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post #181 of 218 Old 01-02-2018
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Re: How nervous are you?

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Originally Posted by Snorri View Post
It depends on how many people are there to see my mistakes
After 4 years now and on my second sailboat, I have found the antidote to fear is to sail within comfort zone with occasional foreys beyond to expand that zone. But the thing that will raise fear even within my comfort zone is the presence of others. Not sure why but having others on board can raise my level of anxiety. I suppose it is feeling responsible for other lives but if I examine it the fear comes more from others being witness to my screw ups. If I am alone and miss a tack or have trouble getting out of slip or docking it is no big deal but when others are along I feel much more pressure to get it right and this somehow connects to fear.
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post #182 of 218 Old 01-02-2018
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Re: How nervous are you?

Its like a tree falling in the woods, if you make a mistake and nobody sees it then well..
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post #183 of 218 Old 01-03-2018
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Re: How nervous are you?

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Originally Posted by DaisysDriver View Post
After 4 years now and on my second sailboat, I have found the antidote to fear is to sail within comfort zone with occasional foreys beyond to expand that zone. But the thing that will raise fear even within my comfort zone is the presence of others. Not sure why but having others on board can raise my level of anxiety. I suppose it is feeling responsible for other lives but if I examine it the fear comes more from others being witness to my screw ups. If I am alone and miss a tack or have trouble getting out of slip or docking it is no big deal but when others are along I feel much more pressure to get it right and this somehow connects to fear.
I know this feeling well too. Some of it IS responsibility. I remember getting caught in my first full gale and had 2 friends on board. I kept thinking "if someone goes overboard or gets hurt this is on me". It wasn't a good feeling. However, like you mentioned, the other large side is the "don't embarrass yourself" in front of others fear.

The first time I EVER sailed a boat (my own) and came back to the dock I had never docked anything other than a 16ft aluminum boat before. I came back in along the pier and there was a MASSIVE crown down there for a community event (great timing right??). I was already sweating coming back having never docked 5000lbs of boat before and the slips are tight. I had my wife, 2 friends, and their MASSIVE 120lbs pyranese dog with me. As soon as I got to the end of the pier and started puttering to the slips the damn dog decided the best place to ride out this trip was now the cockpit sole. She climbed out through the companion way and FORCEFULLY plunked herself down into the sole filling it entirely. I had literally nowhere to move and now I'm panicking as I'm threading in through the "you're committed to landing" zone of the marina. I couldn't move her, everyone at the event was enjoying this "graceful sailboat coming back into the marina" and I'm SWEATING. I'm standing up on the lazarette lid trying to fit my head out around the bimini while steering a boat back in for the first time ever. Did I mention this was also run on an outboard motor? Trying controlling a tiller and outboard when you can't stand\move through the cockpit sole anymore.

I landed ok, thank god, but I felt like if I messed that up the entire town would talk about it for years. That dog...she just knew how to make it 100x worse lol.
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post #184 of 218 Old 01-03-2018
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Re: How nervous are you?

Guyfromthenorth's story reminds me of my first sail on my folkboat. I have posted this story before, but its been a long time so here tis again;

After graduating with my undergraduate degree, I decided to buy a boat and live aboard while I decided what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. After working and putting away enough to buy a small boat I began looking for a boat to call home. I ended up buying ‘Diana’ a 1949 folkboat located in Dinner Key near Coral Gables in Florida. I had purchased ‘Diana’ derelict, and a near wreck and had spent seven months restoring her to sailing condition. In that time I had replaced the rig, rudder, and keel bolts. With lots of help from my father, and Diane, my then girlfriend and future first wife, I had sistered the frames, replaced some floor timbers and planking, constructed a new cockpit and interior, replaced a piece of the stem and the forward face of the cabin, had wooded the bottom, and topsides and repainted her inside and out.

As 1973 raced to an end and with my yard bill paid up through December 31st, and I had decided that I would need to get the old girl launched in time for the New Year. As it worked out the yard closed down on Christmas Eve and would not open again until January 2. So, it was that ‘Diana’ was splashed on Christmas Eve.

