pumping (giving new meaning to the acronym SOS), the closer-than-usual quarters—yet in the end it was all manageable: small considerations for what was a perfectly lovely, enjoyable week on the sea.

I can tie a fender on. Fenders, those foamy bumpers used to protect boats from colliding with the quay or another vessel, require a particular type of knot to keep them firmly tied on the lifelines or stanchions. Given that I wouldn’t be much help with other sailor-ly tasks, this was a good one for me to learn. One afternoon while motoring between destinations Tim had a lesson for all of us on how to form knots to tie on fenders, to make a square knot, and to make a bowline knot, useful for putting around a cleat when tying up a boat. I liked the mnemonic for learning the latter—the rabbit goes down the hole, around the tree, and back in the hole . . . or something like that! I think we all enjoyed the lesson, trying to get it right, with the more competitive sailors trying to tie knots the fastest or with eyes closed. I was just happy to get the fender knot correct! I did have a few other small duties as part of the crew—the occasional winching, turning the refrigerator on or off depending on whether we were motoring or sailing, shouting out instructions from the cockpit to the foredeck, and using the windlass to let the anchor up or down. I was glad to be helpful, steering clear of the more important duties—navigating, steering, and tacking, which the others, particularly Taron, Neil and Simon, did quite ably.

The combination of eight knots and a slight bit of heeling is exhilarating. We weren’t always able to sail—the wind in Turkey is fickle, and when we could find it, we took advantage. On one fantastic afternoon we found ourselves heeling (tilting sideways) several degrees while moving swiftly across the sea. We were watching the instrument panel to see how fast we were going, hoping to see the speed increase. I usually get a bit nervous when the boat heels a bit, though in this 44-foot yacht the lean wasn’t as much as I’ve experienced on Tim’s Contessa, where the rails are often in the water. I think as hard as Tim tried, it just wasn’t going to happen on the Moody! I can see why Tim enjoys sailing so much—when it’s good, it’s thrilling.

You don’t need a fancy kitchen to make fabulous food. I can honestly say that every place we ate was quite good—I’m a fan of Turkish meze, grilled fish and kebabs, so I was certainly in my comfort zone in all of the little places we moored each night for dinner. Most of the places we ate were marina-side, al fresco restaurants that didn’t have well-equipped kitchens (though they usually had decent toilets). My favourite “restaurant” was the shack-for-a-kitchen several yards down the beach from the tables on the water side. The owner came up to us as we moored, shouted us the menu (a list of six or so entrees) and told us to arrive at 8:30 pm. We were served meze first—the same for most places we ate—often aubergine salad, borek (fried phyllo dough usually filled with cheese), chopped salad, and fresh bread.  Entrees were often lamb, fish, or chicken, grilled or in a casserole. Turkish wine or beer always accompanied the meal, and was sometimes followed by Turkish coffee—made strong of boiled coffee beans and sweetened with sugar—or the more traditional filter coffee. We had to laugh one evening when, after dinner, a goat found its way into the “kitchen” and began licking the bowls clean.

Nothing beats a swim off the boat into the Med. It’s warm. It’s clear. It’s salty and buoyant. What’s not to like? Just about every day we found a place to anchor or moor and jump ship, literally. I was a bit less daring—mostly because I wanted to wear my sunglasses in the water to keep the glare down and protect my eyes from the sun—and often found my way into the water down the ladder at the back of the boat. Most everyone else—certainly the gents—jumped or dived over the side. It was wonderful—after a few hours of sailing and absorbing the heat of the day, it was so refreshing to swim in the sea, bring down one’s body temperature, and float. While everyone enjoyed Coldwater Bay, where cold springs bring water from the Taurus Mountains, I actually preferred the warmer waters of the other areas we visited.

I love Village bread. On certain days when we were moored in small marinas, a small power boat would zoom up in the morning carrying fresh, warm bread in large rounds that was doughy and delicious—sometimes with herbs or olives, always delicious. That was often breakfast, with a spread of butter, or a slice of cheese, with coffee that we made on board, and occasionally with fruit from the same boat. Simple and simply good. Oh, and, the same transport often brought ice cream  in the afternoon to visiting yachts as well!

Dolphins can make just about anyone smile. One day Tim spotted dolphins frolicking at our bow, and we were all thrilled—cameras snapping, oohing and ahhing while we waited for the next splash, a glimpse of fin, a small leap out of the water. We could easily see them, just below the surface, enjoying the energy the boat was making pushing through the water to aid their swimming.

I like Texas Hold ‘em. When you’re on a boat in small marinas where there’s nothing more than a small outdoor restaurant, you need to make your own entertainment in the evening. We played a few different games—Hit or Miss, where you pen a list of items based on a question, like types of automobiles, and then rolling the die for Hit or Miss you guess what everyone has—or doesn’t have—on their list. We also played Oh Hell, similar to Hearts. There was Trivial Pursuit, where it was a battle of the sexes (and very close at that)—I was chided for helping the boys by hinting at the answer to Tim; I’m not terribly competitive and he didn’t really need my help. Of all the games we played, my favourite was Texas Hold ‘em. One of the crew, Simon, is a regular poker player and taught me and Tim how to play. It took me a few rounds to understand the strategy, and at the end of the evening I found that I rather enjoyed it. I won’t be playing online poker any time soon—I wasn’t that good—but it reminded me of how much I enjoy a good game of cards. Growing up there was a lot of card playing in the household; weekly gin rummy nights had friends and neighbours around our kitchen table, and even later on just games of Rummy 500 with my mom and whoever of my siblings was around helped pass the time.

