Joshua Slocum sailed alone around the world with only a goat for company. Other sailors have kept chickens aboard—at least they produce eggs. But after decades of sailing with human crews, perhaps it’s time to admit the truth: we’re asking the wrong species to keep watch.
Joshua Slocum sailed alone around the world with only a goat for company. French sailor Guirec Soudée circumnavigated with his red hen Monique, who laid an egg every day for five years—even frozen in Greenland ice for 130 days. At least chickens produce eggs. But after decades of sailing with human crews, perhaps it’s time to admit the truth: we’re asking the wrong species to keep watch.
The Livestock Had It Right
The great solo sailors understood something important. When Joshua Slocum circumnavigated the globe from 1895 to 1898, he brought aboard a goat. The animal provided milk, company, and—crucially—no arguments about navigation decisions.
More recently, Guirec Soudée, a young French sailor, set off on what would become a 45,000 nautical mile circumnavigation aboard his steel yacht Yvinec. During a stopover in the Canary Islands, he acquired an unusual crew member: Monique, a red hen. Over the next five years, Monique proved to be the ideal shipmate. She laid one egg per day—even during their 130-day winter frozen solid in Greenland ice. She never complained about watch schedules, never questioned navigation decisions, and never created interpersonal drama. When they finally completed their voyage, Guirec and Monique had become unlikely celebrities in France.
Sources: Sailing Alone Around the World by Joshua Slocum (1900), A Sailor, A Chicken, An Incredible Voyage: The Seafaring Adventures of Guirec and Monique by Guirec Soudée (2020)
At least chickens make eggs—one point marked! But livestock, while remarkably low-maintenance compared to humans, still need food, water, and space. They don’t stand watch. They can’t trim sails or monitor AIS. And while Monique’s reliable egg production was admirable, it’s no substitute for collision avoidance.
The question, then, is what would the perfect crew member actually look like?
The Human Crew: A Gallery of Complications
Every skipper has sailed with them. Every crew member has been one of them. Let’s be honest about what we’re working with:
Roberto the Tinkerer
Roberto knows everything about everything—or thinks he does. He’s a technical genius who can’t resist modifying perfectly functional systems. The autopilot was working fine until Roberto “optimized” it at 2 AM in confused seas. The VHF worked perfectly until he decided to upgrade the antenna mounting. Now you’re 200 miles offshore troubleshooting Roberto’s improvements while the original equipment manual has long since disappeared overboard.
Roberto’s motto: “I can make it better.” The boat’s reality: “It was working fine yesterday.”
Amélie the Perfectionist
Amélie is an expert sailor. She really is. She can feel a two-degree wind shift before the instruments register it. She knows exactly when to deploy the spinnaker pole, hoist the asymmetric, or reef the main. Unfortunately, Amélie’s expertise manifests at 3 AM when you’re trying to sleep before your 4 AM watch. “We should really set the blue sail now,” she insists, as you contemplate whether another half-knot of boat speed is worth the entire crew being awake for 45 minutes of sail changes in the dark.
Amélie’s motto: “We’re not sailing optimally.” Everyone else’s motto: “We’re also not dying of exhaustion.”
Manfred the Anchor
Manfred doesn’t want to do night shifts. When you finally convince him to take a watch, he doesn’t wake up—or if he does, he falls asleep twenty minutes into his four-hour stint. He raids everyone’s food stores, particularly the carefully rationed chocolate and the beer supply that was supposed to last the entire passage. Manfred consumes five beers a day, eats continuously, and somehow still complains that the portions at meals are too small. The boat’s motion doesn’t bother him; he can sleep through anything, including his watch alarm, the depth sounder, and three people shouting his name.
Manfred’s motto: “Just wake me if anything important happens.” The problem: Manfred defines “important” very differently than the rest of the crew.
Sven the Liability
Sven doesn’t follow instructions. He goes to the bow at night without telling anyone. He doesn’t wear his life jacket because it’s “uncomfortable.” He doesn’t clip on his tether because it “restricts movement.” When you try to enforce safety rules, Sven acts offended—as if you’re questioning his competence rather than trying to prevent him from falling overboard in the dark. Every moment Sven is on deck unsupervised, you’re waiting for the splash that will turn the passage into a nightmare. The worst part? Sven’s behavior doesn’t just risk his own life; it exposes you, the skipper, to catastrophic legal and moral liability.
Sven’s motto: “I’ve done this hundreds of times.” The skipper’s sleepless thought: “Yes, and you’ve been lucky hundreds of times.”
