You can call me intrepid if you wish because, on Saturday, I took to the waters of Hauraki Gulf aboard Explore Group's Ocean Explorer.
We were to view two yacht races from a VIP viewing position. What that turned out to mean was that no other spectator boat was allowed in front of us.
After boarding I whizzed up to the skipper at the helm and informed him we were all aboard so he could now hoist the mainsail. While clearly appreciative of having someone knowledgeable to help him, he regretted to inform me we were on a motor launch.
Perhaps the ensign, I offered. It was already flying.
Because he clearly seemed to know the ropes, and because I was not needed to help trim the sails, I took up a position in the comfortable lounge amidships and sat down to enjoy the 45-minute trip out to course A.
I had been concerned that, without a sail, there might not be a yardarm. I need not have worried because it became abundantly clear as everyone charged their glasses very early on that the vessel had been fitted with some sort of digital yardarm app.
I settled back with a frosty lager. Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum and all that.
To counter the effects of any over-imbibing, platters of food were relentlessly passed around.
"Can I interest you in some chicken and rice noodle balls?"
It must have been a pretty busy scene down in the galley.
I think it true to say, at least from the people I talked with, that most of us wanted the American boat to have a win but ...
"Would you like to try a Vietnamese vegetarian spring roll wrap?"
... that was not to be.
Right outside my window in the second race, American Magic fell dead in the water during a tack. The despair rippled across the water. While they got up and foiling again it was clearly a case of game over.
All that money, all that time, all that scrambling to get shipshape again after the catastrophe, all gone down the gurgler. The capsize, as many expected, was a portent.
"Beef bao bun?"
By now, you might have a couple of questions. First, you might be wondering how I became so conversant with the art of sailing and how I'm such a natural with the jargon.
Well, let me tell you that sailing was the only sport at which I ever excelled. Back in the days when I had abs and could see my toes, I used to race on Sydney Harbour. Not in a great rocket ship with gangly arms but in a one-man Laser.
And I'll have you know I was my club's Laser champion for two years running. So that's why the jargon just falls trippingly from my typewriter. I could easily work "rowlocks" into the column if you wanted me to.
"Brown rice and edamame salad?"
And, second, what's the view like from the floating grandstand?
Excellent, I have to say. You don't follow the racing yachts, of course, but you sit on the boundary line halfway up the course. You can always see the yachts clearly but only ever close up when they come across to the boundary to tack.
"Fish bao bun?"
Lucky they also have the TV coverage on board because I was shocked when I saw there were actually no lines painted on the sea.
I want you to know that this is not an advertorial – I paid my own way – but I thoroughly recommend it. Even more so when Team New Zealand is involved. Alas, I can't return.
So it's now time to lower the mainsail ... oops ... press the stop button.
"Chocolate and caramel triangle?"
Wyn Drabble is a teacher of English, a writer, musician and public speaker.