Why You Should Get Into Sailing

It’s relaxing. You know that song by Christopher Cross called ‘Sailing’? If that song alone was not able to convey how relaxing sailing can be for you, I don’t know what will! Seriously though, sailing is really an extremely relaxing thing to do.

There really is something to be said about ‘being in touch with nature’ and how it calms you inside and out. Sure, taking a walk in the woods can do that too but somehow sailing brings it up a notch higher doesn’t it? So give it a go and soothe your nerves!

It’s more cost-effective than you think. Many people think that sailing is a pretty expensive activity. Well, it is if you want it to be. However, do note that there ARE ways to indulge in boating without it costing an arm and a leg. For instance, did you know that you can finance your own boat for as little as $200-$300 a month?

Also, most marine lenders are boat men too so it’s kind of easy to work out a deal with them. Try it out before you shoot the idea down. You might find that you’re spending more on other activities you’d rather not do!

It makes for good exercise. Sailing is good exercise too you know. Even if you go sailing purely for recreational purposes, the preparation and actual sailing will provide good activities for you. Now, if you want to make a sport out of boating, then all the more calories you get to burn!

It’s a great way to bond with family and/or friends. With no TV, game console, pool table, and mobile phone to occupy people’s times, sailing is an excellent way to simply bond with family and friends. It’s great way to catch up on what everybody else is doing… and all that with such a great backdrop too!

Serious ME time. Of course, sailing can provide some serious alone time too which all of us needs every now and then. If you need to think clearly without fear of being bothered every now and then, sailing is the perfect way to go.

There’s no traffic. Sometimes, the only thing that prevents us from doing what we want to do is… traffic or the little obstacles we need to overcome to do what we want to do. With boating, the sheer space and sense of freedom you get makes these ‘obstacles’ seem very trivial.

It’s fun! Sailing is simply a very FUN thing to do because there are so many avenues to take once you’re in the water. You can go fishing, diving, waterskiing, or simply cruise along.

Sailing can be the best thing you take up this year so go and just do it!

Sailing in Spain will make your visit to Spanish soil that little bit more interesting. Spain is renowned to be one of the best sailing hot spots holiday makers can visit whether they are beginners, master sailors or never even been in a boat before. Around Spain there are over 200 harbours that cater for sailing and boating activates all along the coastline of Spain. When you are searching for a location you should be aware that some harbours will be in the Mediterranean ocean and other will be in the Atlantic Ocean. If you are interested in anything from sailing, to motor boats then you will find what you are looking for along the Spanish coasts.

If you are interested in charted Sailing in Spain then there are many groups out there that organise such events for you. The costing of a charted sail can vary due to many variables such as yacht size, crew size, and the length of time you wish to be on the open waters. Such options allow novices who have limited to no sailing experience take to the open waters in complete safety. They will be able to participate with skilled crew members and have a good trip out while on holiday in Spain. If you regard yourself as professional or somewhat experienced then some of these groups will allow you to take the yacht with out the crew onboard so you can sail with your own group of people. Many companies that offer such services will require additional details for proof of such experience and may even take a large sum of money for holding for any possible damage that might occur.

It is possible to get sailing lessons when Sailing in Spain from qualified instructors. You can usually find more information down at the harbour, normally run by the local sailing club. If you are a rookie then this is the best course of action as you learn how to be integrated as part of a crew and learning how to complete all the tasks required to successfully sailing a boat as a team. If you can find a local sailing club or better still a sailing school then usually the courses available to you come packaged as part of a course. Learning to sail is by no means a quick task and will time and dedication. With this in mind you must make sure your stay in Spain is offer a lengthy duration to cater for such a commitment. Some courses can take up to and even over 35 hours to complete before you can get on the open waters a sail a yacht alone or even part of a team.

There are a number of other options related to sailing a yacht that include the hiring of motor boats, rowing boats and even single man sailing boats. Always keep any eye out the local harbour for such equipment to be hired out too holiday makers and locals alike. Make you Sailing in Spain time special.

