Nick jumps ship

Oh man! Nick is jumping ship. Really?

He has only been with us for a week but for me it has been fantastic to have a third person on board. The issues are HS’s sailing and HS’s attitude. HS doesn’t like to sail. Who woulda guessed? He spends his WHOLE shift downstairs in the ‘nav room’ not even, I am horrified to say, looking at the sails, not even, I am even more horrified to say, looking for boats. Also, he pretty much thinks he is god and talks down to everyone. I put up with this just because I am a wuss but Nick won’t. Wow. I had been being driven nuts but HS before but had decided, during this leg, that I would do the whole thing, basically because Nick is such a wonderful person, but, now, if he leaves, do I want to be here, on my own with HS again, and doing shift 12 hours a day instead of 8, and putting up with every little thing, and not even seeing the stars? Not an easy question to answer, not at all. And, I have to decide like, right now, because there is not another spot after this to get off easily!

                                                                    

Nick is an awesome sailor. He has a boat, which he sails on weekends, and he races, with a friend, for fun, and he just happens to be very very good at it. When he is racing with his friend his job is to adjust the sails. He doesn’t know, or care, what the course is. He doesn’t know or care what tactics are being considered or used. He doesn’t look down at the water, or around at the other boats, he looks up at the sails, and ‘tweaks’ them so that they are working efficiently. The team he is on wins regularly, and, without doubt, it is due to his input, because, on days he happens to be busy elsewhere, the boat doesn’t win, doesn’t even come close. In Ottawa there are several long distance races each year called the Horrible Hundred or something similar in which boats race 100 miles. Most boats do this with a team on board, since, usually, given the wind conditions on the Ottawa and the fact that a lot of tacking is involved, the races take anywhere from 25 to 50 hours to complete. Nick, just because he wants to, always does these races single-handed. And, despite a field of several dozen boats, he often as not comes in first. Because he is such a good sailor.

HS in contrast is not a good sailor. He doesn’t like sailing. He told me this several times before we set out but I didn’t believe him. How could you choose to sail round the world, and then go sailing again, if you don’t like sailing? It didn’t compute. However, it is true. HS’s modus operandi at sea is to throw the sails up and hope that they are good enough, not to look at them, or think about them. His boat goes slowly, all the time, because, he says, it is heavy and has a full keel. Both these are true. But not sufficient. HS, if he is going 4 knots per hour or more is happy. 4 knots per hour is the equivalent of 100 knots per day. If he is going less than 4 knots per hour he puts on the engine and motors.

This type of attitude drove Nick bananas. On Nick’s shifts we were always going at least 6 knots, often 7. Then HS would come on shift and in no time at all we would be going 5 and then 4 knots. One day the speed fell to 3 knots. ‘We’ll have to motor,’ HS said. ‘No,’ Nick replied, ‘you just have to adjust the sails. Let me show you.’ Nick, I must point out at this time, was, from my point of view, being very careful to be very respectful. He tweaked the sails, explained what he was doing, and presto, the boat was going 6 knots again. ‘Ah, the wind came up,’ HS said dismissively. (Which was not true.) ‘I don’t like to race,’ he went on, ‘I am happy if we are going 4 knots.’ At which point Nick could not help but point out, and again, I must stress, very respectfully, that he wasn’t trying to race, he was just trying to sail efficiently, that by encouraging the boat to go 6 knot all the time instead of just 4 you could do a passage in 4 days instead of 6, get to where you were going sooner, and even save diesel, which everyone agrees is expensive, by sailing instead of motoring when it wasn’t actually necessary to motor.

No consensus was reached.

For the next couple of days Nick spent his shifts sailing the boat well, going 6 knots or more, and HS spent his shifts down in the nav room, hardly even glancing at the sails, with the boat slugging along significantly slower. The same discussion was repeated more than once.

Nothing changed.

