Life on board a sailing yacht and in the harbours offers many a bizarre encounter. Author Steffi von Wolff tells us in her commentary"Wolff's territory" regularly talks about her experiences as an on-board woman. Not always meant seriously, often satirically exaggerated, but always with a lot of heart and a wink. This time it's about sailing instructors, and there are such and such.
The king of the world
There are those who explain the knot a hundred times with unwavering patience, who show you how to do a headbutt and who don't get annoyed when you keep doing something wrong that everyone else is doing right. Then there are the impatient ones who roll their eyes, shout "Jump!" far too early or say "Oh, I'll do it myself" because everything takes too long for them. There's nothing wrong with that. But there is also a third species, and it's scary, I think everyone knows which one we're talking about:
the super skippers namely
They rush around with sailing beginners to supposedly teach them something. If you're lucky, you can observe this quite well in the harbours. If things go really awkwardly, the skipper stands at the front like a pharaoh when the boat comes in, with his sheep at the back. If things are unbearably awkward, the skipper also wears a cap labelled KÄPT'N NEXT GOD. Once I also saw ICH SKIPPER! YOU NIX!
Then he resides there on the forecastle, the god, looking for a berth that suits him, and all that's missing is a harbour porpoise jumping out of the water and God shouting: "I am the King of the Weeeeeelt!", like Leonardo DiCaprio once did when the Titanic set sail, but I'm sure you know that.
Once a berth has been found, the skipper becomes the commander:
We'll take the seat next to 'Frieda', Uwe, did you hear that?
"Jo."
Gabi, do the fenders, Robby, do the stern lines, and that zap, zap.
Newcomers to sailing endeavour to meet the requirements, but those who have just learned the fender knot need time to get to grips with six fenders.
The King:
Oh dear, Gabi, should I get my knitting? How long will that take? They're hanging too low, no, too high now, more down, more up, why don't you do it?
He himself is now walking around, looking partly patronising, partly annoyed and partly as if everyone has lost their hop and malt.
Come on, Uwe, don't get so close to the pile, Möööööönsch. Gabi, I told you to leave the fenders in for now and only get them out once we're in the box.
Desperate attempt at justification from Gabi: "No, you didn't."
While Uwe thunders into the box at far too high a speed and the jetty approaches menacingly, the king realises that he hasn't ordered a "make a fore line". He shouts
Stop it, Uwe!
Then the skipper goes to the back, fetches the lines and tells the helpers waiting at the jetty:
They're too stupid for everything and it's best to do everything yourself.
It's always the others. But the saying goes: if something goes wrong, it's always the skipper's fault, isn't it?
During such events, I am usually so far gone that I want to go for the throat of these loudmouths.
Instead of saying something nice to their crew, praising them, they are usually just nagging, as they are now during the manoeuvre critique, during which I of course prick up my ears.
You should have driven slower into the pits.
You should have made the leader.
The tail line was too short. You should have made it longer.
A rebellion from one Silke: "You should have told us that while we were on the subject of having to."
That's what you call wise foresight. Now let's have a sherry, on me of course.
And they obey, raise their glasses and say reverently: "To our skipper, who brought us safely into harbour."
He looks round unctuously, nods in all directions, then sips his sherry.
Then we want to go out for dinner, I've booked a table at a vegan restaurant. Vegan, so there's something for everyone.
Huh?
Nobody complains, and then he walks around grumbling while the others roll their eyes at him. He's obviously getting on everyone's nerves.
In the evening, after a visit to the restaurant, they sit there and the king sings shanties with fervour, something he once learned, as he constantly emphasises. It's like milking a mouse.
He says goodnight to the wine, and the others are only allowed to go to bed when the skipper allows it.
Luckily I have earplugs.
The next morning he is the last one awake and is already reprimanding everyone again.
How is the table set, hello, the sausage is on the plate.
Who made this coffee, we're not at war.
Have you practised the bowline, Gabi, show me.
The crockery does not wash itself.
And then:
I go ashore and take a shower. By the time I get back, everything that's bothering me is gone.
I'm perched like a curious seagull in the cockpit again, pretending to read.
This moron is so annoying!
Then, all of a sudden, there is movement among those left behind.
"Go faster, go, go," I hear, and "Engine on, reverse, now!"
No, right?
Yes, it is.
While the king of the world struts across the jetty like a freshly showered rooster, the boat sets off.
Heeee! You forgot about me, you horn oxen.
"Nah," one of the men calls back. "Everything that gets in the way should be removed."
And then the crew simply drives off.
I think she's feeling good for the first time!
Have a nice weekend!
