Salt in the Blood: Two philosophers go to sea

By Patrick Dixon and Sheila Dixon

“Everything creaks and bends in heavy seas – what will not bend will simply snap. So many times I wondered how much load we could carry in a powerful storm without breaking apart. If we flooded any faster I would drown in seconds.”

Patrick Dixon spent years working as a doctor at University College Hospital, while his wife Sheila was a magistrate – high-pressure careers that demanded long hours away from their home, family and passion for sailing. It is a frustrating story many occasional sailors can relate to, but unlike most, Patrick and Sheila realised early enough that they could only bend so far before something snapped, they could only take on so much before they drowned.

This is their story of how they made changes (some more challenging than others) that they knows other sailors could make too, regardless of where they are at the moment – how they changed their priorities but managed to sustain a new career that fitted in around life rather than the other way round.

It is also the story of their personal journey, both physically (across the Atlantic and to little-visited corners of the Mediterranean) and metaphorically – how a doctor who treated cancer patients coped with a partner facing the same battle. Neither of them wanted to let that flood things either.

Through their personal story, with plenty of mishaps that led to insights (both about sailing and life in general), and encounters that turned into opportunities, Patrick and Sheila explore the importance of prioritising the right things in life, and the simple benefits of travel. The book is packed with inspiring but practical advice for all those who have salt in the blood.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Jun 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9781472986252

Patrick Dixon

Patrick Dixon is the chairman of Global Change Ltd, a growth strategy and forecasting company. He is the author of sixteen books, including Futurewise, SustainAgility, The Genetic Revolution and Building a Better Business. He has been ranked as one of the twenty most influential business thinkers alive today. He is one of the world's most sought-after keynote speakers at corporate events and advises boards and senior teams on a wide range of strategic issues. Clients include Google, Microsoft, IBM, KLM/Air France, BP, ExxonMobil, World Bank, Siemens, Prudential, Aviva, UBS, Credit Suisse, PricewaterhouseCoopers, Hewlett Packard, Gillette, GSK, Forbes, Fortune, BT, BBC, Fedex and DHL. He has also taught on a wide variety of executive education programmes at the London Business School since 1999. http://www.globalchange.com/

Book preview

Chapter 1

Can We Really Take the Risk?

I AM STILL trying to make sense of what happened – and of all the extraordinary events that followed on from that moment. There I was, lying in bed reading the paper, nodding off on a cold, windy November night, after chairing a particularly difficult court hearing. Patrick had arrived back earlier from Heathrow, after giving a lecture in Zurich, and dumped his bags in the hall, also exhausted. Over dinner we had talked about time off, maybe sailing again next spring, but my mind was far away.

‘Eureka!’ Patrick shouted, clutching the iPad and holding it out in front of him. ‘I’ve found it at last!’

This broke through my semi-somnolent state.

‘What?’ I murmured, hoisting myself up on two elbows as he waved the evidence in my face.

‘The one! It’s got every single thing we put on our wish list – enough to cross the Atlantic!’

Gradually my eyes focused on a photo of a sailing yacht for sale and started to take in the description.

‘But seriously, no way are we going to buy one!’ I spluttered. ‘We agreed it’s best to charter for now, and gain experience. We said we would hire wherever we like, but without being tied down.’

‘We have done, and it’s been great.’

‘And on top of that, we don’t have the money. And crossing the Atlantic? We’ve had trouble crossing seven miles from Portsmouth to the Isle of Wight.’

I was very comfortable living in West London: it was my life, and the last thing we needed was all the expense of a second home, rotting away on the water. And after my day in court, it all sounded somewhat trivial.

‘We could take out a loan.’

‘And we’re both still working full time. And we’ve got four newly married children, and a new grandchild, and two ageing mothers.’

‘Yes, but this is an Oceanis 473 Clipper – with a water maker, generator, wind assisted self-steering, solar power, wind generator, deck shower, satellite communications and a very high spec for this particular model. At 14.4 metres long she is big enough to spend time on, safe and ocean-ready for a really good price. I’ve been looking for weeks and they rarely come up. Ten years old but in good condition.’

