Seakeeper

By Ross Venner

Seakeeper takes the threatening geo-political dynamics of Neville Shute’s “What happened to the Corbetts” right into the world we will face in the mid-2020s.

Contestation between China and the USA is getting intense and nuclear armed North Korea is in the mix. With Australia stuck in the middle, politics is becoming dangerously polarised. Alarmed at the threatening environment, Warren, a Sydney Yachtsman takes his Chinese wife and their son out into the Pacific Ocean.

They voyage from their familiar world to a nightmarish recreation of it. In the face of threats and massive violence, they manage to retain their integrity and eventually return to help their city to regain a new balance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ross Venner
• Release date: Sep 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370188512

Ross Venner

Boats have been a part of my life since my earliest days. I still remember with affection the toy boats in my bath. I learned to sail at school, and still remember the smell of new sawn timber from the woodwork shop and the excitement of seeing flat sheets of plywood bend to become something almost animated, a boat.

Book preview

Section 1 - Cast upon the waters

1 - Departure

You probably know the feeling, you’ve fouled up and part of you; the residue of the naughty school kid, is reluctant to go home and face the music. I was late, my mobile phone had died, I’d left my watch at home and I was going to be late for dinner. Yvonne, my wife would not be in a good mood.

Yvonne was already watching the news, as I dusted myself off at the back door and put on my slippers. I picked my tepid plate up from the table, put it on a tray and slipped down on the couch beside her. She barely looked at me, concentrating on the national news with a scowl of intensity. I waited for the sport to begin before interrupting her.

Did I miss anything, dearest?

The US and China still raving at each other. She paused, marshalling her thoughts, Each is trying to get Australia on their side.

Don’t like China’s chances. I muttered, We’ve been America’s allies for better than 85 years.

But remember, we’ve a lot of Chinese people.

Yes, dear, and so has America.

And the Chinese government is now demanding they all be loyal to China…

Ouch. I muttered, it was more of a grunt than anything else, I felt it in the ribs and looked at her.

Warren, Higson and some of his extremists are demanding the internment of Chinese; they said, like the Americans did to their Japanese citizens in World War 2.

I snorted with derision, Won’t happen, dearest. For a start, all the hospitals would close down without their Chinese staff.

I felt her relax a little beside me. Thank you, Lo Gong. You always reassure me. I knew the prospect of a row was over when she used the Cantonese form for Old Man. You were late.

Yes, sorry, battery on my mobile was flat, didn’t have my watch. Sorry. Anything else in the news? I felt the thundercloud of her temper dissolve, she had worse things to worry about than my cold dinner.

That revolting man Higson; he’s been kicked out by his party and some of his followers have left it too. Can they do that, he was elected?

They can expel him from the party, but to kick him out of Parliament, that’s different.

Yes, but he just ferments trouble. Wants to end the American alliance, close down the military and use the savings to subsidise his favourite programmes.

I looked at her as I gathered my thoughts. Dearest, its dreadful timing but the man’s a populist. He promises lots of money to people, without explaining the consequences. Do you remember how, back in 2016, the British voted to leave the EU and the Yanks elected Donald Trump? It was the same deal, nothing good can come of it. Anyway, he’s a very minor player, who would believe him?

Warren, they had a poll in the news tonight. A fair number of people believe him. They say that America can’t, or won’t help us after the big earthquake on the west coast.

I had no answer to that one, They’ve certainly have a lot of rebuilding to do after the latest quake. No point in adding that too many of those so-called earthquake proof buildings had proved to be anything but, and a huge debate about the corruption underlying the building failures was raging in California.

What are the Chinese websites saying dear?

Their own nationalist, she hesitated for a word and reluctantly added, hate.

Not good. Her face was gaunt with worry and knowing that nothing positive would turn up, I turned off the TV.

As we washed up, she asked me, How’s the boat?

Good, I was working on the new solar panels this afternoon. They should be able to charge the batteries for a night’s run and drive her at three knots all day.

That’s good?

Huge advance on the old set, justifies swapping the diesel for the electric motor and batteries. She gained two storage lockers as a result.

I noticed Yvonne stare as if into the distance and she muttered We may need them.

I thought about those words as we passed the evening. Jeremy emerged from his room long enough to pick up a piece of fruit and say Dad, sorry I wasn’t with you for dinner, swotting – you know what I mean.

