Intrepid novice skipper Monty Halls embarks on a sailing adventure with his family along the south coast of Devon and Cornwall, aiming to reach the Scillies and return while promoting ocean conservation.
Being poked in the cheek and repeatedly asked, “Is this annoying? Is this annoying? Is this annoying?” by my bored 11-year-old daughter Isla certainly tested my patience. What intensified my irritation was the fact that while she was pestering me, I was watching our Colvic 34, Sobek, floating on a buoy in the middle of Storm Betty, inch closer to the geo-fence depicted on the screen just inches from my alarmed face.
After addressing one issue by explaining at a high volume that, yes, it was indeed rather annoying, I applied my impressive (10 months’) sailing expertise to tackle the other matter.
At that point, the wind was gusting at Force 9, and according to the screen, we were about to end up on a nearby reef in the Scillies, causing Sobek to start disassembling herself vigorously.
Monty Halls and family aboard Sobek. Photo: Monty Halls
Thus, I took my usual approach in sailing-related emergencies – I texted Justin, Sobek’s previous owner, who was nearby in his own boat, Thistledown. A man of extensive experience and calm demeanor, he tersely informed me that the wind had merely shifted slightly, I had set the geo-fence too close to the mooring, and he had just experienced the same thing.
“Reset it, nothing to worry about, and enjoy the evening,” was his succinct response. He didn’t exactly seem resigned, but if either of us had been savvy enough to add a ‘sigh’ emoji to the message (as we are both of a certain age and have a fondness for grammar), we surely would have. Fair enough, I had been pestering him since buying the boat, to the point where he was now joining me on this – the Generation Sea Change project – just to oversee things.
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Blowing the budget for the journey to the Scillies
I had purchased Sobek a year ago. After deciding to dive into the world of sailing, I set a stringent budget of £27,000, which was about all we could gather without going into debt.
Monty prepares Sobek at his home mooring in Dartmouth before the big journey. Photo: Monty Halls
The subsequent conversation with my wife, Tam, where I revealed that not only had I found my dreamboat, but that I had actually agreed to the roughly £40K price tag, did not receive a chuckle or a “It’s that kind of spontaneous spending that drew me to you, you charming rogue” response.
Instead, there was a brief silence, followed by some overly dramatic clattering of pots while we sat down for dinner that evening. However, she was a stunning vessel, exuding elegance and grandeur with a touch of a potbelly reminiscent of a formerly glamorous duchess. Impeccably outfitted by two artisan craftsmen and equipped for a round-the-world voyage that never materialized, she was an ideal family boat.
A small issue was her reluctance to go astern; she would move in reverse but would intentionally disregard my frantic attempts to steer her. Going forwards, she handled like the fine ketch she was; going backwards, she was as responsive as a bouncy castle combined with a dumpster.
Justin puts Monty through his paces in Plymouth Sound. Photo: Monty Halls
Justin quickly recognized my lack of knowledge and began teaching me how to sail. As former Royal Marines, we shared an understanding from the outset.
“I won’t cut corners just because we’re friends,” he asserted. “I’m going to ensure you sail properly. If that’s acceptable, we can proceed.” I found it all reasonable and nodded in agreement.
“Oh, one last thing. When I’m evaluating or focused, I have the unfortunate tendency for my neutral expression – my face in screensaver mode, if you will – to appear disapproving and, some would say, furious. Just a heads-up.”
Justin proved to be patient, calm, and measured, providing enough freedom for me to test my skills. He was right about his resting expression, which unnerved me initially, but once I realized he was merely processing information, and he understood I wasn’t a total fool, we got on with the task at hand.
Turning the environmental tide
This task involved preparing me to navigate Sobek along the south coast of Devon and Cornwall within one summer, reaching the Scillies and back. I live in Dartmouth, so I recognize this journey is, for many, a laughably short escape, a solid long weekend. However, for me, with my family aboard, it felt like Cape Horn to starboard with Tristan da Cunha thrown in for good measure.
Monty, Tam, their children Isla and Molly, and golden retriever Luna in Falmouth before heading to the Isles of Scilly. Photo: Monty Halls
The motivation for this trip was deeply personal. With two young daughters, Isla and Molly, growing up along the idyllic south coast, it slowly dawned on me that the messages they received about the sea were overwhelmingly negative.
If the constant media narrative states we’re on an oceanic path to self-destruction, and that we are powerless to change it, what does that convey to future generations? Essentially, it communicates a message of hopelessness, as the irrevocable destruction of the ocean now seems our fate, beyond our control.
Prioritizing creating a home aboard. Photo: Monty Halls
I had collaborated with enough brilliant scientists, ocean advocates, and community groups along the south coast to know this is simply not the case. Thus, Generation Sea Change was born – a project designed to celebrate the remarkable work done by dedicated individuals to reverse environmental degradation. My goal was to journey in Sobek with my family along the entire route, personally visiting and documenting as many initiatives as possible.
Steep learning curve
Two hurdles stood in my way. Firstly, sailing turned out to be surprisingly challenging – not a popular viewpoint, I know, but transitioning from zero knowledge to skippering my own vessel in just six short months is no small feat. This is particularly true at 56, when every new fact I learned seemed to push an older fact out of my already confused mental archive.
Despite the challenges of a cruising lifestyle, moments like swimming from the boat made it all worthwhile. Photo: Monty Halls
Secondly, when the family was aboard, I felt an immense responsibility to ensure their safety. They hadn’t signed up for this adventure, and should I make a disastrous mistake, they would bear the consequences.
