Actually, it might be more appropriate to say "I have a hobby" because since graduating from Brown, I haven't consistently done anything for fun. A bit of ballroom here and there, a bit of knitting, and a whole lot of work. But now,
I SAIL.
All thanks to Groupon! Not long after Colin started talking about his grandiose plans of sailing from Mediterranean island to Mediterranean island studying lizards, I found in my inbox a Groupon for a one-month membership to Community Boating. I had been hearing about Community Boating for what felt like years, ever since Rebecca had a friend take her sailing. Apparently, I just had to join Community Boating so that I, too, could take Rebecca sailing when she came to Boston.
I didn't believe her that this was a good idea. (Although it seemed like a great deal for Rebecca!) But I was intrigued enough that when the Groupon showed up, I thought about it for a couple days, showed it to Colin, and convinced him that he needed to learn to sail before hopping on a plane to the Mediterranean. It worked. We both bought trial memberships and penciled in the weekend after whale watching for lessons.
We showed up on the dock Saturday afternoon clueless about sailing. We had both been on sailboats before, but I didn't truly believe that you could move a boat in a controlled manner without a motor. How do you launch a sailboat without an ignition?? How do you slow the boat to scoop up a man overboard? (I was sure that would be me.) All of these mysteries would soon be revealed to me, I hoped.
Saturday was pretty uneventful. We went through orientation, where I learned what an amazing organization Community Boating is (more on that later), and then stayed for the first of two intro classes, Rigging. This was fascinating. My brain hurt from trying to remember it all. I could already point to the mast, the boom, the tiller, and the mainsail, but there was so much more to remember! And it wasn't just the names of the parts--if I was going to sail, I was going to need to know how to put them all together to make a functional boat. The main halyard, the boom vang, the rudder, the centerboard, cleats, lines, pins, different types of knots. How to furl a sail. How to roll a sail. After an hour of demonstrations, we and our classmates hopped into docked boats to try it ourselves. Well. I didn't believe for a second that Colin had never done it before. He jumped right into the boat, waved his hands, and voila! A fully rigged sailboat. (He later admitted that, yes, he had spent a good deal of time on sailboats with family friends, and while he had never rigged it himself, he had helped.) I practiced a couple more times, and then we called it a day. That was enough of a mental workout for one day, and Sunday would be the real adventure--Shore School!
Shore School was the second intro class and the one where they teach you everything you supposedly need to sail a boat. For 2.5 hours, we learned what it meant to tack, jibe, head up, bear off, trim the sail, sail at a close haul, have starboard tack, watch the telltales, get stuck in irons, and more. I learned the answers to my questions. (To start the boat, you trim the sail and turn the boat downwind. To slow down, you ease out the sail. Obvious when you think about the physics of it, but these things seem like magic when they work!) Talk about mental exhaustion, though. I had still never been on a boat in the Charles River, and I was already tired. I loved learning something new, though, and I thought, well, even if I never sail a boat myself, it's really cool to know the theory. I was convinced that was it. Colin and I waited at the dock for almost an hour hoping that someone would take us out for on-the-water instruction, but we eventually decided that we were getting too hungry to wait until after a sail and a T-ride home for dinner. We knew more than we had that morning, for sure, but we were not yet sailors.
The next weekend, I decided to give it a second shot. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and I had nothing to do, so I didn't mind sitting at the dock until someone could take me in their boat. I put my name on the waiting list and made myself at home at a picnic table on the dock. Before long, a couple of older men who had clearly been sailing for years joined my table, and I pretended to ignore them. It didn't work. They were talking about taking a large boat out together with another friend, and after a minute, one man turned to me.
"You going sailing?"
I hadn't been expecting them to talk to me, so I stammered out a response suggesting that yes, I was going sailing. Or hoping to. I was new. I needed someone to take me. My name was on the list; I was just waiting to be called.
"Wanna come with us?"
"Um, yes!!"
And that was my first experience with always-super-friendly Community Boating (CBI) members. Seriously, if the streets of Boston are a sea of stoic, self-absorbed Massholes, CBI is an island of social engagement. Not only does CBI provide memberships to people like me that just want to show up and take a boat out as many times as they want for as long as they want with no hourly rate, but CBI is also known for its Universal Access Program, which brings sailing to people with disabilities. I was amazed to hear that they work with people of all ages with both physical and developmental disabilities. The blind can sail by the feel of the wind on their face, as long as they have a sighted navigator in the boat. People in wheelchairs can sail and experience mobility by boat. CBI has special equipment for the program, including dog lifejackets for the service dogs that accompany their disabled owners. All of this is available to participants for $1 annually. In addition, CBI runs a popular junior program for kids that is also available to lower-income families for $1 a year, or on a sliding scale for families at higher income levels. CBI does all of this and still has beautiful facilities complete with picnic tables and a grill, a fleet of more than 100 boats, kayaks, and windsurfing boards! Even if I didn't sail, I would want to support CBI because they do so much good for the community. I can already tell that they will be what I miss most when I leave Boston one day.
Anyway, these three sailors that offered to take me out presumably love sailing since they've been at CBI for years, but they weren't bothered in the least to take a young stranger on their boat and hand off all the sailing to her. I was in charge of the tiller for over an hour. I learned (in real life, not in theory) how to tack and jibe and which boat had the right-of-way. They suggested that I take the Shore School class one more time because it would all make much more sense once I had some on-the-water experience. They never acted as though I had disrupted their plans to practice high-level sailing skills, and I got the impression that I truly didn't disrupt anything. After coming back to shore, I just didn't want to leave. On a whim, I stayed and took my rigging test, and passed! I was halfway to getting my "drivers license of sailing"!
