Maiden Voyage

October 6th, 2012

“You looked at the lake like a puppy at the park,” Wife commented.

It was gorgeous day: bright, blue sky, 71°F. The flag on top of the courthouse building was flying, indicating good wind. I packed a bag and timed to catch the street car and got off at South Lake Union station at 12:12pm. Perfect!

It was really the beginning of a sailing day, boats were all sleeping with their sails nicely tucked. I asked for a Blanchard Jr. Knockabout. But the staff, Elena, convinced me to take the Mercury, a smaller (15 feet, keeled) boat. I manned up and planned to be that fool who tried to rig a boat based solely on books and observation. Elena was a confident young lady who mastered the skill of being in two places at the same time, but needed at three.

I found the jib (small sail in front) under deck, unfolded it, attached it to the forestay (a steel cable from bow to mast) with its zipper, learned the bowline knot, and hoisted it up (with the halyard). The mainsail needed to be unwrapped first. I hooked the head (top of the sail) to halyard, carefully slotted the luft (the forward edge of the sail) into the mast, and hoisted it up. The boat woke up with sails flapping in the wind. My spirit shot high and the heard the lake calling louder. Everything looked good, I untied the boat, pushed it out, walked on deck like a pro.

To get out of the waterway, I went straight out, turned around with a port-side tack (that means turning left), then was to do a starboard tack to get out clean. At my second turn, when I pushed the tiller, the boat did not respond! It was a narrow waterway; I was heading straight to the pier. I pushed the tiller all the way and the boat turned lazily and eventually rammed, gently, more like a tap, to the stern of another boat. I threw the stern line to someone on shore and deflated. (This scene has been replaying in my mind non-stop since.)

Elena yelled from the other side, “Hold that boat on dock!” I was equal part confused and embarrassed. She teleported from the other side of the waterway (how she does that!?) and machine-gunned instructions, “Lower your jib, Cullingham your mainsail (what’s Cullingham?), don’t touch that traveler (what?), ignore the Vang (sure…), route your jib sheet outside the shroud, …”

Two things were running through my mind: every instructions she gave involved a rope, the only things you can do to ropes are pulling and tying.

While I was pulling the tying various ropes, she had already circulated the boat three times. She stood still, got my attention, and gave me an encouraging smile, “OK, you are good to go. I am pushing you out now.” Suddenly, 15 feet of water appeared between my boat and the pier. She waved from so far away and I was, once again, all on my own.

The boat was obedient this time and we sailed out of the waterway like an arrow. I decided not to do the Tiger Woods air punch, but could not hold back the grin that connected both my ears.

Like a captain (ahem!), I had a plan: to the Gas Works Park and back. I would do close reach (going upwind), tacking back and forth, to reach the park. On my way back, I would do broad reach (downwind) and jibe back and forth. Simple plan.

Soon, the boat heeled and I felt this joy of riding the wind. Strange that I needed to steer constantly to keep the bearing. I crossed a big expanse of water before tacking. After a while, I discovered that I forgot to take my hat off. Oh well! Can’t take planning too serious while you are sailing.

About several hundred feet to the park, furthest north I had ever sailed, I turned around. Lake Union was busy. There were paddlers, motor boats, sail boats, and water airplanes taking off and landing. I found myself assessing the wind direction with everything I got: feeling on my skin, wave patterns, other boats, the flags, birds, etc. I needed clues and nothing tell me exactly what I need to know: how to trim the sheets. The sails kept on lufting and I was experimenting all the time. Man, this is tiring.

I had a docking plan too: head right in on broad reach, do a clock-wise U-turn, bring the boat parallel, and walk off with ropes in my hand. After the second turn, I quickly realized that the boat was not going to make parallel and there will be a light bump into the pier. Good thing someone was ready to grab the rope. I walked off the boat and exhaled. It was nearly two hours from the time I first hoisted up the jib.

Not bad for the first solo sail! This is what my 15-year-old daughter felt when she first drove around the parking lot. I needed more practices.

But first a cold beer.

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