20 questions

Singlehanded multihull sailor/sculptress Lia Ditton tackles her FAQs

Lia Ditton has just returned Shockwave to her owner for a more sedentary life. It was hard for her and the shore team to leave behind the trimaran, after spending the best part of this year working and sailing on her.

Lia will be down in Plymouth again on Friday for a talk to the Royal Western Yacht Club, and again on Saturday for the prizegiving for the Faraday Mill OSTAR. There are still some tickets left for Friday's talk, which starts with dinner at 7 followed by a speech from Lia afterwards, as she will share her tales from two crossings of the Atlantic on her 35ft trimaran.

Tickets for both the dinner and to hear Lia are available direct from the RWYC priced £10 on 01752 660077

Lia Q&A

"How was it?"

"How was it for you?" was the joke among the boys during lessons where one student after another left the classroom in order to practice conversational GCSE French. Madam Cherie was a dragon of a woman who had reduced girls to tears. "Comment c’est il?" Or its English translation continues to hold an eye-brow raising comical quality. My best answer to "how was it?" was therefore monosyllabic. "It was wet!"  
 
"How do you sleep?"

It is with great refrain that I do not respond every time, with the smart Alec remark of "very well thank you!" "How do you sleep?" is a question often asked with a tone of "How can you possibly sleep?" The natural temptation is to interject - "of course one can sleep!" The alarmed questioner is referring to the imagined noise (of water coursing by), of potential collision with a vessel of greater dimensions (a car carrier en route from Tokyo perhaps?) but more so, to the frightening concept of abandoning the helm to the devices of an electronic counterpart. Not wishing to dispel the ‘in awe factor’ that the questioner has already assumed, (this is always good for one’s ego) it is usually best to draw parallels to his or hers camping experience, with a counter-question such as "have you never been so tired that you felt you could sleep anywhere?" This is a nicer way of saying, "have you never been so tired that you did sleep anywhere?" [A wistful look glazes my eyes momentarily.

I hark back to the Round Block Island Race when I crashed on a sodden #3 sail bag. The sodden part was only discovered as one roused to re-camp on the high side. I remember the delivery on Moxie, where I passed a blissful 15 mins kip with my head on the winch; blissful that is until I awoke with a crooked neck. I recall the recent OSTAR coastal qualifier where my head rested peacefully beside the C70 chartplotter as the boat thundered past the Sciliy Isles circa 3am.

"Why dont you drive with more care and attention?" I beseeched with wild Italian gestures and quivering hands, to the driver of my first near-off-roading experience on a Southern Indian overnight bus. "If Alla wants me to die today, he kills me today!" He chuckled. "How do you sleep?" is best not answered with the apparently reckless attitude of ‘In the hands of the God’s so-be-it.’ Trust me. I am my own doctor!
   

"What do you do at night?"

If "how do you sleep?" nearly prompted a wave of ironic remarks, the opportunity to take advantage of the questioner’s gullibility is never more apparent than with the question, "What do you do at night?" Cook roast beef, partake in a game of battleships via Satfone, take a shower and go to bed,’ I have attempted to pass off with a blank look of "What do you think offshore sailors do at night?" "Do you stop at night?" is the best question asked to date, where upon I couldn’t resist responding "yes, I like to drop anchor before it gets dark. There are shallow spots in the middle of the Atlantic, just like in the North Sea, (the questioner here nodding in agreement) where yachts cluster to anchor and spend the night. There have been some wild mid-Oceanic parties, as you can imagine…" The last phrase allowing one to emit the inevitable suppressed giggle before continuing… "Where there are no mid-Atlantic sandbanks and Ocean ridges, the mid-Atlantic tourist board have kindly placed a series of flood-lit floating pontoons, just like the visitors berths at Shamrock Quay marina…!" The explosion of laughter which then erupted like an Azorian volcano left the questioner shaking his head, ‘singlehanded sailors!’ his obvious thought, as he mumbled the excuse of needing to refill his cocktail and snuck away quickly in the direction of the bar.    
 
"What do you eat?"

"Okay, listen up 006…" If I could have acquired astronaut packaging to continue this charming myth, of special food for a special mission, I would have. Those who have not ventured further than Dover in fair weather, want to see sealed plastic drinking containers with anti-gravity straws, one-pop self-heating food packets and little ‘survival’ glucous blocks in apple-crumble and custard flavour. Take an intellectual wander around your local super and you’ll actually discover that a large proportion of food today is freeze dried, but without the camping food hype. Brands like Mountain House (freeze-dried for 'Wilderness People!') insist that boiling water be poured into a plastic sack of coloured crumbles, before the round circle of cardboard is popped out of the cardboard base and used to close the plastic sack. They then suggest you place the plastic food sack back in the foil outer packaging. Frankly there is no need for this palaver - add hot water to crumbles in foil ‘outer’ packaging and the result is no different. But how boring is that?!
 
