Sailing Experience: The Long Winded Answer
The one trophy I still just MUST WIN!
I’ve been giving out the 5 second answer to the question of “how much sailing experience do I have” over and over again at the Sailing Club I joined up at, and started sailing at a few weeks back. Somewhat justifiably so, as a new member, my experience, is open to question; and suspicion, as apparently, sailing prowess is something that some people tend to embellish. For the record, and as reference for those new friends at the club who wish to know a bit more about the crew member they may be hosting on this weekends 4:00pm sail; I submit:
The best place one can be is on the plane between the wind and the water. I consider myself to be a proficient if not accomplished sailor. I have been sailing for 35 years now; 35 years ago being the first time I was “officially” tossed the tiller and left to my own devises to “make the boat go” at the age of nine. I was most likely first on a sailboat quite a bit earlier considering that, being on the boat was something my father quite enjoyed.
My father taught himself how to sail when he was around 10 or 11 during the summers he spent at my grandfather’s cottage in Northern Ontario. He caught the bug which subsequently infected his entire family for two generations. This infection will be discussed at greater length later in this submission.
I was enrolled in sailing school at aged 10. I will admit to not really liking it all that much at first; but it did afford me the opportunity to make a few life long friends… The next year I enticed a few non-sailing friends to enroll, which most likely enhanced the likelihood, I’d stick with it. I did stick with it advancing through the CYA Sailing School Program from White Sail, basic to Bronze Sail, advanced and Silver Sail, racing over the next four years. I lived on water from April to October each year; and in the water the months between taking swimming classes in the winter.
Somewhere around my 14th/15th Birthday, I became a CYA certified sailing instructor and did a two year stint as the Junior Instructor at my club. By my 16th Birthday I became the Head Instructor; teaching both kids during the day, and adults in the evenings that weren’t spent racing…
My 16th birthday also allowed that I get a driver’s license; which expanded the schedule from club racing and the odd “parent chaperoned” out of town regattas to a full blown schedule of racing every danged weekend there was a regatta within 300 miles. I had bought a Laser with my previous years earnings; me and my cousin John [who factors in continuously from this point forward] and who was now MY junior instructor would load the Lasers onto the trailer each weekend; sail, drink buckets of under-aged beers, camp out and chase young female sailing schooler gals from club to clubs dotting the Great Lakes, St. Lawrence Waterways from Hamilton to Brockville and on up the Rideu Canal into Ottawa. We spent two glorious summers as notorious sailing bums…
And, we certainly were bums. No fancy get up or gear. We’d arrive in a broken down old Nissan pickup truck, two Lasers on the trailer, one on the roof… A box full of rapidly thawing meat; some cereal and a couple of cases of beer I’d managed to buy primarily as I had already grown to a gangly 6 ft 2 in height; AND the guy at the beer store was friends with my dad… We’d essentially, puke our gear, tent, boats, sweats, wets into a makeshift trailer park-like campsite onto the lawn of some of the toniest Yachting Clubs in Ontario. These days, I’m not proud to say that on the occasion we needed to do a little ‘between’ races driving on Saturday nights… the first year I’d hand off the keys to John, who being 15 the first year round; we figured wasn’t subject to DWI prosecution. It got even better the second year, as although John had gotten his drivers license that fall, he’d had it revoked for, indeed, DWI prior arriving to teach that next year; our logic became, that he couldn’t suffer two DWI prosecutions simultaneously… We weren’t that bright when it came to certain behavior; but eh, it worked out just fine AND we didn’t, thank goodness KILL anyone; we did almost kill ourselves a few times, but eh, what kid didn’t?
Those summers sadly came to a close after the second year; John went off to become Head Instructor at his club; I went off to Toronto. I came back in the summer to teach the first two years, but eventually… I slowly sank into to horrors of the “lean” sailing years. Oh, I’d head home for a Soling Regatta on a borrowed Soling here; a club race on my dads boat there… Its horrible to say this, but I made a point of sailing at least once ONCE!?! each year… [I usually got more than that in, and those Soling regattas where a frikin’ blast; sailing by the seat of my pants, with my father!].
On about 14 years ago; the infection I mentioned earlier surfaced after years of dormancy on the occasion of my father’s 60th Birthday. Over the years at family gatherings, usually spurred on by semi-druken chest pounding by John and I trying to relive our competitive past; we’d challenge each other to a match race… Of course, every one of each of our 12 brothers and sisters, having had been in sailing school; wanted in… And on a hazy hot and muggy hungover drunken Sunday morning, the day after we celebrated my dad’s 60th. The six of us, keen enough to drag ourselves the ten miles to the club, got out sailed three rabbit start races… John, won, my wife at the time built a trophy which we handed out that Thanksgiving, thus starting a family tradition that has seen continuous action since that hot and muggy hungover GREAT day of sailing… There are 50+ names on the trophy; my Dad’s brother’s boys from England, who have the bug are on there as are the various lovers, wives and husbands; and most importantly the names of 10 grandchildren of John and mines fathers and mothers.
Have I mentioned that enjoy sailing; and that this enjoyment comes quite naturally?
Although, racing is a passion. I’d have to admit that anytime spent afloat is: ‘good time spent’. During the lean years; my idea of the perfect vacation was to ’steal’ my dads boat for a week or two, after Labor Day, after all the pleasure boaters finished their summer sailing and left the entire Lake Ontario and St Lawrence to me and my wife, or whatever friend might want to sail these great waters, eat great food in the chilly night air; kick the ice off the hatches in the morning; perk a pot of coffee and head off for another early-fall blustery fresh aired out sail!
Last year I was afforded the opportunity to race ferociously with that fella who factors into my sailing history quite consistently. John has bought himself a Shark, is helping to build out the fleet at his club, which is now home to 10 Sharks; he campaigns the boat from Hamilton to Brockville and on up the Rideu Canal to Ottawa. He chases the hottie-deck-chicks and cougars [in his mind]… He calls his boat “The Trailer Park Bouys” and arriving in his beat up old van at some of the toniest clubs in Southern Ontario with his rag-tangled crew; these days his twin and older brother… His campsites at the week long World Championships are Class lore!
I had a great year sailing with cousin John last year… This year; I’ll get as much or more sailing in, eventually my new pals at the new club may agree, that I’m a proficient, if not an accomplished sailor.
They’ll definitely get to know just how infected I am!
