By then, I was living in the south of Spain and yachting year-round from the Bay of Gibraltar, which was a global hub for sailors. Regatta racing was a big part of the scene, so was a good way to test my skills and experience on various kinds of yachts — Pristine Nautor Swans, heavily built Hallberg-Rassys and nimble J-Boats, plus many ordinary production yachts that flocked from northern Europe to escape the harsh winters. I particularly enjoyed regularly borrowing a Sadler 26 — a solid design by the brilliant Jeremy Rogers of Contessa fame. Rogers’ yard had built about 800 Contessa 32s, including one that survived the carnage of the 1979 Fastnet, when 18 drowned.
My wife and I would jump aboard it and leave Europe, bound for Africa. A mere 10 miles away, once we'd dodged the myriad ships on one of the world’s busiest shipping lanes, was the Strait of Gibraltar. During one memorable crossing, I went below to the head, leaving my dearest on the helm. Returning from the head, I noticed the view from the saloon window was all grey, which perplexed me, so I darted topside to see a large container ship idling to starboard. Staring at my helmswoman, she blurted out, “Well, we have right of way, dammit!” So, collision regulations were another learning process.
SAIL AND DELIVER
Along the Mediterranean and the burgeoning Costa Del Sol, marinas were packed with yachts in the 1990s and many of them required delivery crew as owners moved between regions and islands. I remember a bouncy new Bavaria delivery in growing swells as its spade rudder struggled to grip while we pushed it hard past the grand city of Valencia. It was a salutary lesson in learning the difference between light displacement fin keelers and more substantial boats such as that solid Sadler 26 that I skippered. Sailing alone and the occasional solo race taught me a whole new concept of yachting: reef early, balancing the trim precisely and of course, safety. Solo spinnaker handling was perhaps the toughest skill learnt in those single-handed voyages, which tested my speed and agility, especially on my small yacht.
DINGHY RACING
The ultimate test of speed and agility was the dinghy racing scene which I was heavily involved in as Race Officer of our club in Gibraltar. Racing two man and solo dinghies honed so many skills. One highlight was competing internationally in the Laser Class which was an incredible experience, but my favourite boat was my own Albacore two man dinghy. Our fleet of 12 ran hotly contested races throughout the year. Most daunting was one winter race which required us to go offshore in these 14-foot dinghies: the Brewhawk Race.
It ran on New Year's Day, so the wintertime Gibraltar Strait guaranteed a bumpy ride as we raced to the offshore mark. One memorable year, bad weather caused my wife and crewmate to decline, so I press-ganged a friend with limited sailing experience. Ensuring he was fully clad in oilskins and lifejacket, we beat towards the mouth of Gibraltar Bay, the lightweight Albacore gaily climbing the swells until we tacked then ran for home. With too much wind for even the chicken chute, our smallest, we sped across the swells with poled-out jib. But as the water shallowed, so the swells grew, while our speed surged from the wind bouncing off the Rock of Gibraltar. Down one swell we sped, but at its bottom, continued our downward trajectory, spearing right into the leading wave, instantly engulfing most of the Albacore.
Thankfully, the buoyancy tanks held, despite us capsizing. My red-haired crewman, Sean, and his bright orange oilskins looked luminous against the cloudy sky as he flailed. I shouted and instructed him on how to swim ahead to point the bow into the wind, then gather the mainsheet and haul on it while pulling on the centreboard with his feet. He was tiring and swearing as only an angry Glaswegian could do but eventually, the Albacore obliged and rolled back up, while I skipped back in from the upturned hull as it did so. Underway again, I was relieved and my crewmate was safe, if shivering a lot. Then he turned to me and just stared before a mouthful of expletives erupted. “You bastard, you're not even f***ing wet!!”
So, the voyage to reaching Yachtmaster experience was long, winding and sometimes fun. Now it came down to 24 hours at sea to get the coveted ticket that would give me global credentials and insurance certification for professional skipper work with charter companies and most of all, validation of my abilities.
NORTH AFRICA EXAMINATION
My exam preparation had been extensive and required gaining several certificates. The most involved one was the Yachtmaster theory examination pass; done in classroom conditions and covering meteorology, tides, position fixing, passage planning, collision regulations and more. It was a comprehensive way of checking your readiness for the practical exam. Other certificates gained included a VHF radio certification and first aid course completion. However, theory and practice are two very different things, so being under pressure at sea was the ultimate test for an aspiring Yachtmaster Offshore, to give its full title. The sea exam has to be conducted in tidal waters, so the week before the exam, the local sailing school had put me through my paces around the busy Gibraltar Strait. We did man overboard drills, close quarters manoeuvring and offshore passage making. Two of the trainees from that course agreed to be my crew during the exam, which was ideal because after a few days, we knew each other fairly well.
Before the arrival of the examiner at the dock, I had the crew tidy the old Rival 34, coiling sheets so the former Royal Naval officer and now examiner would get the right impression. His arrival, rather flustered after his flight out from the UK to Spain, transmitted a nervous tension to us as he marched around checking everything was shipshape and in Bristol fashion, including that the fenders were just the right height against the marina pontoon. Then, the inquisition began.
In the saloon, my logbook was produced, covering about 10 years of sailing and every entry was thoroughly quizzed including the credentials of those signing each entry off. Even though I clearly marked my status for each entry (crew, engineer, deckhand, mate or skipper) this was thoroughly verified by questioning. Seeing the written account for my junior ticket (Coastal Skipper) was done with the Southern Sailing School on the Solent, brought a nod of approval from the examiner. My Atlantic crossing as engineer on a large yacht was also questioned and I was asked to describe my technique for celestial navigation (because inshore a sextant can be used for distance-off fixing).
