A philosophy for enjoyable cruising
Issue 53 : Mar/Apr 2007
I had reason to spend a lot of time in a closet not long ago. I wasn’t being punished. I was painting several rooms in the house and, since the closet had never before seen a paintbrush, I decided to start there.
One of the nicest things about a small space is that you can’t take your daily distractions in there with you. No television, no radio, no music. No commercials, no idle chatter, no inane humor. It’s just you and your thoughts. So the first lesson acquired (or at least reinforced) in the closet was the power of peaceful contemplation.
It was good to be reminded of it, even though I already understood the concept. After all, I have always thought that getting away from the distractions of the world is the true charm of sailing. (In fact, when people tell me that we should move our office aboard Mystic and take longer sailing vacations, I find the concept somewhat troubling. The idea of a longer sailing vacation appeals to me. The idea of no vacation at all, because my work is now able to accompany me, does not.)
Because I began the painting project in the closet, I was able to make my mistakes there where they won’t show. I could figure out which painting tools work and which are more trouble than they’re worth. As it’s been a while since I took on a home-painting project, the practice was worthwhile. My painting projects are generally focused on the inside or the outside of one sailboat or another. There is no closet on either of our sailboats that is large enough for me to crawl around inside with a paintbrush, although I’ve managed to get parts of myself into some of them (with predictable results).
Lesson two
It was while contemplating the inside of the closet and my painting technique in relative quiet that I realized it’s always best to start with something small. This was lesson two, another one that I understood in theory but was reinforced as I pondered without distractions. In his excellent classic — indeed with its title — Richard Bode says it all: First You Have to Row a Little Boat. This is a marvelous book about the lessons learned on and around the water. They began for him as a small boy who wanted something rather more grand (don’t we all?). But a rowboat was what he was able to earn. He had to work for that, as I recall. It was with this humble craft that he began developing his boating skills. He started small and never regretted it.
Before taking on a large boat project, we are often counseled to start with a manageable smaller project. Want to build a boat? Build a kayak first. Never did fiberglass repair work? Go get a beat-up dinghy and learn to use the materials while bringing it back to life. Want to apply nonskid or paint to your boat? At the very least get some test boards or pieces of glass and try the products and your technique before slapping it on your boat.
It’s the same with sailing skills. Want to really understand what makes a sailboat move? Spend a lot of time in a sailing dinghy. Better yet, get involved in a one-design racing fleet (these are generally small boats). Borrowing just a bit from the master, first you have to sail a little boat. It’s so true. These boats respond quickly. Can there be a better teacher than action and immediate reaction?
Sweat the small stuff
Should it be any different for cruising? If you want to cross vast oceans, circumnavigate the globe, or round Cape Horn, first develop your cruising skills in locations closer to home. Take joy in crossing the bay and then the entire lake. Experience the excitement of the first time you sleep aboard. Take pride in your first overnight passage. Learn about yourself and about your boat from each storm you encounter. Each time you do, you’ll be more prepared and much calmer in the storm that follows.
I have met a couple who sold their house and everything in it to buy a boat. Then they moved aboard and began their lives as sailors, learning everything as they went along. You might do that with an RV (although I bet there are many reasons why you shouldn’t). This couple left the Great Lakes and wound up in Mexico, where they sold the boat and moved ashore. They arrived alive.
Most people in similar circumstances probably would survive. I have no doubt that they picked up many skills along the way. But I expect that the stress was constant and great. I expect that their fear was often out of proportion to the circumstances because they hadn’t built their skills gradually in small and manageable steps. I think they rushed it and, by doing so, took the joy out of cruising.
And so it is with all of life’s experiences: start small, learn gradually, and let your experience grow as your skills evolve. Begin with something manageable. Practice in the closet.
Thank you to Sailrite Enterprises, Inc., for providing free access to back issues of Good Old Boat through intellectual property rights. Sailrite.com
