Being a Landlubber

Alright, I don’t actually know what I’m doing. I bet I’m now one of those people, the ones that all the other, experienced seafaring folks look down upon, all because I’m here trying not to immediately steer right into the docks when I take off. Meanwhile, they’re basically lying back and steering the boat with their feet. It’s like when you go ice skating, and you go maybe once every few years, and there’s always that one person. They’re in the middle of the rink, away from the scrubs clinging to the walls, doing flips and pirouettes to make us all look bad. There should be separate times for them and us; it just isn’t fair that they’re allowed to share the same space as us.

It’s the same with me in my little boat, except I seem to be the only scrub, and I’m surrounded by Melbourne’s premier anchor winch specialists who are so in touch with their sea vessels they could probably command them telepathically. It’s not my fault that I grew up inland, regarding the ocean as about as distant and foreign as the surface of Mars. That’s part of the reason I got into boating when I came to Melbourne. Mum and Dad always said that I should put myself out there, so here I am. It’d be nice if people could give me a few tips instead of speeding by and shaking their heads.

At least the people doing the motor servicing seem friendly. In fact, most people on the docks, or in the area, are fine. It’s just the super rich people with their fancy outboard motors, and the people who are clearly part-fish and have been sailing all their lives. I’m not part of the club, I guess. Outboard motor repairs, Melbourne, are not my area of expertise. 

I need some friends. Maybe I should join those Treasure Hunter people; they seem nice. They can tell me things, like what to do if that blinking red light keeps blinking and whether I should be concerned about those weird noises.