I came back the next day to sit through Shore School again. It did make more sense the second time around. In fact, it made so much sense that after class I ran right up to the dockhouse and took my oral test to get my solo rating. That meant that, in CBI's eyes, I was fully qualified to take a sailboat out on my own. But wait... I wasn't ready! While waiting in line to put my name on the list for instruction, the instructor of the Shore School class turned to me and said, "You were in my class, right? Do you want to come on my boat?"
I said yes, of course! But just then, the same man who had offered to take me out the day before, Russell, saw me and turned to the instructor. "Oh, Claire's too good for that! She sailed me around for an hour yesterday!" I was so flattered--first, that Russell remembered and recognized me, and second, that he thought I was good. I went out with the instructor Barry and four other students anyway, but maybe because of the compliment, Barry offered me the first chance to man the jib sail (we were on a big boat) and then take the tiller. A few minutes into the sail, though, I wasn't so sure that had been a good thing. Barry turned out to be a tough-love teacher, and when he called out, "What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you DOING???" my mental response was usually, "I have no idea; the only things I know are from a 2.5 hour class on the dock!" Slowly I started figuring out what I was supposed to be doing, and then the answer was more like, "I have no idea what I am doing, but this is what I intended to do." I came home a bit frustrated but pleased nonetheless. I had a solo rating, and I had actually sailed the Charles River.
The next day was Memorial Day, and although I had to go into work for a few hours, I made sure to leave early for a sail. Again, I showed up knowing that I was qualified to take a boat out on my own, but wanting instruction in the small boat I would later use myself. I put my name on the list and waited, enjoying sunshine and the freedom of leaving work for the dock. Soon, the dockhouse called my name and I met my "instructor" Manlio. I asked if he would mind taking one of the small Cape Cod Mercurys that beginners sail, and having grabbed way more sails than I knew what to do with, he set us asail. He then handed me the tiller and the main sheet and said, "Go where you want." He had the jib up the whole time, which makes the boat more manueverable but also faster and trickier, and Manlio turned out to be one of those sailors that thinks you're doing it wrong if your boat isn't heeling so that you have to sit on the upper edge. (Even if you actually are sort of doing it wrong, come on! I was trying so hard not to capsize, and here he had me about to fall out of the boat on the opposite side.) He was a great teacher, though. When I nearly capsized, he didn't lose a millisecond before jumping onto my side of the boat to right us. He laughed and told me that what you should not do when you're about to capsize is panic and cling to the main sheet and look down at the rapidly approaching water line, because that draws more force of the air into the sail and more force of your weight toward the water. And what had I done? I sheepishly admitted that I had unintentionally clung to the main sheet and stared in horror at the water line. And when he was taking down the spinnaker (the third sail that practically takes a one-man circus to manage--four lines in two hands and the tiller controlled with your leg) and not paying attention to the tiller, and I accidentally "bumped into" the Harvard Bridge, he laughed and announced, "Hey, I've never done that before! But now we know for sure that these boats don't fit." (Side note: when we sailed to the other end of the river and were approaching the other boundary bridge, I kept asking, "Shouldn't we turn now? What about now?" Manlio kept shaking his head and suggesting we wait another minute or two. Finally, in exasperation, I said, "But I really don't want to crash into this bridge, too!" and he had already totally forgotten about that.) Despite all my mistakes, Manlio kept telling me I was ready to take my helmsman test (the next level rating, when you are allowed to take non-sailors on your boat). I knew he was wrong but was again flattered by the compliment.
Finally, last weekend I showed up at CBI after almost two weeks away. I had convinced myself that I was ready to take a boat out alone, but when I showed up, the wind was too strong, and those of us with solo ratings weren't allowed out alone. I had barely put my name on the list for instruction when Manlio called out my name. Was I waiting to go out? He would be happy to take me, with the goal of having me take my helmsman test that day (helmsman ratings can go out in windier conditions). I didn't believe him about the test - please, I had never been out in a boat alone; I was definitely not ready to take an on-the-water test - but I jumped at the chance to go out. You can probably guess how the story ends. Manlio was determined, so he had me sail with only the mainsail ("like you'll do for your test") and practice tack after tack after tack after jibe after jibe. He showed me the helmsman test course (figure-eights around three buoys), then told me to head into shore. When we docked, he told me to ask if I could take the test right then. I thought he was crazy, but I didn't know how I'd tell him no, so I thought, "Fine. I'm not afraid of failing, right? I don't always have to be a perfectionist. I can try it today, then try it again in a month when I'm ready."
Much to my disbelief, they passed me. It took an embarrassingly long time to sail out to the course and back to the dock afterwards, but I prayed that I wouldn't capsize and that I would be able to dock correctly (those are automatic failures). I definitely didn't ace the test, but hey, I passed! That was my goal when I extended my membership for the next year, and now that I've completed it, I guess next on my list is just to sail.
When I made it back to the dock (still not quite sure that they weren't kidding when they said I had passed), Manlio asked how it went. He said he heard on the dock staff's walkie-talkies that I had passed. I was all smiles and thank-yous, and he gave me a great big high-five.
And that just totally sums up the environment at CBI. In all the times I've been out on the water, the fantastically talented sailors who took me for instruction never seemed disappointed to have to give a beginner lessons. Everyone seemed genuinely invested in teaching me to sail and sincerely happy when I figured it out. I never once felt guilty or stupid for not knowing what I was doing. There have been other times and places in my life where that's not true, so I always appreciate when the best are happy to work with the worst. And guess what? I'm not the worst anymore. I can sail!
P.S. Sorry for writing a novel. I didn't want to forget anything, so this entry is as much for me as for you.
No comments:
Post a Comment