019
Living on a Boat

Living on a boat is a beautiful way to live. After a time for me however, the novelty wore off. The tinkling of the rigging - the slap, slap, slap of the ropes against the mast, the whining and moaning of the wind in the stays became irritating. The smell of the rotting seaweed and dead jellyfish became aggravating and tiresome.

The long walk for fresh water got tedious, and although the boat was a big one there was never enough room and the compromises got time-consuming and boringly repetitive. For eight years I ate, slept and lived boats. I spent a fortune on boating books and magazines. I dreamed of navigating around the world. I took courses in seamanship, captaincy and navigation. Her name was "Nine Lives," which I thought to be very apt for a catamaran , which was always called a "cat" for short by the yachting fraternity.

I lived on board in comparative comfort for two years and had some wonderful times- and then suddenly - dramatically - inexplicably - I abruptly turned against boats, and had to force myself to go aboard my vessel. I couldn't wait to sell it, and resented the time I had spent in lavishing money and time on its refurbishment. It was if it had robbed me of part of my life. That is the first time I have revealed to anyone how I came to feel about my boat - a vessel that at one time I had a deep bond with - almost a love affair in some ways. Even today when I look at photographs of the boat I have ambiguous feelings - a love-hate relationship!

To be honest, even today, talking about it to friends, I always say - "I had to sell the boat because of my wife's illness at the time."
I don't know why - maybe I see it as an admission of some sort of failure or lack of judgement or naivety  on my behalf. Those long eight years of scraping, painting, and lying on my back in the mud?

But then again - when I think of the positive aspects - and there were many good times. The satisfaction of a job well done. The mastery of the language of boats, the glow it gave me to feel at ease in the company of experienced sailors. The yacht caught in the golden glow of sunset. To see the mast tapering up into the sky providing a free perch for some itinerant seagull - the bow-wave gushing outward as we sped through steel grey waters of The Irish Sea. The comforting sound of rain pitter-pattering on the deckhead, when I was warm and snugged down for the night. The gurgling slap signifying the return of the tide after being dried out - and then the lift - at first hesitantly - and then confidently and forcefully as the sea reclaimed the vessel into its salty bosom.
We had some great times on board - some wonderful parties with other yachtsmen and yachtswomen who came aboard and joined us from their ships that passed in the night.

Then came the day when after selling the catamaran to two brothers who lived in a port to the North of Walney Island where I was then living.
A friend ran to my Mobile Home in which I was then living and shouted through the open door:

"Jud! Jud! Come quick! 'Nine Lives' is sailing past about a quarter of a mile out to sea!"

I ran quickly to the shoreline, and there she was. All the sails of her cutter-rig were set and her spinnaker was out in all its coloured glory. She was heading North. I watched her with a lump in my throat, a feeling that only a sailor would understand, until she was out of sight - just a white sail in the distance until that too sank out of my vision and out of my life. I have never seen or heard of her since. I don't know where she is or what happened to her. The two brothers who bought her said that they planned to sail her around the world - but many say that - and few do. Friends who live on that Northern coast have told me that there's no sign of her anywhere - So maybe they did after all.