Two times in the last week my wife has uttered three sacred words in reference to sailing, "I had fun." Once out with baby Quinn, and out today on our own. The grandparents tended Quinn while Deanna and I took out The Quinn Anne's Revenge, for a little afternoon spin.
Light winds, which Deanna likes, gave way to no wind, which are hard for anyone to like when it's 88 degrees. Undaunted, we motored out of the harbor, anchored up, and floated astern, beers in hand. Deanna offered, "sailing can be fun." As if it were a huge surprise. Maybe it is a surprise.
Sailing... In teaching others, I'm forced to think of what it means. We did sail today, after floating. The wind came up, leading a line of thunder storms that failed to truly materialize. We sailed back into the harbor under unsteady winds that couldn't quite decide where they wanted to originate. Dead down wind--of course.
Deanna was unruffled. We jibed pretty cleanly cruising into the harbor, headed up, dropped the sails, and motored in. It could have gone one hundred different ways though; more floating and pleasantries, or more violent and punctual thunder storms. How does one decide that either way it's worth the effort?
I wonder why that is for me. I've had as many pleasant, as unpleasant experiences in boats. I don't think it's an equation thing--more good times than bad. I think there is something more. Either the water grabs you, as something bigger than you and worth understanding, or as something unpredictable, and better left alone. Maybe it's like any relationship. Sometimes it works out, and other times it doesn't, and nobody really knows why.
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