Let's look at this boat, then, all 36-feet of it. Zeke – a happy name, don't you reckon? – is a home, a place to explore and explore in, an intriguing mixture of mod cons, traditional equipment and sea-salt-worn fittings that holds together as a safe environment. Let's do a tour...
The main cabin is large, stretching from the bow of the boat to about three quarters of the way to the stern. It's very open plan, with the front point being taken up by the forward locker, home to spare sails, ropes, the anchor chain, diving equipment and a huge range of bits and bobs that are essential for an easy life on board. The rest of the room contains a v-shaped settee with a collapsible table that turns it into a double bed; heaps of locker space, storage space for more tins of tomatoes, sweetcorn, corned beef and bloody processed peas than you've ever seen in your life... all the provisions we bought in New Zealand are tucked away in here somewhere; the toilet, or the 'head' as it's called on a boat, which contains a hot shower (only usable when there's enough fresh water and the engine's been running); the kitchen (or 'galley') complete with kerosene oven/stove, fridge and a spice collection to rival the best; the navigation table, where the charts, radios and GPS (Global Positioning System) live; and right at the back of the boat, separated from the main cabin by the engine compartment, is Rob's cabin. The only other area is the cockpit, above the engine, where the actual sailing is done and where the ropes all come back to.
Ah yes, the ropes. My first sailing experience back in the Coromandel was confusing, to say the least, and one reason is the terminology. Sailing language isn't English, at least it's not the English normal people use, and the rope names clouds the issue on what is a relatively easy system. Halyards are ropes that pull sails up, sheets are ropes that alter angles of sails, and on top of that are specialised ropes that have crazy names.
Zeke is a sloop, which means it has one mast in the middle of the boat, with the mainsail attached to the back of it, and a boom along the bottom of the sail. There's also another sail in front of the mast, called the jib, which rolls up around a rigid wire, the forestay, which goes from the top of the mast to the bow. The main and jib halyards raise and lower the mainsail and jib respectively, and the main sheet and port and starboard jib sheets alter the angles of the mainsail and jib. The boom vang pulls the boom down, the topping lift lifts the boom up, the preventer stops the boom from swinging from side to side, and you now know enough to blag your way through a crew position on a yacht. All you have to perfect now is the 'blurrghhh' sound that marks the graduation from landlubber to seasick mariner, and you're sorted.
Though if you can remember all that when the sea's pitching at 45° and the sea is breaking over your head, you're doing better than I ever did...


