How we sail is related to how far we are from the water
Issue 106 : Jan/Feb 2016
During the summer sailing season I experienced another one of those revelations that occur from time to time. What I finally understood is that sailors who live close to their boats tend to use them very differently from those of us who are separated from our boats by a drive of several hours. Call it the syndrome of the hometown sailor versus the commuter sailor. This past summer, Sunflower was a mere 45 minutes from home and the patterns of how both groups sail were revealed.
In the past, we’ve driven as much as two and a half, five, seven, and even 12-plus hours to get to our boat. The length of the trip determines how much time one will spend aboard once there. When we drove 650 miles to Lake Huron’s Blind River for two seasons, we usually overnighted in a motel along the way. You don’t do that if all you have is a weekend for your sailing hobby. Instead, you work weekends and weekdays until you can justify heading to the boat for a week or more at a time. (It helps to be self-employed.)
Once those of us who are long-distance boat commuters put in several hours to get to our boats, we’ve made a commitment to be there — no matter the forecast, no matter the temperature, no matter the weather. We live on board either in the marina or on the hook and sail when we can because that’s what we came to do. Because we’ve invested that time, we’re much more likely to go sailing even if conditions are not perfect.
I first noticed hometown sailors when we kept Mystic in Thunder Bay, Ontario, a seven-hour drive from home. This is a large town and most of the sailors there live nearby. They race a couple of evenings a week and cruise for a couple of weeks each summer. Otherwise, they do not hang around. They certainly did not eat or sleep aboard as we did. The marina was a lonely place at night: just us and the night watchman.
We were initially surprised by that. In the Apostle Islands, where we had sailed for years, people came and went at all times of the day. As their boats were their only homes in the area, they were short-term liveaboards. They spent time working on their boats in the marina and they went off cruising in the islands as much as possible. But the marinas there never felt lonely except perhaps if we managed to be there in the middle of a week when most sailors had work and family obligations at home.
A marina in Duluth/Superior was closer to home for us. The drive is only two and a half hours for many of the sailors there. But, like Thunder Bay, this is a marina in a town (two towns actually) large enough to have many local sailors who can drive there in a few minutes. These folks go home at night. The pleasure of sleeping aboard diminishes somewhat if a warmer and larger bed is available just up the hill at home. These people, I used to joke, could raise a wet finger in the air and decide whether or not to go to the boat that day. Or that afternoon. Or for a few minutes. They did not hang out on their boats like those of us who were committed to life aboard by virtue of a long drive to get there with nowhere else to go. If it rained, they went home. We went below and closed the hatches.
This summer, with Sunflower, our C&C Mega 30, at a large city lake nearby, we finally understood those who can drive to and from their boats in no time at all. They generally show up for an hour or two. They arrive, sail around a bit, tidy up the lines, and head home again. They have no food or bedding aboard. Their boats become daysailers. These sailors can check the weather from home and make a real-time assessment regarding the sailing conditions. This summer, we were, for the first time, like them.
I realized this one morning when we’d driven to Sunflower to do some maintenance, with the plan that we’d sail as soon as the work was done. By the time the work was completed, however, large dark clouds were gathering and the wind had picked up. None of that was forecast, but we hadn’t made much of a commitment in terms of time spent getting there so we packed up our tools and went home. No guilt. A few days later, when the conditions met our expectations, we returned for that sail we’d postponed.
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