When you decide to take sailing lessons through one of the Caribbean sailboat charters, you will have an experience captain as your instructor. These lessons are designed for the whole family so that the next time you want to enjoy Caribbean sailing charters you can take the sailboat on your own. When you use this opportunity to learn about sailing, it will take you only one week to complete the basic course. If you wish to charter a sailboat in the Caribbean for sailing lessons you have to do on a single hulled sailboat. These lessons are not available here for catamarans.

When you book one of the Caribbean sailing charters you will want to know what is and what is not included with your booking. All of the bed linens, towels and kitchen equipment is standard fare on the bareboat sailboats. You will also have a VHF, boat phone, a cruising guide of the Caribbean and all the charts you need for sailing these waters. The basic navigation equipment, such as binoculars, safety equipment and first aid kit, is also included in Caribbean sailboat charters. You will get a full tank of fuel and water and you are expected to return the sailboat with the tanks refilled.

Some of the Caribbean sailing charters include snorkelling and diving gear with the charter. Others require you to rent this equipment if you need it. You should check out the different sailboat charter companies that offer charters to the Caribbean to see which one has all the equipment that you need for your vacation. If you choose a bareboat charter, you will have to supply your own food and if you want a captain, you also have to supply the captain’s meals. On the luxury Caribbean sailboat charters, all the food and drink is included in the price as well as the cost of hiring the crew.

Caribbean sailing charters offer you the opportunity to see the Caribbean at your own pace. You set the itinerary and spend as long as you like in one place. Go ashore to shop at the markets and take in the unique culture of each of the Caribbean islands. Once you book one Caribbean sailing charter, you will be so enchanted that you will dream of the day when you can take another.

Ex Scientia tridens – Latin for From” Knowledge, Sea power “is the Academys Motto. The Academy also stands by and keeps up the Honor, courage and commitment. It also firmly believes in ‘Excelling without Arrogance”.

The Naval Academy was established in the year 1845 and shares more or less the same history as the Nation itself. Moral and ethical issues and developing the incumbent midshipmen with these values is one of the primary responsibilities for the Naval Academy. From the sail and steam-powered ship era to Nuclear Subs and Supersonic aircraft, the Navy has come a long way and the Naval Academy today, takes up the onus of preparing young American men and women to become established naval officers and marine officers. It is, however, a competitive endeavor to be able to secure a place at The Naval Academy.

The students in the academy are referred to as Midshipmen and they learn to take orders from practically everyone in the system, however they also learn to make decisions which can affect all their peers at the academy. Upon graduation the midshipmen are commissioned and listed as ensigns in the U.S Navy or as Second Lieutenant in the Marine Corps and must be in the service for a minimum of five years just like the U.S Army cadets.

The Midshipmen, during their course of education and study – which is really a mix of arts and sciences – also take part in a lot of extra curricular and physical activities, an important mix of educational elements all geared to prepare the midshipmen intellectually, physically and morally. Though there is no graduate school directly associated with the naval Academy, there is a Naval Postgraduate College and a naval preparatory school for the midshipmen.

The U.S Academy carries a mission to develop midshipmen to the highest exacting standards as is expected from a commissioned officer, developing them to morally, ethically imbibing in them virtues of honor, respect, integrity and loyalty and prepare them to take on the responsibility of being able to take command and be of service to the government and the country.

Bangkok’s nearest yacht sailing base is Ocean Marina Yacht Club, located some 15km down Sukhumvit Road from Pattaya, towards Sattahip. At Ocean Marina you’ll find a number of companies that offer an exhilarating and fun day out visiting the beautiful and untouched islands off the coast of Pattaya.

But if you’re the kind of person who longs to be a participant instead of a spectator, why not actually learn what it takes to move and drive a boat?

A word of warning: once you undertake the challenge of learning to sail, it may very well become an all-consuming passion that takes over your life.

