It’s the same everywhere we go. People struggle. But they – and you – don’t have to when you learn how to sail and cruise with the experts.
Ever go fishing?
Ever have the line foul up in the reel?
Yeah ya did. We all did. Inevitable.
Roller furling, the system widely used around the world to deploy and put away headsails (jibs and genoas, the ones in the front), is super simple. But, it’s not easy. And it often tangles up like a fishing reel.
”Let’s go to the video tape!”
-Warner Wolf
Never underestimate technique and conditioning;
Never confuse simple with easy.
IN THAT CLIP: I was sitting in Ivar’s on the Seattle waterfront having fish n chips + oatmeal stout, and this was one of the many boats that went by. They sailed in elegantly, then re-appeared going up into the wind trying to roll up their genoa (front sail) to no avail.
It all starts with the installation. That goes wrong most of the time, and then it’s often difficult or impossible to get good results. This goes way beyond tidiness, or level of difficulty. It gets down to safety. If you need to deploy or put away the headsail NOW, and you can’t cuz the f-in furler fouled, your f-d. Straight up.
Let’s break it down a bit.
How does a “furler” work (assuming it is in fact working)?
Instead of raising the sail from the deck when it’s going to be used, and then dropping it when done, this system leaves the sail up for the season. It’s rolled up when not used, and unrolled when deployed. This is much quicker and physically easier.
The sail is opened by pulling the control line, or sheet, until the sail unrolls (usually all the way but sometimes we play with less than a full sail). When done, we pull on the line that wrapped up in the spool below the sail (think fishing reel) when we deployed the sail. Simple!
The tricky bit is getting that line to wrap up snugly without digging into itself and jamming when we deploy the sail. (Again, think fishing reel.)
The sail is hoisted by a normal halyard (hoisting line) that’s attached to a swivel at the top of the sail, with another swivel at the bottom (head and tack, respectively for those who know or want to know the terms). The drum, or spool (fishing reel) sits below that bottom swivel.
These systems are complicated to customize and install in the first place, except for the single most important thing: making sure the angle of attack of the furling line (fishing string) is set to the one, simple, correct angle: perpendicular to the spool. Any slight variation on that causes trouble; any significant variation on that angle ruins it. Yet, rigger after rigger fails at this simple task. It might not be easy to figure out how to get the line to wind up aimed perpendicular to that spool, as boats are proportioned and laid out very differently from each other. But, the song remains the same.:
“Perpendicular if you please, Mr. ____” (Think, The Sea Wolf, The Bounty, The Caine Mutiny, etc).
I’ve rigged a few of these systems over the decades. Never again. I’ve adjusted them on people’s boats, including ones I acquired for the Sailing Center. I’ve even adjusted them on boats we’ve chartered in the Caribbean and Mediterranean so that we’d have no problems on our trips for the Sailing Center. It can be as easy as loosening two bolts, sliding a block (pulley) up or down along the tube it’s attached to, and re-tightening the bolts. Or, not so easy. But it has to be done.
That’s mission critical item #1. There’s an item #2 on the checklist: don’t let the string go loose. If you do that with fishing line, it’s gonna table, and you’re not gonna have a good time. Same with roller furling. If you let the line dance about the deck loose when unrolling the sail, you’re gonna have a bad time furling it back up later.
Solution? Keep tension on the furling line when pulling on the sheet to begin deploying the headsail. When enough is deployed that it wants to continue on its own (assuming enough wind), one allows this by controlling tension on the furling line. Let it win, but grudgingly. It’s no different than easing a sheet (line used to pull a sail in or let it out). You probably can’t safely control it by hand. So, wrap it on a winch, or turn on the ratchet of the fairlead block for the furling line.
Have neither a winch nor a ratcheting block? Fucked. Straight up.
PRO TIPS once you’ve had just enough experience to comprehend my meaning (stolen from some nautical movie):
Have gloves. If the sail starts getting away from you and you reflexively resist, you can get a nasty rope burn.
If the headsail is a wonky unfurling and/or furling, try fully deploying and re-furling a few times with as much tension on the furling line as you can and still get it do do its job. That sometimes also solves for the back corner (clew) of the headsail not completely rolling up on itself.
Or, it makes that part worse, but you at least got the furling line sorted. If the clew isn’t wrapped up a few times around itself before you run out of furling line, easiest quick fix is to untie the sheet, manually roll up the sail, then wrap the sheets around a few times before re-tying (careful to get the direction right). Then, test by unfurling/refurling a few times to sort out the wrinkles literally and figuratively.
It all starts with the fairlead line being ___?____ to the furling drum (spool). If you can fill in that blank, you can probably deal with a furling system. If not, re-read the above. Better yet, make sure your first experiences with one are on OPB’s: Other People’s Boats. Sailing school is best, but any experienced, reputable sailor (have to ask around) should be able to get you started.
Learning how to sail a boat in Brooklyn moves paper airplane distance, plus a few other changes!
Another season is soon upon us. I started writing this from beautiful Bellingham Bay, Washington, not far from Canada. It’s been mostly sunny and delightful! Not snowing in them thar hills, nor has it been for a minute. And, nothing on the horizon. Forecast was flatlining. Waa, waa…
IN THAT PIC: single sloop motoring with luffing main at dusk, Bellingham Bay.
Boats were out sailing on the Bay last weekend, and I expect so see some this one as well. Light wind, but that’s okay in the winter. Define “winter.” It’s not what the Northeast is getting hit with as I write this (Arctic cold with major dump pending). Afternoon temps have been int the mid 40’s to around 50. Overnight lows? Upper 20’s to mid 30’s. The cold can linger in the shade, and frost is common in park areas. But it’s great. Maybe it will snow again before we leave. Maybe not.
IN THAT PIC: stopped and staring down The Canyon, a black diamond zone/run at Mt. Baker Ski Area. It’s an “easy” chute and super scenic. My trusty Lib Tech Orca snowboard is making a cameo on the bottom.
What’s going on with the Sailing Center?
It’s moving next door to Miramar’s friendly neighbor, Sheepshead Bay Yacht Club. And, it’s getting a new helmsman! Alex Mallari, who’d been helping out with making new sailors last year, is buying it from me. I’ll be heavily involved in the transition year of 2026, so very little will change right away (if ever). Main difference is that it all kicks up to Alex rather than Steve. And, diff dock.
Alex and I favored moving next door to Sheepshead Bay Yacht Club (SBYC) for one chief reason: they are in growth mode, and Miramar is not. Growth ties in to the Sailing Center’s need to have one-stop shopping for its students. Learn here; progress here. Sheepshead Bay wants to grow both its general membership and its sailing club program. Miramar wants to cap its membership. Waa, waa…
IN THAT PIC: Alex with some of his (always) happy campers. Two Ensign sloops are behind them in the Bay as they take the launch (aka tender) back to the dock.