‘Diana’ was a lapstrake wooden boat. Having been out of the water for so long, her planking had dried out and her seams had opened up so wide that you could pass a thick piece of cardboard through them. There is a process to launching a wooden boat that has been out of the water for that long that amounts to nearly sinking the boat for a day or so, but that is story for another time. Even after the seams have seemingly swelled closed again, the theory with a wooden boat that has been out of the water for a long period of time is that you must let the planking continue to swell in the water for another week or so before you can stress the hull by sailing the boat. Since much of the strength and stiffness of a wooden boat comes from the friction between the planks, this swelling period allows the planks to swell hard against each other.

I spent the week bailing, finishing the rigging, and working on fabricating the new cockpit and interior for the boat. To keep ‘Diana’ from sinking during the night, I slept on a slatted grate that I had made as a temporary cabin sole with my foot hanging into the bilge so that the rising water would wake me and I would know to bail.

In the week that passed before I noticed that it had even started, it was suddenly New Years Eve and I had to get the boat out of the boatyard. After a week in the water, the leaking had pretty well stopped. While I had to move ‘Diana’ out of the main portion of the yard, I had been given permission to tie up for free between an old piling and a bulkhead on the edge of the boatyard out of the everyone’s way. I figured as long as I had to sail over to the new tie up, I might as well go out for a sail first.

This was to be my first sail on the Folkboat, and my first sail as the skipper of my own keel boat, and only the second time that I had single-handed a boat this big, and one of the first times I had single-handed at night. I slipped out just as the sun was setting into a classic sky-on-fire Florida sunset, beating east in a light ghosting breeze beneath a Jack-o-lantern of a sky. I sailed quietly toward toward the pass at the southern end of Key Biscayne and a blood red rising moon in an ever darkening evening with the horizon and sky quickly becoming one.

A Folkboat is a marvelous little boat, which as I discovered that night, can sail herself seemingly for days at a time; just trim, aim and off she goes. I sat up on the cabin top, steering with a jib sheet held in hand; bearing off the wind by tightening the sheet and heading up with an ease of the sheet.

These were simpler times and quieter times. I had Biscayne Bay to myself; no running lights to be seen anywhere. ‘Diana’ was free of anything that one might call modern. She did not have an engine and so did not have an electrical system or running lights. Being a few inches less than 25 feet on deck, I simply carried the legally required flashlight, which I was prepared to shine on my sails if another boat appeared in the night. The head was a simple ‘bucket and chuck it’ system. There were no lifelines or stanchions. Navigation was simple piloting with a folded small craft chart in my lap and a tiny compass that looked more at home on a dashboard of a car than in the cockpit of a boat that was a year older than I was. There was no radio and the GPS was decades from being invented.

To those of you who have spent much time single-handing after dark, you will probably know what I mean, when I say there is nothing quite like the emotional sensation of being alone at night at sea. There is this profound sense of being more alone than you have ever been in your life. There is a sense of tranquility and a sense of speed that is far beyond that felt in the light of day. There’s a sense of self-reliance and sense of a fear that comes from realizing that it is up to only you to make the right or wrong decisions out there and if your decisions are wrong it is only you who pays the consequences. The carpet of stars overhead that lit the sea and their distance made me seem even more infinitesimally small, and humbly insignificant.

I sailed for hours in the chill and building breeze, but around ten or so, I reached the mouth of the narrow, unmarked, coral-bordered channel into the Atlantic. Resisting temptation and yielding to prudence I turned back for home on a nice broad reach in a building breeze.

The trip back into the lights of Dinner Key is lost to memory but when I arrived at the harbor I began to sort through my possibilities. It had suddenly occurred to me that I had never brought a boat this big into a dock alone under sail. I sailed back out into the mooring area, and practiced a couple approaches to the piling. I decided my best bet was to approach a couple boat lengths to leeward on a beam reach and then head up into the wind. I had decided that there was no way that I could be on the helm and still make it forward in time to place a line over the piling.