So, where does one start? Usually there are two options:

1.You can learn to sail experimentally by simply going out to crew with the racing teams at the monthly racing events held at Ocean Marina.

2.You can enroll for a course or courses at a sailing school.

The sailing school option is the most popular, so let’s focus on this approach. It raises a number of questions and hopefully we’ll be able to answer a few of them.

How Do You Choose a Sailing School?

Whether you are starting from scratch or continuing your sail training, it is very important that you choose a school that meets your requirements. This choice is difficult for the new sailor as you will have little or no direct experience to base your decision on. Therefore, you should evaluate all of your options and ask questions of the schools you contact to ensure they can meet your needs.

Your prospective schools should be accredited by the International Sailing Federation, which has guidelines on setting up schools and the facilities they should have.

The Basics

Yachts – You should make sure that the yachts the school uses are appropriate and in good condition. Ensure that there are not too many people in the class, so that you will always have things to do rather than watching and waiting for your turn.

Instructors – You need to be sure that the instructors are qualified, having completed approved international training programs.

Courses – You must ensure that the courses are appropriate to your level and to the sailing level you wish to attain.

Certification – The certifications issued must be recognized in the geographical areas where you intend to use them. Ask about international accreditation – once you’ve passed will your certificates be accepted internationally?

Code of Ethics – Does the school have an ethical approach that will deal with you as an individual and help you attain your goals?

As far as training schemes go, there are two basic types of syllabuses used internationally now.

The first starts your teaching to sail on live-aboard type boats progressing from crewing to acquiring skipper skills.

The second, which I favor, teaches you how to sail on smaller yachts and covers all the basic elements of sailing including decision making. As your certification levels increase, so do the size of the yachts and the distances sailed.

This scheme was initiated in the USA & UK and is replacing the former in a number of areas.

The student-to-instructor ratio has of been concern to many of the sailing authorities, due to the rapid growth of commercial sail training. Obviously a yacht carrying six students makes more money than a yacht carrying three at the same or similar price.

Unfortunately, however, the students on the crowded yacht get only half as much instructor time as the others. In these days of furling headsails and other labor-saving devices, there is an optimum student capacity; exceeding this is not in the student’s interest.

Another concern of the sailing authorities is the very question of what certification actually achieves. Simply handing out certificates that denote course completion is in no one’s interest. Every student should NOT automatically be entitled to a certificate.

Only students who satisfy the examination components and are in the opinion of their instructor, competent and confident at their certified level, should be certified.

Sailing takes practice. For the training benefits to be maximized, all the skills you learn should be practiced over and over again. At all advanced levels of qualification, time with hands-on experience is required.

RYA Day Skipper is a sort of ‘foundation course’ in seamanship and navigation. It has two elements, theory and practical. Suitable for those with limited experience it is effectively an ‘entry level’ course, though while you don’t need any theoretical knowledge you do need to know how to sail. The RYA stipulates that Day Skipper candidates should have 100 miles logged. In our experience it doesn’t matter what sort of boat you have sailed, so long as you can sail. Dinghy sailing years ago is just as relevant as last years flotilla holiday in the Med! http://www.mustangsailing.com/

If you are not confident about your sailing ability you may want to consider taking an RYA Competent crew course first. Five days training alongside Day Skipper students or Yachtmaster exam candidates is sure to give you a feel for cruising under sail and hopefully a thirst for more. Alternatively you could take a berth on one of our mile builders, again five days but with an emphasis on going places rather than intensive pilotage and boat handling. The Channel Islands and France are favourite destinations for mile building out of the Solent.

When you have gained the Day Skipper theory and practical tickets you can consider yourself well on the way to being a safe and competent yachtsman. The RYA Day Skipper practical certificate entitles the holder to an International Certificate of Competence (ICC). These certificates and a VHF Radio licence are all you need to charter boats in the finest sailing areas the world has to offer.