Miramar has been a solid home base for the Sailing Center for the past few seasons. SBYC is more similar than different. It has a pool (so what?). It has a bar. That’s nice for apres. The clubs share launch service on weekdays; they take turns running it for both clubs. The boats are moored randomly in the Bay, so both launches go both directions. The docks are so close, it’s hard to maneuver anything in between them and I’m always tempted to try a running jump from one to the other. (Never gonna happen, but it looks tempting.)
So, I’m retiring! Semi, at least. That was the impetus to explore new ownership for the school. 2026 will be busy, but just as with last fall, when I was tired of missing out while my friends played on Jamaica Bay racing dinghies out of Sebago Canoe Club, I won’t miss any race days this spring unless it’s just too damn windy for my hobbit ass. (I skipped most of the spring series for that reason and had conflicts on the other days.) I’ll still be teaching in 2026, too. Cuz, you know… I actually like it.
IN THAT PIC: plenty of these flying around on lakes and bays and sounds in WA. Bellingham Bay, as seen from the boardwalk paralleling the shoreline (with a Woods Coffee in a 2-story wood building at one juncture).
Alex is the perfect steward for the school. He has the background and experience; teaching with us last season was not his first rodeo. He’s young and energetic enough. He’s has zero ambition to take something that isn’t broken and try to fix it.
That happened in my family already. When Dad sold his school back in the late 1980’s, that’s exactly what happened. Don’t get me started…
“You’re making me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”
-Dr. Bruce Banner
Anyway, nothing to get all green about here. Nothing much is changing despite a gradual changing of the guard. If winter gets its smashing done early in the northeast, we’ll see you down on the Bay early in the spring!
IN THAT PIC: grinning idiot I be, semi-buried at Baker. (Yup; it snowed!) Mt. Baker Ski Area gets the most snowfall of any hill in North America, and set the world record one year with 1140 inches. (600-700 is more common, with the leanest year I saw in the stats closer to 300.) Yes, it’s heavy/wet snow most of the time. Yes, it gets rain and melt/freeze cycles. No, it doesn’t have much vert. No, there isn’t lodging at the “resort.” Those who know like it that way. I’m one of those. Think Magic Mountain in Vermont, but add a fuck-ton more snow, take away a lot of the glades, add every gnarlier terrain with cliffs, and finish it off with vast areas of adjacent, lift-served backcountry.
Finally got a proper podium spot racing Sunnies at Sebago
I did some prior Blog Rants about my experiences racing Sunfish dinghies out of Sebago Canoe Club. This one finishes the trilogy.
In that pic: some of the Sunnies rigging up for the last day of the racing season at Sebago Canoe Club on October 25, under the watchful eye of the bear carved into a tree stump by water’s edge. Steve Card, photo.
Sum of all prior posts: was having fun, with occasional moments of brilliance in between long interludes of mediocrity or downright fuckery. Was reminded of my Dad’s and my inconsistency on the race course and penchant for risk taking and general lack of convention.
This season, I was still Mr. Inconsistent. Family history. My Dad and I were like yo-yos on the race course, always winning well or losing badly, or somewhere in between, but seldom any consistency. Often rounded marks the wrong way. Often went for the wrong damn mark. I did these things again a few times this fall, when I made the time to do all the racing: distance race in late September, and weekly racing for late September through October with another distance race on November 1 that I’ll have to miss.
And, again, all over the place. Poor starts; nailing starts; fouling out; hitting marks; even getting stuck in irons like a newbie and losing 4 boats in the process. (Nb: Sunfish are easy to get caught in irons with and very hard to get out of once there. Much worse than a Laser.)
RACE START! Mixed fleet of dinghies about to start the Sebago Cup distance race in mid September. This is and 8-9 mile race in Jamaica Bay. Captain Card is lurking in the background (far left of the fleet) in a Vanguard 15; started first of the three in the fleet that day, but wound up 2nd in class. The Vanguard is a sloop; if you look deep in the distance, you might see it hiding amongst other boats. For reference, a Vanguard passes very close to the camera a little late after the start. (Collette and I would have been 5th overall, meaning 2nd if you don’t count the RS Aeros that are so fast, and were sailed by guys who do world travel to compete, that they pulled ahead of the entire fleet with zero chance to catch. They wound up 15’ ahead of the entire rest of the fleet! Forget them. They won. Next was Isis in a Vanguard 15, and Torben in a Laser. We were ahead of Torben until I rounded a mark the wrong way and had to double back… So, not bad!
I can live with the inconsistency. But, I need to feel good about an occasional 1st place, or winning a start convincingly, or at least a few solid near-the-top finishes. This fall, despite putting in the time, and even practicing in between race days, I wasn’t getting any. I was having fun, but wondering if I really remembered how to race properly and if age had caught up with me (just turned 61 this summer). Sailboat racing is a game; straight up. It’s a game where we try to have fun trying to win the race. So, winning once in awhile really helps.
Two weeks ago, I showed up for racing only to have… NO racing. Only two competitors showed, with a third there for RC duty. We needed a third sailor to have any racing. Instead, we BS’d over bagels and coffee and they split. I rigged the boat and went for a sail. No one had showed up thinking the wind would be very light and die out. I’d gone on record that the very light wind was going to diminish more, but switch to the south. That gave us a more than 50/50 shot at a sea breeze developing as it was still warm-ish for October and there would be sun.
I was right. Plenty of wind; more than on another of the racing days we had, and more than enough to have good racing. I even had to hike out a few times to keep the boat level. Fun; good practice which is def important. But, no one to race and try to beat. Running out of time; one last shot at the title and the season would be over.
In that pic: racing from a few weeks prior, when I was PRO for the racing that day (ran the boat under watchful eye of the guy who makes it all happen, Howie, and set the courses by mutual agreement. The two nearest boats were neck and neck in the lead of that race and often for the day (finishing 1st and 2nd overall). Steve Card, photo.
That shot came this past Saturday. The wind was looking light again, and a poll showed that maybe 5 people would attend. Kinda weak, but more than enough to do some racing. I showed up. And, so did 8 others – more than enough to run some races!
Wind was light and shifty from the northwest – my specialty. I’ve always been good at reading wind, particularly in light conditions. Always used to do well racing in them. So, I tried to approaching with confidence and get in the zone.
First start: good approach, but a little late. I was behind a few boats. That would have kept me buried except that they tacked early and cleared my air for me, as well as gifting me room to tack if I wanted to later. I was free to read the wind and play the shifts. I caught up and was near the top. After the last mark, heading to the finish, I found more wind on the left and used it to my advantage, catching up further. One boat ahead of me by passed the finish line, thinking the race was twice around. When some of us figured out that’s what he was doing, we hailed him, and he came back – but he lost a spot or three in the process.