‘Hmm…’ I peered across and tried to focus on fleeting images of the mahogany cabin, teak decking and blue hull. I had to admit that she looked splendid, but she was much larger than anything we had ever tried to sail in the past. ‘Far too big,’ I replied. ‘We hardly know how to sail. And she’s in Portugal. We would want our boat on the South Coast – within striking distance from London, and near family.’

‘We can sail it back!’ he retorted.

‘A very long way.’

‘Or fly on budget airlines. And if it doesn’t work out we can sell – not much depreciation on a ten-year-old boat. There are 60,000 yacht owners in this country and 500,000 more across the Med so there will always be a market.’

‘Hmm…’

‘And as for family, we’re empty nesters. They don’t need us so much right now, so it’s a good time.’

I groaned inwardly, lay back on the pillows, and realised I was going to have to seriously engage my brain, and be part of the conversation, or Patrick would have paid a deposit before I’d blinked.

Every year is busy, that one was exceptionally so, and some health issues had convinced me that Patrick could not possibly carry on at the same pace. He was constantly run down. Patrick works in tremendous bursts of energy, travelling the world, but it was taking a very heavy toll on his body, with chest infections and so on. Life was filled with responsibilities and purpose, but lacked laughter.

All of life is a voyage into the future and all of us are fellow travellers, shaped by what we learn and experience. But Patrick was spending far too much time in airports.

‘If you carry on like this, you’ll be dead,’ I’d warned on several occasions. And I really meant it; two close friends had died without warning, one dropping down in the street outside the doctor’s surgery, another at work. In the next few weeks Patrick would be speaking at corporate events in Mexico City, New York, Riyadh and Singapore. He advises corporations on trends, which means relentless pressure to ‘stay ahead of the future’, while I keep the company (and the rest of life) going back home.

Patrick’s whole question of boat-buying definitely needed some serious thought. And he was talking not only about a boat, but about a journey, learning lessons for sailing through life.

But after Patrick turned the light out, and as we nestled into each other’s warmth on that cold winter’s night, I became gradually intoxicated by a vision of complete freedom, and the stress of the day began to melt away. We could go literally anywhere in the world, blown by wind in our sails from country to country. Anchor in wild, sandy bays, swim in crystal clear water, spend lazy days ashore deserted islands, watch endless sunsets, sleep on deck under the stars, potter around interesting ports, sample local foods, and visit ancient cities. Maybe we could become part-time nautical nomads, working virtually on the boat after 35 years of marriage, flying back as needed. We call it wild boating, which reminds me of wild camping – just more comfortable. Wild camping had taught us the importance of regular adventures, and that memorable things can often happen on a limited budget.

Pure escapism or not? Maybe we could have our cake and eat it. Maybe we could embark on a somewhat impulsive sailing odyssey, if we were careful about costs. Maybe we could learn new skills together, broaden our minds, refresh the business and be rejuvenated. But in some ways it felt completely irresponsible, surreal even. Could we really sail into the sunset without spending less quality time with those we love and wrecking the business? And what about all our friends, being a magistrate, community involvements and wider relationships?

I came to the conclusion eventually that the business would probably be fine, as we were both very used to working virtually. And Patrick was right about needing to stimulate new ideas for books, which had been the life-blood of the lecturing business, and was how the transition happened from cancer doctor to Futurist over 20 years ago. Cheap flights around the Med would mean we could come and go, enabling us to see family during the larger part of each year in the UK, and keep everything else going.

And so, after a little while, I became even keener than Patrick on spending maybe 12–15 weeks aboard each year. But I had no idea then that a journey would change us so radically, and take us so far, to hundreds of interesting and beautiful places in our own floating home.

* * *

Our four children and spouses happened to be with us for lunch the following Sunday, sitting around a glass table in the kitchen. We began to explain what we had been thinking about. At first there was stunned silence and blank faces.