More important than the certificates in themselves is the knowledge you will acquire on the way. The Day Skipper theory course covers chartwork, chart symbols, Lat & Long, compass, tidal theory, pilotage, safety, meteorology and so on. The theory element can be taken as a five day ’stand alone’ course or combined with the practical (on the water) training in one 9 day course. This offers the opportunity to achieve both Day Skipper theory and Day Skipper practical tickets with only five days off work, an important consideration for those with busy lifestyles.

Mustang Sailing have been delivering these courses for long enough to know how to get the theory across in a painless, stress free way. Not everybody is comfortable in class, and for some it has been a while…

On a 9 day combined course we split the theory into two, two day blocks at either end of the course. The first and last two days are spent in class. The first two laying the foundations so to speak, then it’s down to the boat (we’ll take you if you don’t have transport) for five days of sail training.

Sailing from Universal Marina on the Hamble River we criss cross the Solent and venture to Chichester to the East and Poole to the West, depending on the weather. Day Skipper practical involves many short passages, involving lots of passage planning and pilotage as well as boat handling under power and sail. When Friday comes it’s time to leave the yacht and head back to Ringmer to finish off the theory.

Collision regulations and meteorology are the two big subjects for the last weekend; you will have been living and breathing sail cruising all week so the final sessions are pretty easy. Two exam papers are despatched on Sunday morning, a quick debrief and off home with two new certificates, miles in your logbook and memories to last a lifetime.

Mustang Sailing are a small sailing school with a big range of courses which we run all year round. We moved to Ringmer nr Lewes three years ago and have expanded steadily. We take no print advertising, relying on our website and word of mouth recommendation to grow our business. This year we have doubled our classroom capacity, and added a dedicated diesel engine workshop at Ringmer, and bought a 40′ yacht to cope with the demands of our expanding customer base.

Our training centre is housed in converted agricultural buildings close to the South Downs. The central location close to major road and rail links and conveniently located for the London airports makes us the obvious choice for sailors in the South East and London and for international students looking for quality courses at a convenient location. The quiet rural setting makes it easy to get down to studying the subject in hand.

Mustang run all the RYA Cruising and Yachtmaster shorebased courses at Ringmer and all the practical sail cruising courses from Universal Marina on the Hamble. Probably the nicest marina in the Solent, a pleasant rural location with an old-school feel it is a great place to be, relaxed and civilised.

It occurred to me that I might faint. Watching my only son climb the rigging onboard the Pride of Baltimore II as we sailed for Norfolk was so overwhelming I was afraid I’d swoon like a B movie diva and hit the deck hard. And if that happened, my son would be mortified, undoubtedly scarred for life. But this was a test for both of us. I looked away as Stewart scampered up the rigging after the crew to furl the main course. And I didn’t faint.

We were headed south full tilt, hoping to whip every other boat in the schooner fleet during the Great Chesapeake Bay Schooner Race last October. Sixteen-year-old Stewart had grudgingly agreed to participate in what I at his age could only have dreamed about–there was no Pride of Baltimore then. But he’d gotten over the grumps and bent to with a will that was a joy to behold–well, except when he scurried up the mast. You see, I’m deathly afraid of heights. Deathly, knee-knockingly afraid of heights. Just looking at the masthead of a ship like the Pride gives me the willies. God forbid I should look up and see my baby perched there like he’s leaning against a corner lamppost. No matter, I told myself, studiously peering at the compass in front of me and keeping my hands hard on the helm. This was why I’d wanted him to come.

When Stewart was born, his father and I had promised him to Jan Miles, one of the Pride’s co-captains and a friend of mine from high school days. Jan could have him for a year, we’d said, before he goes off to college. Naturally, Stewart grew up detesting everything about traditional tall ships. He liked the mechanical advantage of winches, for starters, and he thrived on the fumes and roar of internal combustion. Sailing on the Pride of Baltimore, he announced as high school graduation approached, was for the birds. I tried to convince him that our signing aboard the Pride for the Great Schooner Race was the chance of a lifetime, but he didn’t believe me. He said he’d rather go to school; that missing his calculus test would be an unspeakable hardship; that considering what his father and I pay for tuition it was criminal to even suggest that he miss a few days (I’ll admit, this last argument was pretty convincing). But I played the Mom card and signed him up anyway. It was only four days, not a whole year, I said, and if he really didn’t like it, that would be the end of it. He could join the rat race like everyone else.