Somehow, seen through the rose colored optimism of youth, it made great sense to me to steer into the dock controlling the direction of the boat with the jibsheet while sitting on the foredeck. If I figured if missed the piling I would fetch up on sand bar just ahead of the piling. Now youth is an amazing thing, you have not learned enough to know what you don’t and may never know. Youth brings a confidence that can only come when you don’t know the consequences of making a really big mistake.

So in my youthful confidence I came roaring in on a beam reach, sitting on the foredeck, jib sheet in hand. At the moment of truth, I freed the jib sheet and Diana pirouetted gracefully up into the wind. I grabbed the clew of the jib and moving it from side to side, steering and slowing the boat. Coming to a dead stop right next to the piling. Polite as you may, I threw a bight of a dockline over the piling.

And there I stood, dockline in hand, congratulating myself on a job well done......I stood there cold and numb, a broad toothy grin across my face, scanning the docks for some sign of life; some witness to my brilliant feat of seamanship. No good deed goes unpunished and in my moment of self-congratulatory elation, nature took its turn to take me down a peg or two, hitting Diana with a big puff from the opposite side of the jib from where I stood perched on the narrow foredeck and pushing me hard towards the rail. As I went over the side, I dove for the shrouds, grabbing the upper shroud with my forearm, slicing it deeply on the Nicropress fitting that should have been taped for just such an occasion, and dropping feet first into the cold waters of Biscayne Bay in December but still keeping my grip on the boat.

As I hung over the side, legs in the water, I tried to decide whether to let go and fall backwards into the water, or pull myself aboard. Remembering a check in my wallet in my pocket, I slowly pulled myself over the rail and back aboard. My scream as I went over had roused a crowd from the boats tied up nearby, a large crowd in fact, that arrived just as I pulled myself from the water.

As I lay there on the foredeck, winded and bleeding, soaked and shivering; the sound of fireworks and firecrackers bursting in the distant darkness and a chorus of Auld Lang Sine from the drunks in local juke joint wafted out to tell me that I had just entered into the brand New Year.

Jeff

Folkboat Restored Big


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Last edited by Jeff_H; 01-03-2018 at 07:34 PM.
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post #185 of 218 Old 01-04-2018
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Re: How nervous are you?

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Originally Posted by Jeff_H View Post
Guyfromthenorth's story reminds me of my first sail on my folkboat. I have posted this story before, but its been a long time so here tis again;

After graduating with my undergraduate degree, I decided to buy a boat and live aboard while I decided what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. After working and putting away enough to buy a small boat I began looking for a boat to call home. I ended up buying ‘Diana’ a 1949 folkboat located in Dinner Key near Coral Gables in Florida. I had purchased ‘Diana’ derelict, and a near wreck and had spent seven months restoring her to sailing condition. In that time I had replaced the rig, rudder, and keel bolts. With lots of help from my father, and Diane, my then girlfriend and future first wife, I had sistered the frames, replaced some floor timbers and planking, constructed a new cockpit and interior, replaced a piece of the stem and the forward face of the cabin, had wooded the bottom, and topsides and repainted her inside and out.

As 1973 raced to an end and with my yard bill paid up through December 31st, and I had decided that I would need to get the old girl launched in time for the New Year. As it worked out the yard closed down on Christmas Eve and would not open again until January 2. So, it was that ‘Diana’ was splashed on Christmas Eve.

‘Diana’ was a lapstrake wooden boat. Having been out of the water for so long, her planking had dried out and her seams had opened up so wide that you could pass a thick piece of cardboard through them. There is a process to launching a wooden boat that has been out of the water for that long that amounts to nearly sinking the boat for a day or so, but that is story for another time. Even after the seams have seemingly swelled closed again, the theory with a wooden boat that has been out of the water for a long period of time is that you must let the planking continue to swell in the water for another week or so before you can stress the hull by sailing the boat. Since much of the strength and stiffness of a wooden boat comes from the friction between the planks, this swelling period allows the planks to swell hard against each other.

