Alexandersmap

    Tag: Sailing

    • When the Wind Wants to Dance

      “As the wind comes, they hoist ‘the white sail’, the sail fills, ‘and the wind and the helmsman guide the ship together’. It is an act of cooperation between man and the world, a folding in of human intention with what the world can offer. The ship is a beautifully made thing, as closely fitted as a poem, as much a mark of civilisation as any woven cloth, and the wind in the Odyssey, when it is a kind wind, is a ‘shipmate’, another member of the crew. It is not the element in which you sail but a ‘companion’ on board. The human and the devine dimensions of reality meet in it.
      And now, when I am out in the sound, and the right wind comes, I think of it like that, as something else to be welcomed aboard. That coming of the wind is a moment when you can’t help but smile, when the world turns in your favour.” — Adam Nicolson, The Mighty Dead

      There is something transcendent about being on the water—for it is here that we experience the interaction between the infinite elements and our fragile place in the world. And it’s a sure sign of spring when I look longingly towards the water. Back in my rowing days, we’d break out of the boathouse as soon as (and sometimes before) the ice was completely off the river. By this time in March, we’d be well into our rowing season and preparing for the first races of spring.

      As a rower, the wind wasn’t a friend but an adversary. You learn to deal with it, which is never a good thing to say about a healthy relationship. Later, as a sailor, I put aside my differences and began to have an admittedly dependent relationship with the wind. A sailor needs the wind far more than the wind needs the sailor, after all. But every sailor knows when the wind wants to dance with you, and when the wind wants to dance, you ought to dance.

      All of this talk reminds me that it’s been a long time since I’ve had a boat of my own. When I add up the time I was actively rowing with the time I was actively sailing, it occurs to me that I’ve been off the water far more than I’ve been on it. Yet it’s still a large part of my identity. Perhaps it’s foundational, like school—something that shapes who we become but not something we return to once we move on from it. Perhaps.

      Then again, maybe it’s like having a dog. Dogs come and go from our lives. When they’re gone we miss them deeply and adjust to our time without one. When we bring a new pup into our lives, we celebrate the void they’ve filled even as we’re chagrined by the disruption of routine and occasional destruction of home and garden that follows. A boat can cause similar disruption and destruction. No, a boat isn’t going to dig holes in the garden, but it can distract you from it long enough that the weeds take over.

      The thing is, reading passages like Nicolson’s doesn’t help my garden’s prospects either. Whether we dance with the wind or seek to avoid it in favor of still water, the water nonetheless calls. So too does the world. Now, as a land-based creature most of my days, the wind still whispers to me: Decide what to be and go be it. When the wind wants to dance, we ought to dance.

    • Isle au Haut: A Billion Stars and Pristine Trails

      “This whole earth which we inhabit is but a point in space. How far apart, think you, dwell the two most distant inhabitants of yonder star, the breadth of whose disk cannot be appreciated by our instruments? Why should I feel lonely? Is not our planet in the Milky Way?” — Henry David Thoreau, Walden

      Anchored in a quiet cove, boat rolling steadily (and indicating why we were alone in this place), we stepped out into a brilliant sky to bear witness to a billion stars. The Milky Way so bright it reflected off the water. This was what we’d hoped for, yet almost missed fleeing mosquitoes earlier in the evening. We were not so alone after all.

      The thing about sailing that is so attractive is your ability to place yourself in places like this, nudged up against a corner of Acadia National Park that few ever venture to. There are no buses or fifth wheel camp trailers on Isle au Haut. Those are fine people too, just more than I seek out when getting away from it all. Here you find the quiet bliss inferred in the very concept of a nature preserve.

      Spending a bit of time on the main stretch (where the road is actually paved), we found the locals friendly and the ice cream sandwiches tasty, but I couldn’t buy a stamp for my postcard after 11 AM. Isle au Haut has what must be one of the nation’s smallest Post Offices. If you want counter service get there early. So it goes. The stamp will have to wait.

      The hiking trails are mostly well-defined here, and in some boggy corners nature’s winning the battle to reclaim them. They say build it and they will come, and surely we do, but not so many that you ever feel you can’t get some solitude. We saw precious few fellow hikers, despite the delightful trail network. This naturally continued out at the anchorage. Precious few fellow sailboats. There is plenty of elbow room on Isle au Haut. May it always be this way.

