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http://www.yachtingmonthly.com/podcastsAt sea, we must have confidence in every hand, boatyard
and factory that has ever touched our boat or her gear14 http://www.yachtingmonthly.com MARCH 2016
I
t’s been like hospital visiting, this winter.
Major abdominal surgery, complications,
expert consultants called in, conferences
about treatment plans, unfamiliar parts
exposed, stiff upper lips necessary all round.
Not anyone in the family, you understand:
just the boat.
Wild Song owed
us nothing, after her
9,000-mile journey to
Cape Horn and back,
followed by a quick fl ip
to Ireland, an abortive
assault on fogbound
Brittany and a journey
up-Channel for a winter’s work. But we owed
her plenty, even after the posh new set of sails.
She deserved a proper re-rig, new electrics and
instrument repeaters that actually work instead
of waving their little pointers hysterically before
slumping back to zero. The engine needed
thought, and there’s nothing like a good scrape-
around in the bilge to see what’s going on. Paul,
who is Chief Executive Offi cer (Maintenance)
as well as Master-under-God, had her hauled
out onto a riverbank ten minutes from home to
proceed with this programme of health checks
and spa-style beautifi cation.
Which is where the abdominal surgery
came in. Unexpectedly. A visible keelbolt
was corroded. The others were invisible, so
presumed equally corroded. Eeeek! After
prolonged cogitation we were treated to the
alarming but necessary sight of the lead keel
being completely removed and inspected. There
is nothing more unnerving than a modern boat
with the keel lying loose alongside her, even
if it then transpires that everything is fi ne,
and expertise is at hand to make the whole
thing even more solid than before. Having
grown up with long-keeled boats, I was not
really prepared to accept that fi n keels were
detachable at all. I couldn’t look. Indeed the
subsequent overhaul of the stern gland and the
discovery that actually a new engine would be
more sensible than hanging on to the old one
were quite relaxing in comparison.
But let other, more technical, voices go
into detail. I just pull the sails up and down,tend the sheets, look up courses and man the
wheel. It was all a reminder of the marvelous
degree of human trust in craftsmen, something
which colours every aspect of modern life. I get
furious when journalists prattle on about ‘the
death of trust’ and how we’re all cynical about
strangers’ motives and
goodness in an advanced
post-Christian urban
society. In reality, we
are almost ludicrously
trusting compared to
our Victorian ancestors
who checked their own
cartwheels and knew
their horses. We confi de our lives and families
to complex trains, planes, and roads, every
day: invisible technicians, builders, designers,
electricians and civil engineers hold our safety in
their hands, and we have to believe in their skill
and goodwill and conscientiousness. Just as on
the road, we entrust ourselves to fellow drivers
we will never know. As Sir Thomas Browne wrote
nearly four centuries ago, ‘It is in the power of
every hand to destroy us, and we are beholden to
every one we meet, he doth not kill us.’
So when we do take most of our fate in our
hands by going to sea, the boat beneath us must
be trusted. That means confi dence not just in
our own maintenance but in every hand, in every
yard and equipment factory, which ever touched
the ship or her gear. If anybody cuts corners,
makes a false economy or knocks off early,
somewhere far from land we could face disaster.
The odd thing is, I really like thinking about
that. And these refi t winters, when the innards
of our own boat and the Tall Ship that I sail
on are exposed, are good times to refl ect on
craftsmanship, conscience, trust and human
goodwill. Usually, we only read about this
relationship when someone – medical or
engineering – slips up and gets sued. It is good to
think about how often that doesn’t happen. W‘ We hauled her out for
a programme of health
checks and spa-style
beautifi cation’