Several things drove Nick bananas. First and foremost among them was that HS ‘talked down to him’ all the time about everything (which HS also does to me, but, seeing as I know practically nothing, and am meek to boot, doesn’t get me as upset) but a close second was the way that he, HS, not only refused to acknowledge, at all, that Nick might actually have a point wrt efficient sailing techniques but actively ridiculed his suggestions.

I, of course, am stuck in the middle of the whole situation. I can see that Nick is right. I can empathize with how he feels. I also know that it is HS’s boat and that, as captain, he gets to decide how we sail. But it seems to me he is being a boor and am not sure exactly why. I deal with this, of course, by being silent on the issue, which is, for once, probably the right thing to do.

The end result, unfortunately, is that Nick is jumping ship. He will not say a word about HS’s attitude, or about sailing, but will instead tell HS that he misses his wife. Which is also true.

I will miss him.

I have decided I will stay. I have different reasons than Nick for being here. There are lots of people who have come to the Canaries to look for crewing positions. Yesterday alone three different people approached HS and asked if they could crew for him. I don’t know if HS, when he learns that Nick is leaving, will choose to take on new crew or not. Either way, I will stay. Either way I will miss Nick. I regret not learning more from him while he was here. I didn’t realize that I would have so little time to do so. We will have another three days here in the Canary Islands to explore and then we will be off again. Despite everything I am already looking forward to leg 2 and the challenges it will bring.

A white clouds flying day!

By morning, having weathered the weather, my confidence has risen dramatically. The line of squalls eventually passed us by completely, the clouds gave way to a constellation filled night sky, and that, in turn, lightened and brightened into a golden sunrise.

By the time HS gets up the wind is blowing a steady 15 knots right off the starboard beam, our most preferred wind speed and direction of all, it looks like it will be a fantastic sailing day, and dolphins are jumping and splashing beside the boat their exuberance perfectly mirroring my mood. ‘More sails,’ HS says, ‘time to put the main up again.’ I ask if I can do it, get told no, but persist, almost plead, point out that it is a lovely gentle day, that this is the perfect time for me to learn, that it will only take ten minutes. ‘Nick messed it up yesterday,’ HS points out (leaving unspoken what we both know, that Nick is a far more experienced sailor than me) ‘and it took forty,’ but I am so eager that HS can’t deny me a chance to try. The foresail, which is at the very front of the boat, and the mizzen, which is at the very back, can both be put up from the cockpit, their lines are either there or led back, but to put up the main you have to leave the cockpit walk along the narrow deck and up onto the top front part of the boat, who’s name escapes me at the moment, and fuss with various lines there. The lazy jacks have to be loosened without getting tangled in anything, which requires finesse, and then the main halyard has to be hauled on, which requires strength, and then winched, which requires more strength, and then the lazy jacks have to be re-tightened, and then the main halyard has to be coiled properly, and during all of this you, by which I mean whoever is doing it, is very exposed up on the highest part of the boat a long way from the safety of the cockpit, and, to make matters worse, while the main is being raised, the boat is turned into the wind which makes it buck pretty much like a bronco, and, bear in mind too, that the bucking makes it likely you will get covered with spray, the deck beneath your feet will become slick with salt water, and, since most of the jobs require two hands you will not be able to hold on to anything while working and being tossed about. I get the main up flawlessly, first try, set the sheet and preventer, perfectly, and just grin more broadly when HS mocks my happiness.

When I am safely back in the cockpit he goes below to get some more coffee but I stay out, sit in the sun, admire the view (sea and sky and a few white clouds flying) and luxuriate in the loveliness of it all. Eventually Nick wakes up and comes outside, fiddles a bit with the set of the sails to try and get all the tell tails flying perfectly, and life, I have to say, could hardly get any better. The wind is steady, the waves are small but the swell is huge (there must be a storm somewhere not too too far away), the blue sky is filled with gentle cumulus clouds, a flock of sea birds is swooping and diving for fish, and three very happy sailors are on board our boat. We are flying along at 6 knots now making good time and anticipating several days in a row when it will be just like this. I even convince HS to let me make a pot of chilli for supper. Yes, it is a good day!