The lines of good sailing boat out of the water can strike a chord even in non-sailors.

I’m not sure what took so long to get into sailing. It could have been ignorance, having never seen the sleek lines of sculpted sailboat hulls until one day, when walking through the boat yard, their complex curves struck me as they waited their way through winter. Powerboats had been my only experience, angular, blunt and powerful hulls that gave a ride like a Tyson short left hand to the ribs.

I’d been waterskiing for years, doing back flips into and planing at 40 miles an hour. The sound of the water on the hull was lost to the brassy buzz of engines turning propellers and the hull smashing along the surface. It was exciting fun that carried us a long distance in a short time. The first time I went sailing, my understanding of the water changed. The sail’s head hit the top of the mast, the genoa unfurled and tightened and the impression was that we had become one of the sleeker creatures at sea. There were no engines, blazing speed, planing, or urgency. Instead, there were new sounds: creaks and splashes at the bow, subtle wind noises around the mast and past my ears. The new motions were steady and regular as the boat slid forward through the water. We were moving with no engine, powered by only half an airplane’s wing standing on end. There was the sense that we had time we needed to look at the water and watch it flow along the hull; see its color, watch the surface and hear each little sound as the boat towards what could have been Ireland or Hawaii inside my head.

Part of me first considered it old fashioned. Sailing looked very much like yesterday’s styles--the oldest way of moving across the water. Neither the Vikings, Romans, Greeks, or the Egyptians could have traveled as fast as our powerboats, but they were able to cross great distances. But as my learning progressed on to owning a sailboat, sailing gave things modern life lacked in its pace and pressures. The boats developed personalities and our adventures mounted. We survived crossing the mouth of the Potomac in tough conditions one day; ghosted along in fog that limited visibility to a half mile or less and sharpened our hearing. Our boats made us cold and wet if we did it wrong or broke something when our ignorance asked too much. We learned to try and do things in the right sequence at the right time and to plan ahead and think about what might happen. These old fashioned things became important when you didn’t have the power to blast your way past your mistakes, and better yet, the process itself became enjoyable.

The basics of sailing are relatively simple to learn, but the subtleties are more involved. Racing brings the nuances to light.

For a decade I raced a 17-foot Harpoon, as well as Lightnings, Thistles, Flying Scots and other small boats, on average 50 or more times a year. These small boats could and did capsize. It was exciting, social and competitive but, more importantly, it taught me that focus and constant adjustment was what it took to learn to sail a complex boat well. Racing forced learning for me.

Then, I found Chesapeake Bay and returned to the ocean roots that I had grown up with. At first, a far horizon was three miles, then ten, then across the widest part of Chesapeake Bay out of sight of any land. Those were adventures. Each longer trip had its share of butterflies, but when the port or mark finally showed up over the bow and we anchored or went ashore, tired and spent, part of me owned a new confidence that hadn’t been there before. I was learning what generations of sailors had known over and over and it built a better me, one brick added to the wall of learning each time. Responsible, confident, living little adventures--none of these had happened to me before in a world that I could influence as much. Old fashioned, yes, but satisfying in ways that were hard to explain to a rational, pressured, fast and complex world.

One June, five of us departed Norfolk, heading past the Gulf Stream on a course of 123 degrees, sailing 635 miles each way to Town Cut and St. George’s, Bermuda. Another summer saw Mexico appear off the port bow. Life aboard was self contained; we were dependent on one another and the boat. it was tremendously satisfying to see the birds over the island and the country as they appeared right on time. It’s an adventure when you’ve banged and bumped across the Gulf Stream in the night aboard a 40-foot boat and gone on to find a tiny island out in the Atlantic with good friends. If you haven’t been out there, it’s a very big ocean especially on your watch at three in the morning on moonless nights. Ever dream of having an adventure but wondered if others had done them all and none were left? These two cruises fulfilled and exceeded some of mine. There are hundreds more there today, waiting.

One boat and a beautiful sunset--just another stop on the learning curve in the Bahamas.

In my ignorance, it had once been my assumption that sailing must be simple, maybe even boring, as old and slow as it was reported to be. Naturally, that turned out to be untrue. There was much to learn. GPS, radio communication, navigation computers, as well as the complex physics of air and water fluid dynamics, the material properties of sails, masts and rigging. Then there was learning about self-contained electrical and water systems; cooking, sleeping and storage and safety systems. In short, sailing was not simple or boring at all, and the many faceted dimensions of the sport suited my personality perfectly.

That first curiosity about the shape of sailboats in the boatyard has since matured into appreciation, experience, confidence, respect and affection. None of it happened quickly or in any one incident. The whole learning process, which continues today, includes the chemistry of attraction, the fun of learning, the satisfaction of having a real effect on my immediate environment, as well as the added an element of adventure. I’ve tested my limits, shared my skills with others, taking time as it all happens to feel, touch, smell and see; to inhale it all and absorb as much as I can. I am not at all sure it’s important to know the dates and times each of these things happened, but today it looks very much like I’ve developed an intense emotional attachment for sailing. The dictionary might say that was shorthand for the word "love," a word us worldly, tough-guys seldom use seriously or correctly, but one which would certainly apply here.