SAILING: A CRASH COURSE

I am no stranger to boating or its hazards. I have skippered creaky and leaky rowboats. As a canoeist I have shot rapids and they have often shot back. I am probably the only man who has made a white water canoe trip almost entirely on foot and sometimes submerged.

But sailing is something else altogether. The demands on the helmsman are excessive. One has to master aerodynamics, navigation, long distance swimming and a whole new language.

Sailboats used to fly by me on the lake while I struggled against the wakes of the majestic catamarans and the jaunty little Sunfish and argued with the porous Fin, my five-dollar rowboat.

“Some day, you leaky tub,” I’d say to the Fin, “I’m going to get tired of your surprising plunges and get one of those beauties. Some day I’m going to go to sea in a boat that has grace and spirit. Some day….” The Fin usually interrupted me then by springing a floor board and plunging to the bottom.

Recently, my luck changed and I became the skipper of a sleek two-man dinghy, capable of top speeds and deft maneuvers in the hands of a competent skipper. However, I was in desperate need of gaining competence, so I engaged the commodore of the lake’s Sailing Club to teach me the ropes.

Jim was eager to qualify a new member for his club’s weekend regattas which were dwindling as sailbboat skippers and crews answered the call of the modern sirens of the sea , the NFL and major league baseball games on TV.

He volunteered to teach me the the skills of calm water sailing. I had no idea the course would be so challenging and at times, so embarrassing. Because of my inability to grasp the difference between “Port” and “Starboard,” during one nerve-shaking lesson I interrupted the fishing club’s bass contest by capturing a long string of lines and hooks that I’d accidentally invaded. Dangling from one hook was the majestic beauty of a bass, possibly of record-breaking poundage, that’d landed in my dinghy. Jim’s quick apology and return of the huge fish to the lake was enough to appease the angry anglers. (Jim was a Fishing Club founder.)

Then there was the incident at the swim meet where my “port and starboard” mix-up caused us to win the 100 meter backstroke event. Fortunately, there were no casualties and Jim quickly took command of the tiller. As we exited the swim lanes I shouted my apologies to the contestants, judges and to the angry crowd of visitors’ parents.

I was able to help clear up the final results of the event and later received a thank you note from the young winner, Kenny Duphiney. He included a photo of his medal which is now framed on my office “Wall of Achievements.” Kenny’s parents kindly agreed not to press charges but several other cases involving the judges and parents are still pending.

I plan to eventually raise the Fin and make amends and pay for the necessary repairs if she will forgive and forget. We were meant for each other.