Reflections - lessons learned - One third of the way round - August 3rd

To put my mind at ease, I’ve repeatedly asked myself, whether I’ve put the boat in any precarious situations; either through poor planning, carelessness, stupidity or simply lacking appropriate sailing skills, needed for such an endeavour as this? I really don’t think I have! But, and it’s a big but, I’ve also been luckily insofar as there have been no equipment failures or serious breakages to cope with; which, could easily have happened during one of a number of un planned gybes ; when the helmsman’s attention waivered - dolphins and gannets have a particular fascination.
    Have I always sailed safely? Yes... with one or two silly oversights very early on. And as long as ‘safely’ is interpreted as having a heavy reliance on modern electronic charting technology, GPS, Navtex, Yeoman Plotter and supporting depth, wind, speed and graphic displays to constantly reassure me.
   Could I have navigated just as safely using traditional navigational techniques - without much of the electronic kit? No! I am neither nimble enough of mind, nor do I have the constitution to spend time below at the chart table, plotting bearings, factoring in tide, leeway and boat speed onto charts while hanging on to the chart table for grim life. If I go below, even for a minute or two, I start to feel a little queasy. Sailing, for me, is helming the boat as effectively and as safely as possible in any given set of circumstances– maximising the rate of progress while enjoying the coastline, if visible, along with the sea and bird life. In doing so, I exploit the GPS wizardry to provide the data needed to reappraise the unfolding passage plan and make real-time changes, as and when required. I’m sure Nelson would have offered his other arm for the same capacity, had he been alive today.
   Passage plans do have a habit of needing a tweak here and there as the day unfolds - changes in the predicted wind and wave action curtailing anticipated progress. I’m also a very reluctant engine starter too, during a passage; for a number of reasons, not least the intrusive noise it makes but I’ve developed a habit of motoring the last mile or two anyway, to recharge the two batteries; on which I rely so heavily; while tidying away sails and preparing the boat for mooring; talking to the marina and fendering up, etc, so try and only use the engine once at the beginning and once at the end of a day's sailing.
    There’s still quite a bit of pre-passage preparation to do. Tidal gates for both marinas and harbours, depth clearances, races, wind and weather factors to take a view on; to give both a departure time and anticipated arrival time – not least, the best route to take. Then, there are the secondary ports to plan an escape to - 'In the event of' - and a host of ’What If’s’ to satisfy – all are confidence building as you recheck your figures and then enter the waypoint data into your Chart Plotter, then again in the back-up GPS and finally in one of the two portable GPS’s. Finally, as I sail along, every 60 minutes, I plot my exact position on a paper chart using my Yeoman Plotter. As a matter or routine, I also file a passage plan with the Coastguard who want an ETA and who then expect a call from you to say you’ve arrived and, I take considerable pride in being as exact as I can.
    Have I scared myself? Oh Yes, and probably half a dozen times too! Why? I think it’s because I forget or, perhaps, have discovered, that I’m not as strong or as agile, as I used to be or, thought I would need to be to cope with some of the conditions experienced. Examples of where I have floundered a bit are; going forward, on a heaving deck, to release a sheet caught in a fairlead or round a block or, when putting in a long series of tacks in rough conditions, where I find myself succumbing to the sheer physical demands needed.
    Picture if you can typical tack in roughish conditions. Firstly, the tiller is jammed under one arm or in the small of the back, or even between your buttocks/legs to hold it where it needs to be. And as you’re running the risk of being catapulted around the cockpit, so your knees are both braced against the cockpit sides, while at the same time, first freeing up and then tightening the two backstays then freeing off and tightening the four sheets – jib nad staysail!; while making damn sure you keep your head well down, so you’re not knocked unconscious by the 100lb solid wood boom flaying about inches above your head! Then, for added entertainment, have the odd bucket of water thrown at you from time to time, while tap dancing on a bird’s nest of rope ends on the cockpit floor; with you always, it seems, standing on the one you bloody well need! Then factor in Equinox’s hull length of just 24ft 6’, which, even in moderate seas can have her bow thrown back by wind and wave, as you go through the tack;  and as she does not point as close to the wind as a Bermuda rigged yacht, she sometimes falls back onto the previous tack with the palaver of repeating the exercise again after building up enough speed to have a second attempt. And yes, it sometimes fails again for a third time; leaving you cursing out loud for carrying too much sail and cocking thing's up! Believe me, it can get tiring!
     My judgement, on occasions, has been questionable too. For example, it is so easy to get exhilarated at your magnificent progress when storming along in 20 knots of wind on a broad reach or run; especially, if you’ve the help of a favourable tide. Add the tide of, say 3 knots, with the boat speed of, say 6 knots together and subtract the combined speed over the ground of 9’ish knots from the true wind speed of 20 knots; gives you an apparent wind speed of just 11 knots. Equinox feels as though she’s coping easily. But turn into the wind to put a reef in, and all hell breaks loose! Too many times I’ve left it rather too late and regretted it! Then there was the Aberyswyth event, when I simply could not stand up without using both legs and arms to hold on - and only then, just about helm the boat. Put simply, I should not have been at sea on that day – poor passage planning by failing to interpret the weather forecast correctly and getting it from two sources to double check! Lesson learnt!
   I write this having spent the last three day at the beach and most of that thrashing about on a laser getting thoroughly cold and wet. What ridiculous behaviour for a chap of my age?
Footnote:
There's a newly arrived and rather scruffy cormorant on the headland, often found with his wings outstretched, drying himself in the sun, who eye's me as I sail past, rather knowingly. He's the only one on the rock among hundreds of common gulls who roost there.
Colin?  No surely not,,,,,,,,,,,,!