Always Have a Plan B

A few days after the trip, I was telling the story to a friend. The storm, the marina, the chaos, the lines. He listened carefully, nodded at the right moments, and then asked me something I was not expecting.

"What was your plan B?"

I did not have an answer. Not because I had forgotten it in the moment, but because I had never made one. I had left the dock that morning with one plan: go out, enjoy the water, come back. What happened if that plan stopped working had never crossed my mind.

He smiled in the way that people who know things smile when they realise you do not know them yet.

"As a captain," he said, "you always need a plan B. And a plan C. Before you even set foot on the boat."

He was right. And the more I thought about it, the more I realised that most of what went wrong that morning had nothing to do with the storm itself. It had to do with the fact that I had not thought past my first plan.

The storm forced me into decisions I should have already made on the dock, in calm water, with a coffee in my hand.

So I started thinking about what those decisions actually are. Not a long checklist, not a manual. Just four questions. The ones I now answer before every trip, before I untie a single line.

Question 1: What is my abort condition?

Not "what will make me turn back if things get bad." That is too vague and too late. The question is: what specific condition, seen in advance, means the trip does not happen or ends immediately?

For me, on Swiss and Italian lakes, it is this: if the MeteoSwiss lake bulletin shows wind above 20 knots forecast for any part of my planned trip window, we do not go. If I see a storm building on the horizon before we reach open water, we turn back immediately, no discussion.

Decided in advance. Not negotiated in the moment when the family is excited and the water looks fine and you want to believe it will pass.

The moment you are negotiating your abort condition with yourself in real time, you have already waited too long.

Question 2: Where is my nearest safe harbour?

Before leaving the dock, I now look at the chart and identify at least one alternative harbour I can reach if I cannot return to my own. Where it is, roughly how long it takes to get there under engine, and whether it has a fuel dock if I need one.

I have never had to use it. But knowing it is there changes how you think on the water. Instead of "I have to get back to my dock no matter what," the thought becomes "I have options." That shift alone reduces panic by half.

Question 3: Does someone on shore know where I am going?

Before every trip, someone who is not on the boat knows three things: where we are departing from, where we are headed, and when to call for help if they have not heard from us.

Thirty seconds before you leave. A message to someone you trust. That is it.

If things had gone worse that morning in the storm, nobody on shore would have known where to start looking. That thought, more than anything else, is what made this question non-negotiable for me from that point on.

One more, for when you are ready

There is a fourth question that more experienced skippers add to this list, and it is worth knowing about even if you are not there yet.

Does someone on board know enough to take over if something happens to me?

On a family day trip on an inland lake, this feels like overthinking. Maybe it is. But the habit of at least showing one other person on board the basics — how to call for help on the radio, how to start and stop the engine, how to drop the anchor — takes ten minutes and costs nothing. The further and longer you plan to go, the more this matters.

I am not there yet either. But it is on my list.

Three questions answered before every trip, and a fourth to grow into. That is plan B. And plan C is just having thought far enough ahead that you already know what comes after plan B.

My friend was right. The best seamanship happens before you leave the harbour.

See you next week.
— Ale