LittleSister
Well-known member
Have you ever mutinied? Or had your crew mutiny?
I thoroughly agree that, in principle, every boat must have a skipper, and the crew must defer to the skipper's judgement. Otherwise chaos and confusion will reign. But there are times when one cannot bear to stand on principle!
Writing in another thread reminded me of the only time I recall having purposefully and significantly gone against the skipper's orders.
We were sailing back from Brittany (where we'd been for the Brest '92 festival, since you ask), and were somewhere out in the Western Channel at night heading towards England. I was alone in the cockpit, doing the night shift. (My traditional role when sailing with that friend, who was skipper/owner. He would tend to conk out about 9.30 - 10pm, and put my ability to stay up all night down to a misspent youth of all-night parties that was, sadly, only slightly true.)
It was a dark but mild and clear night, and I had been keeping an eye on a distant vessel's lights dead ahead, and as it got closer struggled to make out from its lights what it was and what it was up to, firstly through the bins, then later by direct eyeball. I could see a jumble of red, white, green, and perhaps even yellow lights that I couldn't make any sense of. I called up the skipper who'd been fast asleep below with his girlfriend. We sat and watched and discussed as we got nearer, but no clearer as to what it might be. Fishing? Military? 'Operations'?
We couldn't tell exactly how far away it was (no radar, and long before AIS), but it was definitely getting closer, and me increasingly nervous. I suggested I'd alter course to keep clear of it. The skipper hummed and hahed about that for a bit, as this thing got closer and closer, and me more agitated, and eventually said 'Let's hold our course and get a bit closer, so we will at least find out what it is'. I just said '**** that", and put the tiller over.
He was absolutely fine about it, and just laughed and made a joke about me refusing orders. As we passed with it now off to one side, and viewed it from a different angle, we deduced it was probably, but not definitely, some kind of fishing vessel with a lot of extraneous lights, and more or less stationary and therefore no threat to us at the now increasing distance from us.
He retired back to his bed, and I, now able to relax again, settled down to enjoy shepherding the boat plodding steadily onwards through the night towards breakfast time and, eventually, Old Blighty.
I thoroughly agree that, in principle, every boat must have a skipper, and the crew must defer to the skipper's judgement. Otherwise chaos and confusion will reign. But there are times when one cannot bear to stand on principle!
Writing in another thread reminded me of the only time I recall having purposefully and significantly gone against the skipper's orders.
We were sailing back from Brittany (where we'd been for the Brest '92 festival, since you ask), and were somewhere out in the Western Channel at night heading towards England. I was alone in the cockpit, doing the night shift. (My traditional role when sailing with that friend, who was skipper/owner. He would tend to conk out about 9.30 - 10pm, and put my ability to stay up all night down to a misspent youth of all-night parties that was, sadly, only slightly true.)
It was a dark but mild and clear night, and I had been keeping an eye on a distant vessel's lights dead ahead, and as it got closer struggled to make out from its lights what it was and what it was up to, firstly through the bins, then later by direct eyeball. I could see a jumble of red, white, green, and perhaps even yellow lights that I couldn't make any sense of. I called up the skipper who'd been fast asleep below with his girlfriend. We sat and watched and discussed as we got nearer, but no clearer as to what it might be. Fishing? Military? 'Operations'?
We couldn't tell exactly how far away it was (no radar, and long before AIS), but it was definitely getting closer, and me increasingly nervous. I suggested I'd alter course to keep clear of it. The skipper hummed and hahed about that for a bit, as this thing got closer and closer, and me more agitated, and eventually said 'Let's hold our course and get a bit closer, so we will at least find out what it is'. I just said '**** that", and put the tiller over.
He was absolutely fine about it, and just laughed and made a joke about me refusing orders. As we passed with it now off to one side, and viewed it from a different angle, we deduced it was probably, but not definitely, some kind of fishing vessel with a lot of extraneous lights, and more or less stationary and therefore no threat to us at the now increasing distance from us.
He retired back to his bed, and I, now able to relax again, settled down to enjoy shepherding the boat plodding steadily onwards through the night towards breakfast time and, eventually, Old Blighty.
