Danny Jo
Well-Known Member
Horatio Nelson is reported to have suffered from it, every time he went to sea. Many others are afflicted, but won't admit to what is surely the curse of the casual sailor. Denial seems to be de rigeur, involving such euphemisms as:
- It's taking me longer than usual to get my sea legs
- It's a bit lumpy out here - what say we call it a day and try again tomorrow?
- Not up to much today, I'm afraid - hell of a night last night / I'm not sure that last night's curry agrees with me
- If it's alright with you I'll nip below for forty winks
- Yes, I know it's my turn to make the tea - I'm just waiting 'til we're out of these overfalls
My standard excuse is that the Irish sea North of Anglesey is shallow, with an uneven bottom, so that the tides rushing to and fro make the sea lumpy. (Out of six passages to Port St Mary, for example, I have tested the acid resistance of the topside paintwork no less than three times.) However, this explanation clearly wouldn't wash on a recent trip from Troon to Campbeltown, so I've learnt to just throw up and shut up.
One thing I have noticed, though, is that I am only ever afflicted when I have taken a well known remedy (let's call it Geronstu - to avoid embarrassing potential sponsors, you understand). This does not of course prove that Geronstu is making me puke, because the comparison is likely to be subject to selection bias, with apologies for the statistical jargon. But on Freestyle's recent great northern expedition (which, on account of running out of crew, only got as far as Inveraray) I noticed that after Geronstu days, I needed only a third of my regular dose of ethanol to achieve a state of, er, mental equilibrium. Moreover the following day found me more inclined than usual to say "I don't like the sound of that small craft warning". So I locked the stuff away and found it wasn't so hard to cope without the autopilot, just so long as I didn't spend too long playing, sorry practicing, RYA yachtmaster navigation techniques. (Marvellous things, these handheld GPS sets.) Only trouble is, if the skipper hogs the wheel all day, the crew get increasingly restive and start demanding complicated things like soup.
My apologies if this subject has been aired recently, but any advice would be appreciated.
Mark
PS On rereading, I spot an ambiguity. The "stuff" referred to above is Geronstu, not whisky.
- It's taking me longer than usual to get my sea legs
- It's a bit lumpy out here - what say we call it a day and try again tomorrow?
- Not up to much today, I'm afraid - hell of a night last night / I'm not sure that last night's curry agrees with me
- If it's alright with you I'll nip below for forty winks
- Yes, I know it's my turn to make the tea - I'm just waiting 'til we're out of these overfalls
My standard excuse is that the Irish sea North of Anglesey is shallow, with an uneven bottom, so that the tides rushing to and fro make the sea lumpy. (Out of six passages to Port St Mary, for example, I have tested the acid resistance of the topside paintwork no less than three times.) However, this explanation clearly wouldn't wash on a recent trip from Troon to Campbeltown, so I've learnt to just throw up and shut up.
One thing I have noticed, though, is that I am only ever afflicted when I have taken a well known remedy (let's call it Geronstu - to avoid embarrassing potential sponsors, you understand). This does not of course prove that Geronstu is making me puke, because the comparison is likely to be subject to selection bias, with apologies for the statistical jargon. But on Freestyle's recent great northern expedition (which, on account of running out of crew, only got as far as Inveraray) I noticed that after Geronstu days, I needed only a third of my regular dose of ethanol to achieve a state of, er, mental equilibrium. Moreover the following day found me more inclined than usual to say "I don't like the sound of that small craft warning". So I locked the stuff away and found it wasn't so hard to cope without the autopilot, just so long as I didn't spend too long playing, sorry practicing, RYA yachtmaster navigation techniques. (Marvellous things, these handheld GPS sets.) Only trouble is, if the skipper hogs the wheel all day, the crew get increasingly restive and start demanding complicated things like soup.
My apologies if this subject has been aired recently, but any advice would be appreciated.
Mark
PS On rereading, I spot an ambiguity. The "stuff" referred to above is Geronstu, not whisky.