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Joining The
Crew
A look at hitching an extended
ride on a cruising
sailboat.
8/13/01
Aaron Sherrill (aka DaVooDooMan)
"I'm
going to live on a sailboat this summer," I told anyone that asked of
what I'd be doing after leaving (or is that "being told to
leave") my job of six years. Looking for a little adventure and
sailing experience, I gladly accepted my friends', the Parks, offer to
join them for an extended sail on their 40' Island Packet, Charbonneau.
"What do you mean 'live' on a sailboat?" most would ask,
"Where will you sleep? What will you eat? Where will you, well, you
know, DO it?
A couple of years ago, I found myself asking the same questions - I had no
idea that modern boats could be such comfortable, practical ways of seeing
the world. They truly are places to live, long-term, with most of the
conveniences, if not the comforts, of what most folks would call
"home."
I first got bitten by the sailing bug when I joined Blaine and Janet as
they picked up their new boat a couple of years ago - once you've stepped
foot aboard a sailboat, it's hard to put the feeling out of your mind -
it's like being on a distant island all the time, regardless of whether
you're in the Chesapeake, the Caribbean, or tied up to your home dock.
It's a welcome, slower paced life.
With that initial experience, I began a couple of years of sailing study,
boat show attendance, rabid subscription habits to any periodical even
remotely related to life on the water, charter trips, and finally, a
couple of classes at a sailing school. I wanted to assure that I truly
wanted to do this sort of thing - I quickly found out that I did.
So, joining "the crew" could be an expression that has a million
different definitions to a million different people, all of which are
partly to mostly accurate. Unless, however, you've moved onto a boat to
cruise with friends (or complete strangers) for an extended period
somewhat far away from your familiar world, you may not have the complete
definition of "crew." I'm still learning, myself.
In short, it's a lot like living with distant relatives for the summer,
away from home - There is a certain familiarity with the company, but they
have bizarre household habits and quirks that take a while to get used to.
Not impossible to adapt, just quirky.
But on second thought. that's doesn't quite cover it, either - You have
important responsibilities as a crew member - it's a full time job. So
"joining" is also like starting a new job with a company that
hired you for your agreeable personality, but intend to train you to
forget everything you've learned in college (none of us have ever been
there before, right?).
But the "getting used to things" combined with "learning
the ropes" doesn't explain why you also have to get comfortable with
a big dog leaping into your bunk when there's a thunderstorm, or knowing
how to throw a line to a complete stranger to assure that you don't drift
perilously in a busy lock, or even how much nutmeg to grate onto your
crewmate's Rum Punch at the end of great day's sail.
EVERY SINGLE THING you can think of - whether it be a tangible
thing, or a process or idea - has, when applied to the boat, at least one
or any combination of the following:
-
A
storage place.
-
A
method wherein it is stowed or tied or hitched to the boat.
-
A
single, optimum procedure to be followed for it's successful
execution.
-
An
overwhelmingly disastrous consequence if that procedure is ignored.
-
A
shelf life.
-
Limited
battery life.
-
A
funny (or sad) story about the time it was stowed, tied, hitched, or
executed incorrectly.
-
Moisture.
-
Salt.
-
A
lot of fun and adventure.
In
my brief time aboard, I can only comment on the few processes that I have
observed and in which I have participated. If I had to write a "How
To" guide at this stage, I'd probably sum it up with this statement.
"If you want to successfully crew on somebody else's boat, adapt,
with an open mind and the smallest amount of ego you can survive with, to
the personality of the boat, it's captain and crew. - You'll be a much
happier cruiser."
Thankfully, I have no interest in being in charge of anything or making
demands of my crewmates (if you want to be in charge - get your own boat.)
Being a good crew member is like being on a team in any other situation,
and as the adage says, "There's no 'I' in the word team." It's
more fun that way - I think life is more fun that way, actually.
Blaine and Janet have had over a year to get their processes and
procedures down - they can complete most tasks in the time that it takes
me to ask how to do it in the first place, so I usually try to observe,
ask questions, then observe and run through the task a second, and third
time while doing it alongside one of them. Once they have a comfort level
with my ability to perform the task, I'm generally left alone (though I
often catch one of them double-checking my work once done - no problem:
it's their boat: I'd do the same thing)
I intend to keep learning while on the boat, and for a long time
thereafter - it takes a long time to make a good sailor, and one should
never be in a hurry: have a rum punch and relax!
I leave you with a few tips for happy crewing - while on the boat, and, I
think, applicable to everyday life :
-
Learn
where everything goes, and help keep it there - this goes for
absolutely everything you see: once you're integrated into the daily
tasks
of the boat, nothing takes up more time than asking the captain and
crew
where the cheese grater goes when you have dish duty, or where the
dock
lines are when you're racing toward a tie-up at a fuel dock.
-
Unless
you already have one, develop a "sense of orderliness" in
just
about everything you do. It's not about being Felix Unger, it's about
avoiding your inner Oscar Madison - the limited space is better used
when
everything is in it's place, and all crew members can count on finding
this
or that where it's supposed to be.
-
Love
animals - for most of us, this is easy, but two big, loveable dogs
can be overwhelming if you're not used to their care, feeding, and
frequent
requests for scratching behind the ears. A lot of the boat's schedule
is
contingent on the dogs' need to go ashore, eat, etc. and
responsibility for
their comfort tends to fall on the entire crew. It's a labor of love,
really. Slobber is a small price to pay for the licks of love that
come from
Max and Bailey.
-
Be
flexible in all things: schedules, chores, expectations - all of these
will change with the weather, a crewmember's disposition, visitors, an
anxious dog, or another boat or a busy anchorage. You may be surprised
- a
change of destination or schedule more often than not reveals
something
wonderful and memorable that you would have missed had you rushed -
slow
down, Mon!
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