I haven’t blogged in a few weeks, in part because, this past month, we took our first long cruise on our Silvergirl. And while I returned to a world with lots of new news about nuclear power, before I turn to current events, I can’t help but try to process what I was thinking as we cruised down the Chesapeake Bay and back.
And what I was thinking was that I saw lots of parallels between my experiences on the water and my professional life. In one way or another, they all boil down to defense in depth.
As a sailboat owner, you’ve got to believe that I like the wind. The idea of gliding silently through the water, the kinship with the sailors of old. There’s nothing quite like it.
But my husband and I learned many years ago, on our very first overnight cruise on our very first boat, that there is a downside to relying completely on the wind. We had set ourselves a destination, and we were determined to be purists and to get there under sail. The wind was light, and we inched along, oblivious to the time. Suddenly, we realized that it would not be possible to reach our destination. Fortunately, that day there was another safe anchorage on the way, and we detoured to stay there. But there is not always a safe place to stay on the way. So ever since that very first cruise, we’ve ceased being purists. We watch the clock and turn on the motor in time to get where we want to go.
But it is not only propulsion where I see defense in depth on our boat. In a sailboat, you are largely self-contained. Even in a place like the Chesapeake Bay, where you are never far from land or from other boats, if you cruise, you may have to be able to fend for yourself for a day, or sometimes a couple of days. This usually means backup systems, and it always amazes me how much backup we have in the confines of a small boat. It is a floating box of defense in depth.
For example, we have backup clothing and bathing suits in case we get wet, or in case it’s colder than we expected, or in case we want to swim on a day we hadn’t planned to, or in case a hat flies off. And since food is very important, we have extra layers of defense in depth there. Our cooking stove is fueled by propane, and we have an extra propane tank. And if that should fail, too, we have a barbecue. And if that should be impossible to use (for example, in a heavy downpour), we have food that, in emergency, we can eat without cooking. We have a water tank on the boat, but we also carry a few gallon jugs filled with water.
Safety equipment? We have high-tech life jackets that are supposed to inflate automatically, but have a way to be inflated manually if they don’t deploy automatically. We also have extra low-tech life jackets. And we have seat cushions that can be used as flotation devices. And we have a gadget called a LifeSling that is a step up from the traditional life ring tied to a rope, designed to be thrown to someone in the water. We have 2 radios and a hand-held radio. And we each carry a cell phone. We have a GPS, and the cell phone is the backup for that, too.
We also have extra rope, a whole kit of tools and extra hardware for the boat, an extra anchor, extra fenders to protect the boat when we’re docked, extra…well, you get the idea.
Of course, on the sailboat, no one calls it defense in depth, but that’s what it is. And every time we have to resort to one of our backup systems or supplies, I think about all the redundancy in nuclear power plants. It’s not quite the same thing, of course. On our sailboat, we are not likely to to make the evening news if we are becalmed, or if the engine conks out. But the philosophy of having an alternative way to accomplish necessary tasks seems familiar, indeed, as we ply the waters of the Chesapeake.
***This post was originally published on this site