Only one year to go, son. Then you’ll have to learn to have a conversation. There was a click as his bedroom door closed, and I looked back at Yvonne, her shrug and a small tightening of the lips as her eyes switched from our son’s bedroom door and back to me.

We were getting ready for bed, when Yvonne took me by surprise. What about a summer cruise?

The boys were talking about spending a couple of days up at Pittwater. Most of them have to go back to work after the New Year.

Where would you go, if we came with you?

But you don’t like sailing.

Yvonne had accepted the boat as part of me, when we married, but had never shared my love of sailing my tough old gaff cutter. Are you that worried?

Yes, Warren, I am, she said quietly, what would happen if the power went out across the City? Jeremy says there would be chaos after only a couple of days.

I pulled her gently into my arms and held her, Yes, it could be bad. When do you want to sail?

When Jeremy’s exams are over. Even in her fear, Yvonne remained a good Chinese mother, education before almost anything.

A couple of weeks. We should be able to organise it, but I need to get the boat slipped to clean the bottom, it will be difficult to get a yard to haul her out, with all the preparations for the Sydney to Hobart race. Sitting on the side of the bed, I held her hand trying to instil a glimmer of hope that she seemed to have lost. Up on the top of the wardrobe, I noticed the wooden case of my old sextant. On impulse, I stood up and took it down. I guess I can practice with this, haven’t used it for years.

Those next two weeks passed in a blur. Yvonne followed the news, both English language and Chinese and became more and more grim, but I buzzed around preparing for our voyage. I bought stores including hard to replace gear and lists of food in quantities I had previously never considered. Yvonne helped by preparing detailed shopping lists and inventories then lists for each storage locker. We got lucky about slipping the boat when several of the international competitors for the big race suddenly cancelled. That was something good, out of the international situation but it emphasised that we were not the only ones concerned. That said, there were enough yachties preparing for the race and ready to mock Seakeeper’s old fashioned rig. One wag called out, She might not drown you, mate; but you’ll certainly starve.

His companion responded in the same vein, Nah, they’ll die of boredom.

Jeremy stayed in his room and swotted for his exams.

I spent a day aloft, inspecting the rig and lubricating fittings, another day on the computer updating charts and navigation tables. Even contemplating ports as far away as South America. Suddenly it all seemed desperately real.

That last day, as we were packing our bags and loading the last of the fresh food, the Secretary of State flew in from Washington. We listened on the car radio as the news crews flocked to hear the great man thank Australia for its multigenerational commitment to the Alliance, and to praise its dependability in the present crisis. I dug my fingernails into the palm of my hand with frustration at the unimaginative parroting of our leaders and the other international players.

To make matters worse, the next news item reported that North Korea had suddenly demanding food shipments and other concessions to ease its latest crisis. The newsreader managed to report the demands without comment and noted that, The DPRK’s demands will be referred by the government to an, he introduced a new phrase, International Reference Group The Prime Minister announced that Parliament would be recalled to discuss the deteriorating international situation. A bit of clever editing managed to insert the braying voice of Mister Higson goading him with a cheeky, I told you so.

We had told our neighbours, Max and his wife that we were going out to Norfolk Island, a long trip, fifteen days, perhaps three weeks sailing. Just keep an eye on the place, and have a nice Christmas, we had said. It didn’t seem we would be gone long. Passionately, I hoped this was true.

We had shopped together, too. Yvonne needed suitable sailing clothes, wet weather gear. I wondered what the other shoppers thought as they saw us. Yvonne, straight backed and clear eyed, her black hair with the first streaks of grey and me; stooped, clearly older than my wife with my hair entirely white. I hoped they wondered about our story rather than rushing to stereotypes, but shuddered knowing that some would be listening to the merchants of discord ranting on their favoured radio stations. Perhaps I imagined it, but I thought I saw other darker thoughts behind strangers’ eyes.

Jeremy’s last exam ended at lunchtime and we were aboard by five. I had mixed feelings as the mooring buoy splashed down into the river and Seakeeper drifted backwards, then I started the electric motor. Let’s hope this all proves to be an anticlimax and we’re back home in a month, Yvonne.

So do I Warren, so do I. The intensity of the sadness in her voice struck me to the core. I reached over and squeezed her hand. Hopefully, she felt some reassurance in the gesture. Whatever happened, we were prepared for six months at sea. Surely the crisis would be over by then.