Nigel the Challenger
Nigel questions every decision. Not thoughtfully, as a good crew member should when safety is at stake, but reflexively, as a challenge to authority. Why are we taking this route? Why aren’t we reefing? Why are we reefing? Shouldn’t we be motoring? Why are we motoring when we could be sailing? Nigel’s constant questioning erodes the crew’s confidence in your leadership and creates an atmosphere where every decision becomes a debate. In good conditions, this is merely exhausting. In a storm, it’s dangerous. A boat needs a clear chain of command, and Nigel’s relentless challenges make that impossible.
Nigel’s motto: “I’m just asking questions.” The crew’s reality: Nigel’s questions aren’t seeking information; they’re seeking control.
The Impossible Requirements
So what would the perfect crew member look like? Let’s be systematic:
- Never sleeps: Available for watch 24/7 without fatigue
- Consumes nothing: No food, no water, no beer, no electricity
- Perfectly obedient: Follows safety rules without argument or exception
- Never challenges: Respects the chain of command while still providing critical safety feedback
- Completely predictable: Performs exactly as expected, every time
- Assists everyone: Helps each crew member perform their duties correctly
- Expert in all conditions: Knows the boat, the engine, the weather, the rules, the navigation
This crew member would need to:
- Monitor all vessel systems continuously: engine parameters, battery state, bilge levels, navigation lights
- Watch for collision risks day and night: AIS targets, radar contacts, visual traffic
- Track weather patterns: wind shifts, barometric pressure, sea state forecasts
- Understand sailing techniques and the boat’s limitations: when to reef, when to motor, when to heave to
- Know each crew member’s skills and experience levels
- Understand the captain’s intentions and risk tolerance
- Alert the appropriate person at the appropriate time with appropriate urgency
Obviously, no human can do all this. Not even close.
Perhaps We’re Looking at the Wrong Solution
Slocum’s goat didn’t keep watch. Moitessier’s chickens didn’t trim sails. Roberto tinkers, Amélie optimizes at 3 AM, Manfred sleeps through his watch, Sven ignores safety protocols, and Nigel undermines command structure. Humans, even the best ones, bring massive complications to the relatively simple task of moving a boat safely from one place to another.
But what if the perfect crew member isn’t a person at all?
What if it’s a device that:
- Knows your boat: understands your vessel’s systems, capabilities, and limitations
- Knows your engine: monitors temperatures, pressures, and performance parameters
- Sees all traffic: watches AIS, radar, and visual contacts in all conditions, day and night
- Monitors weather: tracks actual conditions and forecasts, understanding how they affect your route
- Understands sailing: knows when conditions exceed your planned limits
- Knows your crew: understands each member’s skills, experience, and responsibilities
- Knows you: learns the captain’s priorities, risk tolerance, and preferences
- Never sleeps: maintains continuous vigilance without fatigue
- Consumes nothing: operates on minimal power, needs no food or water
- Asks nothing: provides information without demanding authority or recognition
This device wouldn’t replace your crew. It would make them better. It would let Roberto sleep instead of obsessively checking systems. It would let Amélie trust that sail changes will be suggested when they’re actually needed. It would wake Manfred when his watch truly requires attention. It would enforce Sven’s safety compliance without argument. It would support Nigel by providing objective data for decisions, removing the emotional element from tactical discussions.
Most importantly, it would give you—the skipper—the confidence that someone competent is always watching, even when you’re exhausted, even when the crew is asleep, even when conditions are challenging and everyone’s judgment is compromised by fatigue.
The Crew Member That Doesn’t Exist (Yet)
Your boat already has the sensors. The NMEA 2000 network knows your boat speed, heading, depth, and wind. AIS shows nearby traffic. GPS tracks your position. Weather services provide forecasts. Engine sensors monitor performance. Bilge pumps signal when they’re running.
The data exists. What’s missing is the intelligent integration—the digital crew member that watches everything, understands context, recognizes when situations are developing from normal into dangerous, and alerts the right person at the right time with the right level of urgency.
Not a replacement for human judgment. Not automation that removes the captain from decision-making. But rather an always-alert, never-tired, completely reliable crew member that enhances human capabilities instead of competing with them.
The perfect crew member would never sleep, never eat your chocolate, never question your decisions at the wrong moment, and never create liability by ignoring safety rules.
It would simply watch, understand, and alert—exactly when needed, and not a moment before.
Slocum’s goat was good company, but it couldn’t keep watch. Your crew—Roberto, Amélie, Manfred, Sven, and Anna—are trying their best, but they’re human, with all the limitations that entails.
Perhaps the perfect crew member isn’t a person at all. Perhaps it’s the technology we already have, finally working together the way it should.
Who’s your Roberto, Amélie, or Manfred? Every sailor has crewed with these personalities—or been one of them. Share your stories in the comments below.
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