The Sentence I Never Forgot

It is a chilly, sunny day in October 2013 when I step aboard Blue Peter, a ten-metre training yacht belonging to Moss Sailing in Medemblik. It is the first time I have sailed a modern cruising yacht this size. By the evening we are already crossing the IJsselmeer towards Hindeloopen, accompanied by a comfortable breeze and one of those Dutch sunsets that make everything seem easier than it actually is. I was blissfully unprepared. Although this was an RYA Day Skipper course, I never really expected to pass the exam. I thought it would simply be a good opportunity to learn. I had absolutely no idea how hard it was about to become. There were five future skippers aboard and one instructor. Not just any instructor. It happened to be Martus, the captain of Shtandart himself, the man who had skippered her for years and who had been instrumental in bringing the whole reconstruction to life. I could hardly have wished for a better teacher.

The course went far beyond learning how to steer a yacht. Every day there were Man Over Board drills. Navigation. Tidal calculations. Pilotage. Chart work. Finding your position without relying on electronics, because one day they might simply stop working, and the skipper is still expected to bring everyone home. Then came manoeuvres under sail only. "Your engine has failed." It hadn't, of course. But from that moment on, we had to behave as though it had. Docking. Leaving a marina. Picking somebody out of the water. Everything under sail. By then I was exhausted. And just when I thought things couldn't become much harder, they did.

The weather changed. Strong wind against current turned the sea into short, steep waves that seemed determined to throw the little yacht around. For the first time in my life I became seriously seasick. Not the sort of seasickness that makes you feel a little uncomfortable. The sort that completely switches your brain off. Curiously, in the thirteen years that followed it only happened to me twice more — once aboard Shtandart again, in the Mediterranean, when six-metre waves pounded us for two days and a night. And once en route across the turbulent waters of Gibraltar from Gibraltar to Tangier in Morocco. The RYA practical exam is wonderfully simple. There are five students. Five days. Each of you spends one day as skipper while the instructor quietly watches. The remaining four days you are simply another crew member. Eventually it was my turn. The visibility was poor. Cold drizzle. Strong wind. As we prepared to leave the marina at Den Oever, the instructor smiled. "Your engine has failed." Somehow I got the boat out under sail. After that... Everything became strangely blurry. I remember making decisions without really knowing why. Not fully understanding where we were. Not thinking clearly. It felt as though somebody had unplugged half my brain. Eventually the instructor looked at me and said, "Okay, Dima... I think it's time you had some rest." He handed the boat over to somebody else. A good friend who, that day, became a skipper. We would later sail many miles together. I felt completely torn. The sea hadn't become any less fascinating. If anything, I wanted to learn even more. But I honestly wasn't sure I had what it took. At the end of the course the instructor handed out the certificates. Then he quietly asked me to stay behind. "How do you think you did?" I appreciated that he asked me first. "Honestly?" I said. "I didn't expect it to be this difficult. I don't think I'll ever be able to pass something like this. I don't even know whether I have the right character to become a skipper." He listened. Then he said something I have never forgotten. "I think you can become a very good skipper." He paused. "This time it was simply lack of knowledge. Prepare properly. Come back. You'll pass." That was all. No grand speech. No attempt to motivate me. Just a calm assessment from someone whose opinion I respected enormously. It took another six voyages with friends, nearly two more years, and eventually both the RYA theory and practical exams before I finally qualified as a skipper in June 2015. Looking back, the licence isn't what I remember most. I remember someone seeing a skipper long before I did.