We slipped down the Parramatta River, under the high concrete arch of the Gladesville Bridge, past the old dockyard, now the Cockatoo Island Arts Centre and then under the Sydney Harbour Bridge. To our starboard side, the brightly illuminated city was busy and the ferries were rushing to and from Circular Quay with the last of the commuters hurrying home and pre-Christmas revellers going to their parties, oblivious to the international crisis.

Most of my class will be over there. Jeremy said, nodding towards the city.

Sorry you’re missing the party, son?

As long as I don’t miss next year's, eh dad?

You’ll have graduated, so we’re free of you at last, eh? I chuckled.

A couple of party boats were already chugging round the harbour, the beat of their music reverberating across the darkening waters. I looked to port, up to the high towers of North Sydney and down on the waterfront at the party lights winking in the PM’s residence, Kirribilli House.

I hope there are some wise heads in there tonight. I joked to Yvonne when she put her head up through the hatchway, followed by the waft of laksa from the galley stove.

Wise heads – we all need. She said, unconsciously mimicking the latest in the interminable Star Wars series that had been rebroadcast a week or two before.

Without a glance at the Opera House, I went forward and set the staysail to take advantage of the fading sea breeze and Jeremy took the helm. It took less than 5 minutes and back in the cockpit I received a bowl of laksa with a piece of fresh bread to sop up the gravy.

Delicious, dearest. I smiled

Enjoy! When will we have fresh bread from the bakery again? She replied.

Dad, will there be a war? Surely they can’t be that mad?

I looked around us, ahead were the darkening cliffs of North Head and the lighthouse marking South Head, at the Manly Ferry cutting past us and behind at the city towers silhouetted against the bright red western sky.

No, they can’t be that mad. It will just be a leisurely trip to Norfolk Island and back in time for university to restart. Before it got fully dark, we hoisted the big gaff mainsail, a task made much easier by Jeremy helping with the second halyard while Yvonne steered.

Jeremy was facing aft, so he saw the movement of the vessels first and pointed to them. Dad?

A quick glance resolved the nearest shape into one of the navy’s harbour tenders. There was a second closer to South Head. An amplified voice from the nearer launch, instructed us to move over to the North side of the channel and Yvonne turned Seakeeper as instructed. The sails slatted and I darted back into the cockpit to speed up the motor and keep the boat under control. Following behind the launches, its blackness indistinct in the fading light, was a submarine.

The launch turned to follow the deep water channel, but to my surprise, I realised that the sub was taking the turn wide and was edging past us only 100 metres away. Another amplified voice wafted through the twilight.

What yacht is that?

Seakeeper for Norfolk Island. I bellowed back.

What engine are you running?

Electric – Solar PV to batteries.

Very quiet, I thought I detected a hint of admiration in the voice of the unseen speaker, have a good trip.

Almost silently, the sub surged ahead.

Yvonne look at me. What was that about? She asked

Probably wondered why they couldn’t hear our engine. Subs use sound like we use eyes.

2 - Quiet voyage

Jeremy took over the watch at midnight. To the west, Sydney’s lights had dropped below the horizon but the city’s location was still a glow against the night sky.

Course 068, no shipping about at present, but keep a good watch. See you at dawn.

Thanks Dad.

Such a simple exchange. I went below and lay down in my berth; close to the hatchway and the desk which held the charts and navigation instruments. It was hard to sleep. My mind drifted to the friends we had mislead, just a summer cruise we had told them, neighbours like Max who we had asked to clear our letterbox. Not easy for a bean counter, or as, a wag had quipped at my retirement party has been bean counter to lie. My mind drifted, the dome in Hiroshima, clouds lit by their own devilish light remembered from film of nuclear weapons tests... The next thing I knew was Yvonne waking me with a cup of coffee. It was 6 o’clock. My head felt heavy.

How was it? I asked

Steady breeze, made four and a half knots.

That was another 27 nautical miles, better than 45 kilometres offshore – clear of the merchant shipping routes down the east coast to Melbourne but we were still in range of the city’s AM stations. Through the static, we listened to the news of escalating tensions. We were no less helpless at sea than we would have been at home, but it felt free to be butting into the head seas as Seakeeper worked steadily to windward. The wind was veering and before lunch, we were forced to sail 090, due east.

Later, I checked the GPS – only four satellites which was unusual, but I marked the position on the chart, we were well over 110 kilometres out to sea. Jeremy was on the helm and I ducked below to sit with Yvonne.

