To the SF sea buoy
This last Saturday I met up with my school mates in the parking lot in front of the academy. It was early, early enough that the sun had not even begun to light the eastern sky. As we staggered to the grumbling vehicles we mumbled 'goodmorning, howa doing, uhhgg,....' The drive over was a mix of short sentences, and long glazed over looks, as the sun rose the sky became a portrait of clouds and color. Whites, greys, yellows, smears, dashes, flashes, the clouds absorbed the sunlight and changed to suit. Each moment the sky changed and the sun rose higher. Upon arriving in the boatyard/marina, we stumbled out of the vehicles dragging backpacks stuffed with waterproof gear, sunscreen, and various other piecies of equipment. Walking down the dock to the boat was a noisy procedure, the alumiom ramp, clanking, and thudding under our sneaker clad feet. Planks squeaky and twisting gave slightly upon our footfalls. There she stood, all 48ft of her, the schools donated OneDesign 48. A beautiful sight, her mast stabbing into the cloud flecked sky. Riplets of harbor water flashed up against her sides, standing still she looks like she is going 20 knots.
As we stowed our gear, and prep her for the days sail our minds began to wake up, eyes grew sharper as hands found purpose and procedure. Our speech sped up and full conversations began to take place. Lines found their place in blocks, hands found their jobs, feet felt the motion of the boat as the harbor set her too and frow. Soon the rumblings and grumblings of the desiel felt their way through our feet. Dock lines slipped from cleats, fenders found themselves stowed in the lockers. She slid through the water, encouraged to greater speeds by the flicking and twisting of the folding prop. Soon fleeces, and jackets were the only suitable attire as a stiff chillled breeze felt its way through our skin and into our bones. Groups formed in chatting circles on the afterdeck behind the helm, and up on the bow. Waves split assunder by the knife edge of the bow. Others blewn into spray becamse water droplets sliding down the hull. Outside the harbor several old bulkers where shouldering their way into the channel. Guided by chugging tugs these behomths lumbered past us, making wakes that spread out from their sterns to toss our boat around like a cork. On the bay we found our way to the racing grounds, we noted the wind direction and theorized about when it would shift, or if it would blow out and leave us with limp sails and poor speed. Soon the bay was filled with boats, tacking to and frow, across the broad waters the sounds of winches grinding in sheets, sails luffing, and voices shouting directions. We slid our way through the fleet, finding paths through the maze of boats. Boats of all sizes and colors and shapes. Some with red hulls and grey sails, some flying kites of red and blue. Others heeled hard over on a close halled tack, their crews leaning out over the lifelines, hiking to build speed.
The race began and we came through the wind to a close hauled starboard tack. We flew our way to the middle of the shipping channel, as we pulled ahead of the fleet our spirits lifted. Hiking out the water skipped and chopped below our feet as it skimmed by. Ahead outside the golden gate dark clouds shuttered in the horizon, rain, our fears justified.
Through the gate, the glorious iconic red gate. Swell lifted the boat, and set her back down into the trough. The seas were textured, swells large and slow. The boat held her tack well as the ocean moved us towards the sky and back down again. To the bouy we flew, our lead well opened by now, we felt the freedom of the open sea. Rain showers came and passed, a shaft of sunlight split the clouds for a time. We basked in its glow as we sat on the rail watching the deep water rush past. Speed, the sound of speed, water splased and gushed past. Occasionally a wave would overake the bow, and wash across the foredeck, shedding its foam and ending its journey. We carried on, to the sea bouy. Round the mark, eased our sheets into a broad reach, kite up, wind, gone? Where it went we didn't know, but downind suddenly felt so slow. Through the fleet we passed boats all heading for the bouy. Soon we found ourselves our of the lead, irriated with the slow patch of wind we had found. But then it came up, strong, and bitter. The rush and the sound as the sails billowed, lines loaded up. Surfing waves, the boat found its nicht between the wind and seas. Speed, we felt true speed running before the strong spring wind that came from the sea. It drove us home faster than we had dreamed. Suddenly for a moment we were on our side, pinned to the sea by our huge kite. The moment of terror, ocean hoping to get us all wet, fear, panic, we all hoped that someone new what to do. The spreaders touched the sea, we thought we were done, and then she was back on an semi even keel and we were flying again. Ah, the fear and the fun of sailing. The deep ocean has its charm even in all its passion and fury. To the finish line, second place. The sail back the marina, alongside the dock, stow the sails, stow the gear. Dream of warm food, and a comfy chair.
