When I was 14, my Dad and I were on the boat solo.
We were sailing from Isle of Pines in New Caledonia, back to the mainland there, before we were to kick off a circumnavigation around the country.
We were about half-way, and we knew there was a shallow reef at some point. The charts said it was over 3.5m deep at the shallowest point (we “drew” 2.8m with the keel), so we were pretty relaxed about it.
So, while we were on the lookout for this reef, we were making good time and had the line out behind the boat fishing as well.
All of a sudden, I look down and it’s getting shallow.
Somehow, we hadn’t seen it coming, and it quickly starts to shift from a light blue colour, to the brown-ish tone of really shallow water.
We’re doing about 12 knots at the time under full sail. Dad reassures me we’re fine, because it’s not supposed to get too shallow, but there’s also the distinct sense of mutual uncertainty.
We decide to pivot. We change direction to get into deeper water.
Everything shifts to a mild form of chaos.
We gybe, happen to hook up a fish at the same time, all while watching the depth gauge start showing numbers under 3m…
We make it through, land the fish, and eventually correct back to the original waypoint.
“Pivoting” is a required skill. Sometimes the chaos involved is necessary. But at the same time, it wouldn’t make sense to have a habit of changing course out in the middle of the ocean for no reason…
The difficulty isn’t even in the change itself.
The hard part is in knowing whether whether this is a healthy change for greater good, or are we are just changing to follow a new thread of distraction because the real work has gotten harder.