      Isle au Haut Lighthouse (1907)

    • Riding the Storm Out

      The town of Rockland, Maine is a popular summer destination for cruisers, wealthy yacht types, and vacationers from around the world. Many of these land-based guests stay at The Samoset Resort, a classic 1902 hotel resort on the waterfront. Near the Samoset is the historic Rockland Harbor Breakwater. The 1200 meter long, granite breakwater was built to help shelter ships in the harbor during the rougher weather that inevitably rolls in from Penobscot Bay. As you might imagine, putting a long granite breakwater 1200 meters out into the middle of the bay makes the breakwater itself a hazard, and a lighthouse was constructed at the end of it to help ships navigate into the harbor. Walking to the end of the breakwater is a rite of passage for visitors to the region and offers spectacular views.

      A couple of us joined Fayaway for a weekend of cruising around the Penobscot Bay islands. Rockland was our expected destination all along, but the weather forecast brought us there earlier than originally planned. A thick fog greeted us as we rounded Vinalhaven and retraced our route from a few days earlier. The fog lifted and temperature grew noticeably warmer as we motored past the Rockland Harbor Breakwater Light into the mooring field. Well over a hundred people were walking the breakwater, proving that the weather was better on land than it had been on our journey there.

      But we all knew what was coming. Severe storm warnings made it clear for anyone paying attention, and when you’re on a boat you pay attention. We weren’t the only ones seeking safe harbor. Mega yachts began anchoring in a billion dollar conga line. Smaller boats filled the mooring field and local anchorages. The desire to shelter from a storm is universal. Nobody reviews your bank account when the wind starts blowing.

      A late lunch in town got us back to the mooring just as the first raindrops fell. Soon the light patter became a roar as the heavy rains came, and later sustained wind and the heavy gusts. Those gusts capped out close to 60 knots overnight, which might have made it adventurous on an anchorage but on a solid mooring more a curiosity.

      A solid boat like Fayaway and knowledgeable Captain like Chris goes a long way to eliminate potential stress, but you still tend to wonder about the state of other nearby boats on their moorings and anchorages. Each lift and slap of waves on the hull made an impression, making you run through your action plan should something happen like a boat dragging its anchor ramming into you. But as the night wore on and Fayaway shrugged off the wing gusts and wave action, I put aside things I can’t control and appreciated where I was. And with a stormy soundtrack playing in the background I dozed off content and confident. Life is a collection of experiences, and this was surely one to remember.

      Rockland Harbor Breakwater & Light

    • First Sail

      First Sail

      Sailing season got off to a great start with a sunset cruise last night on Fayaway.  Any sail out of the Merrimack River begins with motoring out of the river.  There’s some setup involved in this process, and there’s a fair amount of checking out the stream of power boats zooming past you.  Sailing proceeds at a different speed than power boating.  There are benefits to both, but at that moment I wasn’t interested in getting someplace faster.

      Approaching the mouth of the Merrimack the channel zig zags sharply.  Best to pay attention to the navigation buoys in this stretch.  Fishermen line the shores of Plum Island and Salisbury Beach fishing for striper and whatever else is biting today.  Seals bob in the current looking us over curiously.  The ride out is long but always different.

      Steady winds greeted us out of the mouth of the Merrimack, and we headed north for a run up the coast.  It’s always amazing how far away from your day-to-day you feel when you get out on any body of water.  The Gulf of Maine certainly gives you that feeling.  Today’s sail takes us three miles off the coast of Salisbury, Seabrook and Hampton before we tack and make our way back towards the river.  A simple sail all things considered.  Nothing overly technical about it, just pleasant conversation and dodging lobster pots.

      Just before we tacked for home we saw splashing off to Starboard.  At first we thought perhaps whales, but as we drew closer we saw fish jumping out of the water and splashing down to the surface.  We were looking at dolphins hunting for fish in the rip, and dozens of fish exploding out of the water to escape.  The fish shined silver and gold in the reflection of the setting sun, and indeed looked like the rays of the sun as they arced outward in their attempt to live to see another day.  Always in moments like this I regret not having my camera with me.  These aren’t moments when an iPhone can do the job.

      So we sailed back to the Merrimack River, and when the wind finally petered out motored the rest of the way.  The ebbing tide combined with the current from the river made it a slow go coming back in, and the midges were able to make their presence known in swarms.  Thankful for bug spray, sunsets, good friends, a sound boat and another great day on the coast of somewhere beautiful.