Speech 5 - Your Body Speaks

The Day I Met God

They say you should never leave a safe port in a storm!

Madam Toastmaster, fellow toastmasters…

The storm raged on – 7 of the 11 hapless-holiday makers had left the yacht, ready to embrace courage and brave the rough passenger-ferry crossing from Cherbourg in France to Southampton in England.

Four intrepid sailors stayed behind with the sailboat – a 39’ sloop that was safely, though – because of its size – rather incongruously moored in a small fishing harbour about 50 km east of Cherbourg on the north coast of France.

We battened down the hatches, wrapped up warm, played cards, drank rum and made friends with the crew of two from the Contessa 26 on the next dock – another vessel stranded in Grandcamp-Maisey because of the storm.

The radio was constantly tuned to the weather channel, we listened for the slightest indication that the storm was abating and we would be able to leave. The boat was under charter and though Southampton was only a day’s sailing away, we were anxious to get her back home within the charter period and avoid significant penalty charges.

That evening, we heard what we were waiting for – the first sign of possibility that the winds would begin lessening tomorrow.

In the morning, we ate a hearty breakfast, dressed warmly and put on our foul weather gear – the winds were expected to drop as the day wore on, but for now they were as strong as ever.

We were determined to take advantage of the slightest change and we began preparations. There was not only the weather to contend with, but also the tides – there was a window of opportunity when the harbour gates would be open and the tide high enough for us to navigate the channel out to open water.

The first challenge was to actually leave the small dock we were on – it was a very tight space with little room for manoeuvring in even the most favourable of conditions. We consulted with our new friends from the Contessa – they too were keen to be on the move and were following our deliberations closely. We planned how – with the carefully choreographed handling of various lines among several volunteers – we would get the boat out into the open area of the harbour and pointing in the right direction.

Our next concern would be leaving the harbour itself – once beyond the lock gates we would have to steer a course through the narrow channel, taking care to avoid the rocks on our port side. Once out of the lea of the channel wall, we would be at the mercy of the strong easterly wind blowing us onto the rocks which were mostly submerged in the high seas.

We walked along the coast watching as the waves crashed onto those rocks – the captain thought that, so long as two big waves didn’t hit one immediately after the other, which was extremely unlikely from what we had been observing, we would have a clear passage through the channel out into open water without risk of being smashed against the rocks.

But he would only go if we all agreed – he was the captain, he would be at the helm, we trusted him completely and it was his comfort level that mattered – whatever his decision, we would support him 100%.

Back to the radio – the forecast was for calmer weather as the day wore on.

Let’s go!

The plans were carried out – lines were passed from person to person on the dock as, with tightly reefed main – ready to raise, we manoeuvred out of our slip. With all the lines pulled away, we headed towards the gates, waved to our friends, raised and tightened-in the sail for stability and set course down the narrow channel.

John was at the helm, the other three of us were positioned in the cockpit – we were all totally alert. As we emerged from the lea of the wall, the first wave hit – crash – the boat shuddered and it was as if I could feel the vibration of the wheel in my own hands and body – we were all vicariously experiencing John’s task as he kept the boat on course. We were about to breathe out when – the unimaginable happened – the second wave struck – we were pushed off course – where were those rocks?

Time slowed and all that existed was the present moment – the wind, the boat, the waves, the captain, the crew – and the interaction of them all – the totally unknown next moment – completely in God’s hands.

I didn’t know whether we were about to smashed against the rocks and tossed into the sea – but all I remember was the thought, “There is no malice in the sea – it just is – just doing what the sea does, what nature designed – responding to the elements.” I may be facing death, but there is no fear, there is only “now”.

Somehow John held the boat, we had lost our heading, but we were clear of the rocks – the navigator scrambled down below to check the charts and correct our course as John held us steady – we looked back towards the narrow channel we had just navigated – or been swept through, more like!

“Call the Contessa, tell them not to attempt it!” “They can’t – they closed the gates after we left” The French fishermen must have been thinking, “those crazy English holiday makers – don’t they know you never leave a safe port in a storm?”

Speech 4 - How To Say It

Never Leave a Safe Port in a Storm!

On the north coast of France, 50km east of Cherbourg, is a small fishing village with the rather inappropriate moniker “GRANDcamp-Maisy”.

The harbour is nestled safely, behind the beach, protected from the weather and currents of the English Channel, at the end of walled entrance canal. At low tide the water would recede completely, leaving all the boats aground, if it were not for the massive, lock-style gates that close before the ebb tide reaches its lowest point.

The harbour is home not only to the fishing fleet, but also to a number of local and visiting, small sailing vessels. And I do mean small – the docks are very close together and it is an extremely tight space within which to manoeuvre.

Grandcamp-Maisy is directly south across the English Channel from Southampton in the south of England – OK for you navy and geography experts, you would have to go around the Isle of White, but essentially you hit open water and head south, taking care to avoid the commercial traffic that travels eastwards and westwards – and seems, at times, to aim directly for small vessels!

One sunny afternoon, a motley crew of 11 friends boarded a Westerly 39 – a broad tub of a sailing boat, 39 feet long; it was well supplied with beer and Gin & Tonic, bare-boat chartered under the expert command of our intrepid skipper, Captain John.

We were headed for a few days in France, filled with anticipation of savouring the delights of French coastal cuisine.

Once across the Channel, we sailed from port to port along the coast; in each village we sampled freshly caught, succulently cooked fish, accompanied by superb French wines, all at very reasonable “prix-fixe”.

Then came the storm! It wasn’t exactly hurricane Juan, but it was packing a punch with sail-ripping, gale-force winds and stirring up heavy seas.

We headed for safety in Grandcamp-Maisy. At 39’ we were by far the largest boat in the harbour; but with help and the deft helmsmanship of our captain we were soon securely tied up at the dock.

Oh – there was the small matter of the line that had become entangled around the propeller, but thanks to our one bi-lingual sailor and a couple of aptly-named French frogmen – that would soon be sorted out.

In the meantime, the rest of us set off to explore the village and the coastline, dressed in our “vacation-sailor” foul-weather gear and sou’westers.

Sitting in a coffee shop, we watched in amazement as sailboarders took advantage of some of the best winds of their season. They affixed tiny storm sails to their boards, donned thick wet suits and were whipped quickly away from shore.

“Look, there’s one there – oh – no, over there now!” in a blink of an eye they passed completely across our filed of vision.

We, on the other hand, were going nowhere! We quite enjoyed being “stranded” in Grandcamp-Maisy: the food was at least as good as any we had tasted so far and the wine plentiful.
The storm raged on – the fishing fleet stayed home that night; and the next; and the next.

Fresh fish was the mainstay of the restaurant menus and it soon began to run out and meals became a Spartan affair. And even though the wine stilled flowed, eventually the crew became restless.

The vacation was supposedly closing to its end – there were places to be, commitments to keep, jobs to return to, flights to be caught.

The storm raged on – but we learned that the ferry from Cherbourg to Southampton was still running. Pressing appointments overcame the anticipation of a very uncomfortable journey and 7 of the 11 decided to go for it.

Four able and willing sailors stayed with the boat to wait out the weather and then sail safely home.

After all – you never leave a safe port in a storm.