Tim is a wonderful sailor. When Taron and Neil asked Tim to skipper the boat, he didn’t hesitate; Tim loves to sail and the chance to do so in the warm Mediterranean on a lovely 44-foot yacht . . . well, no brainer. I was very proud of him—he handled the boat beautifully, taught us all a little bit about sailing, and graciously took on whatever role required—sometimes navigator, sometimes consultant, occasional taskmaster. When on the last day the engine starter failed and we needed to wait several hours for a repair, he offered to stay on the boat while we toured Gocek, showered, and relaxed. When he deftly reversed the boat into its snug mooring on B pontoon, I smiled. O Captain! My Captain!

Hot and Cold

This last week has been most remarkable in terms of weather since I arrived in England. Every day the sun shone, the temperature reached into the high 20s C / 80s F, and despite the arrival of October, there was neither a scarf nor a pair of gloves to be seen, at least not in London.

Perfect timing for the refrigerator to go on the fritz. It has been groaning loudly for months, collecting inches of frost at the back of the fridge and freezer compartments where our jars of gherkins, onion chutney, and whatever else nearby was slowly swallowed up, only to be prised out with a hacking around the sides to loosen the goods (Tim’s choice of implement has been a paint scraper).

Yes, we saw it coming—in fact, I can recall doing research months ago on a fridge freezer that would fit the space the current one occupies—it’s about four feet high and narrow-ish, with a small freezer at the top. Tim wanted a unit where the freezer is at the bottom; except for ice and the occasional frozen veg or fruit, our freezer compartment remains relatively empty. I’m a fan of fresh fish, fresh chicken, fresh everything really, so the freezer doesn’t matter much. Even leftovers are generally quickly eaten rather than frozen.

Over the last two weeks we’ve awakened to an odd silence in the kitchen—no fridge croaking and whirring loudly. While we can’t be sure, we think the electricity gets tripped by the unit gasping for energy (wasted, no doubt) to remain powered up.

So, toast and morning coffee have waited for Tim to power off the main switch, flip the circuit and get everything up and running. It works, but it’s been annoying—the milk isn’t quite cold enough, nor is the yogurt, and worst of all the white wine isn’t chilled properly!

Several days ago I suggested to Tim that we either get a new unit or make sure I know how to get the electricity running again, and just before he left for Sweden to sail for two weeks, both happened—a fridge freezer, larger than the one we have (though likely far less thirsty on electricity), has been ordered. And, to be safe, the wall below the circuitry in the space under the stairs has scrawled in pencil the order of getting the electricity back on. I’ve referred to it once, and have just two days before John Lewis comes to the rescue . . . if in fact that is the reason why the power goes out, generally while we’re sleeping. I suppose I’ll know come Wednesday morning!

I spent a small part of today clearing the cabinet above where the old fridge sits—the new fridge is taller, so the cabinet previously filled with odds and sods of glassware and dishes will need to be removed. I thought I would be able to do it myself—emptying the various bits (and trying to find a new home for them, for which I was marginally successful), and then removing the glass interior shelving, I somehow thought that I’d be able to figure out a way to simply lift and separate the unit from the wall. I'm not sure what I expected to see—bolts to unscrew, perhaps—but there is no obvious indication of how that unit is attached to the wall.

So the new fridge freezer will take residence in some odd space near the area it will eventually reside, but not until sometime in the middle of October when Tim arrives back from his journey down the Baltic Sea, then through the Kiel Canal and into the North Sea to England. I don’t know the exact route, but here’s an idea:

The crew will be day sailing—meaning they will only travel by boat for about nine hours each day and then moor at some port each evening to relax, get a decent night’s rest, and start very early the next day. Tim was very much looking forward to the chance to see some of the Baltic ports; it is one of those small adventures of a lifetime, much like his trip across the Atlantic. As with that one, I will meet him on the other end, possibly in Gosport or some other place depending on when Nightfall—the new boat—arrives. Tom and Karen have been taking trips to Sweden to see their Arcona 46 being built, and she is now ready for the maiden sail to her home port.

The week before Tim left—our Indian summer—I made an effort to leave work on time and get home while it was still light so we could enjoy a sip of something along with the day’s conversation in the garden. It was a lovely week in hindsight; warm, clear nights relaxing at home, anticipating Tim's upcoming trip and wanting to spend some time together. We ventured out, too, and had dinner with Tim’s brother and his wife one evening on The Strand at a well-known curry house, and went for drinks at a neighbour’s house two doors’ down after dinner.

