In boating, as in life, why is help often so much easier to offer than to accept?
A former cruising sailor's offer to take me and my friend to the grocery store while docked and waiting out weather made me wonder, why is help often so much easier to offer than to accept?
It wasn’t that important, really. We just wanted a few things—some fresh fruit, maybe a bag of chips or some cheese. Two of my friends and I were in Beaufort, NC, on a delivery. We had tucked into a marina slip for a day to wait out some offshore weather that wasn’t in our favor. The trip from Greenport, NY, had already taken a bit longer than hoped, as trips sometimes do, and while we were far from locker mining, we were also shy of a few of those things that make overnight watches tolerable. So, my friend Jess and I walked into town to seek our fortunes.
Our first stop was in the cleverly named Beaudega on Front Street where, despite Jess excitedly eying the gluten-free rack, the pickings did nothing to shorten our already scant list, so we did what cruisers do—we asked. It was the owner, Anne, who broke the news to us that the only real option was to head to the Piggly Wiggly. (Yes, they do actually exist.)
The Pig, as they call it, is and isn’t that far from downtown—maybe a mile or two—but we were on a short leash with a mid-afternoon cast-off inked in, and a roundtrip walk to the store was not in order. When Jess and I hesitated, Anne insisted.
“I used to be a cruiser,” she said. “I know the drill. Let me give you a ride.” Jess and I exchanged looks of horror.
“I think this is one of those times that we’re supposed to say yes,” I said under my breath to Jess. She shot back the I know look. Help, for whatever reason, is often so much easier to offer than to accept.
Anne drove us to the store where Jess and I divided and conquered, dashing about the aisles like gameshow contestants, in and out in record time, much to Anne’s amazement. I was happy to have some chips for my overnight watches, and the fruit basket got a little shot of life. Jess and I talked about what happened as we walked back to the boat from Anne’s shop.
“I didn’t want to say yes,” I confided to Jess, “but all I could think was that if I was the one making the offer, I would really really want the other person to accept it.” Jess nodded. Being human is strange.
Water life will teach you humility pretty fast. My first lesson came years ago when, southbound and dead broke, some misguided soul stole my dinghy in Melbourne, FL, chopping down the small tree I had chained it to overnight. My cousin bought me an inflatable kayak so that I could get to and from the boat. My son suggested I should start a GoFundMe to get a new dinghy. When I protested, he pushed back.
“Maybe,” he suggested, “you have spent years helping people and this is your chance to learn how to accept the same from others?”
Little twerp, being all smart like that. I swallowed my pride, started the fundraiser, and had a new dinghy in a couple days’ time.
The boating community helps its own because it’s so easy to see yourself in someone else’s shoes, and those shoes don’t always feel good. New members of the tribe have to learn anchoring and mooring, docking and casting off. They have to learn to survive a squall, find propane and water, and navigate waters that don’t always make sense. We’ve all had to learn those things—and some of that knowledge seems only to come the hard way. Seeing others around you in need triggers that hard-knocks memory, and you can’t help but to, well, help.
You’ll hear the seasoned cruisers out there on the radio, checking in on the VHF nets and asking for help without hesitation. They’ve been there. They’ve been humbled and knocked down and have reluctantly accepted aid from others only to one day pay it back without hesitation. All around us—whether you cruise coastal waters, the Bay, or across oceans—are living breathing examples of what humans are capable of when the burdens of expectation, judgment, and competition are stripped away. We talk about this in a few of my Cruisers University classes as we discuss what makes the cruising scene unique in the modern world.
As I explain it to those newbies who may find themselves doe-eyed and mired in the steepest parts of the learning curve, “What you will see happen out there—and a lot of people are quite unprepared for this—is people with more knowledge than you who offer to help you, not to show off what they know, and not to impress you, but simply because you are there and you need help.” Which is, after all, the best reason.
by John Herlig
About the author: John Herlig lives aboard his Rawson 30 cutter Ave del Mar, teaches at Cruisers University, and delivers boats when the right opportunities present themselves. Find him on Instagram @sailing.ave.