And so his father (who gets mortifyingly seasick and thus had begged off ) tumbled him onto the deck of the Pride of Baltimore way too early on the morning of the race. And Stewart sputtered and spit and fumed and generally poisoned the air around him: a child’s revenge, masterfully delivered (no slouch he). And I actually wondered if I’d made a mistake in “forcing” him to come along.

So began our voyage together.

My voyage had actually begun the day before, on Wednesday afternoon. Probably half the fun of the schooner race is the Parade of Sail and the dock party in Baltimore, so I arrived in time to climb aboard the Pride with the full contingent of the A.G. Edwards Baltimore office, Pride’s guests for the parade. (The Pride offices are in Baltimore’s World Trade Center and had been doused into oblivion by Hurricane Isabel. A.G. Edwards, a financial consulting firm, had graciously offered temporary office space, and now the ship was saying thank you.)

Unfortunately the wind was too blustery, so the Parade of Sail was cancelled. But Captain Jan set out anyway. After all, a boat like the Pride is built for wind. Whitecaps sparkled across the Inner Harbor. A bright sun slanted from behind Fort McHenry. The sky was a deep cobalt blue, with just a smudge or two of clouds. We motored past Fells Point and the crew wrestled the ship’s cannon into the gun port. “Fire in the hole!” We plugged our ears as a geyser of flame and sparks shot from what is, literally, a hole in the back end of the cannon. Then, kaboom! We’d just put a shot into the Spirit of Massachusetts’s bow–figuratively, of course. She was the Pride’s main competition in this race, and she’d been put on notice.

With such a breeze, the boat hardly needed sails to move through the water. The wind was abeam full bore as we slid past the green ramparts of Fort McHenry. I looked behind me and tried to imagine Baltimore’s harbor without the tall buildings, without the wharves stretching along the shoreline below the fort. I tried to picture the time when Fort McHenry stood at the harbor’s gate and effectively controlled the shipping up and down the Patapsco River. If I squinted just a little to make things fuzzy and out of focus, I could turn the slope rising from the Canton wharves into a hill of small houses where the laborers for the Fells Point shipyards lived. What a view they must have had from their dormer windows.

The crew had put up the jib and it was enough to pull us toward the Key Bridge. A tanker was coming in from the Bay, and the tugboat Maria Krause idled nearby in the channel. Now that we were at the bridge and looking back at Baltimore, the town seemed smaller, more to scale with my imagination. Steeples poked into the sky. The downtown skyscrapers were hidden.

Our afternoon sail done, the crew retired to the party held beneath Bohager’s giant canopy in Fells Point. A crowd of schooner crew, captains, support staff, assorted significant others and hungry strays had gathered here to eat great quantities of food and drink prodigious amounts of beer. To gain admittance, I was told, I had to wear my official Schooner Race shirt, a long-sleeved affair with a John Barber schooner scene printed on the front. It was cold enough, though, that I was wearing a sweatshirt over it, so coming through Bohager’s door, I was told to peel. Mind you, I hadn’t had any amount of beer yet, prodigious or otherwise, but–transported back to the days of my wayward youth–I felt highly flattered. It had been a long time since anyone had asked me to peel, and I said so. It was like being carded–at my age (a squinch past 50), always a compliment. Turns out they only meant that I had to lift up my sweatshirt so they could verify the shirt. Oh well, you take what you can get.

