On the 72 foot OYC Taikoo again,
this time for a weekend cruise
in May. The weather couldn’t
make up its mind whether it
should still be winter and cold
or spring and warm. By the
Saturday evening it had turned
muggy with a light wind and we
were making our way slowly up
towards Tarbert, Loch Fyne. The
remains of sun was lighting up
the thinning cloud but not
breaking through it. The
remains of a depression out to
the west of Ireland was giving
the sea a kind of flat oily
appearance, that seemed to
sludge over the swell, which
could be slight for a time, then
every now and again would deepen
and give a slow, wallowing,
corkscrew heave to Taikoo. Not
often. Just now and then.
Our young crew had
settled in well from joining on
the Friday night and the varied
weather had allowed them to
start getting their sea-legs
without too much discomfort. I
was pleased with my watch: a
fairly experienced 17 year old
lad who sailed regularly with
OYC, a girl of about the same
age who had sailed for years
with her parents who were keen
cruising folk and a girl in her
mid-twenties who, though she had
never sailed in larger boats,
was a successful dinghy sailor.
With the slow progress
due to the light wind the
skipper had called a cockpit
conference and given the crew
the choice of either getting the
evening meal ready and eating
while underway and being cleared
up on arrival – or wait till we
got to Tarbert to eat and clear
up, making it pretty late before
we could get ashore.
Eating underway was
the unanimous decision of the 12
crew, Skipper and two Mates.
The duty cooks had
already started the initial
preparations for the meal so
they just had to shift into a
higher gear to get things ready
that bit earlier.
My watch was on duty
when the call came that the meal
was ready. To speed things up I
told the two 17 year-olds to go
and eat with the rest. When they
had finished they could come up
and take the helm and lookout
while I and the less experienced
dinghy girl could have our
meal.
When the other two had
finished eating the girl took
the helm and the lad stood
lookout and stand by. As the
last of the sun was coming
through the lessening clouds
like spokes of a cartwheel, my
watch-mate and I decided to eat
on deck. Mugs of soup and thick
slices of buttered bread were
handed up and hungry as we were,
they went down very well. When
finished and waiting for the
main course we both stood up and
moved to the sidedeck and
chatted away.
The main course was Spaghetti
Bolognaise and we were given
large plates of hot, spicy
food. I finished mine and asked
if there was any left. There
was – and another plate of
spaghetti was passed up and I
said to my companion ‘God. I am
enjoying this.’ ‘ It is good’
she said but would just finish
what she had.
Between eating and
nattering I hadn’t really
noticed that the swell had
slowly returned and increased.
As my colleague had been quiet
for a wee while I looked up and
saw that she had turned that
significant pea-green colour. I
asked her ‘Are you all right?’.
She replied ‘ Oh yes, I’m fine ‘
and valiantly started twisting
her fork around a long length of
spaghetti. Three things
happened then: accidentally I
noisily slurped my forkful of
food, the swell gave the boat
one of those horrible heaves and
my watch-mate erupted pasta and
minced meat.
Strangely, there was
nothing on the deck. Not a
piece of anything. Then I saw
why. I had been wearing the
short version of sea-boots with
the wide calf. Every bit of
discarded Italian speciality had
shot inside one of my little
boots leaving some spaghetti
tails to make me think of – ‘the
wellie with the fringe on the
top.’
To the female
volcano’s weak apology, I
muttered ‘ Think nothing of it,’
and uncomfortably sogged below
to change.