How are you going, dearest? I asked.

I feel awful, I’m seasick and I’m worried sick Warren. You don’t think it could come to war? Yvonne’s eyes flicked up to the hatchway, clearly concerned more about Jeremy than herself.

I sighed, Like I told Jeremy, it would be madness, but at least we won’t be in the queue for the non-existent bomb shelters, will we? I tried to smile but saw in her eyes that she had missed the pathetic attempt at humour.

Or panic buying in the supermarket aisles. Her voice was barely audible. Then she added, I feel sick, I’m going on deck.

Before joining them, I rechecked the GPS. It now showed only three satellites and the reading was flagged as unreliable. With a sense of foreboding, I checked the AM band but it was full of the meaningless crackle and hiss of the ether. My hand shook as I turned to the HF band radio, old technology, quirky at times, but always a signal somewhere.

The voice had an American accent, devoid of emotion it could have been listing sports results, Singapore - Brisbane - Sydney… it faded again in a new wave of static. I went and sat with my wife and son, trying to make sense of what I had just heard. Were we among the last of our race?

Dad, you’re hurting my arm. I hadn’t even noticed that I was holding Jeremy’s arm. I released my grip. Sorry, son. I’m afraid the madness may have begun.

The afternoon passed in deep despair. No satellites were reaching the GPS now. I cooked dinner and we shared it silently in the cockpit, as the sun burnished the western horizon. After that we reduced sail, snugged the rig down for the night and the prepared to turn in. Yvonne would take the watch until midnight. Jeremy washed up and put his head out of the hatch. All good Mum? I think it was Yvonne’s first night watch on her own.

The night passed uneventfully, the sky overcast and the wind moderate, but the atmosphere aboard Seakeeper in the morning, was still intense. Ocean sailing has a measure to it that I love. I used that rhythm to avoid too much thought and passed the morning with the steady routine of voyaging checking gear looking for wear and tear; on a boat the phrase is meant literally. Jeremy and Yvonne were silent with worry.

We ate lunch. Somehow each bite seemed to have a special significance to me. Yvonne read or tried to appear that she did. Jeremy tried, unsuccessfully, to get reception on the radios. Eventually we shared some bread, now slightly less than fresh, some soup and cheese.

I was thinking, I’ll have to send you up to the crosstrees to shout ‘land ho,’ unless things improve, eh son? His look told me that Jeremy was in no mood for humour, even black humour.

The wind turned to the south west and settled into a steady breeze, force 3 or about 10 knots. Seakeeper drove across the low regular swell at a steady four knots. As evening came on, I decided to leave the jib up overnight. On previous evenings, Jeremy and I had taken in the big headsail set on the long bowsprit, but with a clear sky and the promise of a full moon, I felt this was unnecessary.

Jeremy took the first night watch, and I turned into my berth for four hours sleep after an early dinner. Yvonne came past and gave my forehead a gentle kiss.

Love you, husband; whatever happens. She went forward to her berth in the saloon and after a while, I could hear her regular breathing. Yvonne must have been very tired to sleep in the circumstances.

Good night dad. Jeremy whispered down the hatchway.

I hope so son, I hope so.

We changed watches with few words, logged our speed and kept lookout as the boat sailed herself. As we changed over the watch, Jeremy pointed out to the number of shooting stars he had observed.

Or space junk, Son, or space junk.

Mind if I sit with you for a while, Dad. Don’t think I could sleep, anyway. Jeremy ducked below, pulled on an extra sweater and re-joined me in the cockpit. The moon was full and its light was enough to see the details of the sails and spars easily. To leeward, its reflected path illuminated the endless march of waves. Beautiful, but poignant as Seakeeper carried us forward in a very uncertain world.

Half an hour had passed in silent companionship when Jeremy cocked his head and focused his gaze to the south. Dad, Jeremy’s voice was almost a whisper, do you hear anything?

I strained to pick out a noise above the gentle passage of the boat through the swell.

No.

A diesel, I think.

I reached down through the hatch and turned off the navigation lights. My first admission that the world we were entering, might be far more dangerous than the one that existed when we departed Sydney. I closed my eyes and listened intently. Perhaps there was a lull in the wind, but for a moment, I heard the sound distinctly, it came from starboard, the south, made dark by the moon’s brightness on the port side. I grabbed my binoculars from their position on the shelf inside the companionway and scanned the dark sector. Nothing, except the occasional wave reflecting the moon’s light, but I was sure I had heard it, a low frequency, more felt than heard.

