A friend said, ‘Don’t know why the lockdown should bother you. Isn’t this just what it’s like for your favourite way of sailing, solo, and not a soul nearby?’
|Impressment ... and impressive. It's often much more pleasant to have someone along on a voyage to, well, um, keep a good lookout .... Photo by Luisa Denu on Unsplash|
On land, comparatively, there’s so little to do.
At sea alone, one man – you – must do the work of several people, a crew, and no slacking.
A very large percentage of my sailing has been solo, and it’s a challenge I enjoy. This solitary land stuff though is very different. I live alone so if I conform to our glorious leaders’ edicts, I must stay alone.
|To Davey Jones ... This was a wonderful yacht I did lose after she ran into a submerged container close to the Roaring Forties.|
Or the risk is minimised as much as it can be.
That’s the philosophy, anyway, if any actual philosophy is involved in the way authority tries to keep from losing its taxpayers to this relatively new threat to life.
However, is sailing alone like living alone?
|Alone at sea allows for little time for relaxation or wandering about the decks vacantly wishing you weren’t solitary ...|
At sea, I must be constantly vigilant because the oceans might be huge, but so are ocean liners and merchant ships.
If a ship ran into me, the yacht would sink. Luck might let me survive the collision.
But it is highly unlikely the ship would offer help because its very unlikely the crew would even be aware of the strike.
Often yachts don’t show up on radar, and of course, officers on watch can’t be/won’t be on watch every minute.
Alone at sea allows for little time for relaxation or wandering about the decks vacantly wishing you weren’t solitary.
The vessel must be kept shipshape. Sails need adjusting many times a day, and they often need changing, larger or smaller, following the changes and strength of the elements.
The weather and barometer must be watched, the yacht’s sea-worthiness checked often. You can’t be lax because if a failure sinks the vessel, you’ll only have yourself to blame, assuming you survive long enough to recognise the blame.
At home, though, wishing such-and-such a friend would phone, or appear, or if only some divine form might ring the doorbell, involves the imagination, and little else.
Given the choice, let me use my solo time out there on the blue, instead of facing the blues all alone here in our locked down madness, oops, isolation.
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