‘Might there be a benefit in geographers and sailors coming together?
The Royal Cruising Club (RCC) has a long and proud history and is a broad church of both highly adventurous sailors, to whom ice-bound coasts, remote islands and rugged shores are no strangers, alongside those who find deep satisfaction in a close examination of their own coastline. As we sail, we gather information from every ocean of the world about harbours and anchorages, refuges and dangers to avoid, and through our charitable arm, the Pilotage Foundation, we publish it for the benefit of all sailors – so we are explorers too. Might there not be some benefit in the Royal Geographical Society (with IBG) and the RCC coming together? Despite being a committed sailor all my life, I am only too well aware of something lacking in a sailor’s approach to travelling. We take to our boats, prepare them for the worst the world’s weather has to offer, and head for the horizon, enjoying every change of sea and sky that nature offers. The dolphins, whales, even those damned seagulls are our companions, and we are on more than nodding terms with them all. When it comes to appreciating the ways of the seas, oceans, and marine wildlife we consider ourselves well educated.
Our deficiencies can arise once we hit land. When the boat is in harbour or at anchor, we tend to think our real task is over. We’ve faced the challenge and have come through it, and so let the holiday begin. Those senses which have been so finely tuned to every shift in the wind or change in the rhythm of the passing ocean swells, are stowed away the instant we step ashore. Of course, we will walk the towns, the beaches, the hills, and some, like Bill Tilman and Bob Shepton, will attempt the nearest peaks; but most of us arrive in the spirit of visitors, and certainly not with the eye of a geographer who will see in landscapes things which our eyes have never been trained to observe. We do our best, and put some effort in, but I have never sailed to a foreign shore and felt that in my time there I had gained anything close to a full understanding of it, as a true land traveller might.
But is it possible that explorers might be lacking something in their journeying too? Their ambition, like ours, might be to discover unknowns on faraway coastlines, but their travels begin at airports and the oceans are that inconvenient bit over which the Land Rover cannot take them.
It would appear that the mindset of the sailor and the explorer are – if I can be excused the expression in a geographical magazine – poles apart. But remembering that opposite magnetic poles attract, might there be some way in which each of us can make a contribution to the other’s adventures?
As an example: a few years ago I spent a couple of seasons circumnavigating Iceland. I chose to take with me, rather than a conventional crew, an accomplished artist. He did not know one end of a boat from the other, had not the slightest idea which rope to pull and when, and moaned when the unfamiliar ‘leaning over’ caused his watercolours to slide across the cabin floor.
I endured his grumbling, but relished his insights which gave new depths to my sailing experience. Where I saw only increasing waves as the wind freshened, he saw new shades of green emerging from the blackness of the troughs. One afternoon, when I was dozing below, he called me urgently to the cockpit: he wanted to share his thrill at spotting between the clouds, a patch of sky radiating the precise shade of blue he remembered from one of his favourite Nordic painters. These were conversations I had never had before on a boat, and felt richer for them.
Might there be similar exchanges that you, as travellers and geographers, can have with those of us who sail our boats? At its most basic, can we not offer you a lift to some otherwise inaccessible part of the world? Might we be able to enlighten you in the ways of the sea, and in return you inspire us with your specialised knowledge of the intricacies and subtleties of the approaching land?
Perhaps we need to talk. It is very easy to make the mistake of believing in stereotypes, so let me reassure you that we are not in the slightest bit like Captain Birdseye, and I am sure that very few of you claim to own a pith helmet. But like you, we are curious people, fascinated by the ways of the world which we choose to see through the prism of its seas. But your views intrigue us too. Might we not share them?