Late breeze

Taken last summer whilst off Saltspring Island, one of the hundreds of islands off Vancouver Island, British Colombia, Canada.

First time I’ve ever been responsible for what happens on a boat of this size, (27’), always been crew before, and I’m buzzing with exhilaration. There are in fact three of us on board today, but Gadgetman is behaving like a moody teenager and is sulking in the cockpit, and Gadgeteen has a pre-arranged task he is determined to complete and anyway neither are sailors and have no prior experience.

My brother is on his 43’ boat a few hundred yards or so away having an equally fun time with the wind and the camera, and we have walkie-talkies if I come across a problem, though at the moment we keep “Yahooing” with glee across the airwaves.

I’m having a fantastic time and soak up the feel of the boat beneath me, how she responds to each touch on the tiller held between my inner thighs and I lean and sway to adjust to the heel of the boat, whilst keeping a watchful eye out for gusts and hazards. I buzz with being the one to decide our course and heading on each tack or when to go about. I am the one that knows to look up past that damn marquee thing over the cockpit, (I didn’t like it, it made me feel like I was in a car with the windows down!), to check for the slightest luff of the sails, or to keep a vigilant watch on all the other many boats out taking advantage of the weather. I really am in my element and euphoric to have this perfect evening breeze to take us to our anchorage, a couple of hours sail away, before it gets dark and without having to motor.

“Mummm, keep the boat level!” calls Gadgeteen. I laugh as I glance below into the cabin. He is trying to peel potatoes for the evening meal, and the saucepan keeps sliding from one side of the floor to the other with each slight variation in wind strength and subsequent levelling or heeling of the boat.

“Gust coming,” I call, and he hangs on to the saucepan yet again.

He soon gives up and comes on deck, carrying said saucepan. Despite my warning, he chooses to sit on the windward side and tries to peel potatoes. Naturally all the peelings keep flying back at him instead of into the saucepan.

He gives up for a while.