I thought I wound up 2nd or third; didn’t hear RC call me name. Good start to the day either way.
In that pic: more racing from a few weeks ago; might have been the same leg as the previous pic. The two lead boats seen above are just rounding the bottom (downwind) mark before heading up to the finish, where the shot was taken. Steve Card, photo.
Next race, and each one after, I totally nailed the starts. I switched up the starting strategy a few times, but always accounted for the current, and the need to be able to adapt instantly to changes in wind speed and direction. That meant not doing traditional starts where the fleet all comes in more or less together on starboard tack, jockeying for position, hoping to be able to accelerate at the last minute and cross the line at the gun (horn, in our case). Coming in on the ‘lemming line’ didn’t work for me in the first race.
I hate it anyway. I prefer going against the grain. I favor dip starts and port-tack approaches to the line. My Dad loved to dip. Did it more often than not. It can be risky, as one can get forced over early easily, but it avoids the other boats until the last minute.
VIDEO! Time out in between races, October 25. I’m shooting from my Sunfish (actually, club boat called Bobo).
The current that day was starting to ebb out of Jamaica Bay, and it was accelerating as the racing went along. That meant when there was a lull right before the start, everyone would get set down by the current and pushed away from the line. Strategy: be able to come in full speed to fight the current, and also be free to tack if the wind shifted so that I could aim straighter across the line and into the current.
Second race: don’t remember how I started, but it was either traditional and done well, or a port-tack start. That means coming in from the left side on port tack, with no hindrance from other boats, and seeing where I could cross other boats and start at full speed, possibly getting blocked out and having to tack to leeward of one or more other starboard tack boats and settle for that. I sailed a good race, and thought I was 3rd or 4th. (Again, didn’t hear my name called – possibly because I finished on the port side.)
In that pic: some of the fleet in between races on October 25. Steve Card, photo.
Third time’s the charm: I saw how the fleet just wasn’t accounting for the current, and decided to play my little trick – dip start. I would only do it once. Why not more often? Element of surprise works best the fist time in a small fleet. Also, at Sebago, they never seem to understand how it works, and RC calls me over the line early before the starting gun which is irrelevant and distracting. I figure I surprise them with it once, and leave it at that. (Winter project: make them understand that it’s perfectly legit unless the 1-minute rule is in effect due to a general recall in the prior staring sequence.)
Did the dip. Nailed it. No one said anything on RC boat. I got it. One competitor said, “he‘s got it.” I won that race, leading at all marks. But, after finishing, the RC hailed me and said something about me possibly not starting correctly. I forget the language. I hailed back, “I totally did. I dipped down below the line, checked, and then started. Someone else said, “he got it.” And, you didn’t call me over early. Can’t do that now.” (Glad I was definitive; they had initially scored me DNS, for did not start, but changed it to 1st place. They might well have thought I was over early, but recognized that they can’t fail to hail at the start and simply tell me at the finish. For what it’s worth, I was NOT over early – I checked carefully and made sure to leave a little extra room, as I had plenty to spare anyway compared to the rest of the fleet.)
In that pic: break between races. Paloma kicking back here; she’s a guest who came twice for racing this season and likes to dangle her feet over board or just put them up. Steve Card, photo.
Each race after that, I did port-tack starts – usually ahead of the whole fleet. In one race, Max copied my swagger and also came in on port. He was slightly ahead at the start.
The difference was that I really watched the wind and basically ignored the fleet. No covering; no hedging. Go where I saw wind. and, that was always left. When new wind came in, it almost always rolled down from left to right. So, it didn’t matter which way it shifted; all that mattered was being in that much stronger wind. One could double or triple their speed. Sure, one could tack on the headers and stay lifted – but only after getting into the new wind. Out of phase with the shifts? Who cares when you’re going 2-3 times the speed of the rest of the fleet?
Last race was the pies de resistance. I went hard left after that wind. It came in. I was literally planing toward the top mark; the rest of the fleet was sucking for oxygen. I rounded so far ahead of the fleet that there was probably no way I could lose, even if I wound up in a hole later and a new breeze brought them closer. And then, the opposite happened: before anyone else got to the top mark, the wind died down and they were struggling to even reach it. I still had wind the rest of the way down to the bottom mark and more or less after that to the finish. It was the widest lead I’d ever experienced or even seen in my life, and my racing life goes back to the mid 1970’s. It was a proper whupping.
Here’s a quick clip I took while approaching the bottom mark. Few people ever carry a cell phone in our fleet. I rarely do. Light wind that day, plus thought I’d need to take work calls from the school. Instead, I shot pics and clips! I was so far ahead it was reasonable to distract myself and risk capsizing by taking a clip. (Phone was waterproof and tethered to me.)
Three of the boats didn’t finish that last race due to the lighter wind and strong current. I asked if it was the last race, and RC said yes. I confirmed by re-phrasing it to be sure; same result. I started sailing back. (No surprises later; it was indeed the last race.)
I wasn’t first back to the dock – I was 3rd. Wind got wonky coming into Paerdegat Basin as it always does, and a Fresh breeze brought the fleet in closer. But, who cares. No score for who docks first.
More importantly, I’d redeemed my wonky ways and had a super consistent day. I figured I had to be in the top 3, 4th at worst.
In that pic: still grab from the clip above. I’m looking back upwind toward the fleet. You can see the start/finish line here: orange ball and motorboat. All the rest of the boats are still going the other way working toward the top (1st) mark. I’m almost down to the bottom mark. Steve Card, photo.
Turns out…
I WON!!!
I wound up with two bullets (1sts), three deuces, and a 4th. Tracy was super similar, also winning two races, but she also had a 3rd and 4th. That put her one place behind me with or without a throwout. (A throwout is when your worst finish is not tallied in the results; it’s almost always used if there are enough races completed in a day)
Two of the best sailors in the fleet were absent that day. But, I’m not sure that would have changed the outcome. I hope to have another day or two with the same conditions in the spring with more of the fleet present, including all the usual suspects to beat, and see if I can’t duplicate or triple this result!
What you need to learn in addition to learning how to sail a boat.
It’s coming.
More and more states are phasing in stricter and stricter requirements in order to operate anything that floats and locomotes. New York is bordered by states that keep it simple: if it floats, and you’re on it, you need a safe boating certificate. (Maybe not an inflatable pool toy tethered to a real boat, but you get it.) New York is getting closer to its neighbors in this regard.
The net/net for New York: if the boat has a motor, you need the certificate. If you’re sailing and the boat has no motor, you’re off the hook. For now.
First kid on my block: perhaps not, but this one is mine. Example of a Safe Boating Certificate.