Then, a discussion followed about the plan for the exam and how the weather would affect it. In preparation, I had done passage plans for all the ports nearby; so, those in west Spanish waters and North Africa but not the waters to the east, in the non-tidal Mediterranean. Comprising chartwork, tides, and local pilotage preparation, the passage plan is a basic idea of what you will do and should include secondary ports of refuge. Finally, a weather discussion concluded, with a passage plan would take us east with the wind out to the Atlantic and the following day run back with the forecast westerly. Declaring that he'd never been to North Africa, the examiner asked me to sail him to the Moroccan port of Tangier, a really hectic port to approach, so I took a deep breath at that stage.
MAN OVERBOARD
Leaving the dock went smoothly because I'd moored the boat with the bow pointing out and in a place where the wind from the Rock of Gibraltar was blowing me off the quay. The Rival 34’s long keel meant going astern could be fraught, so was something to avoid if possible. At sea, after pointing the bows into the wind, I had the crew hoist the mainsail and jib before setting off west. We were heading past the ferry port of Algerciras, where my examiner quizzed me on collision regulations as fast ferries sped by and lumbering tankers manoeuvred. Once clear, I gave the helm to a crewmate and went below to fix our position for the run down the Strait, using my Breton Plotter to plot some transits taken by the hand bearing compass. The ventura affect means the winds in the Strait make it Europe’s windiest region, but the forecast was for light to medium winds, so I didn't consider reefing the mainsail. However, we were running square to stay in the traffic separation lane so I had the crew pole out the genoa; while worrying that this was going to be a handicap for quick sail trimming.
Sure enough, as we bowled along at eight knots, the cry came from the examiner — “man overboard!” Taking the helm from my crewmate, I instructed him to point at the MOB (a bucket with a fender that the examiner had suddenly tossed overboard). At the wheel, I directed the other crew to douse the headsail before I put us on a broad reach to sail four boat lengths before tacking to return on a close reach. Wind against tide meant this was a tricky manoeuvre so I was thankful for the deep keel and heavy displacement Rival 34 that steadily bashed to windward, allowing a crewmate to grab the MOB.
HOME STRAIT
With a sigh of relief all round, we continued sailing west. As I was preparing my angle of approach to cross the Strait to North Africa and working the tide calculations, the examiner told me he'd changed his mind. He now wanted to eat some Spanish tappas, so where would I suggest? Pointing out our nearest Spanish port, at the Atlantic end of the Strait at Tarifa, I went below to prepare a passage plan. This involved noting approach markers, tidal heights and mooring details. All good, except for the mooring which, with the easterly wind, would pin us against the quay, and I couldn't assume the following day's wind would be different. So, I planned a manoeuvre learned during my commercial fishing days. I prepared to use a side-rope — dropping a kedge anchor to windward so that we could pull our bow off up departure. The kedge and the rest of the mooring in the small port went to plan, including tying-off with spring lines. Afterwards, the examiner and crew enjoyed our meal of seafood tappas before we climbed into the bunks for the night.
At sea next day, the blind navigation didn't go so well. Holed-up in the saloon using the compass, depth sounder and chart, I was asked to navigate around the entrance to Gibraltar Bay. However, I got flustered when my depth sounder readings weren't matching the chart contours so I reasoned with the examiner that the sounder was playing-up and could I ask a crew for a lead line. He replied only with a shake of the head and snort. This kept me on edge for a while until I relaxed as we tacked across the bay and regained my bearings. We then finished with me doing slow handling in the confines of the marina.
Later, nervously sitting through the debrief in the saloon with the examiner, we covered the events of the exam and it gradually dawned on me that I had done enough to impress him. With that, I voyaged from ticket-less wannabe, to a ticketed-wannabe, with plenty more to learn about the sea and boats; but that’s another story.
AUSTRALIAN QUALIFICATIONS
Sail training courses are available from Australian Sailing (AS) and international courses from the Royal Yachting Association (RYA). Courses are available for yachts and dinghies. Those seeking local skills could begin with AS Start courses which are a series of 12-hour training programs.
For yachts, these are Start Crewing, Start Helming, Start Skippering and Start Racing.
Sailors who aspire to charter overseas should consider completing the RYA courses that include Day Skipper, Coastal Skipper and the highest, Yachtmaster, which is also is a first step for those considering working professionally in the industry. Achieving the higher certificates requires substantial experience. For instance, the bare minimum for Yachtmaster Offshore is 50 days sailing with five as skipper and 2500 miles voyaged. However, much more is ideally needed to allow for the many different scenarios that give breadth and depth of experience. Sailing schools will guide you through this process and are listed through the Australian Sailing website.
Class based exams as well as the practical part are also necessary. Recently, the RYA has collaborated with electronic chart company, Navionics, to develop new resources for teaching electronic navigation in the classroom. Another qualification for international sailors, often used for insurance purposes, is the International Certificate of Competence (ICC). Countries vary in their requirements. For example, some European nations require you to have some sort of certification. The ICC is accepted in nations which have signed a specific UN Resolution but until March 2011, this was unavailable to Australian Citizens and Permanent Residents.
INFORMATION
sailing.org.au
discoversailing.org.au
rya.org.uk