As I wrote about a few months ago, Charlie and I have recently taken up sailing. Our children, by association, have taken up sailing, too. They happily come with us on the sailboat, whenever we take it out. Sometimes they help. Most of the time, they sit with their legs dangling over the side eating Goldfish crackers. It's (almost) always fun and I love being out on the water, moving solely under the power of the wind, with my people.
The sailing introduction program that we signed up for back in April, included two full days of instructor led training, followed by 4-hours of training with a skipper, followed by 4-hours of solo sailing. Because five of us actually took the class - we are each eligible to receive 4-hours of skipper training (20 hours). And 4-hours of solo sailing (20 hours). Last month, we completed our skipper skill building. Earlier this month, we took a boat out for the first time on our own, and since there was zero wind, it was totally uneventful until we ran out of fuel in the middle of the channel, when we were trying to motor back to the harbor. And …. that's how we learned to always make sure that the fuel is topped off before you head back to the harbor.
Today, we went on our second solo sailing trip which was anything but uneventful.
When we left the dock, we weren't optimistic that we'd have much wind because it was stifling hot and stagnant at the marina. But once we left the harbor, the wind picked up, and we could see whitecaps in the distance. We excitedly hoisted our mainsail and within seconds, were underway. Once we opened our jib sheet, we were flying through the water; sailed all the way out to an offshore drilling rig, and lapped it. Everything was going swell. UNTIL…
One of my favorite authors, H. Jackson Brown wrote, in essence, that you can tell a lot about a person by the way they handle three things: a rainy holiday, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights. OK, OK. Hold my drink...
If you really want to tell about the character of a person, stick them on a 26-foot sailboat, in the ocean, in 15 knot winds, on their maiden solo voyage, with four children. If our children wind up on a therapist couch in the next 10 years, I think they can point back to the Wednesday their mother completely lost her mind while sailing in Galveston Bay.
After our successful voyage to the offshore rig, we started heading back to the marina. Charlie had us sailing downwind - and we approached the shipping channel, I'm trying to furl the jib, but it wouldn't come in. In no time, the sheet whips out of my hand, somehow taking my arms with it - flapping around the port side of the boat. The boat is perpendicular to the wind and we're heeling at least 30 degrees. Water is washing over the side and I can't stand up straight. I've got flashbacks to being rescued by the Coast Guard as a child on my father's boat - and start screaming. I can't pull the jib in no matter what I do and WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE DAMN SHEET?
William tries to help by shouting orders to his siblings and I snap that he needs to BE QUIET OH MY GOD. WE'RE DYING SOON! Charlie leaves the helm to help me pull in the front sail. Carolyn takes over the helm from her father. Because space is limited, I heave myself to the back of the cockpit - and am sitting directly across from Carolyn who is doing a stellar job navigating. But then she momentarily loses focus of the wind direction, and we have an accidental jibe when the boom violently whips from port to starboard across the cockpit - knocking William in the head and nearly knocking me overboard. Unfortunately, it didn't render me completely unconscious, because that would have helped. The boat is being tossed around like a cork, sails are flapping, sheets are whipping about, water is sloshing over the side - I don't know which way is up.
Charlie swoops in and makes everything sound. I don't know what exactly he did, but we didn't sink.
We realize that because we're so close to the shipping channel, we should pull down the mainsail and start up the motor for the trip back in. Charlie remarkably gets us positioned directly in to the wind and begins pulling down the sail, while I try to block my throbbing headache and fire up the engine, which WOULDN'T START. I'm turning knobs and dials, clutches and chokes, yanking the cord and trying my best to stay in the boat as waves are washing over the stern and drenching my sock clad shoed feet. I'm telling myself, "GET IT TOGETHER. YOU CAN DO THIS…." and the God of Outboards smiled upon me and it started. And then promptly died. This situation repeated itself five or ten times before I thought, hmmm, maybe we're out of gas? Oh right, wasn't I supposed to check fuel levels before the trip back in??
I find the gas can, open up the engine, and start pouring gas in to the receptacle while holding on to the back of the boat and willing myself to not topple over the back. After what felt like several minutes, but may have only been several seconds, I figured we had enough fuel and put the gas can away and fire up the engine. This time it remains idling until I put it in to 'forward' and notice that we've now drifted in to the middle of the shipping channel.
Fortunately, it's early afternoon in the middle of the week, so there isn't much recreational boat traffic and we're not at immediate risk of being run over by a cargo ship. We're motoring in to the harbor - everything is coming together - we've survived - and the near death experiences I had moments earlier are expeditiously settling in to the deep recesses of our minds. "Your Mom isn't a TOTAL psycho," I tell the children, "She just apparently doesn't respond well to stressful situations while on a boat being tossed around like an un-popped kernel in hot oil." Ha. A little laughter to lighten the gravity of the moment.
We're only 200 yards feet from turning down the row to motor in to our slip at the marina, when the engine suddenly dies. Charlie scowls at me and asks, "Jen, didn't you fill up the tank?" Umm, I thought I did?
I pulled out the gas can again, and because the water was calm, took my time to fill up the tank. But in that brief span, a small gust of wind kicked up and abruptly pushed the bow of our boat in to a pier on the opposite side of the marina. Charlie starts yelling, "JEN! START THE ENGINE! START THE ENGINE!" I hastily put the gas can away, start the engine, and lurch forward directly in to the pier. Again. I put the engine in reverse and try to spin the boat around, before realizing that the area isn't quite wide enough for me to make the turn in one fell swoop - it would require at least a 3-point rotation. Somehow, the boat is now pointing in the opposite direction of where we need to go; the entrance to the row we need to turn down is behind us.
Instead of having a bumper boat situation with the beautiful yachts lining the row, I keep the boat in reverse and motor all 200 yards backwards LIKE A PRO. I then put the engine in to 'forward' and motor down our row to the slip. As we're approaching the dock, Charlie yells back to me, "You're coming in fast, slow down!" So I turn from the throttle from the picture of the rabbit to the picture of the turtle, and immediately feel the boat lose speed. Just as we start to turn in to the slip Charlie again looks back and says, "We have enough momentum, kill the engine!"
"I, I, I don't think we're supposed to kill the engine..." I call back to him. But when he gives me a panicked look - I figure he must know something I don't know - and hit the kill switch. My husband yells to the children to GRAB THE FENDERS AND BRACE FOR IMPACT when the boat slams in to the dock and knocks the dock box. Charlie was right a lot today. He kept his cool and for the most part, really knew what to do under duress. But one thing I confirmed is that you NEVER kill the engine when you're trying to dock, because you need that reverse gear to help maneuver you in to the slip. My dad taught me that one. He also taught me how to radio the Coast Guard for help.
We have three more 4-hour charters that we need to use before the end of the month, so we're already planning our next expedition to practice all the important things we learned today. Charlie is adamant that he loves sailing, the kids are only semi-traumatized, and I'm seeing this as wonderful therapy to help me work out what appear to be some SIGNIFICANT anxiety kinks.
Let's just hope we don't need to execute a man overboard drill. And more specifically, if we do have a man overboard, let's hope that the man overboard isn't Charlie or I could just imagine my poor husband bobbing in the ocean, while the rest of us float away to Cuba.
