Show Some Respect

Ou’ve no doubt heard the saying “there are old sailors and there are bold sailors, but there are no old, bold sailors.” Well, actually there are a good many older sailors— racers, high-latitude explorers and so on—who have been plenty bold in their lifeti

Nevertheless, it’s as well to heed cautionary axioms such as this, clichŽd as they are. They are basically a call for the application of common sense to the decisionmaking process, something that can be sadly lacking for a variety of reasons.

One such is inexperience, which is a condition we all begin with. If you’re unaware of latent dangers, you’ll blithely get yourself into situations that wiser sailors steer well clear of. Anchoring on too short a scope, attempting a shoaling channel on a falling tide, getting caught out with too much sail up—that sort of thing.

The opposite of that is hubris, which is a trap awaiting even the most experienced sailors. That’s the kind of conceit or overconfidence that can lead to disaster— successfully performing risky feats often enough that the perception of danger becomes diminished. Eric Tabarly, one of the greatest sailors of the modern age, was swept overboard in a run- ofthe- mill gale while engaged in the mundane task of tying a reef in his boat’s mainsail, something he’d done countless times in decades at sea. No lifejacket, no harness, no tether: just confidence in his knowledge of his boat and his seamanship. That’s hubris for you, pride coming before the fall. Not that I’m pointing an accusing finger at Tabarly— people who live in glass houses, etc. I reckon hubris is a bigger killer of sailors than inexperience.

I thought about this the other week after I took a total newbie out sailing. The look on his face when the boat dipped her rail toward the water during a random gust was of naked fear for an instant, replaced by relief when the gust passed and the boat assumed a more civilized angle of heel. For the rest of the afternoon I noticed that he thought carefully about his movements, always seeking the next handhold as he moved around the cockpit, even as his perception of the boat’s movements grew.

In turn, this made me think about my own movements: the way I gauge the roll of the boat while walking along the side decks to avoid having to reach for the grabrails, hang onto the boom with one arm when adjusting the genoa’s leechline, or brace myself against the shrouds to leave both hands free to deal with the mainsail; in particular how risky all of this could be were I not so familiar with the boat and its ways. Hubris? Of course. If I could choose one thing to have in common with Eric Tabarly, it certainly wouldn’t be that. s