Safe boating certificates are not “licenses” in the sense that most people think. In the US, licenses on the water are for professionals carrying passengers for hire. Safe boating certificates (hereinafter “sbc’s”) are for everyone else. And, like professional licenses, they don’t require proving that you know how to handle a boat and can drive it safely. They cover a lot of other stuff, much of it very important, but the only way to learn how to actually operate a motorboat or sailboat is to get lessons and practice.
IN THAT PIC: who knows how that boat wound up there. But we know what it is: a J/24, one of the most widely used boats for beginner sailing instruction in the US. And, one of the worst. Good riddance.
I never had an sbc. I figured that it’s time to see what “civilians” have to know in order to get certified. So, I signed up for BOAT US’ free online safe boating course that’s Federal but with individual state additions (namely NY for me). I did the course, took the quizzes along the way, and then sat for the final exam. I got two questions wrong in one of the quizzes (meaning I passed that one with the minimum score), and got 100 on the final. So, in addition to my license, I have my sbc.
What were my takeaways?
There are errors in the material, which reminds me to remind you: just because you read something in a book, or see it on an exam, doesn’t mean it’s guaranteed to be correct.
Leaving aside the fact that no one has to prove they can competently operate a boat, the course and exam covers a lot of important stuff everyone should know.
SBC’s are good things. The intent is noble and the government isn’t skimming.
IN THAT PIC: an error. The upstream/downstream rule they state is not universal. it’s for the Great Lakes, “Western Rivers” (as strictly defined), and certain other waterways as designated by the Secretary. Those are almost exclusively certain river areas. Examples of rivers not covered by this rule: East and Hudson Rivers!
Some content is ridiculously obvious and easy. Other stuff isn’t as obvious. I did the whole thing pretty quickly, but I’m a professional and also a good test taker. How long does it take? I didn’t time it. Having said that, each page you must view is up on screen for a minimum of 21 seconds and a max of however long you’d like it to be there. You can’t skip ahead even if you’re done reading. Maybe this is to cut down on people skipping stuff they think they know but really don’t. Who knows.
IN THAT PIC: an error. They contradict themselves on whether an engine must be simply on (idle) or in gear to turn a sailboat into a motorboat. Elsehwere in the course material, they explicitly state that if the engine is simply on, the sailboat becomes a motorboat. That’s only when it’s in gear. The idea is that if only sails are propelling the boat, it’s subject to the wind alone. If an engine is actually propelling the boat, regardless of how slightly, or how much sail is in play, the boat is power driven. ASA had this wrong in their textbooks forever; recently fixed it. I got an interpretation from the US Coast Guard as well. Turns out I’m right…
For New York, the only free online course and exam is through BOAT US. It’s a boating and boating safety advocacy and membership organization. I have them for towing insurance. The course is free. You might or might not need to pay a small fee for ID cards or an anchor symbol on your drivers license depending on your situation and preferences, but it’s chicken feed.
Here’s a link for the course (and, of course, them):
IN THAT PIC: the final insult. Save yourself the agony of trying to read that shit. Just look at the diagram. They label the arrow as “prop walk.” Right idea; wrong “right.” The vast majority of propellers turn clockwise in forward gear and are called “right hand props.” What do they do in reverse? Just that. Reverse directions. They turn LEFT! This diagram leads to the boat swinging further away from the dock, with the bow liable to hit it eventually. Ass backwards.
If you race a boat often enough, that number never fades away even if you forget how to sail a boat well.
Pro athletes are often synonymous with their jersey numbers. Most big fans of major league players probably know their faves’ numbers. Those numbers are often retired with the players themselves.
In that pic: a typical tight start in a Laser race. Every sailor there knows their number cold. These guys are sailing the standard, full-size rig: 76 square feet of sail. The author used to sail this size rig when he was around 120 pounds soaking wet. Got away with it as it was district level racing in a light-wind region. A better body weight would be 160-170 pounds; heavier isn’t usually a problem. There’s also the Radial rig, with a smaller bottom mast section and somewhat smaller sail, with a radial cut rather than parallel panels. Screen-grab from a race video on YouTube posted by RYA (Royal Yachting Association) during interview with a British team sailor. Didn’t see video credit.
Not the same for sailing; even though there’s a little bit of team racing out there, and a few true rock-star sailors, it’s the boat – not the sailor – that is identified on the course. For most racing, it’s the sail number. It can be random, or it can be the number of the boat that came out of the mold (hull #1 would say just “1” on the sail, or maybe “001”). It’s used to identify boats for scoring or penalty purposes.
I’ll never forget my sail numbers. I raced two boats actively enough for enough time that I have them. Sadly, I can’t find photos of my father or in the boats detailed below, but they might be hiding in one last storage area. Anywho…
#228: my Dyer Dhow
In that pic: no, not me in my own boat. Photo from back in the day from Dyer’s site. But, Imagine a tween or teen in her/his first boat. Just boat, sail, and excited young sailor. That’s the idea. Back when I frostbit, the sailors spanned all ages from under 17 to well over 70.
My first dinghy (and the first time I ever sailed one) was my Dyer. Funny story about how I got it:
Sometimes Dad had strange ideas about what made for a good birthday gift. That might have been due to forgetting my birthday – never knew for sure. One year, he said that he was giving me one of the sailing school boats. (He owned and operated a major sailing school and that was my introduction to the industry.) Great! I was too young to realize what it did and did not mean.
Years later, I got interested in racing, and then read an article in Yacht Racing & Cruising (now just Sailing World). It was in their how-to series, “From the Experts.” Here, champions in their respective boat classes dished on how to deliver. They shared their secrets on how to get the best performance out of the boat. I forget the author’s name. This got me interested in frostbiting, or racing boats in the winter months here in the northeast.
I asked my folks if they’d get me a Dyer so I could do this. No.
I somehow remembered about my sailboat gift: hadn’t thought of it for years. I leveraged it. My boat, but..? How many classes did your school teach on it? How much rental income was there from it? I did some gymnastic arithmetic that was at least roughly based on reality. I can up with a bill: you gave me this boat, then used it for profit. Here’s what you owe me.
He knew he’d been had. Mom didn’t intervene, which meant she agreed with me. Next week, he bought me a new Dyer Dhow. I remember going to Sobstad Sailmakers in Mamaroneck (a solid regional sailmaker at the time, perhaps national, with good racing pedigree). They had the deal to make all the sails for Mamaroneck Frostbiting Association’s Dyer Dhow fleet. Truly one-design; all sails were identical. You could opt for an aluminum mast instead of the standard wood one. You could “Harkenize” your boat: use all Harken turning blocks instead of whatever shit Dyer installed. That, and your choice of rope material for the mainsheet and outhaul, maybe halyard, and hiking stick. None of that made any significant difference. You had to sail the boat better than your competitors.