"You heard it, Dad?

I nodded, can’t see anything. I paused. Nothing we can do about it if we could. You’d better get some shut-eye.

The wind eased before dawn, so I checked the charge on the batteries and engaged the motor. Seakeeper edged forward. I tightened the sheets to stop the sails slatting. The sound of the diesel did not recur.

Yvonne took over from me soon after dawn. I took the opportunity to scan the HF band. High Frequency signals propagate best around dawn and dusk. The interference was severe, but another ham in the Midwest of America confirmed that there had been a limited nuclear attack in Asia, Australia had been hit including Sydney and he managed to sound genuinely sympathetic for me, even as he said, Apart from San Diego, mainland America is untouched and the President is holding off from any military response until we have enough details to make sense of events. Then he added, Seems they knocked our allies about, but provoking Uncle Sam too much was not part of their plan. That left unanswered, the identity of they.

After breakfast, we gathered in the cockpit. I looked at Yvonne and Jeremy; the only two people I knew I had in the whole world.

Well, if he’s right, it looks like Sydney has gone, so we are probably homeless. I looked from one to the other, Yvonne looked ashen, Jeremy stood and looked out at the western horizon and I thought I saw the gleam of tears in his eyes. Well we’ve got provisions for close to six months; the water maker is hooked to the solar panels so that shouldn’t be a problem. Question is, where do we go?

There was a hardening in the set of Jeremy’s jaw. New Zealand, Dad. North Cape is what, six days away? We could be in Auckland in little more than a week.

Yvonne backed Jeremy, but I remained uneasy. Even if New Zealand had not been attacked, how would it be coping, did it still have imports? Fuel in particular, distributed across the region from Singapore could be New Zealand’s biggest short-term problem. Jeremy’s comment Cities will descend into chaos in two days, once the lights go out, haunted me.

Anyway, I added, I think we should start fishing, anything we catch will extend our supplies. Remember, it looks like we will be penniless refugees, when we get there, wherever there is...

Silently, I kicked myself for not buying gold or silver coins, or something tradeable. Perhaps I had thought it was just another crisis which would blow over, like so many before...

3 - The unquiet sea

We changed our course to 110 degrees. This would take us 100 kilometres north of the tip of New Zealand and keep us out of the main shipping routes.

Why dad, it will add a day or more to the trip? Jeremy asked.

You’re relying on my old fashioned astro navigation. Sure you want to take it closer? I didn’t tell them that I wanted sea room if New Zealand was less welcoming than they expected.

Jeremy didn’t pursue the matter and went to get some sleep. Yvonne stayed in the cockpit beside me. I looked at her with admiration, she seemed so composed, sucked into an environment which I knew she did not enjoy, even in normal circumstances.

You’re holding up well, I said.

What choice have we? She sighed. At least we are all alive. How many are dead?

She squeezed my hand and lapsed into silence, while I found myself thinking about our city and imaging it blasted and wrecked, only it’s steep valleys and waterways recognisable but poisoned with radiation and destruction.

Eventually, Yvonne took a heavy breath, Warren, I remember the first time I saw you. When I moved into my little flat. I thought you were an old Gweh Lo, but you were thoughtful. You were there, patient, while other people, men, took, or tried to... You were greying already and stooped - the long hours at your desk; people teased me, dating an old man. I was right though, I got a good man. Thank you, husband.

I rested my hand on hers and on the sun warmed timbers of the cockpit. I remember when I first noticed you - With that sleeve of yours, caught in the garbage chute.

We both smirked at the memory and I looked into her eyes.

Yvonne smiled gently, Yes, great place to start a relationship. But you un-snagged me. I admired the way your hands worked so neatly, gently, you barely damaged a single thread. She slid along the slatted seat and I put my arm gently around her shoulder. That yellow top is still in my wardrobe, you know, I never threw it away.

A long time ago in a place that probably doesn’t exist anymore. I sighed. We were silent for a long while.

The wind swung to the west and freshened. We reefed the mainsail and lowered the jib. Seakeeper was in her element in the brisk conditions making a steady six knots running across the empty sea. I scanned the radio frequencies, heard nothing but static and went back on deck.

It was late afternoon when Yvonne spotted an orange smoke flare on the horizon to the east. I took a bearing and altered course. Yvonne ducked below to wake Jeremy. The binoculars didn’t reveal any detail until we were quite close.

