Somewhat unpleasant, it affects some people more than others. With concerns, as I was always the one in the SaturdaySki Bus who usually succumbed, I found out a few things. 

The nervous system when receiving conflicting inputs from eyes, inner ears and other sensors triggers a reaction one and the same, believing that the body has injested poison.  God bless it.  

The body has adaptive powers, thankfully and the queasiness eventually dissipates or so they encourage. In my case, and this is considered par for the course, about 48 hours.  I tried using a Prescription Scopolamine transdermal patch behind the ear which seemed to help somewhat but the honest cure is to endure.  The body becomes used to and adjusts to the motion. On day 3 offshore, I had my sea legs finally. In fact I could perform normal task like reading or galley work without concern. 

At one point I faced an advanced real test: Our boat, assuming a significant angle of lean while on port tack spilled the contents (gravity rules) of a bookcase shelf on the high side clear across the saloon to the other. That would be our beer bottle(s) meant for celebration at journeys end… (Don’t Drink WHILE Boating) and some of them were smashed during the crashing transfer. It was middle of the night, cabin lights dim, and imperative that the broken shards be disposed of. The space reeking like a frat house on a Friday Night, was hot and humid and still halfway on its ear – –  motion on. Since I had improperly stowed the goods I took to the mop up and survived the ordeal. It was after task that I realized that I hadn’t been phased. 

So there’s hope for those of us who don’t automatically take to seafaring. BTW, when Calling to Neptune over the side. Direct things well away or at least be ready with a wash sown bucket follow up. The contents of ones stomach reacts with the [fiberglass] gel coat and it’s a bitch to buff out after the fact!

After 4 (uneventful) days offshore, we motored the arrival for the last mile or so in late afternoon sun. The desire was to find and secure our berth in the marina before losing the light.  In this pursuit we were on track and feeling good about all that we had accomplished during our long sail. Fenders deployed, mooring line pre-rigged; we eased past the last channel marker before turning in. The marina is very tight quarters for maneuvering and with a light skiff with outboard coming out of our lane I needed to delay in order to allow him to exit. Selecting neutral and then reverse was the proper action but then surprise. Ineffective reverse. Transmission problem? Our trajectory is aiming us at a transient catamaran moored to a side dock and we are still making way. Reverse gear is making a dreadful sound and although speed is next to nothing we bounce off of the cat. About to ricochet off the fuel dock behind us I select forward gear and surprise, it too is gone. How could this happen? We were all good for days and then at this critical juncture — hell handed to me in a hand basket. How can this be? This was not the grand finale I foresaw.

[damage: apart from my pride — this crease in a shroud turnbuckle on the other boat]

So, a glorious conclusion was not to be and instead turned into a story to tell. Luckily there was neither wind nor adverse current and having rubbed up against the fuel dock and with the very limited propulsion, I was able to get a line on and secured. We called it a day and spent the night. I just needed to check one thing. I stripped my shirt, and donned a skin diving mask and went over the side. I wanted to have a look at the prop and discovered that there was nothing wrong with the engine or transmission…

[fishnet encounter]

The prop was fouled. Evidently the netting debris had wrapped up on the shaft and aft of the prop blades but when reversed slid forward to tangle and gum up the works. Too big a job for my Leatherman, to deep, dark, and I can’t hold my breath that long, a Diver was called and he cleared the mess that you see here.

Who would know? The takeaway is check your brakes (reverse in this case) before entering the traffic pattern.

I had heard this old adage. I knew it. I learned it (again) the hard way. I had made my way aft and arrived at the port side winch which had my full attention. Knees were fully bent in the squat position and balancing on both feet. At the same moment that I reached out for the jib sheet the boat rolled. My hands came up with air and I tumbled over backwards feet out in front. Hard corners of the companionway hatch met the back of my scull with a wallop,
that I won’t forget…and neither will my crew — imagining various recovery scenarios and outcomes!

Hardheaded that I am, I knew I was okay. Only the scars remain.

Lesson learned: …which may derive from the days of sailing ships, when working high in the mast rigging and before the advent of modern safety harnesses; it was an essential precaution that each sailor should hold on with one hand at all times, while working with the other.

This gave rise to the idiom “one hand for yourself, one for the ship” This saying remains excellent advice.