Sidling up to the bar, I ran into Bill Oliver, once a partner in the nefarious China Sea Marine Trading Company, formerly of Fells Point (where the Fells Point Maritime Museum is now), and now brewer of Oliver’s Ale and proprietor of the Wharf Rat pubs. Not surprisingly, the biggest spigot behind the bar tapped into a keg of his special Ironman Pale Ale. This was a good thing, because Oliver’s Ale is like mother’s milk. You’ve just gotta have it in order to live right. And tonight it was flowing free for the asking. It took me a while to get my first swallow–I wasn’t the only one in line.

Then I was on stage singing with Ship’s Company chanteyman Jim Rockwell (sea music, of course) and the evening took off. More music, more food. And finally the crowd broke up and we walked over to Lane Briggs’s tugantine, Norfolk Rebel, at the Broad Street pier and sang some more. A lot more. Then the sun came up and we staggered back to our boats, some to sleep it off, some to be greeted by surly teenage sons.

Breakfast this morning was a simple meal of strawberries and bagels. Laura Morrissey, the cook, was already about, and I’d offered to help out in the galley. One of my fantasies is to be cook aboard a tall ship. I wouldn’t mind being a deckhand, but hauling on halyards and braces and sheets in the wee hours of the morning could get tedious. And truth be known, I couldn’t, just couldn’t, climb the rigging. The heights thing. Cooks, on the other hand, get to work “normal” hours and aren’t expected to go clambering around on deck unless they particularly want to. At least that’s the drill aboard Pride, according to Laura, who was now supervising me as I put away groceries and generally made myself useful. I was trying to stay as far away from Stewart as possible. Let him fester.

Stewart and I weren’t the only guests onboard. The Pride keeps several guest cabins open for thems that are willing to pony up for the privilege of sailing the ship from here to there–generally speaking, the short legs between two ports of call on the Pride’s hectic agenda. The price of the guest ticket pays for room and board and chucks a little into the boat’s operating coffers. In return, guests are expected to join the crew and work their butts off before the mast. Fun, eh? For the schooner race, Stewart and I were joined by John MacIver and Mac MacIver (fast friends, but no relation), and Ron Shurie and John Menocal. All of them had sailed the Pride in the schooner race before. Nothing to it, they said. Gluttons for punishment, I thought.

As the Pride headed out to the starting line, Laura told me I could make the soup for lunch. Nothing to it! She had what I needed for five-finger lentil stew: an ingredient and a cup of liquid for each digit. In this case, one carrot, one onion, one celery stalk, one bay leaf, one cup of lentils and five cups of water. Saute the dry ingredients for a few minutes before adding the water, then. . . . Oops, I didn’t get it started early enough, so it was a bit chewy at eight bells. (Way to go, Mom.) But the crew was very kind–those that weren’t related to me, anyway. They made their own sandwiches, adding diplomatically that under cooked was usually better than burnt, and it would save Laura the trouble of making soup tomorrow.

I joined the port watch, with Stewart, to work the boat. Even though I was the cook’s helper, I wanted to work the deck when I could. Laura gave me an alarmed look. It’s a slippery slope, said she. Help them once, they’ll come to expect it. But I reminded her that I was here for the fun and the experience, so I wanted to help sometimes. We’ll see, she said ominously. Stewart’s surliness had washed off, thankfully, and he was jumping into the fray, hauling on lines and generally looking lively. I found it a lot easier to stay out of the way and watch, especially after I ripped off half my finger hauling on a wayward halyard. But alas, Laura was right. I was soon perceived as one of the grunts and put to learning the ropes with the rest of the “guests.” I could hear Captain Jan snigger from the helm.

It was like this: Three or four of us picked up a line about half the thickness of my wrist. When the mate (or whoever) yelled haul, we all hauled. Or maybe we yelled haul ourselves to get a rhythm going. Or maybe nobody yelled haul and we just bloody well hauled anyway. For all we were worth. And when we thought we’d hauled enough, the mate yelled haul again, and we bloody well hauled again. And so on, until someone said, “That’s well,” and we could make the line fast. I had blisters before we even got the damn sail up. Before my nervous system could even register the news, the blisters ripped open and any remaining surface skin abraded away. I was a hurting puppy. (Stewart had brought his sailing gloves, smarty-pants.)