As we stowed our gear, and prep her for the days sail our minds began to wake up, eyes grew sharper as hands found purpose and procedure. Our speech sped up and full conversations began to take place. Lines found their place in blocks, hands found their jobs, feet felt the motion of the boat as the harbor set her too and frow. Soon the rumblings and grumblings of the desiel felt their way through our feet. Dock lines slipped from cleats, fenders found themselves stowed in the lockers. She slid through the water, encouraged to greater speeds by the flicking and twisting of the folding prop. Soon fleeces, and jackets were the only suitable attire as a stiff chillled breeze felt its way through our skin and into our bones. Groups formed in chatting circles on the afterdeck behind the helm, and up on the bow. Waves split assunder by the knife edge of the bow. Others blewn into spray becamse water droplets sliding down the hull. Outside the harbor several old bulkers where shouldering their way into the channel. Guided by chugging tugs these behomths lumbered past us, making wakes that spread out from their sterns to toss our boat around like a cork. On the bay we found our way to the racing grounds, we noted the wind direction and theorized about when it would shift, or if it would blow out and leave us with limp sails and poor speed. Soon the bay was filled with boats, tacking to and frow, across the broad waters the sounds of winches grinding in sheets, sails luffing, and voices shouting directions. We slid our way through the fleet, finding paths through the maze of boats. Boats of all sizes and colors and shapes. Some with red hulls and grey sails, some flying kites of red and blue. Others heeled hard over on a close halled tack, their crews leaning out over the lifelines, hiking to build speed.
The race began and we came through the wind to a close hauled starboard tack. We flew our way to the middle of the shipping channel, as we pulled ahead of the fleet our spirits lifted. Hiking out the water skipped and chopped below our feet as it skimmed by. Ahead outside the golden gate dark clouds shuttered in the horizon, rain, our fears justified.
Through the gate, the glorious iconic red gate. Swell lifted the boat, and set her back down into the trough. The seas were textured, swells large and slow. The boat held her tack well as the ocean moved us towards the sky and back down again. To the bouy we flew, our lead well opened by now, we felt the freedom of the open sea. Rain showers came and passed, a shaft of sunlight split the clouds for a time. We basked in its glow as we sat on the rail watching the deep water rush past. Speed, the sound of speed, water splased and gushed past. Occasionally a wave would overake the bow, and wash across the foredeck, shedding its foam and ending its journey. We carried on, to the sea bouy. Round the mark, eased our sheets into a broad reach, kite up, wind, gone? Where it went we didn't know, but downind suddenly felt so slow. Through the fleet we passed boats all heading for the bouy. Soon we found ourselves our of the lead, irriated with the slow patch of wind we had found. But then it came up, strong, and bitter. The rush and the sound as the sails billowed, lines loaded up. Surfing waves, the boat found its nicht between the wind and seas. Speed, we felt true speed running before the strong spring wind that came from the sea. It drove us home faster than we had dreamed. Suddenly for a moment we were on our side, pinned to the sea by our huge kite. The moment of terror, ocean hoping to get us all wet, fear, panic, we all hoped that someone new what to do. The spreaders touched the sea, we thought we were done, and then she was back on an semi even keel and we were flying again. Ah, the fear and the fun of sailing. The deep ocean has its charm even in all its passion and fury. To the finish line, second place. The sail back the marina, alongside the dock, stow the sails, stow the gear. Dream of warm food, and a comfy chair.
posted by Tyler Burns at 9:45 PM
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