Recertifying: When the Fun Leaves and the Learning Begins
It’s January.
A solid Force 7 is whistling through even the “sheltered” corners of the Solent. Rain needles sideways across the cockpit. My gloves have been wet for so long they no longer pretend to be warm. We’ve been practising sailing onto a mooring buoy all afternoon and I’m still making silly mistakes — the kind that make things harder than they need to be.
And somewhere between the third missed pickup and the fourth correction from the instructor, the thought creeps in:
What on earth am I doing out here?
The fun left hours ago.
This has been my life for ten days.
Family on hold. Relaxing evenings on hold. Exercise on hold.
Up at 5am to prepare, home at 9pm cold, wet and exhausted.
I’m on a course to recertify as an RYA Cruising Instructor and, frankly, I didn’t expect it to be this hard.
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The Story Actually Starts 24 Years Ago
February 2002.
I’d just graduated university. I was broke, in debt, and rich only in optimism. During the summers I had the extraordinary fortune to be mentored by the owner of an RYA school in Hamble. I turned up as a scruffy kid with more enthusiasm than skill, but he saw something in me. Over three summers he quietly put me through course after course — Competent Crew all the way to Yachtmaster.
I “paid” by helping around the school, scrubbing decks, fixing lines, moving boats. But the truth is, he was simply generous.
Those summers did more than teach me how to sail.
They taught me how to lead.
How to stay calm when things go wrong.
How to make decisions with incomplete information.
Lessons that would follow me all the way into boardrooms two decades later.
In 2002 I became an RYA Cruising Instructor for the first time. I taught Competent Crew and Day Skipper for a few years, juggling weekends afloat with a city job. Eventually the corporate world won. The pace of both together was too much even for a twenty-year-old with endless energy.
So I stepped away.
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Coming Back — With Rust
Nearly twenty-five years later, with a lifetime of sailing behind me, I decided to return.
I was nervous. Not about big passages or heavy weather — those I’ve done plenty of — but about the small things. The precise things. The instructor things.
Who regularly sails onto a mooring buoy when there’s a perfectly good engine available?
Who demonstrates the textbook boarding technique every single time?
Rust creeps in quietly.
And the world had changed. Twenty years ago my memory of the Cruising Instructor course was that it felt easy. Now the focus included learning styles, safeguarding, modern standards, and the expectation that your sailing skills are well above Yachtmaster exam standard.
My Yachtmaster exam was over 25 years ago.
Could I even calculate a course to steer without hesitating?
I phoned the owner of a small school in Hamble and talked it through. We agreed on a prep week followed by the five-day course itself.
Ten days.
How hard could it be?
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Relentless
Very.
From the basics — boarding correctly (use the shrouds, not the stanchion), clean winch technique — to complex marina manoeuvres in tide, I had a lot to remember. I had no choice but to knuckle down and work.
Mistake after mistake, fully visible to the instructor and the other candidates.
Just as I got the hang of one thing, we moved to the next. Even the “no-sail” days weren’t a break. Classroom exercise after exercise. Every mistake analysed. Improvement layered upon improvement.
Add the sea to that equation and the effect is fascinating.
You’re not only doing the task.
You’re demonstrating it perfectly.
Explaining every step.
Keeping a boat of inexperienced people safe.
Managing wind, rain, tide, time, fatigue.
It is easy to crack. To rush. To snap.
Or to go the other way — brain overload, thinking stalls, you freeze.
I’m not a shouter. I just keep going.
But there were moments my brain was absolutely at capacity.
And yet — those are the moments you learn the fastest.
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Bonds Forged in Shared Discomfort
There’s something about shared hardship on the water that builds bonds quickly. Ten days of cold fingers, mutual mistakes, small victories, late-night debriefs, and quiet encouragements create a kind of accelerated friendship.
There were tears when we said goodbye.
Not because it was easy.
Because it mattered.
To get through, I focused day by day. I kept a simple phrase in my head:
“Today is my day. Today I’m going to shine.”
Eat well. Drink enough water. Sleep when you can.
Progress followed. Slowly at first, then noticeably.
By day five I felt like a skipper again.
By day ten I was relaxed, back near the top of my game — still capable of a silly mistake, but operating ahead of the boat, ahead of the crew, ahead of the situation.
In the zone.
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The Certificate — And What It Really Meant
Walking in for the final chat with the instructor, I felt calm. I thought I’d passed, but oddly, it no longer felt like the main point.
I was closer to the yachtsman I want to be.
Safe. Confident. Not arrogant.
Ready to help a new generation discover what I love about the water.
The certificate was on the table.
Hugs. Praise. Apparently it had “never been in doubt” — which is amusing, because during the course it felt doubtful every single day.
Now, a few days later, it’s still sinking in.
I’m deeply thankful to the instructor, Mart (check out RYA Sailing Courses & Mile Builders | Sail Squad UK) and the crew. I learned an enormous amount from all of them — not just about sailing, but about patience, humility, and resilience.
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A Small Apology at Home
Before I talk about why it matters, there’s something else that matters just as much.
An apology to my family.
The last two weeks I’ve been tired, distracted, and — at times — grumpy. Short answers where patience was needed. Half-present when I should have been fully there. There’s no excuse for that. Pushing myself to learn again is a choice I made, and the ripple effects are mine to own. I like to think I’m better than that, and most of the time I am — but growth isn’t always graceful. Sometimes it shows up as tiredness and frayed edges before it turns into something positive.
So to them: thank you for the support, and I’m sorry for the moments I wasn’t at my best. I’m learning — not just on the water, but at home too.
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Why It Matters
This wasn’t about a qualification.
It was about sharpening the edge.
About returning to fundamentals.
About choosing discomfort in the short term so I can give more in the long term.
Sailing has given me so much in life — clarity, confidence, friendships, direction. Becoming a Cruising Instructor again isn’t a career move as much as it is a promise:
To pass that gift on well.
To keep people safe.
To help others fall in love with the sea the right way.
So yes — I’ll be back out there.
Even in a cold, wet January.
Especially in a cold, wet January.
Because sometimes the days when the fun disappears…
are the days that shape you the most.