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!