Dockside Philosophers and Internet Admirals: A User’s Guide to Bad Advice

Yesterday I was scrolling through comments on a couple of recent posts. Most were upbeat and engaging, but, as always, there were a few self-appointed captains who were super-sailors, finding fault with everything everyone else said—lobbing negativity and stupidity like it was an Olympic event. It got me thinking about opinions in the sailing world. Walk down any dock, open a Facebook group, or drop anchor in a new harbor, and you’ll hear them—advice, warnings, tall tales, and both solicited and unsolicited opinions flying faster than flying fish. Some of it comes from hard-earned experience, and a lot of it doesn’t. After four years of sailing around the world, I’ve learned that every sailor I meet has something to teach me—sometimes what to do, and sometimes, just as importantly, what not to do.

Here’s a couple of humble thoughts I put together from my own experiences, if anyone is interested:

Personally, I’m bluntly honest about where my own experience begins and ends. If someone came up to me on the dock and said, “Hey, one of my injectors is bad—can you help me tear my engine apart?” I’d tell them straight: I have a basic understanding of how engines work, but I’d gladly lend a hand. On the other hand, if someone asked, about my NEMA network, sailing Simbo or “What’s the best way to get from Réunion Island to Richards Bay in South Africa?”—well, these are some things I can talk to in great detail. All based on first-hand knowledge. 

If someone asks me a question, I answer under the impression they’re going to take that information as truth and follow the advice. I feel a strong sense of responsibility in that—understanding the weight of what we do—and I’m sure most others feel the same way.  Bottom line: there’s a time and place for telling tales of the sea and big fish stories, and a time to be straight and accurate. 

No one knows everything, I certainly do not, and I run from any sailor who claims to. The beauty of this thing we do is being an eternal student. I’ve met all kinds of amazing characters, each with their own brand of wisdom—some helpful, some hilarious, and some a few that have cost me a small fortune. Over time, I’ve started to recognize a few particular groups who I approach with a bit more caution. It’s not that their advice isn’t well-meaning, for the most part, it’s more determining the difference between theory, experience and with some unfortunately, ego.

First we have Internet Warrior—those faceless admirals who hold court from their basement, tinfoil hat, armed with Google and an unwavering confidence coming from no practical knowledge. They preach about what’s “safe,” what’s “stupid,” and which boats will “never make it.” Anonymity is their superpower. Obviously, everyone’s entitled to an opinion, but I’ve found that the loudest voices usually have the quietest logbooks, and these folks are rarely quiet. They’re more apt to call you out or angle an answer to make themselves look like the authority—more ego than substance. In the end, I know one thing to be true: an actual sailor would never be rude or talk down to you when you’re seeking help. They understand the deal—the code. We help each other, if for no other reason than we’d hope for the same in return in our hour of need.

Then there’s the dockside philosopher—the marina regular, the condo-sailor whose boat hasn’t left its slip since Clinton was in office, if ever. I meet them perched in their cockpits, offering advice on everything from ocean crossings to outboard maintenance. They’re friendly, funny, and full of local wisdom: where to get parts, the best tacos, and which locals to steer clear of. Beyond the breakwater, though, their knowledge fades into “I read,” “I heard,” or “I saw on YouTube.” There is great value here, just depending on what you are looking for.

And finally, there’s the old salt—part oracle, part curmudgeon, part storyteller. They’ve seen it all, forgotten half, and have strong opinions about the rest. They might sound gruff, but they often carry a lifetime of hard-won knowledge. The stories alone from these folks are worth their weight in gold! As far as practical information, things change—laws change, boats change, technology happens—so again, what information are you looking for?

As cruisers, sailors, and racers, we depend on each other for help—whether it’s outside the breakwater back home or 2,000 miles offshore. Be it some medication, a spare part, a meal, or a bit of guidance based on past experiences, the community matters. A true sailor will go a hundred miles out of their way to help you, for nothing, just because thats what we do, while a troll is looking to cut you down, while trying to make themselves look like the smartest person in the room. 

For me, I take advice the way I take a weather forecast: I check a few sources, trust my own instruments, and remember the golden rule “the calmest voices usually belong to the ones who’ve truly been out here.”

Days Sober: 2,134