Life Aquatic
Ginny Ware with husband Carl
The Life Aquatic
Our dream of unshackling ourselves from the workdesk chains and sailing off to the sunshine for a simpler life and new adventures began eight years ago.
We were just married, I had recently started a new job and a year earlier we had excitedly bought our first property – a flat in Dartmouth.
We had no regrets about getting hitched but soon felt trapped by the monotonous nine-to-five routine of work, earning just enough money to pay the mortgage and bills with little left over for anything else.
Was this it, our lives mapped out for the next 30 years until we could afford to retire? The prospect was more than terrifying and I knew I didn’t want to do it.
Of course I couldn’t sit down rationally with Carl and explain how I felt before finding a way forward for us both, like a mature adult would. No, I had to go down the circuitous argument route that resulted in us, having driven together to our jobs in Torquay, phoning in sick, turning the car round and heading home for a more reasonable dialogue about our future.
With his management skills and solution-based approach to life Carl had the brainwave of individually writing down and comparing our top 10, attainable, aims in life.
Amazingly, number one for both of us was to live on a boat. We had never talked about living on a boat before, although we had recently met long-term boat dweller Guy Savage over morning coffees at Alfs.
Our route to freedom came without warning and we seized the lifeline it offered, putting the flat on the market that very day, grinning like Cheshire cats relieved to have discovered our exit from the rat-race.
It was a big risk but we have never looked back. We enjoyed six years living on the beautiful River Dart on-board our first boat – a beamy 36-foot long motor sailer called Karanette – before moving on to our current smaller, prettier, classic sailing yacht Leonie.
Learning to adapt to living on a boat has been a steep learning curve – helming a 16-tonne wooden hulk of a boat is nothing like driving a responsive car as I discovered not long after we had bought Karanette.
We decided the best place to soak up the thrills and spills of Dartmouth’s annual regatta was the mid-river anchorage.
We picked our spot on a bright clear day but woke to find another yacht dangerously close to us the next morning.
The single-handed sailor insisted we had dragged our anchor and refused to move so rather than engage in a pointless stand-off we agreed to reposition Karanette.
Unfortunately by this time the wind had picked up drastically, it was pouring with rain, visibility was poor and the anchorage was suddenly full of visiting vessels.
With Carl busy hauling up the anchor chain I had no choice but to take the helm. It was the first time I had been in charge of steering Karanette but I had no time to panic as Carl was already in full swing at the bow.
Karanette was a pig to drive - unlike a car she didn’t instantly move in the direction you had steered, but an age later. Trying to judge correctly, in strong winds, the angle at which she would turn and when in order to avoid wreaking havoc by pinballing off all the other boats in the anchorage took all my powers of concentration.
Somehow I successfully managed to weave our way out of the busy anchorage and into a clearer spot further downriver. The relief manifested itself on the loo.
Later that day while ashore we received a phone call from the harbour office warning us we were ‘dangerously close to (the Royal Navy Guardship) Sir Galahad’…..
Living on a boat gives you a great sense of space in some ways yet it can also feel very cramped.
Relaxing in Karanette’s window-surrounded dog house or its roomy aft deck with its 120-degree stunning river views on a sunny day is bliss.
But being stuck on a mid-river trot mooring in driving rain and howling gales, unwilling to take the risk of getting ashore in a tiny rubber dinghy when even the harbour taxi has called it a day is not so much fun.
Cabin fever sets in and you start to crave solid ground in warm dry surroundings. It’s enough to drive you to drown your woes in a bottle or two of heady Rioja at the local pub.
Yet when the weather and conditions are good, life afloat is idyllic. There is always something going on in the Dart, especially in the summer when the river is busy with marine traffic. We regularly see seals, swans visit daily and love to feed off the weeds on Leonie’s hull. Ancient-looking cormorants dry out their wings on nearby buoys and birds of prey hover over the woods above the Kingswear railway line.
The river is a sanctuary when we want to escape the hustle and bustle of Dartmouth during the summer months but the Dart is at its most peaceful further up the river. One of my favourite spots is a small anchorage near the mouth of Bow Creek. One magical night last year the river was like a millpond reflecting hundreds of twinkling night stars.
Lack of storage space means you have to downsize your belongings, and then downsize them again. As I’m not a hoarder I had no problems ditching stuff that accumulates over the years but rationing the amount of clothes I own is a different matter.
A major fear I had about moving onto the smaller Leonie, a 35-foot long wooden 1952 Arthur Robb Lion Class yacht, was where to put my clothes, shoes and bags. Luckily, Carl agreed I could turn the wet-locker into my own, personal wardrobe. It has hanging space on the back of the slatted door, room inside to hook up bags and coats, and two short shelves on which to cram everything else. Oh, and floor space for a beach-bag full of shoes. My summer clothes are stored under the bed…..
Despite thinning my clothes out twice or thrice since moving onto Leonie 20 months ago my locker is fuller than it’s ever been. I now need to be ruthless. As we are heading off to the Mediterranean, via the French canals, in early May (weather permitting) I will be able to abandon my heavy winter-wear for smaller, lighter summer gear.
Now Carl’s children have grown up and flown the nest and we are a little more solvent we can put our dream into action.
Changing our lives eight years ago hasn’t all been plain sailing but it was the best thing we ever did.
Not for a minute did we miss our flat and although we don’t have much in material terms we have everything we need in each other, our lovely boat, our health and our freedom.
We plan to sail to France via Guernsey and then coast hop northwards to the pretty port of Hornfleur, opposite Le Havre, before heading off to Paris via the Seine. From there we will follow the French canal system to the Med, where we will turn left and go wherever the wind and our fancy takes us.
There is much to be done before we are ready for the off. I am busy with three jobs and Carl has lists and lists of boat repairs, tweaks and kit we need to buy before we can leave.
I’m not sure we feel fully ready for our grand adventure. It is both exciting and scary but I take heart in what a seasoned sailor recently told me – anyone who isn’t nervous when they set out on a voyage shouldn’t be going.
First published May/June 2013 By The Dart