In that pic: tight times – mini match race during a fleet race, Mamaroneck Frostbite. I had a bow dodger (spray canvas) on my boat as did, and do, most sailors. Never opted for the metal mast; I like how the wood bends more. Must have been windy/gusty that day – they’re using the smaller “storm sail.” The race committee makes the call for the day; it’s not optional.
Anyway, I was #228, and I named the boat Dyer Straits. (I was a Dire-hard Mark Knopfler fan.) I remembered the number due to the sheer number of times I looked at it and heard it through a bull horn on the race courses. (“228, you’re over early.” “228, we have your finish.” (DFL, or dead fucking last…) “228, nice race!” (I did win some).
Dad was not about to be undone. He drove me to the frostbiting. Eventually he borrowed my boat from time to time. He might have sailed a race or two by swapping out with me at the committee boat on some days. But, of course, he eventually got his own.
#501: Apocalypse Dhow!
He probably wore Levis’ 501 jeans as well. Big on denim and a Willie Nelson looking bandana.
A year or three later, I wound up trying a Laser in the Virgin Islands. They had them for rent at Bitter End Yacht Club in Virgin Gorda. I’d never sailed one. But, I knew how to. Why? Another “From the Experts” article: Laser, by Olympic Finn contender and one of the top Laser sailors at the time, Carl Buchan (whose Dad, Billl, was a champion in the Star keelboat class). I knew how to throw the boat around with my body by torquing at the hips with torso as lever. I knew how to hike out, and get the boat up on a plane quickly by handling the sheet properly to pump the sail. I knew were the daggerboard should be. I capsized once… but flipped the boat back up easily as I’d read about it.
I sailed the boat back to the beach up on a plane, skimmed way up past the shoreline, pulling up the dagger board just before I grounded. Hopped off and gave it back to dad.
Dad secretly bought a new one for me soon afterward. But, mom didn’t think I deserved it, and told him to not give it to me. He couldn’t hide the boat, nor could he satisfactorily explain why I couldn’t use it. (I didn’t know at first about mom’s interference.) So, eventually, he let me try it. Then, more often. Somehow he sort of stopped using it so I just kept doing it, and boom – it was my boat.
#101670, no name.
Yup: at the time, they’d make over 100,000 Lasers. That was in the early 1980’s; now that the boat has been active in the Olympics for a long time, I shudder to think what the hull count has gotten up to. But, I’ll always remember 101670.
My boat was stolen 5 or 6 years later. That was that. I filed a police report, and still almost remember the name of the female officer who took the complaint as I had an instant crush on her (Jimenez or Rodriguez; probably former as I new a Rodriguez or two from HS & college so might have them crossed up). But the sail number remains!
I started sailing and racing Lasers again two years ago at Sebago Canoe Club in Canarsie (sailing dinghies abound in addition to paddle craft). I added Sunfish and a Vanguard 15 (which is like a big Laser with a jib.) Maybe I’ll take a club sail with minimal or no numbers on it and resurrect mine. I’ll be easy to ID when called over early or rounding a mark the wrong way.
Old habits die hard…
In that pic: I’ve posted it before, and will prolly post again. Me helming a Vanguard 15 with a client/friend crewing. It was Paolo’s first time ever in a sailing dinghy. He went from scared shitless to shit-eatin grinnin! Behind is Jon, also a client/friend, in a Sunfish. Sebago Cup (distance race in Jamaica Bay), September ‘23. Chris Bickford, photo.
We have a unique ownership opportunity for anyone who wants to learn how to sail and maintain a small racer/cruiser sailboat. It’s a Tartan Ten.
Our host facility for the last few seasons, Miramar Yacht Club in Sheepshead Bay, has a small fleet of boats that members who don’t own their own can pay an upcharge to use. One of them is a Tartan Ten. We’ve been using it the last two season for Basic Cruising courses.
Here’s a VIDEO CLIP of her from a course! (Still grab below is static, sorry for WordPress glitch. Use that text link.)
In that clip: happy campers in Start Cruising (ASA 103, Basic Coastal Cruising). Labor Day Weekend, 2024.
The Club has decided it’s not a good fit for their fleet; they prefer to focus on smaller daysailers, especially the Ensign class that’s so popular here (over 20 in their fleet alone!). The Tartan is ten meters, with an inboard engine. They can’t haul it out on the premises, unlike the smaller boaters, which makes it more complicated and expensive to maintain in comparison. So, it has to go.
The boat is free! Of course, free usually costs something. In this case, the mooring will probably cost something to buy, and the boat does need some work and money put into it. Having said that, it’s useable as is, with good sails, and repowered recently with a new diesel engine (the biggest ticket item to check off the list). The Sailing Center had very fun and productive times on board for Basic Coastal Cruising and the occasional spontaneous joy ride.
The real value for a potential new owner is the community. Anyone who takes over ownership, and also keeps it where it is, enjoys the resources of both the Club and the School for advice, help with maintenance, people to sail with, and potential cost savings.
Miramar members really enjoy helping each other out with maintenance and repairs. Example: one of the Bridge officers, Dexter, upgraded from an O’Day 23 (now owned by a new member who took a private lesson from the School to get acquainted with her). He wound up with a Moody 34. The well-known name turned out to be prescient; the engine started giving him grief and one day he was towed back in. He decided to repower. He bought a brand new Beta diesel (excellent re-powering brand). He removed the old engine and installed the new one, adjusted everything, and the mood changed! This was all done in-house with members of the Club.
Steve from the school (yours truly) sees everything. “It is known.” He frequently spots things that become out of whack on boats in the anchorage. Whether the boat is just low in the water from rain or a leak, or a sail is starting to come loose, or a halyard disconnected, or a mooring line in bad shape, Steve will probably see it before anyone else. That applies to the Tartan as well, especially if there’s a partnership with school.
The school has often partnered with private boat owners, offering lower ownership costs and oversight on the boat in exchange for limited use of it. We can offer lower insurance costs for the boat, as we have a commercial multi-boat policy. We can insure your boat for both of us for much less than you could on your own. And, the school is always available for advice on maintenance and repairs (as are many members at Miramar).
You don’t need to remove your boat in the winter. While many people do, you can leave it on the mooring all winter. This is a huge cost savings; winter storage is large chunk of ownership costs, and it shortens your season somewhat. (Of course, most owners will need or want to haul their boat on occasion, but at Miramar, it can be the exception rather than the rule.)
So, what about the boat?
The Tartan Ten was conceived as a large one-design racing class. Very distinctive with high freeboard and a flat top, the design survived the decades, and is still popular. Like the Ensign we teach beginners on, it made it into the American Sailboat Hall of Fame. (It’s now defunct, but it was meaningful and relevant while it existed, with inductees chosen by the editors of a group of prominent sailing periodicals.)
