I sat back on the saloon roof, leaned against the mast, sipped my beer, and revelled in the moment. Here I was, at long last, perched on my very own vessel – a 34ft ketch named Sobek.

It marked the end of a long aspirational journey, the culmination of a dearly held dream, and I couldn’t believe that it had come to fruition. Monty Halls, yachtsman. Monty Halls, skipper. Monty Halls, flinty eyed explorer who will ride the wind towards a curved blue horizon. In short, this was going to be great.

Fast forward 24 hours, and I’m trying to manoeuvre the same yacht out of the marina so I can get it home. Problem was, Sobek seemed rather reluctant to leave, and for some reason that my (up to that point) powerboat experience couldn’t fathom, kept pointing her bow in the wrong direction. ‘Wrong’ in this case being towards lots of other yachts in the marina, to whom she had plainly become very attached and wanted to kiss goodbye.

This being a Sunday afternoon, said yachts had people on board, who were popping up in their cockpits like meerkats, occasionally offering a few words of advice but mainly just looking at me. And, unequivocally, judging me. They were all, in my eyes, rime-encrusted veterans of numerous circumnavigations, and they knew I was an imposter in their midst.

Sobek anchored off Valley Beach in South Devon. Note rubber rings on saloon roof, detracting from Monty’s attempts to appear like a rugged mariner. Photo: Monty Halls

There was a certain amount of frantic see-sawing of the throttle, with me bellowing ‘Sorry!’ as my bowsprit scythed inches away from their ashen- faced loved ones. Fortunately I had a mate on board (now bitterly regretting it), who, as a former commando, was running around offering himself as a large, fleshy fender to avoid scratching gleaming gel coats and collecting guardrails.

And then – miraculously – we were out of the entrance and into the open sea. One of the folks in the marina even called after me to wish me luck on my travels. I didn’t catch all of what he said, but the last word was definitely ‘….off’.

If someone had, at that precise moment, offered me a third of the asking price to buy the boat back, I would have bitten their hand off. And that brings me to the subject of this, my first column for YM. I’m a new skipper, albeit one who now has a bit more experience than the pinball wizard who terrorised Plymouth Yacht Haven last year, and I think there’s an uncomfortable truth that needs to be acknowledged about buying a boat for the first time. Or truths, to be more accurate.

Article continues below…

Monty Halls on the trials and tribulations of sailing

Now, before you horny-palmed ocean conquerors give a rum-laden snort of derision, I’ve just emerged triumphant from my Day Skipper…

Imposter syndrome

First, they’re large, controlled by an engine that’d just about run a sewing machine, are subject to some interesting laws of physics, and operate on a big, wobbly, slippery, moveable conveyor belt that also does its own thing. That’s quite a lot to take in.

Second, there’s several bits of string that all have weird names. And most other things on board have weird names as well. It is, without doubt, a discombobulating, alien world. Third, literally everyone else on earth who owns a yacht is better than you, knows more than you, has drunk their own urine whilst becalmed in the doldrums, and can tell on sight that you’re a muppet. In short, the psychology of new boat ownership is one of mild neurosis and skewed perceptions.

Owning a boat has been a baptism of fire for Monty and his family. Photo: Monty Halls

Eighteen months of experience has actually shown me the reality is, of course, that everyone has been where you are, and will leap to your assistance given half a chance. Just last week a septuagenarian lady sprinted 50 metres to take one of my lines, digging her heels in as Sobek threatened to break free and head back to Plymouth from our mooring in Dartmouth. She took a turn round a cleat, gripped the line with corded forearms, and smiled at me reassuringly in a kind of ‘Take it easy big fella, I’ve got this’ manner. How lovely.

It’s also turned out to be one of the most rewarding physical and mental challenges of my life. It’s ironic that something so simply powered by the elements involves so many moving parts – the tide, the angle of the wind, planning, the direction of the swell, and the competence of the crew. And on that very subject, it’s been the ultimate team-building experience for my family. In fact, I’d get my wife Tam to write something on the subject, but she’s in town right now and has been gone for ages. Something about seeing a lawyer…

The other, final point, is that this is a never-ending journey. I’m better than I was, but a very long way from being the sailor and skipper I hope to become. And that will be the subject of the columns to come.

I do hope you’ll join me on the journey.

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