When I signed up to improve my sailing knowledge via an RYA Competent Crew course, I didn’t realise it would involve gasping at fins breaking through the water. As I stood on a Dufour 382 yacht watching the sun on dolphins’ bobbing backs, agreeing at home to write this article was far from my mind.

Leaning over the guardrails, I watched two dolphins disappear under the keel. However, I wasn’t just there for dolphin watching. I wanted to learn to sail and perform well as a yachting team member.

It was a sunny Tuesday in May on Devon’s South Coast. We’d motored out of Brixham harbour towards Dartmouth on Orion, owned by Torbay Sea School, who were running the course. Our fleet-footed instructor, Lucy, cast a protective eye over us.

In contrast, my somewhat unsteady feet might’ve given away that it was only my third day sailing a yacht. Sitting at home, I’d imagined yachting would be about looking at the sea. I’d pictured a champagne-sipping lifestyle, people lounging in boat shoes, and putting minimal effort into moving the yacht.

Equipped by a colleague and fully expecting to be mostly gazing at pretty views, I was in for a surprise. With limited prior muscle memory of balancing while floating, I would feel a new rugged texture on my palms.

Boarding: The professional skipper and her new crew

The adventure began with Lucy, two others on Day Skipper courses, and me gathering on Orion on a Sunday evening. We shared our first meal in the harbour, getting to know each other and our lives ashore. The other two students were in their late teens, and we shared stories about going to festivals whilst the sun began setting. After touring the yacht and settling in, we wandered into Brixham for something to drink, forming a bond that would carry us through the course.

Chatting over glasses, Lucy and I discussed what it’s like to be a professional female sailor. My nerves soon settled, and I realised we had much in common. A vibrant sunset played out on glassy waters as we returned to Orion. I quickly fell asleep to the new sensation of being gently swayed to sleep on a soft mattress in the boat’s forward cabin.

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Safety lines

On the first sailing day, we assembled ready at 0930, with the sun already beaming in a cloudless sky. We sat in Torquay Sea School’s classroom to see an RNLI video on cold water shock. This comprehensive video explained the advantages of wearing a lifejacket, deploying and climbing onto a life raft, and preventing further difficulty as a man overboard (MOB).

The video told us to stay still in the water when the rescue team was coming to avoid releasing heat from under our clothing. We sat soberly as no one rescued the MOB; his hat was floating on the screen. Afterwards, we listened to Lucy’s clear safety talk on life jackets and ‘releasing’ dummy flares.

Soon, we were back on Orion, and Lucy showed us the ropes. Before the course, I’d looked at ‘halyard’ written down and stared at it like a collection of letters. When I think about a halyard now, I remember Lucy, in her khaki cargo shorts, teal fleece, and hair in a ponytail, pointing to the mast’s top, telling me a halyard is any line going upwards.

Following the line-learning, we motored out in a pleasant Force 3 breeze. Seeing four seals lounging on sleepers at the harbour’s edge, I squealed. One seal lay on its back like a dog asking for a stomach scratch. As we passed, the creature waved its flipper.

Initially, I took our instructor Lucy’s ‘three points of contact’ advice to heart, often going beyond into the four or five-point territory with tensing facial muscles. But as my core strength grew, I took wider stances for winding winches, confidently surfing with the yacht’s movement.

Dipping into a new language

Aboard, Lucy repeated the names of items and manoeuvres until they started bouncing off my tongue. Moving my body while working with various sailing equipment made me realise that physicality also helps absorb lingo.

Lucy handed me the course’s RYA handbook, so in downtime, I sat on the settee or lounged under a cabin light, flicking through the book. I copied some of the book’s diagrams, so I later stood in the cockpit and responded effectively enough when someone mentioned ‘close reach’.

Lucy offered advice on speaking loudly as I stood at the bow, especially when calling out distances between the boat and pontoon. Projecting my voice without words getting lost on the wind took a few tries.

Small things, like standing by the furled jib as we motored out, watching the bow carve through the water, helped me get in tune with the boat’s rhythm.

Being around other people with more experience with sailing meant boating words naturally floated around the cockpit. Soon, I mirrored the movements and words of those with more sailing experience.

