‘I will not answer your question,’ the skipper said, without looking away from the sausage he was peeling.

He let the silence hover. His long hair fluttering in the breeze.

For a good whole minute, there was only the sound of the sails, the halyards gently clanging against the mast, the waves caressing the hull.

All four of us looked at each other, waiting for him to continue, not knowing what expression to put on.

I remember that moment very clearly. I’ll never forget. It always raises the few hairs I have left on my head.

The skipper eventually put the sausage and his knife down, and rolled himself a cigarette.

Then he looked up at us, lighting up.

‘Instead of answering your question, I will tell you a story.

‘Ten years ago, or maybe twenty, there was a small boat, just like this one, on a beautiful evening, just like this one, with on board a small crew of passionate people in love with sailing, just like you.

’The coast was in view, the sea was moderately calm. There was a nice wind, not too strong, but not so weak either. In fact, the wind was a bit too strong for the way they had rigged their sails. For some reason they hadn’t reefed them.

‘Reefing the sails, as you know - as you should know - is the first thing you do when the wind increases in intensity. You have to shrink those sails, or you’ll be in trouble.

’So that group, they didn’t. Maybe they were talking, maybe they were relaxing, maybe they were drinking, we will never know. But we know that the wind raised the pressure on the keel. And their rudder snapped. Gone in an instant.

‘They found a quick solution. They were fast-thinking. They were good. They took the scull oar and stuck it in the stern rowlock, to use as a sort of makeshift tiller. It seemed like a good idea. It usually works if the wind isn’t too strong, and if you’ve reefed your sails.

‘But they hadn’t. And for some reason they still didn’t. Instead, they made fun of the youngest of the group, a skinny bloke who was having a hard time holding the oar still. And he played along with them. Though he could feel the pressure. The oar was way too long. He had a hard time holding it still. So he perched it under his sternum.

‘The atmosphere was light, the weather was nice, everyone was smiling, despite the issues.

‘But the pressure was much too great. The young man was catapulted overboard, together with the oar.

‘The first reaction was a huge laugh. Everyone roared with laughter. It was funny. The way he disappeared off the side, his legs flying up in the air. Hilarious.

‘The thing is, they had no rudder, and they had no oar now. The wind was stronger and the sun was setting. It was dark. The boat, like this one, had no motor. So there was no way of governing it any more. It didn’t take them long to realize they had no way of getting him back on board.

‘The evening was beautiful, the sunset was breathtaking. The water was freezing.

‘In just a few minutes, he was out of sight. For the whole night they tried to find him, trying to control the boat using only the sails. In vain. He was never seen again.

‘A small group of tourists cheered and waved from the high wharf as the boat slowly sailed past, entering the port. The crew maneuvered in silence, as the children above applauded and took pictures.

They were one less than when they had left.

‘So, now,’ the skipper said, picking up the sausage and biting a huge chunk off one end, ‘the next time you ask me if you can take off your life-vests because it’s hot, and it’s such a great day, and the sea is calm, and you can sea the coast, think of my story.’