Skippering is a very individual process. Each person runs the yacht in their own way. If you do it differently, it doesn't mean you are doing it wrong.
One of the first lessons a skipper learns is that he is always the skipper - even ashore, away from the yacht. It doesn't mean you have to lord it over people all the time - that's the surest way of becoming unpopular. But your crew will look to you for leadership, and not only when you are on board. Your greatest strength will be your own inner certainty that you know what you are doing.
Picking up a yacht for delivery is a bit like collecting a birthday present. You never quite know what's going to be inside the package. This particular yacht had been, well, not neglected, but certainly left sitting in its Spanish marina for a while.
A thorough check of her systems showed that some things needed attention before we set off - and one of them was found in the gas locker. The reduction valve had rusted to the gas bottle, and both needed to be renewed.
The first mate and I agreed that the rubber hose was fine. Cutting it back just aft of the join would leave plenty for the new valve, but we would need to take the gas bottle, which felt fairly full, together with its rusted and useless demand valve, back to a dealer for proper disposal.
The third member of our delivery crew was a young lad gaining sea miles and experience. He also smoked. Now I have a rule about smoking on board, which is made clear before any crew join. It doesn't happen, except on very rare occasions, and with the explicit permission of the skipper. Certainly never on a delivery yacht in a marina.
That may seem harsh for smokers, but I have my reasons. However, my no smoking rule was not going down well with this lad, despite his prior agreement.
Gas and smoking don't mix, and instead of taking the lad with me, I decided to take the first mate to nurse the rusted gas bottle, and we set off in our hire car in search of a dealer. He sat in the back seat, decidedly nervous about the state of the gas bottle, and I drove carefully out of the marina.
All was well until the second roundabout, when a young lady in an open-top sports car decided to pull out fast in front of me. I had to brake hard to avoid hitting her. She smiled, waved her apologies, and drove on. However, the gas bottle was thrown forward, hitting the back of the driver's seat.
This was too much for the rusted demand valve, which parted company from the neck of the gas bottle, and the car was immediately filled with escaping gas. We were stopped in the middle of the roundabout, but this was no time for hesitation.
“Out”, I commanded. “And take the bottle with you!” Gas in an enclosed space reaches explosion point very quickly, and we were sitting in what was effectively an explosion increasingly waiting to happen.
The gas bottle had immediately filled the car with dense, white, foul-smelling fumes. I had turned the engine off, and had the driver's door open, from which the gas billowed in great white clouds.
The white stuff wasn't gas, but condensation caused by the cold gas hitting moist air. But it was dramatic. People were stopping to look. But for some reason, instead of getting out, the first mate was trying to point the escaping gas through the window of the car, clasping the now freezing gas bottle.
I knew from school physics lessons that as the gas expanded, the metal bottle was going to get very cold very quickly. Not only was there the immediate risk of explosion, but anyone carrying the bottle risked having their skin frozen to it. If he continued to hold it, he would risk damaging his hands. If he dropped it inside the car, we risked an exploding car.
I had seen the effect of a gas explosion on a yacht in Poole harbour. The power of the explosion had ripped it in half. In that moment, I realised I needed to be the skipper, and told him again very firmly to get out, and to take the bottle with him.
This time, he did get out, putting the gas bottle down on the pavement, where it was still billowing gas at an alarming rate. Out of the enclosed space, the risk of explosion was lower, but there was still a risk.
Our hire car was blocking the roundabout, still billowing white clouds, and a small crowd was gathering - many of them smoking. Over on the other side of the road were two Spanish police. I had no idea what offences I had already committed, but we needed their help.
I shouted to them and they sauntered over in the way that only disinterested police can. One of them was emphasising his disinterest by taking deep drags on his cigarette. I gesticulated that he should put out his cigarette, which got a decidedly frosty response - until he suddenly realised the nature of the problem.
Taking charge, the two of them cleared the area, and the gas bottle was left to discharge safely into the open air away from traffic. The policeman even had the grace to thank me for the warning.
Afterwards, we agreed that the skipper's no smoking rule was a good one. I hate to think what might have happened had our third crew member been smoking in that car when the gas escaped. We all laughed about it later, but the possible results don't bear thinking about.
The point of the story is that, had the outcome not been as benign, I would still have had to take responsibility. Neither leadership nor responsibility end when you step off the yacht. As a skipper, you are responsible for your crew at all times. And this includes the middle of a Spanish roundabout, in a hire car filled with escaping and highly explosive gas!
Richard Thomas holds a Commercially Endorsed RYA Yachtmaster and Cruising Instructor (Sail) certificate. He runs his own delivery business, www.yachtmovers.co.uk
He is available for deliveries, assisted passages, own-yacht tuition, and yacht management.
