It’s a truism that there is nothing easy on a boat. There are a hundred reasons for this but I think in the end it usually boils down to the unforgiving nature of, well, nature. True, some of it has to do with compromises inherent in small living spaces, but why are those spaces small? The rigorous demands of hydrodynamics, that’s why.
It’s been a particularly difficult adjustment for me to get used to this fact, because my day job is in information technology, and in IT, we’re all about being lazy. Technology is, at its basis, really only of use in automating or aiding processes that otherwise must be done manually, or would be utterly impractical if attempted to be done manually. Your private experiences with technology notwithstanding, done properly, it’s all about making things easier. Inasmuch as I have had any success in the field, it is due to my innate, elemental motivation to avoid doing work of any sort. I’ve managed to parlay this character flaw into a career of making things easier. Other people simply put their heads down and charge along doing things the way they have been told. I’m always looking for an easier way.
On a boat, there is no easy way (well, there is; it’s called “having a crew.” I don’t). Sailing is all about making things harder. You’re probably already familiar with the basic complaint of the sailor, underway or at anchor: stowage. Stuff is always going to be underneath, behind, or wedged in with other stuff, necessitating that all related stuff must be removed to get at the stuff on is desirous of. The lazy man might unpack all of those items in the way to unearth the desired equipment, leaving it all out until finished with the original item, after which it and all the stuff the belongs atop it could be stowed at one time, instead of twice. It doesn’t work that way, though; you have to get out the thing you want, then put away everything that was in the way, then pull it all out again when you are done to put the original item away, and then everything else, again. Otherwise, you probably a) don’t have enough room to do with the thing whatever you had planned, since all the other crap is now strewn about the cabin and b) will lose or break something when the boat rolls unexpectedly. Which it will, assuming you have left anything out loose. Law of the sea.
The same thing is true for small and simple efficiencies like opening and closing doors or drawers. If I open the head door, it needs to either be closed again immediately after I pass through, or latched open. Failure to do one or the other will result in it bashing back and forth as soon as the boat starts moving, damaging either itself or one of us.
Then there is sailing itself, which typically involves tedious hours of trimming, reefing, unreefing, or changing sails, not to mention one’s course, regardless of what the optimal rhumb-line course might be, due to tides, currents, winds, other boats, floatsum, jetsum, whale sightings, etc, etc, ad nauseum. Sometimes this is called “fun.” When you’re just trying to get from point A to point B, it’s an affront to laziness in every form. I want to set the sails, turn on the autopilot, and take a nap until we arrive, but that’s just not how it works.
Those are just the things that are most obvious. Other things aren’t necessarily drawn to your attention so dramatically, but are equally important to do the hard way. For instance, before heading out for the day, whether there is wind or whether you plan to sail or not, the sail must be rigged for hoisting and the halyards clear to hoist with. The day you don’t bother, the engine will quit and the current will be sweeping you onto some nasty rocks, and getting the main up in a hurry will be your only hope.
That’s safety related, at least, but at the end of the day, it’s also important to reverse all that preparation, securing the halyards and putting on the mainsail cover. Why? Maintenance. It won’t kill you, but leaving the halyards flogging and the sail exposed to unnecessary UV will shorten their lifespan, and will cost you more to replace or repair than if they are taken care of. Plus, the flogging halyards will keep you awake at night and do the same for your neighbors, if you have any neighbors, which you won’t if you don’t secure your halyards.
Maintenance is the greatest hard way there is in sailing because it involves working on things that are already working perfectly well. My lazy lizard brain regards this as an anathema to logic and rational thought, but unlike software, lines and winches and fabric and metal all wear out. If replacing your lifelines is hard, it’s not so hard as having them snap when you are thrown against them offshore in a gale. At least, I imagine it’s not… that’s why I am planning to replace mine.
I suppose that is the attitude that a lazy person needs to adopt toward sailing then, thinking of the hard things as really being the easy things. I can’t say I am quite wrapped around that thought yet… changing how you think, it seems, also involves some hard work.