Much like a sail, we wouldn’t have done a very effective job if we’d all started flapping. So, I appreciated that the other sailors noticed when I was faltering in tugging on or releasing a line and rushed to assist. Eventually, I relied less on this over-the-shoulder instruction, and we moved in sync, with the sloshing waves as a backdrop.

Drawing from grounded activities

As the days went by, I noticed sailing similarities with hobbies I’d done on dry land. Tying knots reminded me of making macrame and my crocheting projects during the leaf-quiet lockdown days in Falmouth, where seagulls seemingly outnumbered people.

Cranking a winch was like mixing my Nan’s family chocolate cake recipe. I stood firmer, thinking of these comforting things while gripping the winch handle.

As a child, I’d absentmindedly wondered what the inflatable objects hanging from boats were. Years later, I watched my fingers wrap the fender’s ropes around guardrails, listening to the waves tickling the starboard side. I’d always thought being filled with air, fenders would be light, but their weight caught me by surprise.

Back in the marina, I watched the fenders fight against the pontoon while I wobbled on deck. Seeing sailing equipment in action while letting the breeze push my hair backwards engrossed me much more than reading the theory book.

Surfing the learning curves

In the beginning, I had my fair share of fumbles. Sailing mistakes included accidentally letting the jib furling line fly when it would have been better to ease it off. This incident prompted Lucy to hurry to the bow nimbly and unhook the jib. She soon explained that the jib sail could break if we weren’t careful with the line. After this, I asked more questions about moving the furling line, not wanting to be caught by a lack of respect for the forces involved.

An honourable mention goes to a night sail when I stood on the starboard side in the darkness, fender over the guardrail, winding up a knot. Suddenly, I peered through the dimness at my hands and realised I wasn’t holding the line. I heard a splash. After leaning over the rail, I winced, telling the others I’d dropped the fender. A scramble to get a boathook ensued. After bending over, stretching, and failing to hook the line, I hoisted the offending fender. Later, we giggled about it, and Lucy mentioned she would put it into the logbook to cheer her up later.

A bout of me spinning the wheel at the helm prompted deep side lunges. I watched the other sailors leaning at the boat’s approximately 40-degree angle. The two younger students had wide eyes while holding onto the Bimini. I tensed my body with the effort of steering and saw Lucy had planted her weight firmly. My furrowed brow probably told her what I needed. The learning curve and deck angle were toe-grippingly steep. Lucy took the helm, herding us onto a stable course.

Eventually, my fingers travelled more smoothly over the wheel. And, as per Lucy’s advice, I watched a fixed point on the horizon. I gravitated to the helm and enjoyed standing in the nook behind the wheel, looking at the boat’s bow for steering clues.

Unexpected peaks

In relatively quiet moments, I tipped my head back often to gaze at the sail, which I wasn’t expecting to be so big up close. As the Day Skipper students practised mooring manoeuvres, I stood at the bow, letting the air ‘blow away the cobwebs’ as my Cornish Grandmother used to say.

The view was often a bobbing tapestry. While resting my hand against the furled sail in Dartmouth, I watched yachts lined up under the seemingly watchful Kingsweir houses. I even caught a steam train running near the shoreline, filming the beige steam dancing into trees.

When winching, I often approached the winding with gusto. One of the tasks I hurried to do was slip the line into the self-tailer and give it a final tug. Likewise, I looked forward to coiling the lasso rope, practising the throwing motion, and calling out distances.

Before boarding the boat, I’d chatted through worries with a colleague about seasickness. However, instead of running to the heads below deck, I was falling asleep quicker with the boat’s sway than I recently had on land. Occasionally, when my body is tense, I imagine that rocking feeling, and my muscles loosen. The closest I’ve managed to get to the rocking since is lying in my hammock.

I moved across the boat with purpose, knowing that carrying out little activities in the correct order contributed to sailing smoothly. Like each line, I realised each crew member has a role to play, sometimes at different times or in tandem, and even when resting on the boat.

Who knew I would find stillness in lining up the yacht according to a wind vane’s guidance? Even neatly looping the lines and laying them ready on the cockpit benches became rhythmic.