‘It’s a great idea, and I get why you want to do it, but what about your pension?’ pointed out John, our oldest, who has always been a careful saver, unlike us. ‘It could kill the lecturing. And the last time you hired a yacht, you had to be rescued by two lifeboats and thirty nine crew. It doesn’t sound very well thought out.’

‘I admit we went aground,’ replied Patrick. ‘But –’

‘Mum had to make a Mayday emergency call.’

‘I know we may not be the best sailors in the world,’ I continued smoothly. ‘But to be fair that was over a year ago. Dad and I have sailed smaller boats a couple of times since. And it wasn’t that many rescue crew, twenty nine to be exact.’

‘And you nearly decapitated the entire crew of another yacht on the Norfolk Broads, with most of us on board. We saw it all with our own eyes,’ interjected Caroline.

‘We didn’t actually hit anyone or bash the other boat, as it happens.’ I replied. ‘It was a little scary, turning under a very low bridge with that huge lowered mast sticking out forty feet behind us. But it was a few years ago. And we have done a Day Skipper course since then.’

Our younger son Paul leaned forward. ‘Well, I hope you’re getting insured. And please don’t expect me to sell our flat to pay a ransom to pirates! I’m not saying the whole idea is bonkers, far from it, but –’

‘We have no intention of being captured by pirates,’ I blurted out.

Caroline, a family doctor, asked earnestly, ‘But what about your health, Dad? You need to think about it if you’re doing some serious sailing. But I get why you want to, and it might do you both some good.’

Lizzie then asked how I really felt ‘deep down,’ her social work training kicking into gear. ‘Are you sure this is what you want to do, Mum? It’s quite a change. And how will you manage such long periods together? Won’t you miss your friends, the church and everyone? What about being a magistrate and being away from court?’

‘As it happens,’ I replied, ‘I’m more positive about it than Dad. And it’s not as if we would be on the boat all the time. Far from it.’ I was trying not to be defensive under their gentle and loving interrogation. It felt as if family roles were being reversed. Our sons sounded just like Patrick or me lecturing one of our own children about acting responsibly in the past.

‘We do need to find a new interest in life, now you’ve all left home, or we will become grumpy and boring,’ explained Patrick. ‘We’re looking for adventure, a challenge. We both enjoy sailing and love seeing new places. I also need new insights for lecturing. I wrote ten books in ten years, but I’ve since had ‘severe writer’s block.’ He omitted to add that we thought it might also be quite romantic, even a spiritual experience.

Our children’s spouses were, by comparison, very affirming.

‘Sounds great!’

‘What make of boat did you say?’ They started Googling.

Some close friends we shared with were very positive and encouraging. But others were puzzled, bemused or worried.

‘Can’t imagine anything worse. Puking over the side, freezing cold, wet through. What if you’re caught in a storm?’

‘I read that most people buying boats regret it from the day after, until the day they sell,’ said another encouragingly. ‘Like tearing up loads of fifty pound notes in the shower.’

My sister Grace began sending Patrick books through the post with ominous titles such as Disasters at Sea, Sunk Without Trace, or How I Nearly Died Crossing the Atlantic, each one inscribed with a little friendly note that made it quite clear that each book was her personal plea to us, designed to save us from certain drowning.

But they had the opposite effect. Her gifts turned out to be engaging, exciting and informative. And we could see that there were wider lessons to be learned, from all these stories of being blown by the wind.

They were also amusing at times. There’s comedy aboard any boat. Hats or vital papers blow into the sea, things break at funny moments, dinner slops down the hatch, someone gets stuck upside down in a locker, doors fall off, bad eggs explode, the heads erupt, and life aboard generally lurches from one small calamity to another.

Shortly after that family lunch, we also shared the news with my mother-in-law, Anne, the matriarch of our family. Patrick’s mother was living on her own at the age of 78, entertaining more than 25 regularly at home on Christmas Day, as well as providing lunches and dinners for many of her friends, her 20 grandchildren and an increasing number of great grandchildren.