Here’s a link to our Fleet page for extra reference, with a stock shot of a Tartan Ten and a blueprint image of the design.
How does it move? How does it handle?
It’s fast as fuck – straight up. It’s also super maneuverable; foot per foot/pound per pound, it’s the second most maneuverable keelboat we’ve ever been on. (The Pearson 31 with standard keel was the only one more so, and it was arguably too maneuverable, getting squirrelly in tight turns under power.)
It’s a true joy to sail, steer and turn. And, it has a tiller! Wheels are the norm at this size, but this was designed for finesse and racing, and back when many designs of this size still had tillers.
In this clip: some of my friends from Sebago (where I race dinghies). I took them out for a November sail, 2023. We poked our nose out past Breezy Point so we could say were in the Atlantic. Then, lunch. They went on to do some dinghy sailing that afternoon! Busy women. See the clip!
What’s it like inside? It had the nickname Spartan Tartan back in the day, but when I first got in one two years ago (this very one), I thought they’d oversold that nickname a bit. True, it has no private individual cabins with doors, etc, but there are five different places in the boat people could potentially lay out and sleep (berths) with the forward V berth being a double.
Overall condition? Rough around the edges, but safe and functional. It needs cleaning, and some repairs. Some people might want to do a few upgrades. The boat doesn’t leak, which is huge. The rate of water accumulating in the bilge is so slow it’s almost indiscernible. (Almost all boats eventually wind up taking water; this one’s so slow it’s irrelevant.)
This boat is highly appropriate for day sailing and occasional overnighting. It could be set up for longer cruises, but at that point, most sailors would probably be better served looking for a different design. However, if you’re into performance and speed, and don’t mind needing to reef earlier and missing out on more creature comforts, it could be the call for you.
As this was going to press, so to speak, the Club sent out an eblast to the general membership offering the boat for free. Of course, that was right after I reached out and confirmed that they still owned the boat and let them know I’d send something out to the School community about it. So, while I don’t think there’s going to be a stampede to the docks for a tour, “it’s on.”
Anyone interested in the boat should feel free to contact me directly about it. I can answer questions and arrange a visit to the boat, including a ride under power at minimum and, if weather works, a sail!
Missed the boat this season? You can book NOW to learn how to sail a boat next spring or summer.
We’ve posted the 2025 learn-to-sail schedules, and earlier than we ever have. Why? Demand exceeds our supply, and the early-season schedules fill up early. How early? Now. Fall of and early winter (think January) see all the early choices taken for the coming season. So, if you can book now, or simply prefer to plan well in advance, now’s the time.
In that pic: practice makes perfect! Post-course practice sail, Start Sailing (ASA 101/102), October ‘24. They’re out under my supervision; I’m in our Carolina skiff chillaxin and coaching. Both boats have radios. They did their 3-day course and I’ve now cut the proverbial cord. Rockaway Inlet, with wide-open Raritan Bay in the background and Breezy Point out of sight to the left, which is the only thing separating them from the Atlantic. And whales.
For the past few years, we’ve posted what I call a “skeleton” schedule in the fall for the upcoming season. This means a basic assortment of schedules without cramming too much in. We flesh it out as the season approaches, and then progresses, based mostly on demand and instructor availability. Anything we’re contemplating last-minute is strictly based on forecasts and any gut intuition on how the weather will play out. So, even if we have an instructor available to set up a custom schedule at the last minute, if the weather looks like a losing proposition, we hold off.
Weather & whether… that’s always the question. And, that’s why we structure our scheduling with some gaps to deal with the occasional makegood required when we lose too much time to weather. Everyone’s different, but a certain minimum number of days and hours works well across the board. Most schools schedule only 2 days for learn to sail courses, and have 4 students in the boat. That’s never going to work. Most students in those programs are NOT ready to skipper the boat – they’ve only gotten a solid introduction to the sport. They almost always need more time.
Our learn to sail course, Start Sailing, is typically 3 full days with each day spent mostly sailing. There’s very little shoreside theory – just enough to explain how the sailing skills we’re about to practice work. So, day one has a session of about 45’ to an hour. Day 2? Less. Day 3? Usually none! Each day typically has two breaks: lunch, and a mid-sail break in the afternoon for extra stopping practice at the mooring and also for bathrooms and a mental time out. Sometimes there’s a third break, most often on days with all sailing and zero theory.
“I don’t have your brains if I have your bladders.”
– wise clinician at a snowboard instructor clinic years ago when asking if candidates (including this author) were good, needed a break, etc, to entice anyone to speak up and ask for one.
A few times each season, we have some variations on that 3-day theme:
2-day accelerated schedule for people with significant prior experience. This can be a refresher, or to earn the new ASA 102. It’s also good for people who did a 2-day program at other schools and have suffered ever since.
A weeknights schedule at the height of daylight savings. This is 4, sometimes 5, shorter sessions starting in the mid to late afternoon (as early as all students can arrive, but never later than 5pm).
We have some 2-day options scheduled already for 2025. The weeknights schedules are only added based on demand. You can ask us about that now, or in the spring. We can create one now, with the caveat being weather: you’d need to have flexibility to reschedule one or more sessions last minute based on that weather.
In that pic: The Dead Sea? No. It’s an unusually calm afternoon on nearby Jamaica Bay. Every area, even if generally windy, has some calmer sessions. See the dark band in the background, just below the island? That’s wind. We were racing Sunfish dinghies from Sebago Canoe Club and the wind went from shifty but do-able to light and variable. Isis is sprawled out conserving energy until the Race Committee decides what’s up. Me? I left. Figured I’d had a fun day with 4 races so far including one bullet and one near miss (1st and 2nd place) and it was a long sail back. Late October, 2024.
Also, we assign only three students to each boat, unless it’s a private group of four signing up together (and they’re told that the gen-pop maximum is 3 for perspective). With 3, everyone progresses quicker. With groups of 4, we sometimes need to add an additional half day or so to round things out.
If you can’t plan this early, don’t fret. We do add additional schedules as the season progresses. Also, while there’s an advantage in starting early because you have more season to sail after learning, some of the best sailing is in the middle to late summer. That’s because of the “sea-breeze” phenomenon. What’s that?
It’s when coastal areas get wind from the ocean in the afternoon. Details vary from place to place, and patterns have changed over many decades, but it’s like this…
Every day, as the sun gets higher, it heats up land masses more and more. Eventually, the land’s ability to absorb more radiation maxes out, and the heat rises as the sun keeps beating down on the land. When the hot air rises, something must take its place. Cooler air, which tends to drop instead of rise, comes in from the ocean.
