People who don't sail much tend to be impressed by tales of adventure on the high seas, rough weather passages and open sea action generally.
People who do a lot of sailing know that open waters are the easy bit. OK, it may sometimes be rough and uncomfortable, but you're rarely in any real danger, as long as you have plenty of searoom.
Far more challenging are the bits at the beginning and end of the journey when you're reassuringly within sight of land - but surrounded by all sorts of other potential hazards, shipping, buoyage, sandbanks, rocks - you name it.
At the weekend we had a long upwind bash to deliver our boat down Channel from the East Coast to the Hamble. The weather made it rather wearing, and as always on a beating passage catering was limited - but having been there, done that and got the T-shirt, we always make sandwiches before we leave, so we didn't go hungry.
By far the worst part of the journey was the last little bit, finding our way up the unfamiliar Solent as dusk fell, trying to identify the buoys we needed against the backscatter of blazing lights in Southampton Water.
Thanks to the invaluable chart plotter, it wasn't really a problem, but there was lots of other traffic about, some of it behaving in unexpected ways. And although we were in flatter water and lighter winds than we'd enjoyed all day, this was definitely the most nerve-wracking part of the day. The fact that by then we rather tired, if not to say shattered, could have had something to do with it.
Theoretically, other vessels' navigation lights should tell you exactly what they are up to. In practice, a lot of light in the background can cause confusion. There was a ship, for example, absolutely ablaze with deck lights. The obvious, immediate assumption, was that she was anchored.
But then we realised she was getting nearer. And then suddenly her two masthead lights detached themselves from the background glow, and it was clear she was coming straight towards us. A bit disconcerting, as we were carefully following the line of green buoys - on the outside.
We altered course, and as she passed safely by we identified her as the paddle steamer Waverley, no doubt hosting an evening party, lit up like a cruise liner. Great for the people on board, but against all those festive fairy lights her navigation lights virtually disappeared.
There were other confusing light displays, too. How many yachts do you see with everything - deck level lights, steaming light and masthead tri all blazing? They seem to assume that if one set of lights is good, two must be better.
They don't realise they are actually sending out conflicting messages. If the tri is lit, they are sailing and if we are motoring at the time, we ought to give way. But if they are motoring too, as the steaming light suggests, they could be the give-way vessel. How are we supposed to know?
Even when we reached the marina, there was a problem with lights - or rather lack of them this time. We called up and were allocated a berth on B pontoon. But which was B pontoon? No sign of a letter. We called in again, and were helpfully tolds the name of the boats on the hammerhead to identify the trot by. And our trusty torch eventually found the berth number we wanted.
One way and another, we were jolly relieved when we were finally safely tied up. Give me the open sea and only the light of the stars and the moon for company, any time.