I spent the week bailing, finishing the rigging, and working on fabricating the new cockpit and interior for the boat. To keep ‘Diana’ from sinking during the night, I slept on a slatted grate that I had made as a temporary cabin sole with my foot hanging into the bilge so that the rising water would wake me and I would know to bail.

In the week that passed before I noticed that it had even started, it was suddenly New Years Eve and I had to get the boat out of the boatyard. After a week in the water, the leaking had pretty well stopped. While I had to move ‘Diana’ out of the main portion of the yard, I had been given permission to tie up for free between an old piling and a bulkhead on the edge of the boatyard out of the everyone’s way. I figured as long as I had to sail over to the new tie up, I might as well go out for a sail first.

This was to be my first sail on the Folkboat, and my first sail as the skipper of my own keel boat, and only the second time that I had single-handed a boat this big, and one of the first times I had single-handed at night. I slipped out just as the sun was setting into a classic sky-on-fire Florida sunset, beating east in a light ghosting breeze beneath a Jack-o-lantern of a sky. I sailed quietly toward toward the pass at the southern end of Key Biscayne and a blood red rising moon in an ever darkening evening with the horizon and sky quickly becoming one.

A Folkboat is a marvelous little boat, which as I discovered that night, can sail herself seemingly for days at a time; just trim, aim and off she goes. I sat up on the cabin top, steering with a jib sheet held in hand; bearing off the wind by tightening the sheet and heading up with an ease of the sheet.

These were simpler times and quieter times. I had Biscayne Bay to myself; no running lights to be seen anywhere. ‘Diana’ was free of anything that one might call modern. She did not have an engine and so did not have an electrical system or running lights. Being a few inches less than 25 feet on deck, I simply carried the legally required flashlight, which I was prepared to shine on my sails if another boat appeared in the night. The head was a simple ‘bucket and chuck it’ system. There were no lifelines or stanchions. Navigation was simple piloting with a folded small craft chart in my lap and a tiny compass that looked more at home on a dashboard of a car than in the cockpit of a boat that was a year older than I was. There was no radio and the GPS was decades from being invented.

To those of you who have spent much time single-handing after dark, you will probably know what I mean, when I say there is nothing quite like the emotional sensation of being alone at night at sea. There is this profound sense of being more alone than you have ever been in your life. There is a sense of tranquility and a sense of speed that is far beyond that felt in the light of day. There’s a sense of self-reliance and sense of a fear that comes from realizing that it is up to only you to make the right or wrong decisions out there and if your decisions are wrong it is only you who pays the consequences. The carpet of stars overhead that lit the sea and their distance made me seem even more infinitesimally small, and humbly insignificant.

I sailed for hours in the chill and building breeze, but around ten or so, I reached the mouth of the narrow, unmarked, coral-bordered channel into the Atlantic. Resisting temptation and yielding to prudence I turned back for home on a nice broad reach in a building breeze.

The trip back into the lights of Dinner Key is lost to memory but when I arrived at the harbor I began to sort through my possibilities. It had suddenly occurred to me that I had never brought a boat this big into a dock alone under sail. I sailed back out into the mooring area, and practiced a couple approaches to the piling. I decided my best bet was to approach a couple boat lengths to leeward on a beam reach and then head up into the wind. I had decided that there was no way that I could be on the helm and still make it forward in time to place a line over the piling.

Somehow, seen through the rose colored optimism of youth, it made great sense to me to steer into the dock controlling the direction of the boat with the jibsheet while sitting on the foredeck. If I figured if missed the piling I would fetch up on sand bar just ahead of the piling. Now youth is an amazing thing, you have not learned enough to know what you don’t and may never know. Youth brings a confidence that can only come when you don’t know the consequences of making a really big mistake.

So in my youthful confidence I came roaring in on a beam reach, sitting on the foredeck, jib sheet in hand. At the moment of truth, I freed the jib sheet and Diana pirouetted gracefully up into the wind. I grabbed the clew of the jib and moving it from side to side, steering and slowing the boat. Coming to a dead stop right next to the piling. Polite as you may, I threw a bight of a dockline over the piling.

