This month’s column broaches a very delicate subject. I’m not going to tiptoe around it, I’m going to take it head on, and ask the question that should loom large for everyone who has just bought their own sailing vessel, and has plans for wonderful smiley escapist utopian trips with their adoring spouse (breathless with admiration) and their children (wide eyed with wonder).

Is there a chance, just a chance mind you, that your family actually don’t like sailing? And might actually want to be at home, watching the wide screen and spooning Häagen Dazs, whilst resting their feet on the dog?

Well, let me be the first to tell you that there is a distinct chance that this is the case for at least one of them. And, like whispering mutineers beneath sweltering decks in days of yore, if one of them doesn’t fancy it, then they’ll try to turn the others.

To avoid this grisly fate, you need to go full Captain Bligh and turn them back, so your potential Fletcher Christian becomes actually a staunch ally. Here follow some suggested tactics for pulling off this considerable feat of diplomacy.

Enjoying the fruits of an intricately concocted campaign

Don’t be a maniac

This was Bligh’s problem, and we all know how that ended up. I see it a great deal here in Dartmouth, with the bucolic river scene rent asunder by a stentorian bellow of, ‘NO, NOT THE JACKSTAY, THE *@&!!!!! TOPPING LIFT.’

This is frequently directed at a baffled and traumatised eight-year-old, who would literally rather be anywhere than here. In short, a good checklist when preparing the vessel could read ‘Seacocks open. Isolator switch on. Engine checks completed. Gas ready. Sails checked. Try not to be a complete arse today.’

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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…

‘If someone had offered me a third of the asking price to buy the boat back, I would have bitten their hand off’ – Monty Halls

I sat back on the saloon roof, leaned against the mast, sipped my beer, and revelled in the moment. Here…

Bribes

This works a treat, although we as a family seem to be on a sliding scale that is heading very much in the wrong direction. A realistic measure of this – and good metaphor generally – is hot chocolate. It started with offers of a hot chocolate when we got onboard. This has now been barrack-lawyered up to a hot chocolate, with a flake, whipped cream, sprinkles, and shaved bits of Cadbury’s artfully spread on the plate. My skippering skills remain questionable, but as a barista I’m coming on a treat.

Threats

Should the carrot fail, there is an argument that says it’s time for the big stick. Time to show unequivocally who wears the trousers, who wields the genuine power in the household. A flaw in this otherwise sound approach is that it appears – having tried it – that the person who wears the trousers isn’t me!

Regardless of how the situation has been manipulated, fond memories of a summer at sea are always made

Promises of what they’ll see

Always a good one, although it does have a limited shelf life. Our early trips were characterised by the girls sitting in the cockpit, breathless with excitement, looking for the giant sunfish, great whites, and sperm whales I’d assured them were abundant at the mouth of the River Dart. As a marine biologist I did have a bit of credibility, but the subsequent attempts to big up the bit of bladderwrack and lone jellyfish may have undermined this a tad.

Summer memories

Lying

Having finally made it aboard, I was naturally keen that they didn’t spend their time on screens. The line, ‘If you use an iPad or phone on this boat, the screen explodes due to the influence of the radar,’ worked like a charm for several trips. Other lies have also been employed, mainly based around spurious claims relating to maritime law (such as, custodial sentences for misbehaviour at sea, and the like). One might argue about the morality of this approach, but quite frankly the gloves are off.

There’s obviously an important footnote to all this skulduggery and lamentable parenting. And that is that when we’re finally aboard, we make memories. Pretty much all of our golden moments of last summer were on board Sobek. That might be the gigantic figures of Risso’s dolphins around the bow on the passage from the Scillies to Land’s End, or the girls shrieking with laughter as they used the saloon roof as a diving platform at anchor off Valley Beach. In short, having won the battle to get them aboard, it is always, always worth it.

If I may, having started this column with a controversial question, I’m going to finish it with a heartfelt dedication. Our next door neighbour passed away recently and suddenly, an absolute legend of a man called Ford Hallam. A master goldsmith, and someone completely dedicated to passing on life skills to the next generation, his life was built around his family.

It’s a battle at times, but I know that us sailors do offer something rather unique to our loved ones, so it’s a battle worth fighting. Keep on keeping on, because Ford would, I know, thoroughly approve. Rest In Peace, lovely man.

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