At first she appeared not to have heard. She was far more interested in explaining to us about her last visit to the doctor, plus her latest plans for reform of the entire NHS. She paused. ‘Oh, are you? On a yacht?’ and thereafter returned to another continuous stream of words on other matters.

Anne reached for a huge earthenware bowl of brown sugar and shovelled six heaped teaspoons into a large cup of Earl Grey tea.

‘WHALES!’ she exclaimed, staring into the mid-distance between sips.

‘Yes, I expect we will see some whales,’ agreed Patrick

‘CONTAINERS!’

‘Well, hope not.’

‘YOU WILL HIT ONE AND SINK!’

‘Well, not very –’

‘And what is more, every time your father went out with Sheila’s father in that yacht of his, he came back with another story of some terrible disaster. Propeller fell off. Engine blew up. Sounds a terribly bad idea that will cost an awful lot of money… Not sensible at all if you ask me.’

Why not go sailing?

The feedback from family did make us pause for thought for a short while, but after yet another speaking event involving long haul flights, Patrick remarked: ‘I do need to slow down. I can’t keep on going like this, without something snapping. I’m completely trashed.’

‘Well then, let’s have another look at that boat,’ I replied.

I was very aware that if our journey were to have a negative impact on the finances of the business, then that could affect ACET too, since we continue to be very active supporters. ACET (AIDS Care Education and Training) had begun in our family home around 30 years earlier, to become an international foundation, linked to Patrick’s early work as a cancer doctor looking after patients dying at home in London. His medical practice had been overwhelmed in the previous year by a new mutant virus, which has since killed 32 million people. That virus was HIV, causing AIDS, and there is still no vaccine or cure, although antivirals now mean many people live relatively normal lives, but often still experiencing discrimination, prejudice and fear in many parts of the world.

ACET is a people’s movement of volunteers (including us for the last 25 years), working alongside paid staff in Uganda, Nigeria, India, Thailand and Ukraine as well as the UK, and several other nations: saving lives, promoting healthy choices by students in schools, caring for those affected, fighting ignorance and stigma. Patrick warned for three decades of risks from new viral pandemics, worried that our world was still very badly prepared.

I confess that since talking with family I had started to feel guilty about even the possibility of buying a yacht, especially thinking about ACET and the wider needs of the world. But my father had been a yacht owner, including one he had custom-built when he was our age, which he moored to a jetty at the bottom of their garden.

On the other hand, as Patrick pointed out, if we were going to rent a lot, then it did make sense to buy, as my father had done. He had been in the navy, and definitely had salt in his blood, as did Patrick’s own father (who loved sailing), and grandfather (who also owned a yacht and built his own dinghy). We both had salt in our blood too, always happy to be close to sea or on the water.

If we were ever going to own a boat ourselves, even just for a short period, we’d need to do it sooner rather than later; who knew whether we would both still be able to embark on serious adventures in five to ten years’ time? And if there was likely to be a positive impact on lecturing, there was no point in waiting.

When my father was 70 he was unsteady on his feet at sea, and losing his nerve and had since died, my mother developed Alzheimer’s aged 69; Patrick’s father was only 68 when he died of a brain tumour. So in our mid 50s we felt that our own time could be running out. And even if we were both fit and well enough later in life, it would only take a single major health event with a parent, or any other member of our immediate family, to make such a journey impossible to contemplate for a while.

We are particularly aware of the fragility of life, because of the early years Patrick spent as a hospice doctor, often caring for people dying at relatively young ages. It has made us very grateful for every day.

Patrick often says that his job as a Futurist is to live in 2050 and to see tomorrow as history. But I have to remind him not to wish today away. We also need to live in the moment, to be thankful and to be present. One of my favourite sayings, seen painted on the wall of a bar in The Strand, London, is, ‘If life is uncertain, eat dessert first.’ And this was all before I was hit by major health issues myself, after we bought the boat.

