When I eye Tim getting ready to snap a photo of me, I'll more often than not stick my tongue out or put a hand out . . . a women's prerogative, I say, to decline a photograph when she is not at her best.
And recently I was suddenly and unexpectedly not at my best, feeling the effects perhaps not enough of "down time" and, certainly, feeling a bit of the effect of a sailing outing that found us caught in a squall and me a bit unprepared for the weather. I'm well recovered now, but I must say the situation has stuck with me, and I've learned something about myself . . .
It was a lovely start--sunshine, warm-ish temperatures as Tim and I set sail with friends Taron and Neil who were visiting over the bank holiday weekend. English weather is unpredictable--ask most people here and they'll say they pack both a brolly and a pair of sunglasses! We did bring our "oilies" for warmth and dryness, and I was already donning my red Musto waterproof jacket before we were too far outside Cowes. The plan was to sail to Yarmouth, about 90 minutes, have a pub lunch and stroll their quaint high street, and then wait for the tide to be with us to sail back.
The afternoon went as planned except for the squall. We could see the grey clouds looming about 45 minutes into the journey. I asked for a hat while Tim went below to put on his waterproofs. I was not feeling fab--it was a bit of a bumpy ride and having made a trip to the cabin earlier and feeling nauseous, it was not a place I'd re-visit. It was just a bit of drizzle at first--Taron was at the tiller (steering) and Tim was trimming the sails to prepare for the gusty winds that were whipping up. Taron and I were pulling our jackets closed and laughing at the sudden change of events.
Then the hail came along with the strong, gusty winds. Coh Karek had no trouble dealing with the squall, though we were healing (leaning over) quite a bit and I found myself (a) cold, (b) wet, and (c) holding on to a winch for dear life while the boat leaned far over to the side. Tim was pulling ropes and steering while Taron was putting all the energy she could into winching in the sail. (Neil was a bit under the weather and in the cabin.)
Finally we were on a steadier course, less rain and a bit of smoother water. Good thing, too--I found myself needing to, well, yes. I thought I heard a "well done" from Tim for managing to heave over the side.
When we got to Yarmouth we pulled ourselves into the nearest pub, The Kings Head, and ordered a round--a ginger beer to settle my stomach sounded appropriate (sans rum, though offered). Food was challenging--we had a 90-minute journey back, and even running with the tide and the promise of smooth sailing there were still grey clouds in the sky. Jacket potato (aka a baked potato)? Not usually in my top choices, but it seemed a reasonable one--it was warm and, to my mind a "safe" food to fill me and stay put (or not be harsh should it not stay down). While at the pub I also stripped out of my wet jeans and into the waterproofs I didn't get the chance to get on while on the boat. I also spent a few turns under the hand dryer in the ladies' trying to get the sleeves of my sweater and fleece dry--my arm was leaning on the side of the boat at an inopportune time when a bit of water coursed down it and directly up my arm. The dryer in the loo actually worked quite well and by the time we'd walked around the lovely town of Yarmouth a bit, popped into a few shops, had a coffee (all except me) at the pier and then ambled back on the boat, my fleece sleeve was dry enough to put back on for the journey to Cowes.
And it was a smooth sail--the tide with us, the grey angry clouds behind us (as we waited a bit to watch them pass before we sailed away). Taron was fabulous--she took a turn at the tiller again, and even more impressive led us back to our mooring between any number of boats already on their buoys while Tim grabbed the one to anchor us. It's tricky--boats don't just stop, but you can use the engine to go into neutral and then reverse to essentially stop them. She took her quick lesson from Tim and handled Coh Karek beautifully.
So what did I do to contribute on this journey? Well, I took a photograph, I turned the engine on and off, I occasionally pulled a rope when requested . . . not exactly the helpful first mate! Taron has been on boats for a number of years and was brilliant at keeping us on course and taking orders from the skipper (which were always preceded or followed by 'please').
I was commended for managing to keep my lunch down on the return. I probably should have been insulted by that remark, but I was too unsteady.
I shared my story with Robyn--she and I had a trip out on a fishing boat once that a former employer owned and it was a near-disaster with him and his first mate vomiting over the side (likely due to the amount of alcohol they'd drunk) while we were trying to find our sea legs. It was a motor boat, not a sailboat, but it was in the Atlantic and it was a bit rough. I recall that other than feeling a slight bit queasy I managed fine. Robyn shared that she'd never go back on a boat!
Would I return? Well in fact I did the following weekend, on a much calmer day when the other Mrs D-Tim's mum--came for a visit and wanted to have an amble up the river. It was her birthday weekend, and Tim was happy to have her on Coh Karek. As it was just the three of us, it was an engine run, up the Solent toward the Folly Inn, with me at the tiller and Tim providing some instruction. Frankly anyone can man a tiller on engine--you just have to remember that you pull the tiller in the opposite direction of where you want to go (which is likely why more people prefer a wheel to a wooden stick). It's a bit non-intuitive and I will admit to having to focus so that I was pulling the tiller toward me (right) when I wanted to go left.
We managed fine--me steering, Tim occasionally revving or slowing down the engine depending on the other boat traffic--until we had to moor at Shepard's Wharf, and without going into too much detail it was another stressful afternoon for me that found me asking Tim to have the Harbour Master assist him in getting Coh Karek back on her own mooring while I walked with his mum back to the high street and then, gratefully, home.
So what did I learn? I think it's fair to say that I am, and always will be, a fair-weather sailor. I'm not ashamed of that nor do I care what anyone thinks. We can't be everything our partners want us to be; I can at least say I tried! And, in fact, I'd try again--with more able crew so I don't have to worry so much about getting it right, and perhaps one of those magic patches that keeps one feeling a bit less queasy at sea.
Life's too short to do things you can't embrace and enjoy . . . I'm glad Tim has a lot of friends he can call "crew." I think he's happy to settle for a wife that isn't his first mate; I'd like to think I have other attributes that make for a happy co-existence. Well, perhaps more a shared relationship: Tim, me, and "her"!
I am putting a link to this on my blog - you have made a very important point! So you have taken your own suggestion and are now writing about creating a happy married life :)
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