The L-Plate Liveaboards

MIKE BODNAR: Everything on the waterways wants to kill you, or hurt you badly. Or at least bruise your ego. So it seemed to us anyway, as we continued towards the south of France on Liberty

- Mike Bodnar

There were times on our liveaboard adventure when I sat on the flybridge, legs propped up on a locker, one hand on the wheel, lazily flipping through the guide fluviale as we cruised down the Rhône. “This is the life,” I mused to myself. And at times, it really was

But my eyes were constantly drawn to the instruments – were there any telltale lamps glowing? Was the engine temperature okay? How much depth was there beneath our keel? Liz and I were still very much adjusting to life afloat.

I’d also realised that the mirror on the flybridge wasn’t to check if my skipper’s cap was at an appropriately rakish angle – it was to see whether 350 tonnes of barge laden with explosive gas was sneaking up on us from behind.

Outwardly I appeared the relaxed captain; inwardly my brain cogs were grinding noisily. (Lubrication in the form of cheap French white wine in the evenings assisted only marginally.)