Last week Tommy and I were fortunate enough to go to Mystic, Conn. He was a crewmember on a sailing race from Stonington, Conn., to Boothbay Harbor, Maine.
Tommy loves to sail. I do not. I spent two summers as a boat passenger years ago. I went on a cruise ship, a huge sailboat, smaller sailboats and ferries, and I determined that boats and I don’t get along. Actually, anything with motion and I don’t get along very well. I can sit in a car and see the car next to me moving in reverse and get sick. Thus sailing has no appeal for me.
Because Tommy loves it so much, I gave it the good old college try. But each trip became subsequently more unpleasant than the last. He’d encourage me by saying, “The next one is a BIG boat.” Big boats were no better.
The biggest one was a cruise ship with friends from Miami to the Caribbean. I spent the whole first day on the floor of our cabin, deathly seasick. I had decided that when we docked in Key West I would disembark alone and find transportation home, but that never happened. The captain announced that the seas were too rough to dock in Key West, so instead of spending the night there, the ship slowed down, ensuring it didn’t arrive too early at its next destination in Mexico.
That was the year we went on our first sailing cruise with our friend and former ‘Boro resident Tom Lane, our Mystic connection.
This was a cruise (not a race) from Portland, Maine to points North (in the vernacular, “down east”).
I made it as far as Boothbay Harbor on that one. The combination of strong undercurrents and high waves was so rough that even the saltiest, most seasoned sailors on the trip became ill. At least I was in good company.
Some say that being seasick is all in one’s mind. But my pseudo really sick mind finally decided life’s too short to be so miserable. And yes, I’ve tried the patch, and yes, I’ve taken the Dramamine for two days before, etc. I’ve tried it ALL. I must say that those devices that put the pressure on your wrist gave me the best relief.
Preparing a crew for four days at sea is no easy task. The boat must be in perfect working order with all safety equipment on board.
And then there's the matter of the shoes, right clothes, towels, water and food. I was shocked to see how much work it is. I told Tom's wife, Gail: “You take care of the boat and family ... I’ll take care of the house.” It took a village, so to speak.
Among the sailors were Tom Lane’s youngest child, Kady, a recent college graduate, two of his sons-in-law and two of his teenage grandchildren. Kady had sailed to Bermuda when she was in high school. All have attended “Safety at Sea” sailing classes and have sailed.
The weather in Connecticut has been as dry as it has here recently. But on Sunday, race day, we awoke to rumbling thunder, lightning and driving rain. It let up long enough for the crew to leave on time, but after a few hours at sea they experienced two of the worst storms any in the race had ever encountered. We knew it was terrible when Tom got word to us that they were okay.
The teenagers were petrified but took comfort in knowing they were in good hands.
Each racing boat was equipped with a transponder, so we could follow their journey on a Web site. Initially, their path looked like “drunken sailors.” We surmised they were steering INTO the storm. One boat dropped out on the first day and another on the second. Winning a race wasn’t as important at being safe at sea.
Tommy said that despite the storm, the seas were very calm.
They were so calm, in fact, that there was no wind. And a sailboat needs wind to get anywhere.
Safe on shore, we followed their speed, direction and position, and those of their competitors. Because they were far behind, we surmised that they were having a miserable trip. But we were wrong.
On Wednesday they had to pull out of the race, due to the lack of wind. Motoring 13 hours, they arrived at their destination in Boothbay Harbor at midnight. Navigating through the lobster pots of Maine is no easy task, especially in pitch dark with no moon. But six of us were on hand to greet them. They were happy, healthy, full of fun stories, glad to be home and ready to go again.
You all may have a chance to see Tom Lane's sailboat, Rally Point, one day. Gail says she's going to bury it with him at the Lane family cemetery on Manson Pike. It will, no doubt, take three days to dig the hole. But I know one salty sailor who will be in his own personal heaven.
•••
I had a call from a reader who said she enjoyed my article on the Farmer's Market and went for the first time this year. She enjoyed it immensely, but said the customers were rude and very inconsiderate of others in their attempts to get the first fresh tomatoes. My friend Pat also mentioned that little regard is given to parking in a logical manner.
Food for thought.
‘Til next week. |
Email
Print
Facebook
StumbleUpon
Google
Yahoo!