The Sydney to Hobart yacht race

has once again been hit with tragedy. There have been two deaths - both apparently caused by the boom hitting their heads. Another sailor reportedly has a broken shoulder. Yesterday morning someone told me a third of the boats had pulled out of the race because of the wild weather. 

It makes me wonder why people want to do this. Those boats may seem big enough when they are there in the docks but, out on the ocean, they can be seen for what they really are - and that is small. 

I love the sea. I come from generations of sailors, engineers, doctors and teachers - all the "traditional" Scottish occupations. My paternal great-grandfather was a sailor, ship's pilot and marine cartographer. Without his work, and the work of a good friend and colleague, the area we know as "the Port" would not have been able to be used for the vital shipping which supplied the state with so much at the time. The work Great-Grandpa did was used as a basis for all the maps up and down the coast of the gulf until the late twentieth century. Now cartography is done.

But Great-Grandpa and his colleague sailed in all sorts of weather and through some very rough seas. There is a strip of water between the mainland and the island on which we once lived which is known as "Backstairs Passage". It has a reputation for being one of the roughest narrow crossings in the world. Sailing in and around that in order to map the coastline was fraught with danger. 

These two men did it because it was their work to do it. Never having known them I can only assume they also loved the sea. Their children must have because they were in and out of boats all their lives. My grandfather went swimming in the ocean every morning unless he was away from his home near the beach. The Senior Cat loved the water but did not get there nearly as often. All of us were taught to swim from a very early age. The two generations below me are like fish in the water. My great-nieces and nephew would spend hours in the pool or in the ocean every day. 

But would we go sailing now? The Senior Cat and Brother Cat once made a "Mirror Dinghy". It was in kit form and they built it over one winter so they could go sailing in the summer. They did sail for some years but then we moved inland again and it was no longer possible. The experience was not wasted for Brother Cat. He was in charge when he, his partner and friends hired a boat and sailed up the coast in a neighbouring state. "But the weather was good and the route was planned for us so we were always close to shore and help," my brother said. He did not see it as actual sailing, especially as the boat was equipped with an engine if things went wrong.

I wonder about all this and often think I would prefer to live close to the sea. When I was looking for new accommodation I looked and looked for something close to the sea but the cost was against it. Many other people want to live close to the sea as well. 

I wonder if those who do live close to the sea really appreciate it? Do they walk along foreshore every evening? Do they swim in the mornings? Do they simply sit and allow themselves to be calmed by the waves? It is surely extraordinary that something which is constantly changing can also often be calming as well.

But, out on the ocean proper, that constant change is part of the challenge. It is never safe even when it appears to be calm. Perhaps that is what attracts some of us.