It dawned on me that this was not going to be a Sunday sail. The Pride actually needed every muscle the crew could muster. There was a brisk wind, and it was on the nose from Norfolk. We would have to tack over the starting line, then beat down the Bay. So it was all hands on deck, just like in the songs I like to sing. And just because I gouged a big hole in my index finger at the get-go didn’t mean I could weenie out. Jan knew me too well for that. Cook’s helper, hah! I cradled my wound with a moleskin doughnut and wrapped it with black electrical tape. My black badge of courage. I was a real deckhand now. It was like having a tattoo. If only I’d had a knife strapped on my belt.

I headed down below to wash up the pots and pans in the short stints between tacks, but I ran up on deck at the “Ready about!” to haul on lines. And I reminded myself that I’d withstood the rigors of childbirth twice, so a dinky little blister wasn’t going to get me down. Besides, how long could it possibly take us to get to Norfolk? Were we there yet? The warning gun went off–five minutes to start–and all hell broke loose aboard the Pride.

I’ve known Jan Miles for most of my life. In fact, he was my first crush. I met him when we were both in high school. He’d just returned from his first major ocean voyage–to Tierra del Fuego and back–and he carried the swell of the ocean like a sea chest slung across his shoulders. My mother said a girl could go anywhere with Jan. And I thought, first Tierra del Fuego, then . . .

My crush went the way of Clearasil, but Jan went on to crew and captain some of the finest tall ships in America. He’s one of the most laid-back people you could ever know. Years of sailing tall ships has honed his instincts and built a rock-solid confidence. But out there at the start of the schooner race, a change came over my mild-mannered friend. When that warning gun fired and all the schooners pirouetted into position, his eyes blazed, his cheeks flushed and he became absolutely focused on the task at hand. “All right, you sons of whores, get that jib in!” he bellowed (he’s a big guy, and can he ever bellow). And we sons of whores hopped to and tried with all our might–which, in this instance, wasn’t quite enough–to get that jib in. And Captain Jan noted our efforts and allowed as how we were a bunch of lily-livered lumps of lard–or words to that effect–and we did our damnedest to show him that by golly we weren’t. And so it went as the Pride flew across the starting line and the race began with the final bang of the starting gun. This was to be no sedate around-the-buoys affair. This race would be won on the windward leg (aren’t they all?), but with the wind screaming from the south, it would be a long windward leg. And Captain Jan suggested that this pack of puckered prunes had better shape up and get with the program. Which meant getting the blinking jib in when the captain said “in.” Or else. At the rate we were going, if the British had been on our tail instead of the Spirit of Massachusetts, we’d have been toast. But we got better, and by the seventh or eighth tack, we’d gotten a lot better, and the mild-mannered Jan Miles came back and we were making good time. At least, at this point, there weren’t any other schooners nearby, so the competition wasn’t exactly lapping up our bow waves. And the Spirit of Massachusetts had fallen behind.

It’s hard work tacking a topsail schooner. At the moment, running down the Western Shore opposite the mouth of the Choptank River, we had eight sails up: the jib topsail, jib, fore-staysail, foresail, fore topsail, topgallant, mainsail and main gaff-topsail. And they all needed some kind of major adjustment at every tack–releasing sheets, taking in sheets, slacking braces, tightening braces. The only sail we didn’t have to manhandle was the mainsail, which behaved like any proper mainsail and obediently tacked itself. The only sails that weren’t up were the studding sails (stunsails) and the ring tail. But stay tuned. At this very moment one of the studding sails was being checked and patched and readied for rigging in the event the wind came around and we could bear off. The ring tail, I was told, wasn’t worth the bother. Too much work for too little oomph. And oomph counted for a lot in this race.

