What will we do with the drunken sailor?
How adventures come in all shapes and sizes. Experience leads to confidence. And, Is it ok to leave your drunken first officer arm-wrestling a local fisherman on the shore in bad weather?
I’ve only ever driven a dinghy twice, and both times overcooked the approach.
The first time was a few years ago when I hit a pontoon and bounced off the side nearly beaching it with my friends on board; a bit embarrassing and something they always bring up insight of a dingy. I still don’t think it was that bad.
The second, was earlier that day on my first “dinghy lesson” where I came up slowly to the companionway ladder and with flashbacks to the time before, turned the throttle the wrong way, speeding off into the distance I pretended to practice my circles again… that’ll fool them.
Lesson learned, “I’ll nail it next time,” I thought.
Later that evening we sat all together cozy in the galley telling stories of the trip and playing Catan as the weather closed in. The sea state got choppier swaying our 43-meter, 103-year-old ship back and forth as the game continued. Pausing to check the anchor every 30 minutes or so as the rain hit the galley roof and trickled down the portholes. It made it cozier inside, and more reluctant to venture out.
Luckily for everyone else, I was might anchor watch tonight so I was the only one that had to go outside.
At 9 pm we got our first message…
“I am making public relationships within the guys ashore… Fishermen coming home after the catch. They claim we are a yacht… Arm is getting tired… When could I get a dinghy back to the ship… by latest… I still have to arm wrestle to demonstrate that we are not a yacht but a cargo ship”
We all chuckled and loved the loyalty to the way of life he loved so much. The messages intermittently kept coming.
“Let me know a time for a dinghy… English fishermen are tough and I am getting tired”
Replying to many items we didn’t get an acknowledgement. Then I said a time of 10:30 pm and got ready.
“Send me a healthy willing and eager to ship’s routine shipmate to the pier please from now or at any time”
I knew it was a bit bumpy outside when the captain asked me quietly “Are you sure you want to? You don’t have to!”. Without thinking, I blurted out “If Captain Cook can find Australia at 40, I can make it to Brixham (1nm away, or 1852m) at 32. But, thanks for asking”. I knew I didn’t have to go, but I wanted to challenge myself.
And, as a chief member of the fake-it-till-you-make-it crew and being the forever optimist, and kept the volume of my trepidation quiet.
I donned my wet weather gear, full oil skins, popped on a head torch, threw a radio over my shoulder (that I didn’t know how to use), and climbed down to start the dingy. There was a large pool of water in the base. I was told I could get out by pulling the plug as I went along “but you have to go fast”, so that was out and I started bailing as the Captain climbed down the steps.
My phone pinged just before I set off.
“Someone healthy, someone strong… god have mercy on us. We still have an ocean to cross”
First, I had to drop off a visiting Captain back at his ship 0.5nm away into a headwind back out to sea. Like many Dutch people I’ve met, he was chilled and cheerful. He told us tall stories of sailing around the Great Lakes. An adventurous soul who I liked immediately. Constantly feeling like a child I nervously said “I’ve only learned today” double checking he was ok with me taking him. “All got to learn sometime”, he said confidently.
We set off into the onshore headwinds and directly into choppy waves that splashed over the bow. I tried not to go too fast as the waves and the wind whipped our faces.
It felt like it took an age to get there as we held on tightly. I was conscious not to throw this captain overboard as I nervously came alongside his huge, huge, tall ship.
He jumped off in a James Bond-style move giving me a nod and a smile, a smile that said “That was fun wasn’t it”. I composed myself. Then continued on 1.2nm to the harbor on my own.
Starting slowly I turned the throttle more and more as I went. At higher speeds, the dinghy flattened out and felt more in control. I held the forward line tightly with one hand as I skipped along the waves repeating “You’re ok. Don’t panic, don’t panic” in my head as I took the bumps bending my knees like a jockey.
Big gusts would catch under the dinghy sending me off course with the bow high into the air. I leaned forward to keep it down, extending my forward leg midships the best I could to level it out. The rain poured onto my face and seeing the green and red market buoys into the harbor was a challenge.
Passing the harbor wall to my left, everything calmed. I slowed down and swung around in a curve making sure the green buoys were on the port side (right-hand side). Surfing the dinghy on the bow waves of a big bright fishing vessel that went into the harbor before me. I smiled and had fun as the harbor lights danced around the ripples in the water.
I felt alive, capable, and confident. That I can do a lot more than I thought. How safe we live our lives on land. And, to take responsibility, back yourself, and be confident to show authority is a beautifully empowering thing.
Pulling up smoothly to the pontoon I nailed the landing for the first time.
A very drunk first officer without a coat stumbled down the pontoon ramp and closer to the dinghy. I jumped off to help him in. He fell in and sat on the bow. In the heat of the moment, I forgot his life vest. He pretended to be sober like all good drunk people; his eyes and head rolled around. I offered him my life vest but he kindly declined. I checked if he was ok.
Setting off it started to rain more. Getting out of the harbor water splashed over the sides again. I sped up gingerly and could just make out the top of the ship's anchor light against the backdrop of the busy town lights. My eyes fixed on the light as our bodies bounced around once more.
We arrived at the ship and I looped around in a wide arc. Approaching slowly we came alongside. I flicked the engine to neutral but coasted in short to short of the ship. As I swapped back to drive a shipmate came out to take the lines. Before we could throw them, I turned the throttle the wrong way and sped into another circle.
“Never hurts to practice your circles” I giggled, but now wasn’t the time. We came around again and I pushed the first officer up the ladder and onto the ship.
We heaved the dingy up out of the water, jumping back in to pull the plug to drain this now huge puddle.
By this time I had never crossed an Ocean or walked across the empty quarter but Thessinger's words rang true.
“satisfaction in attaining a goal was directly in proportion to the hardship and challenge involved in getting there”
It also remained that it doesn’t have to be big to be an adventure. It’s anything of the unknown. Often they can be close to home.
As for what to do with a drunken sailor, fill his belly with leftovers and hot coffee.
Having a patient ear to listen to doesn’t hurt either. Remembering we’ve all been wasted and said things so a hearty amount of compassion goes down well…
Just as long as you don’t scrub his belly with a rusty razor.