This sense of guilt was only heightened by Luna, our golden retriever, who had recently won ‘Dog with the Most Appealing Eyes’ at the Kingsbridge agricultural show. Whenever a situation became even mildly stressful, those two adoring pools of warmth staring up at me from under fluttering lashes were completely disconcerting. I would have preferred if she had simply nipped my leg.
Golden retriever Luna adapted well to life aboard due to her misplaced trust in the skipper. Photo: Monty Halls
Yet this was vital work. Amid the timeless rhythms of the ocean – the daily tidal cycles, seasonal changes, and the passage of years – this recent period of upheaval and profound alteration is unlike anything we’ve encountered before. We must move with the tide, adapting and evolving as we have always done, and mobilize to assist where we can.
The following months were a whirlwind of novel terms, discomforting experiences, and enlightening realizations. But gradually – oh so gradually – it started to click. After one particularly disastrous docking attempt, Justin remarked, “At least you’re aware of how much you don’t know,” a comment that while faintly praising, also reflected impressive insight.
The mantra I adopted was “seek improvement, not perfection” – an apt motto for someone learning the ropes, lines, and halyards. Change was gradual, but change nonetheless.
Free spirits
This motto worked well when the family was aboard, as accepting a certain level of chaos and disorder was a given. Nature abhors a vacuum, and children, especially mine, loathe order and systems.
Creating a home away from home was a priority, with the kids negotiating routine adjustments. Photo: Monty Halls
Allowing them the freedom to explore and experiment (within limits, of course) ensured they felt comfortable on the boat, a crucial part of harmonious sailing. In our case, ‘home’ was the forepeak, where their two sleeping spaces quickly began to resemble a filthy protest zone reminiscent of a Victorian prison cell. However, this was their sanctuary, where they nestled like two ticks, peering at me with watchful eyes as I periodically creaked the door open.
In July, we set off, departing from Dartmouth amid embarrassing fanfare, with several friends waving us off from the dock. We then meandered the 37 miles to Plymouth, where we ended up storm-bound for ten days. This is a rather generous term for essentially lazing about in Mayflower Marina due to excessive wind, but eventually, embarrassment and time constraints drove us onwards to Falmouth, Newlyn, then the Scillies.
The journey home included a brief overnight stop in Newlyn, the initial port of call for many returning from the Isles of Scilly. Photo: Monty Halls
Unbeknownst to us, simultaneously, Storm Betty was assembling her grey skirts to sweep across the Atlantic, skillfully battering us upon our arrival in St Mary’s. Yet we persevered, Sobek kept us safe, my marriage survived intact, and over the following month, we retraced our steps.
Lessons learned
In this, our inaugural sailing adventure, we uncovered numerous revelations. A conservation movement is emerging among ordinary people along our coastline, a grassroots revolution by communities that are fed up with government inaction. When combined with brilliant young entrepreneurs innovating solutions, surfers developing filtration systems, and a motivated youth force taking a stand, it becomes evident that we might, just might, be able to reverse the tide.
Over time, Justin helped Monty grasp the basics. Photo: Monty Halls
However, that story belongs to another article at another time. As we returned to Dartmouth, mooring alongside at the conclusion of that pivotal summer, I took a moment to contemplate the journey – both literal and symbolic – from a complete novice to a newly minted captain of my vessel.
For me, it distilled down to a few straightforward lessons, which I’ll list below. Use these insights as you wish – words of wisdom from an average skipper, a novice sailor of limited experience, who meandered along the craggy southern coast and faced the swirling terror of Betty (that is to say, we navigated Devon and Cornwall at 2 knots, tied up to a mooring in the Scillies with nine lines, then hunkered down and texted Justin).
Isla learned to scuba dive during this trip, with Tam. Photo: Monty Halls
Get out of the damn way
As a new skipper, you are, of course, familiar with collision avoidance rules. Familiar, but not fully versed. Do this early, do it boldly, and then sail off to enjoy your day.
Just ask
Looking at my ‘recent calls’ list last year, I noticed I had contacted Justin more often than my best friend, wife, and mother combined. That poor man was on speed dial, but he seemed entirely pleased to share his knowledge. I believe people appreciate being asked for advice, and as a new skipper, there are countless questions.
Monty Halls has spent his entire adult life in, on, or under the water. A former officer in the Royal Marines, he transitioned to a career in expeditions and journalism. Photo: Monty Halls
Ignorance and jargon
You know little. And nothing highlights your ignorance more than unfamiliar jargon. Certain individuals revel in the exclusivity of sailing terms and weaponize them against newcomers like me to reinforce our subordinate status. These individuals are usually fools, and their attempts to expose your ignorance only reveal their own. They should be disregarded.
Go for it
There’s a magnificent, noble, reckless courage in being a new skipper. You’re out there, with a vague idea of what you’re doing, but if things go completely wrong, you might find yourself in a tricky spot / brutally exposed / utterly doomed. But you’re out there, and that requires a certain spirited mindset.
Exploring the clear waters as a family. Photo: Monty Halls
Take it slowly
This is perhaps my main advice as a new skipper. When docking, slow down, take your time, and never approach anything at a speed greater than you’d wish to collide with.
Electronics
It’s understood that mariners of the past would have given anything for the impressive variety of electronic tools we now possess. Therefore, as a new skipper, it’s crucial to take the time to comprehend what the equipment onboard can do for you. Electronics can’t replace strong seamanship, but learning how to use them properly is a necessary part of the process.
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