The seduction was short, sweet, and complete
Issue 99 : Nov/Dec 2014
Whenever my husband, Kevin, suggested sailing together on his parents’ boat, my response was always “no.” I had spent many days fishing with my dad and my former spouse on the Menominee River and the Bay of Green Bay. Sailing didn’t appeal to me. “I don’t want to go sailing. I spent enough time on the water and I have no interest.” Disappointed, Kevin usually went without me. On Sundays he’d return with a sailor’s tan and a hint of “pirate speak” in his tales of sailing on Lake Petenwell in central Wisconsin.
Six years have gone by. It’s spring as I write this and we want nothing more than for the bay to thaw after a particularly long and dreary winter so we can launch our good old boat. She’s a beautiful 1973 Tartan 30 we purchased in 2009. We love her. Her name is Escape.
A race changed my mind. Over Labor Day weekend in 2008, my husband managed to get me to join him at his parents’ home for the three-day weekend. Included in the itinerary was a sailboat race at the local yacht club. Kevin had crewed for this race several times in the past, but this was my first time . . . my first time on a sailboat and certainly my first time racing. We were on my in-laws’ O’Day 23. Linda Lark was her name. Winning races was her game.
Starting line nerves
They told me the wind was perfect for racing that day: 12 to 15 knots out of the southwest. Kevin hoisted the mainsail and hanked on the jib. The participating boats gathered at the start. At times, we came so close to other boats I wanted to scream. Since this race, I have raced on several boats, including Escape, and have learned that the start is always the most harrowing part.
The whole non-choreographed start put me on edge. Neither my in-laws, Curt and Linda, nor Kevin were unnerved. They were having a good time! With a fairly decent start behind us, I relaxed a bit.
“Ready to come about!” Curt hollered to his crew.
“Ready on port,” Linda hailed in response, gripping the sheet as she spoke.
“Ready on starboard!” Kevin chimed in.
With one smooth move, Curt steered Linda Lark’s bow through the wind. Sheets and sails flailed briefly, and then we were on starboard tack and swiftly heading for the island we had to round before heading to the finish. Linda Lark had a pretty good heel going; I braced myself against the cockpit seating on the opposite side.
“You’re dealing with the heel pretty well for a first-time sailor,” Curt observed. “Sometimes that unnerves someone who’s never been sailing.”
I smiled and said, “I love it! I can’t believe we’re getting this kind of speed from just the wind.” I giggled as water splashed over the bow and into my face.
“Now we’re sailing!” Kevin exclaimed as Linda Lark’s beautiful white bow plowed through the waves. Never in my life had I ever felt so peaceful, terrified, refreshed, and relaxed at the same time.
On the foredeck, Kevin and I dangled our feet in the water as we headed to the finish line. As we tacked, I turned to Kevin and said, “I want a sailboat.” He nearly fell out of the boat. Thankfully, he did not, as that would have disqualified us from the race.
We finished third in our division. The whole motley crew accepted the award from the yacht club commodore. I was ecstatic. I turned to Curt when we returned to our seats and said, “Next year, we’ll take first.” He chuckled. “I’m glad you had fun.”
There are times when emotions can hit like a freight train. Memories of my father, who died in 2004, flooded me at that moment. As a child, I was his fishing partner. We fished nearly every summer evening on the Menominee River. Until that moment at the yacht club, I had not realized how muchI missed being on the water. I believe Dad’s spirit was with me during the race and is there with me every day when I am on my own boat. I can picture him in Escape’s cockpit, one hand on the tiller and the other on the starboard rail, thoroughly enjoying the moment.
Curt is not my biological father, but he is my “dad.” No one can replace my true father, but Curt is a close second. I am blessed to have such awesome in-laws. I am grateful they introduced me to the challenging sport of sailing.
Anticipation
It’s mid-April as I write this. We’re on the tail end of a winter that refuses to die. The ground was white again this morning when I peeked outside. But from my window, I can see the Menominee River in the distance. The Bay of Green Bay is frozen solid but in a month Kevin and I will be down at the boatyard looking over every inch of Escape. She sits in her cradle with her proud bow facing the water. We believe Escape has a soul and she’s longing to be back in the water, just as we are.
The days are growing longer and slowly getting warmer. We’re anxious to hoist Escape’s mainsail and unfurl her jib, anxious to feel the wind on our faces. Escape is anxious too. When you own a sailboat, you just know. You can feel it.
I found a quote that summarizes perfectly how I feel about sailing. It’s from Under the Jolly Roger: Being an Account of the Further Nautical Adventures of Jacky Faber by L.A. Meyer:
“We clear the harbor and the wind catches her sails and my beautiful ship leans over ever so gracefully, and her elegant bow cuts cleanly into the increasing chop of the waves. I take a deep breath and my chest expands and my heart starts thumping so strongly I fear the others might see it beat through the cloth of my jacket. I face the wind and my lips peel back from my teeth in a grin of pure joy.”
Some of my most terrifying moments have been on a sailboat. But some of my most satisfying moments have also been on a sailboat. I look forward to many more, both terrifying and satisfying. Those moments build our character and inner strength.
Lisa Frost is a freelance writer in Wisconsin. She and her husband, Kevin, sail on the Bay of Green Bay and make frequent bay crossings to Door County, Wisconsin, during the summer. Escape, their good old boat, is a 1973 Tartan 30.
Thank you to Sailrite Enterprises, Inc., for providing free access to back issues of Good Old Boat through intellectual property rights. Sailrite.com