Sailing is all absorbing and addictive, so intense that you cannot think about emails or meetings or lists of things to do. And distractions can easily lead to disaster.

* * *

And so it was that after much heart-searching, we checked online and found the boat still available, which we took as a sign. We made an offer, haggled a bit, arranged a survey and a loan. We then flew out to Lagos in Portugal for an inspection and sea trial, before actually signing.

We couldn’t believe it! In that moment we had joined five million other people in the UK who own a second home, except that ours would be floating, could be located anywhere and could take us across oceans; all for the same price as a large motorhome.

The truth is that I had been quietly thinking about buying for a year, ever since meeting up again with our old friends Bridget and David (who I trained with at medical school). They had taken three months, as empty nesters, to sail around the UK in their own boat, and were glowing with the release of it all.

We knew from them that running costs such as insurance, engine servicing and antifouling would all be the same, regardless of whether we used the boat or not, so we felt it would be a waste to own one unless we were on board a lot, and if that ceased we would sell. We hoped each day on the water would cost little. We would save on marinas by anchoring, on UK utility bills, car costs and so on, and would do most maintenance ourselves.

It gave us great comfort that her base in Lagos was where Sheila and I had spent a week on a smaller racing yacht, training for Day Skipper exams, a couple of years before. So we knew the coast, and the marina, where Rob was based, who had run the course just for the two of us.

We could hardly sleep on the night before we flew out to Lagos, such was our excitement. Our first sight of our new boat was on a cold but sunny day, propped high up on stilts, showing the graceful curves of her wide navy hull, huge fin keel and copper-coloured antifouling. The name Moxie was inscribed in big letters on her bow and stern. Our hearts leapt.

‘You have no idea how beautiful they’ve made her look,’ our surveyor said, as we approached with growing elation. And it was true that she gleamed as if at a boat show. Monohulls are beautiful shapes, contoured like fish, and this one was especially so. She had an unusually high bow and sides to deflect waves, with relatively flat roof and a large number of glazed hatches to let the light in.

Inside was a stunning four metre by six metre saloon. Bright sunlight reflected all around the kitchen, living area, dining table, varnished mahogany and chrome, and white seating with blue curtains. ‘I can’t believe they were living as a family on board, because there’s so little wear,’ he added.

First sight of Moxie in Lagos.

Indeed, she was far better than I imagined from the photos. Every surface looked perfect and the mahogany floors were scratch free, with three generously sized double cabins, one of which was ensuite. There was plenty of seating around the table for eight, lots of wardrobes and cupboards, a vast freezer, fridge, gas cooker, two sinks and air conditioning, with tanks for 600 litres of water. Fully equipped for ocean crossings by the family selling her. The owners had home schooled two young girls aboard for a year, sailing in the Med. They then felt they needed more space for the four of them.

We were overwhelmed to discover that every storage space was full of really useful things, included in their price, right down to tools, spares, cutlery and bedding.

The teak deck was in reasonable condition, and all reefing lines ran to the cockpit, which was huge, well protected, with a beautiful varnished mahogany table, which had a weather-proof cover.

We were rapidly falling in love with their boat and eager to sign, even though we knew deep down that the whole project was going to be more expensive than we realised. We knew from the survey that beneath the polish and sparkle were some major issues. For example, the rigging and seacocks would need replacing in the next year. I was worried that the bilge pumps were too small. The wind generator and watermaker needed repairs, while the life-raft and satellite emergency beacon needed testing.

While the yard replaced rigging and other things, we bought a large 35kg Rocna anchor, plus 80 metres of additional chain, giving us three entirely separate anchoring systems on the bow and another at the stern. This was much to the amusement of the yard, who were also incredulous at two drogues we bought to slow us in heavy seas, and a sea parachute in case we were in trouble in a storm.

‘You’ll never need any of that,’ they said.