It happens very suddenly and quickly; in a few minutes, one can see the dark band of wind on the water moving from the direction of the ocean toward your boat. It’s not like a line squall and thunderstorm – not THAT abrupt. But, it does roll in quickly. And, it’s often strong: upper teens to low 20-knot range is common. Fun! Cool breeze on a hot day – what’s not to love? Wind is good for sailing. The opposite? Not so much.
While a solid sea breeze can be a little much for some beginners, it’s predictable and stable. Once it kicks in, it’s fairly steady in strength and direction. That makes it easy to adjust to it. Big breeze? Small sails. If we were using a full mainsail before the sea breeze arrived, we usually “reef” it at that point. Reefing is making a sail temporarily smaller so it doesn’t lever the boat over, or heel it, too much. Some heeling is good. We deal with the heel by using smaller sails.
In that pic: dealing with the heeling. Small jib up front; reefed mainsail partially visible (the baggy part in the upper left corner). Sitting on the high side; getting a little spray. Breezy Point visible in the background. Boat is heading east in Rockaway Inlet, just outside of Sheepshead Bay. October 2024; private course for a couple from City Island (where we used to have the school).
Anyway, as well as supplying some flavor of what learning to sail can be like, this was to illustrate that we don’t have summer doldrums where we sail. Unlike the “Dead Sea” as sailors from our new are like to call Long Island Sound, we have wind most of the time down in Sheepshead Bay and surrounding areas. We’re directly across Rockaway Inlet from Breezy Point, which we see from the windows of our host facility, Miramar Yacht Club. It’s called Breezy Point for a reason. (It’s also called The Irish Riviera, but that’s for a potential future Rant…)
The net-net: book a schedule now if you can. You can always change it with some advance notice (4 weeks; sometimes less or even last minute if there’s demand for your original schedule). And, regardless of when you wind up learning with us, if weather gets in the way, we don’t just say “oh, well” like most other schools and certify you without you deserving it. We have you come back another time.
Here’s a link to our schedule/buy page to look at and, if you like pull the trigger on booking for spring or summer of ‘25…
I apparently figured out how to sail a Sunfish well enough, and had a similar last regatta of the season compared to last year’s send-off.
Just about a year ago, I’d missed the entire Fall Series of racing at Sebago Canoe Club, where I sail various racing dinghies either for sheer fun or for sport. So had everyone else; the series had basically not been run due to a string a terrible weather weekends. So, the last day of racing was the only day. I showed up. I wrote about that in a prior Blog Rant.
In that pic: yours truly, a year ago, sailing a Sunfish for the first time in a racing regatta. Sebago Fall Series, Jamaica Bay, Brooklyn.
This year, I missed all the days except the last, but at least this year, others got to sail and have a meaningful series. I almost didn’t show up so as not to interfere with anyone who’d “qualified” for the final standings. But, that’s not the etiquette. Everyone wants everyone to come out and sail. So I did.
Again, it was all Sunfish racing. I let the racers know in advance that I wanted to AVOID taking one of the better boats and leave them for anyone who had qualified (as I certainly wasn’t, showing up only once and doing no volunteer stint on Race Committee or anything). I was told to not worry about it.
So, I didn’t. I showed up, and a number of boats were already rigging up. I went up to one of the Club’s Sunfish, confirmed it was a Club boat and not private, said, “this looks good,” and rigged it up. I didn’t worry about which sail and foils I took (daggerboard and rudder). As long as I had all the parts, I was good to go. I would have to sail the boat well.
In that pic: Isis on the left, with Max and his newly acquired very young Sunfish. It was from the Sunfish World’s in Lago di Garda, Italia. When it came up for sale, I badly wanted it – but realized I just didn’t need it. Max is really enjoying it. And, as great as the boat is, it’s only the icing on the cake of his dominance of the Sunfish fleet at Sebago lately. He’s just sailing well.
We had light winds, but enough to sail, and sometimes enough to require hiking out to hold the boat down flat. (At least for a Hobbit like me at around 130 pounds soaking wet.) Enough at first, anyway. More on that later.
My plan was to focus intently on the start, get a good one, and be flexible to sail in relation to the wind without worrying about my competitors blocking my choice. Just as with the first race a year ago, I did a good job. Details were different. Last year, I was right on the line with no competition in my way. This time, several competitors were camped out on the line awaiting the final seconds to accelerate and cross it. At first, I was going to camp to the right of them, let them start to turn away from the wind to accelerate, and then jump in between them and the mark. Risky. They could block me out.
Instead, I just sailed fast below them, passed the pack, and rounded up to the line with full speed and crossed just at or after the horn. The pack I passed? Cluster-fucked. They had no speed and trouble keeping out of each others way. I rounded the top mark first, and was leading approaching the bottom. But, then there was Max.
Max is a great guy and one of the better sailors in the fleet. He was leading the fall series, and it didn’t hurt that he had his own boat that was in great shape. “It’s gotta be the boat” said no one ever here. It’s how you sail it. It doesn’t make much difference in speed. Max had a slight edge in speed compared to me, but if I got a better wind shift, or tacked across the wind more efficiently, that would more than offset the nicer boat.
Max was slowly catching up to me the whole way down to the bottom mark, and he was on the verge of getting an “inside overlap” as we got near the zone: the 3-boat length circle that was the deadline to be overlapped and get “mark room.” I wasn’t sure, but it looked like he was barely overlapped consistently for about 10 solid seconds as we approached what I thought we get the circle. I asked him if he thought he had it; he said yes.
It was for me to decide; any doubt would be in my favor. I thought he had it. “You got it. You round first.” He did, and that put him in first fair and square. I wasn’t able to edge him out on the last leg. Max won the first race and I came in second out of 6 boats on the line that day.
Next race? I won. I might have been second and then caught up to the boat in the lead; I can’t remember. But I won fair and square.
My boat speed was excellent. Only Max was faster, and only slightly. But, he was sailing better overall compared to me. No apparent mistakes; solid starts in every race. I was more all over the place, my yo-yo M.O.
But it was fun! Until it wasn’t. The wind got so light and flukey that no one could really figure it out. It was frustrating and we had delays in between the last few races while the Race Committee tried to sort it and make a sensible plan.
In that pic: less work to lay out than keep ones balance sitting and bobbing with the occasional powerboat wake. When it’s that calm, it’s not sailable.
At one point, the wind backed (shifted counter clockwise) from NNW to West. Good start: it was supposed to become SW and, while it was supposed to be light, it would probably pick up slightly at first before dying out. Later, in between the last two races, I saw it coming from the SW and let them know. Woo-hoo! But, it never really arrived. It petered out before it reached us.
Bad sign. Now, it was light and variable with no signs of pending improvement. I decided to bail while they waited. It was going to be a long enough ride in, and I was getting tired.
They did get one last race in, but it was super short in length. Then, they got towed in by the committee boat!
