Galleys at sea can lead to some varied and amusing situations. We were staggering south from Cape Finisterre, in the middle of a November ten day beat on my tiny boat, hoping we’d make a landfall in the Canaries. After a fast start in cool but strong NE’ly winds from Plymouth, round Ushant and across Biscay, the wind turned foul. Strong wet, southerlies with their accompanying large Atlantic stopping seas were hampering our progress.
You have to grab forty winks when you can so I was catnapping on an extended starboard quarter berth opposite the stove. There I was, dreaming of soft beds and cool beers when - clang - something whacked me right on my napper. The kettle had jumped clean off the cooker. Least it was empty! At the time, I was dazed and aggrieved but later; strangely, I began to treasure that cheap old aluminium kettle complete with its head shaped dent. Maybe, it would remind me not to be so stupid and set off south that late again from UK, in a 22ft. Boat…
Bigger boats can present different cooking problems. Any hassle rapidly motoring ‘Jolie Brise’ an old French 55 ton pilot cutter, up a narrow crowded creek on a falling tide. Dropping one member of crew on the pontoon, south of the Royal Lymington Yacht Club. Even gently running this fine lady aground, turning her round between ferries. Quickly disappeared for me… ‘Cause we managed to save the last of our ebb. Leaving the Needles Channel just before dusk.
The fresh NW F4-5 should blow us across to Alderney, tute suite. With a good Mate, but rather scratch crew (friends and trustees of the Exeter Maritime Museum). Once clear of the Bridge buoy, with the boat humming along on a broad reach, I dived below. Sticking the two chickens we had aboard in the oven along with a few spuds to roast. Already one crew member had started feeling sea sick and been taken below. With the light fading and the Channel swell slowly building. My people would need feeding, very soon!
Shortly after returning on deck I heard a loud bang. Not completely sure of where the noise came from but having a feeling it might be from below decks, to be absolutely certain I grabbed the binoculars from their stowage close to the helm. Taking a quick scan of the rig in the gloom. Particularly looking at the massive wooden blocks holding up the gaff and the other sails. Nothing wrong there.
Leaving the deck in the Mate’s capable hands. On reaching the bottom of the long companion way steps, I skidded fast downhill. I felt as if I'd stepped on a bar of soap. I almost landed in the roasting dish with the two chickens and narrowly avoided a prone body on the dinette berth. I was a whisker away from joining a female crew member who was bedded down with mal-de-mer, sea-sickness buckets at either end. As I careered through the cabin on my greased boots, it was hard to stifle splutterings of laughter. I struggled to steady myself, and worked out what had happened.
The oven door lock had failed. Hot oil on the wooden floor and soles of my boots made for a long tricky uphill climb, to the starboard galley side. Where I hoped to locate kitchen paper and start cleaning up the mess. A saving grace was that my Chickens and veg. were still intact in their baking tray.
I only mentioned this little saga to my crew, after they’d finished eating!
More bizarre years later, we were having a huge evening ‘fuddle’ (Bedu group meal) on the top of the coach roof of ‘Al Bashiq‘. A Sigma 38 we were racing from Dubai to Muscat (a 360 miler!). It was flat calm on a lovely warm moonlit Gulf night. Rather worst as their skipper/coach, was pondering on how, you might have blown our first long race with a keen crew. By going far too far, offshore, perhaps even less than a mile… so much reduces our chances of picking up the land breeze, early!
Finally realising, that all the guys have quickly worked that out and though not of your culture, are gracious enough to forgive you! Meant we could all sit down, laugh and enjoy Adam’s wonderful lightly spiced Omani food, accepting our joss. Though, he would have much preferred to conjure it up in windier circumstance…
Yours Aye,
John Simpson
