Having been mucking around in a variety of dinghies for a couple of years, the time had come to escape the confines of the boat club and venture forth into the great unknown – the wild oceans – the solitude – the closeness to the elements. Realising the impracticalities of such notions, and the lack of fun in drinking with only yourself and a wet boat for company, I decided to be slightly less daring and join the Cruising Club Yachting Section for two weeks of unadulterated sailing fun in the Hebrides. Life at 30 degrees – sounds like the Med – the weather didn’t satisfy this term but was sufficient to see the boat heeling over for most of the two week. I guess I could say that it gave me a different angle on life - I felt like one leg was longer than the other when stepping onto land.
The most appealing aspect of yachting, before I’d actually done any, was the presence of a fridge on board (to keep one’s beverages refreshingly cold) and a saloon for you and your mates to enjoy your refreshingly cold beverages. Much as I’m addicted to the excitement of racing dinghies, they are rather Spartan in these departments.
In terms of getting the boat moving, the principles are just the same, but in many ways a little more satisfying as the electronic instruments, combined with your own brand of traditional navigational skill(s), allow you to measure your performance. One chooses to ignore these pointers at one’s own risk as your ship-mates will tend to throttle you should you end up getting lost or sailing in circles for hours. At such times, the relevance of boat and sail trim become entirely clear, particularly in light of the fact of making it into port before the pubs close – we were lucky that we chose Scotland as the watering holes stay open a little longer! In terms of visiting the natives, we ventured ashore a few times, on each occasion introducing them to our special variety of mischief and astonishment that they had electricity, wheels and cars attached to such wheels !
When not ashore, there were many moments for quiet reflection as the rugged, remote scenery of the Hebrides gently (although on the odd occasion, rather roughly) passed us by. When not pondering the meaning of life and questioning why sea-water is so wet and how it manages to find its way into the most inconceivable places under your waterproofs, there was always the welcome presence of your ship-mates. In many ways, unless there was a mathmo or compsci aboard, it was the people on board who were just as important for a good trip as the boat itself. For any of you future ‘yachties’ , assuming that you’ve bothered to read thus far, just be sure that you can instigate a swift cure should you find yourself, as I did, sharing a cabin with a champion snorer (who incidentally assured me that he didn’t snore) !