Rubber dinghy, dad. Jeremy called. He was halfway up the shrouds to get a better view.

Soon I could see the raft and realised that any rescue was going to be tricky. The wind was too strong to rely on the motor. That left the choice of trying to stop Seakeeper within a throwing lines length downwind of the dinghy, or drifting down on it with all the risks implicit with that manoeuvre.

Closing the distance, I could see that the raft was an aviation type and it had a canopy inflated over it. The windage catching the canopy had the raft drifting downwind quickly so I decided to make a windward approach. The shelter of Seakeeper’s sails would make a sheltering lee which would slow the raft’s drift as we in turn drifted down on it. I could see a figure was standing-up in the raft, waving.

Jeremy, life jackets for each of us, please. Then we’ll need a heaving line and a bowline ready. I’ll be ready to cast off the mainsheet. Yvonne, take over the helm, try to keep the staysail driving, but don’t bring the raft under the bow or we’ll crush it.

It took three attempts, but Yvonne brought Seakeeper to the perfect position to windward of the raft. I let out the mainsheet to reduce her speed.

Jeremy, heaving line, now.

The figure in the life raft fumbled the line which slithered beyond his reach. Jeremy pulled it back in as quickly as he could. The raft was almost under the boom this time and the line almost fell into the raft.

Dad, there’s someone else in the raft. Jeremy had seen the figure duck down under the raft’s rubber tent held up by inflated tubes. A moment later, the raft was alongside and we were pulling in the line, which was tied around an incapacitated and apparently unconscious figure. It took all our strength and the help of the man in the raft, before the figure flopped over the gunwale - just as the wind filled the staysail and turned Seakeeper down wind. The raft jerked out of reach before the man standing in it could climb aboard. It fell behind as we turned and the mainsail filled. It took another quarter of an hour to get the unconscious survivor below, then tack back to the raft and manoeuvre back into position. By now the light was beginning to fade. It would be hard to find the raft again if we failed to pick-up the remaining survivor on this attempt. What was worse, he must have been weakened by the time in the bobbing raft, and his effort in getting his companion up into the yacht.

Tie a bowline in your line, Jeremy and throw that to him. Again the big mainsail was allowed to flog and Seakeeper slowed close to the raft. Jeremy through the line with unerring accuracy.

The figure grabbed at the looped rope. I saw him grab it and stand up to get it around his shoulders. Distracted, he forgot the boom above his head. One moment, he was struggling to get the loop of rope over his shoulders, the next he was poleaxed into the water. Jeremy jumped. I heard Yvonne’s scream, No, Jeremy. Too late, Jeremy was swimming across to the still figure in the water by the raft.

Years of manoverboard training cut in. I tossed the dan buoy into the water, and was relieved as the light on its tall pole flickered into life. At least we could find our way back to them, even in the gathering darkness. With only Yvonne and myself on deck, we would be hard pressed to get anybody back on board. In desperation, I untied the boarding ladder from its stowage on the cabin roof and positioned it on the gunwale. It took a couple of tacks before we drifted down on the two figures in the water. Jeremy had the second survivor’s head out of the water, he waved weakly and held up a small loop in the survivor’s lifejacket. Boat hook, he mouthed. I fumbled with the cords securing the boat hook to the cabin top, then reached down with the long shaft and sighed as Jeremy guided it into the loop.

With the survivor on the hook, Jeremy released him and in two heart stopping strokes got himself within reach of the boarding ladder as Seakeeper rose on the swell and threatened to come back down upon him. I watched breathlessly as he grasped the sides of the ladder, and somehow despite the weight of his waterlogged clothes got his feet onto the bottom rung and climbed. A moment later he was back beside me helping to pull the injured man aboard.

Yvonne abandoned the helm and threw herself at her only son. Never, never, take a risk like that again. She screamed at him. With no one at the helm, the yacht turned away downwind and we struggled to get the semi-conscious man down into the cabin.

Eventually, I took the helm and got Seakeeper under control, while Jeremy assisted Yvonne with the two casualties. He re-emerged on deck an hour later, dried and in fresh clothes and carrying my oilskins. It was dark and I realised I was already chilled to the bone.

Thanks, son.

Sorry Dad, didn’t mean to scare you – Just instinct.

Did you apologise to your mum?

Yes, dad. He paused. I couldn’t see any other way…

It was my turn to pause. What do