Seaward...

...for Knots in the String.

I grew up on the water (read here) Boats are to me what sitting in one’s favourite armchair might be for a landlubber.

I feel at peace on boats. I’ve tried to pull the reason apart frequently but can never find a truly cogent answer. I can think of the heady thrum of a diesel motor, of the smack of waves against the wooden hull, of the crack of sails, of sheets tightening as the sails set. Of Pa yelling at us all to ‘bloody well sit down because I can’t bloody see for’ard!’

Ah, when we jumped across that green-sea gap between jetty and deck, there was a sensation of leaping to another world entirely, built of a watery life, salty language and complete freedom.

I would sit on the hatch above the saloon, my arm round the King Billy Pine mast on a voyage to Maria Island, the wind filling my red windbreaker so that I looked like a balloon! Many years later, aboard the Lady Gillian (a friend’s heavenly wooden yacht), I would sit on the stern rail as we headed back to Triabunna from Four Mile, being belted by a stonker of a northeasterly. Navy waves with white tops that hit the starboard bow, flying along the side of the boat to dampen us down nicely. I never felt scared, off-balance or seasick. I had an unshakeable faith in the boat – that it would carry us safely where we needed to go. Confidence born of a grandfather, mother and father who loved messing about in boats.

But things change.

I developed that damned vestibular issue seven years ago. It means I can only mess about in boats if the wind tops no more than 12 knots. I don’t get seasick, but I do have major dizziness for two or three days after. It feels as if one walks upon a raft that dips and dives and one’s sight and movement are severely affected. Last summer we had wind day-in day-out and managed one trip away in 3 months. For me, as I watched others head off in their boats the way I used to, I was green with envy, but the truth is what it is. And so I would sit on our sandy shore and swim in the clear warm water, feeling the sun on my skin, and chiding myself that if that’s as good as it gets, then that’s actually pretty damned good.

Being in the lap of the Weather Gods, my husband and I wondered if Olympian (our boat) should be sold because the east coast weather in the Passage is so fickle. Speaking for myself, I think I might weep if it happens. It would be the complete loss of watery freedom, the key to a state of being that will be washed away, memories mildewed. I know I dramatise but that boat is special simply because it fires up a side of me that mostly lies dormant and which when lit, seems as natural as breathing.

But… the boat is still here, it’s still loved by me, and the Weather Gods willing, maybe I’ll cast off a bit more this year.

My Time:

*Thinking about my son on the operating table yesterday. The last exostectomy sent him almost 100% permanently deaf in one ear. Different surgeon this time operating in a more forward way. The ops are the results of a life of cold-water surfing, diving and working in the outdoors through winter.

*Wood-hooking to fill son’s woodshed, so that his little family don’t freeze on the cold days, while he’s on sick leave.

*Cooking: My favourite choc-berry brownie. Sinful.

*Ballet: We attended the Grand Kyiv Ballet performing Forest Song and a short version of Don Quixote. Forest Song is a lyrical and magical rendition of a Ukraine legend. Don Quixote of course, is well-known. The company (who must feel such duress) performed with verve and élan and the principal who portrayed Kitri in Don Q was a stunning little firecracker.

But the final moments were heartrending – as they took their curtain calls, the company unfurled a Ukraine flag and sang their National Anthem. The whole audience rose to their feet, and I had tears. The company have family and friends that they haven’t seen for the duration of the war and their homes and theatres have been destroyed.

It was a salutary lesson…

*Reading:

Fiction wise, nothing different. I’ve slowed right down. It’s called winter hibernation.

But indulged myself and purchased two favourite mags which is about all that I can handle just now as I re-read my manuscript and also begin to re-read research for the next hist.fict.

*Listening:

Still on the Turney/Doherty collaboration. I want to bash the heads of Constantine and Maxentius together! But I’m enjoying it nevertheless.

*Watching:

Sandhamn Murders Series 7. Much darker  now, and Thomas has disappeared. A new detective in his place who is, predictably, smitten with Nora. I do enjoy this show – especially the actual setting of Sandhamn. In addition, it’s not quite as ‘noir’ as most Nordic Noir.

London: 2000 years of history. Fascinating. Some of the facts of Londinium and Lundenwic were unknown and extremely interesting.

A beautiful short doco called:

I urge people to watch it as its beautifully shot and inspirational and it won’t take long.

Also, I live in anticipation of The Winter King, the film/TV adaptation of Bernard Cornwell’s brilliant retelling of the Arthurian Saga. Wondering which streaming channel we shall be able to watch it in Australia. Honestly, that series and the Thomas of Hookton series, The Grail Quest (100 Years War), have been my favourite Cornwell series of all time, so I’m hoping for good things.

***

Husband and self are a little bit devastated that we’ve watched almost all the docos and lifestyle series on Britbox. Time for Britbox to release more!

Maybe they should release more on boating. We so enjoyed Great Canal Journeys – boats are boats after all. Some big, some small, some under sail, some motor. Either way, it’s all a life apart – a completely different view of the world. With canals, it’s the view ‘beneath’. In ocean-going boats, it’s the view from ‘out there’ – a beautiful experience that suspends one for moments at a time as a sea eagle sweeps majestically over the top, on wide grey and white wings, or a shy albatross might glide, skimming across the navy wave tops, barely beating its wings at all. Where dolphins might join our journey and give us a grin and a side-eye, looping along under and over our bow-wave.

Because as Ratty says in Wind in the Willows: ‘Believe me …  there is nothing–absolutely nothing–half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.’

And later, the Water Rat adds: ‘Take the Adventure, heed the call, now ere the irrevocable moment passes! ’Tis but a banging of the door behind you, a blithesome step forward, and you are out of the old life and into the new…’ 

That’s just how it feels for me as I jump aboard…

My music this week?