Before I went on the course, a colleague messaged me, saying I would feel muscles in places I never knew I had. As we progressed through the course, I started reaching for the ibuprofen! Despite this, in time, my back no longer acted like it was glued to the cockpit, my core muscles supporting me. I smiled whilst telling Lucy that sailing is the ideal sport for me because it doesn’t feel like you’re exercising.

Riding the wave

By the time I stepped off Orion the final time, I had more robust muscles, a camera roll full of Devonian views, and a love for sailing.

Thanks so much to Lucy Rees and Torbay Sea School for putting on an awe-inspiring, informative, and muscle-exercising adventure. Lucy’s strength ran throughout, whether she crouched down quickly by the engine bay, sharing knowledge on mechanics, hauling lines in, or patiently tying knots for onlooking students. Lucy patiently answered many questions about sailing, safely guided us through the course, and gave us room to make our own decisions.

I particularly remember when we were in a sudden downpour. The waves were throwing us around, and Lucy stood at the helm. She had a bright orange beanie on her head, her face bearing raindrops. While we students squinted and our hands grew paler, she stood like she’d never been on land, tweaking the wheel. She even laughed off soaking clothes and wet hair.

Lucy handing me my Competent Crew certificate outside the Sea School’s reception was like catching a wave and surfing it home.

Lessons Learned

Line handling

Take extra care to keep hands safe when handling lines, including when winching, to avoid trapping fingers. Ensure you secure lines firmly, whether in a jammer or self-tailer.

Using winches

When using a winch handle, get your body’s weight over the winch. A fist-over-fist method pulls the line in by hand while keeping fingers safe. When finished winching by hand, put four turns around the winch and secure it in the self-tailer. Ensure the winch handle is in its pocket when not in use.

Sail handling

When jibing, ensure all team members are ready before pulling on or releasing winches, letting go, and securing the furling line. Remembering that ‘a flappy sail isn’t a happy sail’ is crucial and helps with recognising when to adjust sails or jibe.

Helming

Steering the boat smoothly using small movements on the wheel is ideal, except in particularly rough conditions. Watching a point on the horizon helps ensure you stay on course. I also learnt how to use the wind vane to determine whether the yacht and wind are harmonious.

Mooring

Preparing lines to lasso involves getting the looping knack. I also learnt about lassoing rope onto pontoon cleats (my favourite!), securing lines in an OXOO formation, and swapping mooring lines.

Knot tying

Tying clove hitches and bow lines are valuable skills when in a rush. Practising these knots meant I could secure fenders to guardrails and attach a boom preventer. Not dropping fenders is vital for saving time and dignity!

MOB drills and safety

Deploying life rafts, flares, beacons, life jackets, and lifebuoys should be second nature. Confidence in radioing for help in case of a MOB or other disaster, conserving energy in the water, and locating, watching, and picking up a MOB are life-saving skills.

Maintaining indoor and outdoor spaces

Ensure lines in the cockpit are neatly coiled or stored out of the way when not in use. Secure breakable items above and below the deck when the yacht is in motion to avoid accidents.

Scanning for obstacles

Know how to watch in the cockpit for lobster pots, boats on collision courses, and other potential obstacles. Alert the skipper when obstructions arise.

Anchoring

Hoist and lower the anchor steadily to avoid denting the yacht. When lowering, count the metres in the water and free up the chain when it threatens to jam in the mechanism.

Three surprising things I learnt about sailing

It’s an active sport

By day two, I realised that my idea of sitting about and gazing at salt water wasn’t crewing. Whether throwing mooring lines, sweating a halyard, or winching, I had an excellent opportunity to tone my muscles.

It’s a great leveller

As Lucy explained, sailing with others creates a level of equality no matter your background. I relaxed knowing that external status indicators didn’t matter, only whether you could do the job well enough.

There’s a sailing bubble

I hadn’t known that yachting for multiple days would create a microcosm. We swapped onshore day-to-day rhythms for responding to the weather, tending to the boat, and chatting about our lives. Sailing meant observing sea state, wind, and rain much more than I would’ve on land. I mindfully noticed the world around me whilst shedding thoughts about schedules, social media, and shopping.

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