Sailing Builds Character. . .

. . . which means, inevitably, that sometimes, it's not exactly fun.

This past weekend's voyage fell into the less fun category. During the week we made a lovely evening sortie to watch the Colington fleet go out for their weekly Wednesday night regatta. There was a slight wind chop, but Grandma Cindy was down from NY and the weather was absolutely great, so it turned out to be a nice little outing. Riding high on this success, I wanted to take Cindy and the regular crew (Quinn and Deanna)out for a Saturday afternoon sail.

I shouldn't have pushed my luck! Sunday was breezy, so I elected to move the outing to a sheltered area between Colington Island, and Kill Devil Hills. There's a sweet little dive called the Blue Crab Tavern on Colington Road. They've got a great little deck, and cheap canned beer, and a sweet dock. It took about thirty minutes (never mind the passing squall cruising over the boat ramp we'd just left)to beam reach to the Blue Crab from Avalon Beach's ramp. That is, we were in the vicinity of the Blue Crab. To access the Blue Crab's dock we needed to head dead down wind.

The Quinn Anne's Revenge is a capable boat, but no Sparkman and Stephens. Grandma Cindy and Quinn were in the cabin keeping out of the building wind. Deanna was forward in the cockpit, and as we began to sail wing-on-wing down the narrow slot to dock at the Crab, I realized that the combination of stiff breeze, forward mast, forward passenger configuration, and bad luck dictated that I had about zero steerage. Right as Deanna was asking what you call it when the jib and the main are on opposite sides of the boat, we began careening towards a makeshift pvc channel mark. Somehow, before the boom came crashing to across the QAR, the rudder caught, the boom slammed back into original position, and the careening started anew.

Keep in mind, my primary motivation is this: to go sailing again. Gone are the days of, adolescent boy scaring adolescent girlfriend. This is my wife, daughter, and mother-in-law. Continuing to sail dictates that these trips must be pleasant! In a flurry of activity, I decided that dead down wind with not steerage, in building unstable air was not going to help me reach my goal. The sails had to come down. This meant loosing two halyards, furling a jib, and acting like everything was totally cool about me dropping the tiller and less than gracefully executing these maneuvers, as we drifted aground.

Dear wife asked some questions as I bounded around the cockpit. I'm not sure I would say I handled them delicately, but I'm sure my gasping helped me to sound sincere. All the while Quinn dozed in her hammock, and I'm not sure Cindy was aware that potential disaster was upon us, until after it had been averted. We motored gracefully along side the Blue Crab's deck, disembarked and ordered beers.

Quinn was still in an outstanding mood, and Deanna and her mom seemed really happy the worst was over. As I sipped my Busch Light, I tried to hide the fact that I feared the worst was just beginning. Ironically, leaving the Blue Crab meant going further from our actual home to return to the trailer and truck. I'm sure Deanna knew that something was up when I suggested that one beer was probably plenty and we should head back.

The squall had long passed, leaving behind dropping temps and rapidly increasing North Westerly breezes. Actually, by the time we motored out of the small creek and into open water, it wasn't a breeze, it was wind. I didn't want to press my luck. The wind was dead on the nose. I knew tacking off the wind would be more comfortable than beating into it with our little 4.5 horse outboard, but I also knew we'd heal pretty hard. Now, in a hard chined day sailor, healing means headway. My hunch is that the Revenge's Dagger boards are pretty useless compared to a sixteen foot hull side of essentially vertical plywood. Especially when you can bury a third of the gunwale in the drink. But, testing this theory would have usurped my ultimate goal . . . sailing again.

So, I stared into uncertain adult faces, and one pretty happy infant, and motored into rising chop for what seemed like an eternity. It probably only took thirty minutes, but it seemed like forever. I'm sure my fear that the engine would crap out at any moment was hidden from mother-in-law by my "aw shucks grin" and casual conversation. But Deanna saw right through it. She told me so. Once we got in of course.

We made it in, and there is not permanent damage to crew or craft. As soon as we got Quinn in her car seat, she began to howl. That's my girl!

Once home Deanna offered a conciliatory hug or six, and began peppering me with questions about sailboat design, and what exactly these old boats are capable of.

I was once hiking with some kids on a Summer Camp trip. We were all miserable, hot, and I think it was raining, and they whined about why I was putting them through this punishment. "Because it builds character," I said. They knew I was right. Because, they knew how to walk. Trudging through the woods with kids that know how to walk, carrying a familiar heavy bag, full of stuff they packed builds character. Sailing in tiny creeks in unstable air, and crossing huge oceans in gales builds character too. It builds character in those who have learned to sail; those who know their craft, and are testing themselves.

For those who've been dragged into it by their partners and friends, and who aren't exactly sure how all of the forces acting on them are working in concert. It may build trust, if everything turns out alright. But, it can destroy it just as fast.

I take my greatest lesson from my new daughter this week. Things can be on the verge of going terribly wrong, but until they do, they are still going right. And that is something to smile about! This is what my compatriot looks like while sailing: