Pocket Cruising
Big or small, good cruising is good cruising
My mother, who in 2018 decisively ended her battle with lung cancer on her own terms, left our family many legacies. Two of the best are a bungalow in the beautiful coastal village of Glandore in West Cork, Ireland, and a 22-foot gaff-rigged Cornish Shrimper called Seal Song. Seal Song was her pride and joy, and she daysailed it frequently with a rotating cast of characters, who patiently endured her tendency to get overexcited, and possibly panic, at the slightest hint of adversity. She did “cruise” it once, sailing with my father to nearby Castletownshend, where they spent exactly one night. Details of this close-quarters experience were mostly suppressed, but much might be inferred from the fact that this, as far as I know, was the only night they ever spent aboard together.
Still, for the past few years I have had the ambition to sail Seal Song somewhere nice and enjoy a night at anchor. I love figuring out how a boat best works for both sailing and living aboard, and despite Seal Song’s modest size she has two berths, a small camp stove, and a useful amount of storage space. Developing her as a pocket cruiser would be a lovely addition to summer life on Ireland’s south coast. Lots of things (COVID, for example, not to mention inertia, laziness and procrastination) got in the way. But earlier this week, Seal Song and I sailed with a group of friends for a campout on nearby Rabbit Island. While they slept ashore by a fire, I finally got my wish and spent my first night aboard.
As many cruises often do, it started with good company, a bottle of red wine, and the golden light of an imminent sunset. Add in the fact that it was all downwind to Rabbit Island, and you couldn’t hope for better inaugural cruise conditions. We sailed off the anchor, and anchored under sail, because the one primary modification I have made to Seal Song since my mother’s era is the removal of the outboard engine from its well. The outboard often didn’t start, I (and the bilge) somehow always ended up reeking with gasoline, and I knew Seal Song would sail much more sweetly without the weight and drag (another bonus is that the unoccupied outboard well makes for a convenient ondeck storage cubby).
So now Seal Song is a zero-carbon vessel, and demands all who sail aboard her pay attention to the forecast and think through arrival and departure maneuvers well in advance. If the wind dies, you can drift or paddle (and think deep thoughts, meditate, or drink, or do all three together). And if the forecast is very light, you can kayak the harbor waters instead. Engines are used to rush about and sideline nature; without an outboard, nature is back in charge and progress is what conditions grant. Which, to my way of thinking, is as it should be.
Shortly after we arrived at Rabbit, a motorboat arrived with three more campers, and we all went ashore. A surprise guest, Fintan, proved invaluable in getting a good fire going and setting up a proper bar. A fellow vegan, a doctor and adventurer who is come to be known as Plant-Based Tom, quickly set up a series of tents. A highly enjoyable cookout commenced.
After the stars had been turned on to full illumination, and a half moon was ascending, I made my excuses, eager to get back aboard to settle into a bunk (and also wary of the fact that I had anchored on a lee shore and the wind was still gusting into the 20s). The night was rapidly cooling, but it was cozy below. I laid out a sleeping bag, and was pleasantly surprised that I could stretch out my full length on the berth. However, it was quickly apparent that while one person could move around down below with only minimal yoga, two people trying to get into berths and maneuver themselves within the cabin would inevitably be kicking each other in the head (which perhaps explains my parents one-night stand).
I slept well, waking at 3 am to find the tide had fallen considerably more than I had expected. We remained clear of any rocks (barely), and I was very glad we had anchored a good ways off the beach. When my alarm sounded at 6 am, I set about making a thermos of coffee for the land party. This involved lighting the somewhat rusted and possibly leaking one burner propane camp stove and hoping that an explosion wouldn’t end my Seal Song cruising career at one night as well. Happily, it all worked without drama, and hot coffee was achieved (probably the single irreducible requirement for me aboard a boat).
After coffee ashore, there was time for one quick group selfie before the motorboat headed back to Glandore, taking anyone on a schedule. Tamsin and Eileen swam before joining me back aboard for the sail home. It was a sunny, relaxed beat back up the harbor, and we exchanged waves with the outgoing sailing vessel of the Irish Whale And Dolphin Society. To cap it off, we grabbed the mooring on the first pass.
Seal Song Cruise #1 is in the books. May there be many more.
Other Stuff:
1) Freya The Walrus “Euthanized”: The Norwegian authorities killed a walrus because too many people were ignoring pleas to give it space, and they feared a human might get injured. Freya was in her natural habitat (the sea). If humans insisted on getting close (no doubt to take lots of selfies and social media photos), then humans should take responsibility and accept the risk. Why should Freya’s life be taken in the name of “human safety,” especially when she was just doing what a walrus does and it was human behavior that was causing the problem? That’s a very messed up moral calculation, one which reflects the fact that we too often think of nonhuman species as things, whose lives are given little or no moral consideration relative to human interests.
2) Give Them Space #2: I think Freya’s fate is just part of a general phenomenon in which human presence is increasingly crowding marine mammals. When a whale can’t feed in peace…:
3) Give Them Space #3: And one more. “No injuries reported” apparently does not consider possible injury to the whale.
As an antidote, I’ll leave you with the following (which in its own way is also an example of invasive human behavior)…
4) Moment Of Zen: A blue whale heartbeat is…interesting. More here.
If you liked this post from Sailing Into The Anthropocene, why not subscribe here (free!), and/or hit that share button below? You can also find me on Instagram and Twitter.