Messing About On Boats

by Jenny Sanders

“Believe me my young friend, there is nothing –absolutely nothing – half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.’

These are the words of the, oh-so-wise Ratty, in Kenneth Grahame’s wonderful classic, The Wind in the Willows, as he expresses unbridled amazement that his landlubbing friend, the Mole, has never in his whole life been in such a craft.

My childhood was interspersed with stories about boats, and the sense of magic or adventure they could inspire. Captain Pugwash, was the bumbling pirate who was always trying to outwit his nemesis, Cut Throat Jake. Julian, Dick, and Anne, together with their cousin George and Timmy the dog, were forever rowing off to Kirrin Island in some Famous Five mystery or another. Treasure Island threw in a good dose of more pirates and treasure, while The Voyage of the Dawn Treader even boasted a dragon. Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn had their share of fun on and in the water, and then, as the years passed, I discovered Moonfleet, Robinson Crusoe, Three Men in a Boat, The Old Man of the Sea, and even the somewhat interminable, though-somehow-stilla-classic, Moby Dick.

Unlike my fictional childhood heroes, I didn’t have an island to visit in my school holidays; solving mysteries never happened and all out adventures were thin on the ground in 1970s Surrey. Although the family spent time on Sidmouth beach in south Devon each summer, horror stories of children drifting out to sea on inflatable lilos discouraged us from pursuing such activities.

However, I did have a secondary school friend whose family owned one of those orange blow up dinghies. I remember the sunny day when I joined them at Virginia Water, near Runnymede (of Magna Carta fame), for a picnic and waterbased fun. But what I recall most vividly, is the empty feeling in the pit of my stomach as I watched the white plastic head of one of the rudimentary oars dislodge itself and disappear, apparently in slow-motion, sashaying down through the muddy water into murky oblivion.

I felt nothing but unbridled panic. Had it been my own family, I knew I would have been in Big Trouble. The fact that this equipment belonged to someone else simply increased my anxious foreboding. Perhaps this would truly prove to be the unforgivable sin. Owning up was a sobering experience but, perhaps for the first time, I truly experienced grace. No blame was thrown on my young shoulders at all. Instead, there was a nonchalant shrug, combined with a, ‘These things happen;’ followed by an affirming, ‘It’s just stuff,’ pronouncement that let me off scotfree. The relief was overwhelming. It was a seminal moment for me.

The same friend and I enjoyed many pleasurable hours paddling colourful canoes across the picturesque lakes of Ashburnham House, in Sussex; the venue of our youth group’s annual Easter house parties. Others paired off and went on romantic walks; those fortunate individuals with their own cars, took friends out for trips to local historic towns and scenic spots. But we wouldn’t have swapped our lake-times for anyone or anything. We discovered the truth of Ratty’s words, revelling in the freedom of choosing which direction to head, taking in the extraordinarily beautiful scenery, or drifting along while gazing at the oh-so-welcome blue skies of spring.

It’s a fascinating and enduring fact that people are drawn to water. Is it because of the way it moves, I wonder? A living, active, everchanging element of nature, beneath which we imagine the interactions of a parallel, mysterious world.

Whether we run down to the sea, set up camp by a lake, or plunge into a river or stream, there is an attractional pull that’s difficult to resist. And why would we? This is where we find space to relax, allow our accumulated stress to melt away and our mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual cobwebs to be blown away. Here we breathe more deeply, slowing our heart rate and restoring a sense of well-being. Here, as Grahame’s water rat so astutely points out, ‘Whether in winter or summer, spring or autumn, it’s always got its fun and its excitements.’

For the lucky few who live in coastal areas, the health benefits are well recorded. Indeed, it’s not so many years ago that people in England, certainly, would travel to the seaside and spa towns to take to the waters for the sake of their health. Nowadays, wild swimming has become increasingly popular, and that certainly doesn’t require a boat of any sort.

I am fortunate to have enjoyed the delights of boats on the fjords of Norway, and the lakes of Switzerland, a schooner on the Red Sea and, both the Suez Canal and the Mediterranean from the pampered indulgence of a cruise liner. However, one of my favourite experiences of messing about in a boat came in the autumn of 2018.

My husband and I had some work commitments in the east and discovered that, with a bit of clever admin, we could save a considerable amount of money by continuing around the world on flights, rather than simply buying a return ticket and retracing our flight path. By flying on, instead of back, we would have the happy opportunity to visit friends in both Australia and Canada.

Our friends have lived in Sydney for several years, raised their kids and started a business together. But what really floats John’s boat (quite literally) – if he isn’t surfing, or teaching others – is to compete in the Sydney-Hobart yacht race. He’s pretty good at it too.

How privileged were we then, when one of the yacht owners for whom John sails, allowed him to take us out one Saturday across Sydney harbour? My goodness, it was fun! Together with some other friends, we weighed anchor, hoisted the mainsail (I think) and struck out for deeper waters.

There’s something entirely different about being on a boat with your friends from being with a bunch of passengers with whom you have no connection and will, in all probability, never see again. We laughed a lot. We took note of the multiple ferries scuttling around the bay, admired the immensity of a cruise ship which was preparing to leave the sunny shores, and were suitably impressed by the multi-million-dollar yacht being put through its paces by a skilled crew on the other side of the harbour. We pulled our layers of clothing tightly round ourselves as the wind picked up beyond the shelter of the immediate coastline and were grateful to have at least one person on board who knew what they were doing.

We admired Sydney Opera House from a completely different angle, and sailed right out under the iconic bridge, where we turned around to avoid the choppier open water and ocean currents, before edging our way back towards the shore.

I’ve never had any great ambition to skipper a boat, and would have no idea what to do with all those ropes, jibs and spinnakers; but when offered the wheel, how could I refuse? For a few glorious moments, I sailed that beautiful yacht, the wind at my back and the biggest smile plastered across my face. Briefly, I had a glimpse of the fun people have in their largerthan-life toys. At the first sniff of a storm I think I might be scampering back to the safety of land, but that’s the joy of a day trip, right?

Owing to a slight snafu in our logistics, between us we’d failed to bring enough food for a proper picnic. Undeterred, one of our number –a renowned paddle board lover – availed himself of the equipment which was, fortuitously, on board. He set off at a cracking pace between the boats at anchor on the southern rim of the harbour and to, what he assured us, was the best fish and chip shack in the area.

We passed the time in a suitably relaxed fashion while the kids fished and helped him clamber back aboard with the parcel of fabulous smelling lunch carefully wrapped and wedged beneath his life jacket. I have seldom seen such a red belly! We tucked in with vigor, our food none the worse for its voyage. A simple but satisfying feast, which has lodged in my mind as one of the most memorable picnics we’ve ever enjoyed.

Like Ratty’s friend the Mole, we were temporarily, ‘Absorbed… intoxicated with the sparkle, the ripple, the scents and the sounds and the sunlight’ and it was magical indeed.

While I have no aspirations to own a boat or race a yacht, I have no doubt that Ratty knew what he was talking about and am content to revisit that special memory from the safety of land. Who knows, there may be time to make some more of them and shout, ‘Land Ahoy!’ again before we

Jenny Sanders is a writer, speaker, encourager and mentor. She loves writing, reading and walking in nature whenever she can. For the past several years she’s lived between the beautiful cities of Bath, UK and Cape Town, S Africa. Her exciting and humorous new children’s book The Magnificent Moustache and Other Stories is now available published by The Conrad Press.