Hilariously, I get asked, "how did you fill the time?" and "weren’t you bored?" but as soon as I sit down and manage to reel off an A4 of journal-istic text I am questioned suspiciously, "how did you find time to write?" I would, at this point, like to proffer a micro-lecture on time management, to explain how I juggled reefing with dashing off an update for TheDailySail, but it is more often than not a fruitless task; my questioner has already decided that I couldn’t possibly have had time. My sails must have been luffing away unattended. I would imagine it possible to get bored after a long sunny day sipping G&T’s on the back of a Sunseeker in the bay of St Tropez. I too have been bored on an overnight ferry to Le Havre, when the curtains closed on the last of the evening’s cinema. But in the middle of the Atlantic, fluctuations in wind strength and variations in direction never lead to idle hands. If the stomach didn’t growl more persistently with hunger, eating would surely be overlooked.  With VHF retailers on one’s left and those who service outboard motors on one’s right, the random presence of a London musician at the table of one Southampton Boat Show dinner (somebody’s friend) should not go unappreciated. When the question of "how did you fill the time?" became the topic of
conversation, the London musician on my behalf did an entertaining rendition, waving his arms in a frenzy, of his impression of singlehanded sailing. "Ah there are lights of what over there… and a tanker bearing down on me from my right… I need to go up the mast… ah! Now I’m exhausted and need to sleep… but my generator ishiccupping…and I’m taking on water…!
 
"Weren’t you lonely?" is a redundant question when proceeded by, "how did you find time to write?" or my answer to "how did you fill the time?" Loneliness ranking quite far behind, the necessity for repairs, de-powering of sail, course alterations prompted by weather conditions, hunger, thirst and sleep; and is not as big a humbug as the media portrays. In the sense of 'I wish someone else could now deal with this newly-arisen problem,’ or ‘If only there was someone else on board who could fix this damn generator!’ Loneliness is omnipresent. Sailors do not tend to go singlehanded knowing that they will suffer heartache from leaving behind mom and pop, big sis, the other half, the Labrador ‘Wooffy’ or their beloved tomato plants, (unless of course they are misguided!) But a certain amount of loneliness is human and were the singlehanded sailor not exhibiting the occasional sign, he or she might as well stay out there indefinitely. Lonely times for me were during the sailing highlights, which might have been bettered with the companionship of another.  
 
"How do you go to the toilet?"

It is predominantly fellow women who ask me this question. If they ask this question to start with, they are inevitably going to shriek, "What? No toilet!" and step back in horror on hearing that there is in fact, no toilet on board, whatsoever. I go "au naturelle," is a nice way of putting it, but those with children, or hardy out-door types are usually familiar with the concept of ‘bucket-and-chuck-it’ and will nod quietly in agreement. The practicalities of balance and wedging oneself, to avoid being airborne as the boat goes careening off a 10ft wave are fine details best not divulged. As Bill Lucas and Andrew Spedding write in the anecdotal literary piece, ‘Sod’s Law of the Sea,’ …’never tell girls that in practical use the boat falling off a good wave will create a surge effect in the pan. That is the marine experience they are better left to discover for themselves…!’
 
"What do you wear?" asked a 5 year old boy in Newport, Rhode Island. Their Oppie sailing for the afternoon had been cancelled due to fog, and so the cadets were being trawled around the OSTAR survivors, to ask the skippers questions. I held up my loaned one-piece dry suit, with in-built Gore-Tex booties, rubber neck and wrist seals. "Kewl!" "Wow!" the kids murmured. More "Kewl" and "Wows" were offered when I next displayed my bright orange Gecko racing power-boat helmet, with impact-release neck strap. Although a second piece of O.T.T Extreme weather gear, borrowed for the OSTAR, I had considered a helmet for solo trimaran mast-climbing a mighty good idea. The practicalities of climbing with the equivalent of a motorcycle helmet had however caused more amusement than effect. Having said that, and having not worn it to climb the mast mid-ocean, at any time during two solo transatlantics, I found a sudden use for it, as I turned the corner at Eddystone Lighthouse on Thursday 15 September. One generally shouldn’t be turning the corner in a Force 8 with mounting seas. One should be considering running with a drogue in the opposing direction; I flew the middle hull. By the time, I flew the middle hull for a second time there was a Personal EPIRB in my pocket. On the third occurrence, I was wearing gratefully the bright orange Gecko racing power-boat helmet.
 
"What are you going to do next?"

Is the burning question and one to be answered soon, very soon...