Night came on with winks and nods, like a fawning deckhand unsure just where to go. The sun blazed down, leaving a puff of color in the crease between land and water. The stars switched on against the dark of the sky. No moon yet. Stewart and I sat companionably on the deckhouse, breathing it all in. He’d worked the kinks out of his system and was ready to acknowledge that I was a fellow traveler. (This is pretty cool, Mom.) I showed him how to find Polaris, the North Star, and we monitored our progress through time by the turn of the other stars around it, and we checked our progress down the Bay by the way it hung astern. The half moon rose like a golden whale’s eye, defining the leviathan sky. We were moving along at eight knots, creaming through the water. There was no phosphorus, but the bow waves spilled away like milk, and moonlight paved the Bay with golden flagstones leading east. It was dark on deck. Even in the glimmer of moonlight, it was hard to see underfoot. It was easy to trip on lines and tackle that in daylight are relatively benign but at night behaved like rambunctious puppies nipping at our heels. At midnight Stewart and I were off watch and the boat had just slipped below the Patuxent River.

We were awakened at 5:30 a.m. to get the studding sail up. The wind had dropped and we were ghosting along on a whisper. Two of the crew were already up on the course yard setting the studding sail boom–running it out from where it normally lies against the yardarm. Moonlight poured down behind them, silhouetting them in a golden haze. The studding sail sat on the foredeck; someone had already carried it up from below. We rigged the halyard and the sheets and hoisted the spar up to the windward yardarm. Sail set, we could go back to our bunks. It was close to 7 a.m. now, and Friday morning was easing up on one elbow with a smudge of cheap rouge smeared across her cheeks. She, like me, had been too long at the fair. Laura was up, though, so I hastily brushed my teeth, washed my face, took off my woolie underwear, smeared on another layer of deodorant and grabbed a cup of coffee.

We were back on deck at 8 a.m. and down came the studding sail–gravity helped. And morning came to the Chesapeake. We could see Gwynn’s Island and Wolf Trap Light, which put us well below the Potomac. And there was no wind to speak of. The morning doldrums had us ambling along with plenty of time to look around and see–no one! We were as solitary on this Bay as Wolf Trap.

The finish was an imaginary line extending east from Thimble Shoal. The wind had picked up and Jan gave me the helm to take the boat across. I was honored. I could feel the boat surging under my hands. The helm was surprising. When the boat was balanced, she sailed a straight line, and for a moment or two I thought that Jan had switched on the autopilot and only pretended to give me the wheel. She didn’t deviate a hair from her compass course. But then we crossed the finish line and Jan told me to bear off, and I stayed on the helm as we tacked and began to work our way west. Full and by, Jan said. Just sail her. And I felt the wind across my cheek and looked at the sails, and I turned the wheel and the boat responded. To me! It doesn’t get any better than this. And then Stewart went up the rigging to furl something and I thought I was going to faint.

The race was over and Jan did some quick calculations. In 21:20 hours we raced a total of 139 nautical miles, at an average speed of 6.53 knots on a rhumb line of 127 miles. We hauled 12 long tons per person. (No wonder I was stiff.) We finished at 10:59:58 a.m. First in class. The Spirit of Massachusetts couldn’t touch us.

Stewart was back on deck and I asked him if sailing tall ships might be in his future. No way, Mom. Yes, he’d remember this sail for as long as he lives. But think about it, said he: He’s spent every minute of his waking life trying to invent his way to easy street. Without getting out of bed, he can turn on his bedroom light, switch on his radio, adjust the window fan, even close his door, using clever labor-saving devices of his own design. He understands the concept of mechanical advantage. Sail a traditional tall ship without winches? Why?

He is my son with whom I am well pleased, and I told him so. When he grows up (sometime next week) he’ll build fast engines for race cars, or maybe engineer the breakthrough for a mainstream hydrogen fuel cell. His house will be wired with buttons and switches that make things open, shut or turn off. Exerting minimum effort he will effect maximum change. If it weren’t for brains like his, we’d all be sailing tall ships–and not for the fun of it. Meanwhile, we headed for the party: roasted pig, awards, more singing. Then home to study calculus.