May 31: Evening after-rain sail

We sailed last night. I shut down work immediately after my final meeting of the day so my husband and I could get to the lake and squeeze in a sail while the weather was good. I wasn’t able to sail last weekend because of work, and I wanted a chance when the wind was right and the water was quiet.

We drove through a cloudburst to get to the water. My husband rolled down the window to pay the park and launch fee, and rain wet the interior while we waited for our receipt. The temperature dropped from 80°F to 63° during the squall. I was prepared to sail in the rain but wasn’t very excited about it. It would be cold and wet.

We sat in the empty parking lot with the radio on, listening to news and talking about our kids’ summer screen time. Raindrops spattered the windshield. Brian occasionally ran the wipers to clear the glass and see how hard the rain was coming down. Each clearing of the glass, we’d tilt our heads to look up the sky, searching for signs of blue.

After about ten minutes, he put on his rain coat, opened his car door, and got out to step the masts. As soon as they were up, the rain stopped. The breeze was calm but usable, and the sky was clear with white puffy clouds over refreshed, green mountains. I wore my new teal fleece and my swimsuit bottom, and I was comfortable.

The lake was entirely ours except for a mahogany Chris Craft power boat with red bottom paint and a red rear bench: two boats out that evening — ours and the Chris Craft — and both were wooden. That was quite a treat.

We were on the water about three hours, and Brian did most of the sailing the first half of that. He tried different methods for tacking to see how the boat best performed, and a slow tack gave the best results: jamming the rudder too fast tends to stall the little yawl.

I didn’t volunteer to skipper. I hadn’t taken the tiller at all this year, and I’m still nervous and new and don’t know what I’m doing, which makes me lack confidence and not want to try it. It was a perfect night for me to practice though: there was enough wind to sail without being squirrelly or dangerous in any way. There wasn’t even a chop on the water, just 2-3 inch ripples. At the same time, the wind wasn’t so light that we’d sit dead still, in irons on the lake all night.

I finally took the tiller about an hour in. I headed into the wind for a bit, then tacked to take us downwind in a straight run. It was quite easy. There were a couple of times the wind stalled, and the mainsail went slack because our forward motion was greater than the wind that pushed us from behind. I thought the mainsail wanted to jibe, and I got all worried, but it was just calm and it wouldn’t have hurt anything even on an accidental jibe.

My favorite part of the sail last night was the quiet of it. The wind was calm — a breeze more than a wind — so the plywood-thin wooden hull didn’t rattle and thump against chop. Instead it slurp, glurp, glipped. The wooden masts creaked, the tiller squeaked, wavelets splished against rockys bank that rose up into mountains, and the basin was silent of other human activity.

Beams of light shone through storm clouds onto mountains like rays from heaven. The breeze brought the sweet scents of flowers — maybe jasmine, or honeysuckle — and the sun’s low angle reflected a path of light on the water’s rippled surface. There’s an untranslatable Swedish word for the moon light trace:

Mangata (Swedish): the roadlike reflection of the moon on the water

(from Ella Frances Sanders’ Untranslatable Words From Other Cultures)

Further down the lake, when we were back at the ramp but not ready to stop sailing, I jibed intentionally, and correctly, just to stay on the water a little longer. We didn’t want to go further downwind and risk getting stranded trying to get back, so we sailed across the lake on a beam reach. I tacked again and come back on a close reach. Sailing close the wind is still hard for me, trimming the sail, holding the course, correcting appropriately instead of _over_correcting when the sail goes slack. It takes practice for this to become intuitive.

The two things I had the hardest time with and I want to watch for next time:

  • Knowing where the wind is coming from to know how to use it to get to where I want to go.
  • Harnessing the wind: knowing which point of sail to use and trimming the sail appropriately.