I did have a nagging doubt about the design of the boat. Production yachts of this size are highly optimised for lightness, speed and easy turning in marinas, which is why monohulls in marinas look so similar. However, I had read that most handle badly in large waves when sailing downwind: twisting, broaching or even capsizing. Traditional boats track better, right themselves faster and ‘heave to’ more easily in gales. But owner reviews of the Oceannis 473 were very positive. Many had successfully crossed the Atlantic without sinking.

When they finally lowered her into the water using a huge hoist (a scary sight), and we stepped aboard for the very first time, we were awestruck by her length, the graceful curves of her bow seen from the cockpit, and by how vast she felt inside, as a floating home. Could this amazing boat really be ours?

Lessons for Buying Your First Boat

• You can have great adventures on small 40-year-old boats on a limited budget (especially if you share ownership and keep her on a mooring), but you will probably stay closer to land

• Your boat could become a home, a virtual office and may save your life – so choose for seaworthiness as well as comfort

• New boats depreciate hugely, and you will be very stressed about damage – consider a used boat, with loads of extra features eg spare sails, watermaker etc which will get thrown in for the same price

• Avoid ex-charter boats – there is a huge risk of invisible wear and tear

• Around 14 metres length is ideal for offshore cruising/living. Above that, costs soar and two crew may struggle to handle her

• Involve your partner, if you have one, early in discussions and are hoping for adventures together

• Try chartering first, and in sheltered waters

• If seasickness is a make-or-break issue (despite remedies like hyoscine ear patches) then consider a catamaran

• Look for furling foresail and main controlled by lines to the cockpit – reefing any other way is impossible for a crew of two in trouble, and allows infinite variations of sail balance

• Rear cockpits are less sick-making and exposed than centre cockpits (they sit lower, and lurch around less) and are larger

• Make sure your boat has a powerful enough diesel engine – your life may depend on it eg 75 horse power for 14 metres length

• Be conservative regarding the size of an outboard – and fix a hoist. Even a 2.5 horsepower engine weighs a lot

• Always get a proper survey and carry out every recommendation

• Allow 25 per cent of purchase price for yard repairs at the start

• Ignore people who say you are too safety-conscious with equipment you buy – they won’t be on board in a crisis

• If you want to stay off-grid comfortably, you need a heavy anchor and long chain, large fridge and freezer, big batteries, mains power rectifier, water maker and diesel generator (plus alternatives such as wind turbine or solar)

• Learn all you can when yard workers are fixing things

• Make sure you have spares or replacements for all important items (and keep track of where you stow them!)

• Explore every tiny bilge space, locker and cavity – you will be amazed at the genius which packs both a home and sailing machine into such a tiny space, and will help you later on

• When you inspect a bilge, clean it with a hand-powered vacuum and a damp cloth, to stop blocking bilge pumps in emergencies

• Copper-coat antifouling is a genius innovation, preventing marine growth for up to a decade, compared to annual lifting, washing, scraping and repainting – buy a boat which has it

Lessons for Life

• Seize the day – take opportunities and do not put them off

• Don’t take your future health for granted

• Live in the moment – and be thankful for it

• Listen carefully for reactions to any adventure you are planning. For example, timing is really important to get right, but don’t let other people’s fears rob you of what could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity

• You can only live your life once – so make each day count

The bow at sunset.

Chapter 2

Why the Lifeboats Were Called Out

WHEN SHEILA CALLED out those lifeboats, before we bought our own boat, it was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. On the last weekend of August, we had arranged to charter an ancient Sigma 33, with fibreglass hull and long keel. We drove to near Southampton one sunny morning, parking the car by a tiny muddy dock, where the owner brought his yacht to us.

She had been on a mooring for months, in gales and storms, and had a mildewed, cream deck, which was covered with seagull droppings, and a musty, wooden interior: a mix of salty air, condensation and slight odour from the heads. I was concerned that Sheila might take one look and drive straight back to London, but she didn’t seem fazed.

The yacht looked in good order, despite being thirty-four years old, and we were delighted to have her for two days, at a bargain price. The bald-headed owner was warm and