And there I stood, dockline in hand, congratulating myself on a job well done......I stood there cold and numb, a broad toothy grin across my face, scanning the docks for some sign of life; some witness to my brilliant feat of seamanship. No good deed goes unpunished and in my moment of self-congratulatory elation, nature took its turn to take me down a peg or two, hitting Diana with a big puff from the opposite side of the jib from where I stood perched on the narrow foredeck and pushing me hard towards the rail. As I went over the side, I dove for the shrouds, grabbing the upper shroud with my forearm, slicing it deeply on the Nicropress fitting that should have been taped for just such an occasion, and dropping feet first into the cold waters of Biscayne Bay in December but still keeping my grip on the boat.

As I hung over the side, legs in the water, I tried to decide whether to let go and fall backwards into the water, or pull myself aboard. Remembering a check in my wallet in my pocket, I slowly pulled myself over the rail and back aboard. My scream as I went over had roused a crowd from the boats tied up nearby, a large crowd in fact, that arrived just as I pulled myself from the water.

As I lay there on the foredeck, winded and bleeding, soaked and shivering; the sound of fireworks and firecrackers bursting in the distant darkness and a chorus of Auld Lang Sine from the drunks in local juke joint wafted out to tell me that I had just entered into the brand New Year.

Jeff

Folkboat Restored Big
Youthful hubris apparently is infectious. PS The Folkboats have some beautiful lines

Last edited by seabeau; 01-04-2018 at 10:44 AM.
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post #186 of 218 Old 01-05-2018
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Re: How nervous are you?

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Err, Smack, I know you’ve reached celeb status on here but are you kidding? Happy to debate my “holier-than-thou” position against the BS from him. I know you’re on probation so we can do that via PM if you like.

I wonder what he would say about a guy going through a personal tragedy.
I have been there as well as many others. That is why they call them PERSONAL tragedies. Sure, you cut one some slack, but it is up to them to get over it.
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post #187 of 218 Old 01-05-2018
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Re: How nervous are you?

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Ian was the one engaging in "holier than thou" antics, and randomly insulting someone, out of the blue, for no apparent reason. Simply for the sin of posting a topic, it would seem. It was the reason he got the response he got. So...this post is ironic to say the least. But perhaps shared insecurities feed one another. Why else spring to the defense of the instigator acting so insecurely and childishly unless you too feel the need to prove something?

Trevor said nothing offensive in his OP. So it was pretty bizarre behavior on Ian's part to immediately imply Trevor had no nuts and to question his manhood. It must have been something fresh on his mind. And on yours, to defend his actions.
You see it as an insult. I see it as a piece of positive advice relating to a problem he posted.
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post #188 of 218 Old 01-05-2018
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Re: How nervous are you?

Jeff H.,

Cool story - it's like SanderO says : "You may be doing great. But it's never too late to F*** Up"
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post #189 of 218 Old 01-05-2018
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Re: How nervous are you?

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Ianjoub is one of the longest standing trolls on SN. He is a self labelled landlubber who lives on the edge of, or in the Everglades and has never once provided any useful info to anyone here. In addition he has contributed blatantly racist commentary and "jokes" that have gotten him flicked in the past.

Generally a complete waste of space in my experience.
Landlubber is a humorous moniker I applied to my user id here. I have provided a lot of useful info, though you may not have the wherewithal to identify it.

As to the jokes, YOU ARE THE RACIST. I typed up one joke about robots and your RACIST SELF interpreted it as a negative comment on an ethnicity. I can not control your thought process. Maybe some introspection is in order.

Last edited by ianjoub; 01-05-2018 at 10:22 PM.
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post #190 of 218 Old 01-05-2018
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Re: How nervous are you?

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In another realm, the world of motorcycle forums, some riders talk about that fear that comes on before setting out a long ride. Cross country there = offshore here. Anyone with that fear and going anyway is someone I will ride/sail with. They are aware of the danger.
I have road raced motorcycles (at tracks). I never felt any apprehension on the starting line. I took all my chances in practice and set up. When I was on the starting line I was calm. I had a plan and was ready to execute it. If things went tits up, I would deal with it as best I could.
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