As the 2011 season draws to a haphazard finish, it’s time to pause and reflect on the fun and games we’ve experienced this year. Back-to-back-to-back charters, captains with lunatic tendencies…it’s been the usual whirlwind of good times.

One theme in particular that’s worked to defrost the cold, stony walls of my heart (i.e. made me laugh a lot) has been related to those special captains who believe they’re the infallible master and commander of their vessel. Listening to woe-filled tales from senior and junior crew about those captains operating under the pretense that the bit of paper they got off the internet is sufficient for them to drive a yacht made me feel delighted that I’m not working crew anymore.

Take our charming Deckhand Dave. He worked on a motor yacht this summer with a captain who began training him up to do his Yachtmaster at the end of the season. Captain Carl was patient, diligent and keen to impart his 20 years of seagoing knowledge on young Dave’s malleable mind, and not at all in a perverse, feeling-up-in-the-engine-room way.

Young Dave was learning about navigation and lights and all sorts of smashing things when, one day, Captain Carl told Owner Olaf to shove his job where sunlight is seldom seen because of yet another disagreement over safety. It would seem that Owner Olaf had his own set of rules for being skipper. So, Deckhand Dave was then exposed to working alongside Owner Olaf’s newly appointed Captain Twit, who imparted upon him several precious nuggets of information regarding how to become a great captain. Just like him.

My particular favorite was the conversation regarding rules of the road, which I will regale for you now:

Captain Twit: Tell me, David. If there’s a 20-meter sailing yacht under sail off our starboard bow, who has right of way?

Deckhand Dave: Ah, that’s simple. They do.

Captain Twit: Wrong. We do. We’re bigger, silly boy. Next question. Sailing yacht under sail in a head-on situation, about to engage in a port tack. What should we do?

Deckhand Dave: Reduce speed, put the engines astern if necessary, wait to see if he commits to the tack and stay well clear?

Captain Twit: No. You’re not getting the hang of these rules are you? We blast one short sound of the horn and tell him to get out of the way. Last chance now. What’s the priority vessel between us and that fishing vessel?

Deckhand Dave: Ah, that’s easy. It’s the fishing vessel every time.

Captain Twit: Aha! I see you’re finally getting the hang of this. That is correct. And it’s correct because they’re a commercial vessel and working for their livelihood. But, what you should remember is that if we were a charter yacht instead of private yacht, and working for our living, we would then become the priority vessel and he’d have to get out of our way.

Genius, really. I did chortle, and maybe even guffaw a little bit, at that one. This coming from an captain who insisted on living aboard during a shipyard period and sunbathing on the foredeck once the yacht was up on dry dock, with contractors working around him. In his best budgie smugglers, no less.

Needless to say, young Dave has enrolled in some extra theory classes to make sure he’s fully genned up on not crashing needlessly into any commercial vessels anytime soon. Let’s hope he passes.

Another deckhand was informed by his captain that ISM coding was not required on his 50-meter motor yacht, nor a proper fire plan, MOB or abandon ship procedures, because they’re a Dutch-flagged vessel and private. That’s an interesting interpretation of the rules.

Yesterday, I met with a rather dejected first mate who’d simply had enough of his captain. He’d been forced to walk off the yacht, as he was fearful of losing his qualifications, especially having seen the dramas that unfolded this summer in Croatia with a motor yacht parked on a public beach and crashing into the docks. On the bright side, at least they’d remember where they parked.

First mate Freddy was anchored in a lovely, sun-lit bay whilst the guests enjoyed a leisurely lunch and a cooling dip. After all that exhausting loafing, the owner decided they were going sailing. Freddy pointed out there was very little breeze, but ever-agreeable Captain Chas countered with, “Let’s just sail off the anchor and go where the wind takes us.” Freddy replied, “Great stuff. I’ll start the engine and let it warm up, which will give enough time to that huge ferry to pass behind us. Then, we’ll be off.”

Unfortunately, the not-in-a-hurry idea went out the window when Chas said nope, told Freddy to pull up the anchor, put out the headsail and sail off now. (At this point in the story, I began to wonder if this captain was Twit’s brother.) The reason given was, “The ferry has to give way to us. We’re sailing.”

Freddy tried to point out that the ferry was entering a port and, as such, would be a bit restricted when it came to maneuvers. Chas became adamant they should get ahead of him, despite Freddy’s pleas for a bit of common sense. So, anchor up, sail set…but with no wind they began drifting into the ferry’s path. Poor old ferry slowed in a bid to avoid them and gave them the horn — the maritime equivalent of an obscene hand gesture, I should imagine.

At this point, the owner’s wife, who’d been busy sunning herself on the bow, glanced up — probably due to the enormous shadow now covering the sailing vessel — her face white with terror. The ferry managed, just, to dodge them. And then resulted a lovely exchange of rude words in Spanish, ensued between the captain and the ferry guys, whilst Freddy discretely started the engine, furled the sail and motored off. So, pretty much what he’d suggested in the first place.

You’ve got to love it, haven’t you? No wonder all crew are alcoholics. Oh, and crew agents. Once again, the yachting industry proves the point that you just can’t teach common sense.

Anita Valium used to be a relatively nice person before she was corrupted by the yachting industry. By day, she’s a mild mannered crew agent. By night, she continues her evil plot for world domination.

 

Tags: Anita Valium, captains