When I first stepped on a yacht at the age of 13, I was not impressed. Dad had bought a 32ft yacht. It was a yawl, which meant it had two masts, apparently. He took myself and a friend out on a hot, calm day in Nelson. I’d grown up on fishing boats and expected more of the same, but on the yacht everything was complicated. I stubbed my toes on deck fittings, bumped my head on booms and when the yacht heeled to the breeze, I thought, as do most novices, that we were tipping over.