Saturday was a true delight—after a bit of gardening while Tim gathered his sailing gear and prepared for the trip, we had a lovely lunch in the shade and then took a stroll through Clissold Park, coming back to a dusky, warm evening. Life’s simple pleasures, courtesy of a generous Mother Nature who has extended her warmth into the early days of autumn.   

Holiday

I was just thinking about the term “staycation”—staying locally for vacation to keep costs down (for one reason; there are probably others). Well, I’m staycationing, but I must say it feels like a proper time away from the office. Tim and I are in Cowes for the world-renowned Cowes Week.  which includes seven days of sailing, events every night (some posh, some not), and a chance to see the old town transform into a wild, crowded, noisy but ultimately fun place to be.

We came down on Thursday to prepare—Tim to take Coh Karek for a bath (boats move faster in the water when they’re clean) and do the last-minute tasks to get her ready to sail; me, simply by routine of coming on Thursdays after work (because there wasn’t too much to prepare for on my end). Jake came to lend a hand to Tim—they didn’t have to personally wash her, but there were other things to do to make her sail faster (which included dumping old sails off and stowing them in the space below the stairs here at home).

Thursday was still quiet—perhaps a few more people on the High Street than usual, but not anywhere near full Cowes Week proportions. We had a lovely steak dinner at home and took a walk in the evening to see what was happening along the Parade—it was still quiet, even at the Champagne Bar next to the ferry terminal. It was just a matter of time!

By Friday things had picked up—able crewmen Tim (E) and Dave arrived, and we had a chicken stir fry, a couple bottles of wine and great conversation, as ever—the three men have sailed together quite a bit, including a 16-day journey across the Atlantic—and there was planning for CW as well as just catching up with each other. Jake returned to London for the night and Dominic was arriving in the morning before the start. I sensed excitement. Heck, I was excited and I wasn’t even sailing!

We decided to take a walk to the Cowes Yacht Haven to see what was going on—there is always plenty of music and some mock Blondie band was scheduled to perform. When we arrived it was more a mock Dire Straits band, though they were good and somewhere along the line they were kind enough to inform us that the Blondie band wasn’t showing . . . no matter. It was a lovely night—a little cool, but dry, and I enjoyed taking it all in. You simply have to experience Cowes Week—the mix of sailors, wannabes, crazies, and the rest of us (as I don’t consider myself any of the former) just watching. There was plenty of dancing in the aisles, including for our entertainment this evening [drunk] girls with water guns that we artfully avoided—guns and girls both.

Day One. Nice weather—sun and just enough wind. Off they go after a hearty sailors’ breakfast—bacon and egg sarnies and coffee / tea—and I set about doing a few chores (mostly food shopping) and taking in the town. It’s become crowded—in fact, far more crowded than I expected with throngs of visitors popping in and out of shops, queuing at Tottie’s fish and chips (which I’ve never had) or Corrie’s, just another 200 steps up the High Street (which has a proper restaurant attached). I don’t mind the milling people—I manage to weave my way around them all with bags full.

Midafternoon and Tim’s brother arrives and we have a cup of tea and catch up—he’ll be sailing with the rest starting Sunday.

Tim texts—they are getting close, just in East Cowes . . . I take my perch on the roof terrace to see the finish. I see a couple of other Contessas ahead, and then finally Coh Karek sailing beautifully to the line with two boats near, just feet away. I have to admit, I yelled something silly like “Go, go!” but there was no one else nearby. She finishes 7^th, edging out Contessa Connie in the end by 30 seconds. Connie is owned by our friends Mark and Kim, so a friendly rivalry indeed.

Drinks follow at the Island Sailing Club (ISC) for the Contessa class—jackets required for the men, and I wear a dress for the occasion. We head up to the top terrace for champagne and canapés. Some disappointment that members of the ISC who are not Contessa owners are taking up tables and eating chips. We remark but only to ourselves, not to them, and chat about the day, chat with a few of the other boat crew, and sip bubbly between bites of some nice finger food. It was not the most social event—most crews weren’t there and those who were tended to stick together, rather than mingle. The lack of space to move around likely contributed to that—we have been to other Contessa gatherings and they are generally a good, if not competitive, lot to socialise with. Those who were there were anticipating the Red Arrows, who were scheduled to fly over at 7:30. I brought a camera, hoping to get one or two shots, though you can imagine how fast these jets fly!

And I must say, there were spectacular. Breathtaking, even. It is simply amazing how tightly in formation they fly, so close to each other, and then suddenly the planes veer off  in opposing directions only to come back together again, and perfectly. I think most people enjoyed it when two of the craft were seemingly heading directly toward each other, at great speed, and as they were just crossing each let out a coloured trail that was a single perfect line when joined—that’s how close they were.

Jake, Dominic, Tim E at the ISC party

Some of the Red Arrows

After the show we headed back home to have Tim’s chilli con carne—made the night earlier for a quick heat and serve. As usual it was delicious—a thoroughly satisfying day for the crew! In the evening we decided to head out to Cowes Yacht Haven to see what was going on—I stayed behind, preferring to just relax.

 The week is young!