Not starting a race comes with a penalty in the scoring: you’re scored “fleet plus one.” That means you get last place plus one more point. It’s a low-point scoring system: lowest overall score for the day wins. 1st place? Only one point. Last today? 7. I scored 2, 1 4, 5, 7. if I’d sailed the last race and averaged my results for 3rd, I would have come in 3rd for the day. Had I gotten 1st or 2nd, I would have been 2nd for the day. No way I could have beaten out Max, with 3 bullets (first place). Of course, if I’d gotten 4th or lower, best I could have done was 3-way tie for 3rd and I might have been last anyway.
Sometimes, a regatta is won not by winning even a single race, but by sailing consistently “good enough” without any really bad scores. I need more of that to score better on any given day, especially as Sebago seems to prefer not to score with a throw-out (worst finish is deleted and others are averaged to produce final score.) But, I almost prefer the occasional clean victory in a single race which feels so conclusive, I don’t care if I wind up on the proverbial podium.
In that pic: Isis, solid sailor from Sebago, at last year’s Fall Series. She raced in the Sunfish North Americans this summer in snotty conditions on the Great South Bay.
Learning how to sail a boat usually winds down in summer, but fall is the best kept secret. This fall is surprisingly mild. Let’s get out!
In that pic: two recent graduates of our Start Sailing course (ASA 101, Basic Keelboat) enjoying near bare-arm barometer in the fall. October 2024.
So, what were those conundrums? The summer itself. It saw relatively light winds with a few key exceptions. We did get the afternoon sea breezes, but they were less frequent and not as strong. (Strong is a very relative, subjective thing. One sailor’s boredom is another’s Victory at Sea.) It was a good weather season; nothing spectacularly good or bad. It was very productive in general with a few early/mid summer glitches (excessive winds).
While our regular schedule posted for the 2024 season shows nothing left, we’re not done. We always hold some time in reserve for makegoods and practice sails. We have enough time – and good weather – to do some private lessons on top of that. Those can be for individuals or small groups.
Complete beginners who want to get a flavor of sailing before it’s all over can come on out. Already a sailor, but rusty, or have some goal in mind to get over the line with? Even better.
The 10-day forecast as of this writing sees some seasonally reasonable overnight lows (meaning a bit chilly). But, the daytime highs are unseasonably mild. While I’m excited for the upcoming snow sports season (Wolf Creek is open in CO already for earlybirds), I’ll take this pleasant fall sailing while we can get it. Who knows… I might even race in the Sebago Fall Series on a Sunfish. Time to dust off my wet suit…
In that pic: yours truly (Director & Dockmaster, Steve Card) leading the fleet in a Sunfish regatta. I’ve got the sporty blue/yellow sail, which turned out to be a ‘practice’ sail versus a racing cut. It was good enough to keep me in front of the fleet in that race, and have competitive speed throughout the day. Sebago Fall Series, October 2023.
Learn to sail, ASA 101 + 102, began on March 16 and 17, the earliest we started teaching people how to sail a boat.
We didn’t plan it that way. Hard to plan at all with early-season weather. But, sailing happened this past weekend. We got a solid full day on Saturday, and half a day of sailing on Sunday before the light winds turned very quickly (as predicted) into Victory at Sea conditions, as we say. Students got a taste of strong, fast gusts and learned that while it can be stressful when learning, the boat didn’t care and the instructor had a few whoo-HOO moments!
Why then didn’t we plan it? The early shoulder season is tempting, but way too unpredictable and volatile. My father’s school always started in April. It was ‘spicy’ sometimes. When I started my own school decades later, I began courses in mid April. It worked… until it didn’t. Too many weather delays.
So, I switched it around. We would start with advanced courses in April, and learn to sail in early May. The first season I tried, it, we lost the first scheduled weekend of Bareboat Cruising to a storm. It was forecast to blow stink and chuck buckets on the first day, and simply be way to windy the second. I headed up to Vermont on Thursday night and was snowboarding a foot of powder the next morning at Killington instead. The predicted conditions down in the Sound prevailed. No one sailed.
IN THAT PIC: happy camper, as they all seem to be. Day One of the first course of the season.
The next season, we scheduled more conservatively. Nothing in April. Learn-to-sail began in early May. For Memorial Day Weekend, weather isn’t always perfect but it’s traditionally reliable for classes. So, we scheduled three of them: two boats of students for 101 / learn-to-sail, and one for Bareboat Cruising (3rd level, 104, and don’t get me started on that math but you may do so yourself in this Blog Rant).
How did that work out? The first two days were unsailable due to a nasty nor’easter, something we’d never experienced that late in the spring. We got one day in out of three. That set off complications with rescheduling, as the rest of the late spring/early summer was pretty shitty as well. Welcome to climate change!
So it goes…
Kurt Vonnegut
So, what made me think it was even a remotely good idea to start classes in MARCH!?
We’ve occasionally done a private lesson, usually for a group of 2 or 3 students coming together, in the ‘pre-season.’ It’s always a case by case, last-minute thing. In this case, we’d had a mild winter in the northeast. Nothing had changed. One couple, plus several different individuals, were interested in starting in March/April for various reasons. The couple is going on a private Virgin Islands (BVI) trip with us in late April, and another man needed to knock out his 101 if he were to join a relative doing a 103 course in May in another region.
Everyone understood there were no promises about when we’d complete the course if we started – only that we would complete it. Everyone was free last weekend. The weather looked reasonable, if not great, for beginning. All three had some exposure to sailing, and one was quite experienced and mostly bringing his wife up to speed with him so they could do 103 together with us in BVI.
And so, a schedule was born.
IN THAT PIC: Ensign sloops lined up waiting to splash at Miramar Yacht Club, our host facility. This is the boat we teach 101 & 102 on.
Both days were beautiful with partially cloudy skies and plenty of sun. It was cool out, getting chilly on Saturday afternoon, but that was due to a summer phenomenon: the afternoon sea breeze! Sunday was almost too light to sail at first, but by the time we got sorted and on the boat, it was enough to sail and practice meaningfully. As it was forecast to intensify rapidly at some point, we kept an eye on the updates and stayed close as it got closer to ‘oh, no!’ time. That happened when we were already just about in, and only had to negotiate a few moored boats en route to our own mooring.
They got to experience some strong, wicked-fast gusts that they would have had no business being out in without an instructor (and without the first day’s training). They had both, so they got to try it out. I had to sail the boat onto the mooring, but they got to fool around with steering and sail trim before that.
Two days with good sailing in March, even though one was only half, was a great start. Next weekend is out due to another nor’easter! Who knows what the following will bring, but there’s the first half of April and the weekdays in between it all to finish up. And then it’s off to the races. Or cruises. But the foundation will have been laid.
IN THAT PIC: copy-camper from same day (and family).
