NEWS & RECORD
Copyright (c) 2001, Greensboro News & Record, Inc.
Tuesday, August 7,
2001
NOVICE LEARNS THE CANVAS CAN DO MIRACLES
GREENSBORO -- Sailing shivers my timbers.
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For as long as I can remember, sailboats have made me nervous, especially when they tip, or "heel."
And then there's Bambi.
Twenty years ago, I spent a week at camp on Catalina Island off the California coast. As campers sailed across the water, I repeatedly ran ashore. I was terrified because I had no idea of how to control the boat. And then humiliation hit as Bambi, the camp counselor, scolded me in front of my peers.
Those fears came back during a recent trip to the Caribbean. I nearly keeled over in fright when the 50-foot sailboat we were riding in hit a squall line. The wind tipped the boat so much that water rushed in over the low side.
As I clung to my seat, tears welled in my eyes. I was convinced I would slide down the deck and get dumped into the water with the sharks.
We survived the 10-minute thunderstorm. But I realized I needed to overcome my anxiety.
A friend suggested a sailing class in Greensboro taught by volunteers with the Lake Townsend Yacht Club. The eight-day class teaches people to sail three types of city-owned rental boats: an Aqua Finn, a Pico and a Capri.
I hoped that if I understood the principles behind sailing, if I learned how the wind pushes and pulls the sail to make the boat move, my emotions would stop running overboard.
Granted, the high seas of Lake Townsend are not the stuff of pirate lore, but they were a start.
The first class was a breeze. We watched a video on boat safety and met our instructors: Steve Raper and Chip Cromartie. Raper took this sailing class in 1984 and has been sailing on the lake ever since. Cromartie took this class last year.
The class met at the lake the second day for the capsize test.
One at a time, my classmates and I sat in a 14-foot Aqua Finn as Raper pushed the boat away from the dock.
I stared nervously from underneath the sail as the dock floated out of reach. Then, as instructed, I stood up, grabbed the mast which caused the boat to tip. Righting the boat, it turned out, was relatively easy, too. I swam around to the other side and pushed down on the daggerboard, a piece of wood jutting out of the bottom of the hull.
"Success!" I thought as the mast rose out of the water. But then I realized I had to somehow get back in.
I took a deep breath and pulled my chest out of the water. Then, I leaned over the side and plopped into the boat, face first.
My kind classmates applauded as Raper reeled me and the Aqua Finn in.
The next day we returned to land to learn about "points of sail," or which direction to steer the boat depending on the direction of the wind. We also learned to talk like a sailor, using four-letter words such as port, beam and jibe.
By Thursday, my nerves were tighter than a figure-eight knot. No more videos, no more classroom discussion. It was time to set sail. Just me and the wind and a tippy 14-foot boat that sat awfully low in the water.
The wind, which was light but fickle, as Raper called it, was manageable and encouraging.
I felt exhilarated as I sailed about the lake. I turned the tiller, which controls the rudder, and the Aqua Finn went where I wanted it to go. And I somewhat understood how the wind was hitting the sail, thanks to a something called a "telltale."
Telltales can be made with a variety of materials, such as feathers or string. They blow with the wind and show the airflow over the sail. Raper used a strand of tape from a George Harrison eight track, which he tied to the boom, a horizontal bar that supports the mainsail.
I learned to love that telltale.
On Friday, we repeated what we practiced on Thursday, and my confidence grew.
But Saturday morning, I nearly fell victim to The Perfect Storm.
Winds howled across the lake at speeds of up to 12 knots - about 14 miles per hour. Gusts reached 15 knots. I quickly learned what would become my favorite move -- letting go of the rope (or main sheet, in sailor speak) so the sails become loose. That slows the boat.
My tacks and jibes -- that's when you turn -- were anything but graceful. I spent much of the time crouched in the center of the boat, ready to jump quickly to either side should a gust send my mainsail swooshing to the opposite side.
After watching classmates capsize, I was relieved when Raper called for us to head to shore.
But docking proved to be harder than sailing.
Boats, unfortunately, don't come with brakes. Sailors are supposed to use the wind's power to slow them down.
But the wind controlled me.
I barreled into the pier, sideswiping a boat that had pulled up alongside the dock. I turned the tiller and my boat slammed into the landing like the Titanic hitting an iceberg.
I could almost hear Bambi say "Not again."
Uninjured, I was ecstatic I made it back to shore.
Monday morning, the second-to-last day, I was ready to bid bon voyage to the tidal waves of Lake Townsend.
At work, co-workers reveled in my anxiety, making fun of me as I stared out the window.
"Look, there's wind. Lots of it. Big gusts," I said, pointing to softly swaying leaves on the pin oak trees. Co-workers rolled their eyes.
I swore my computer tilted to the right and then swayed to the left.
But I showed up for the lesson, afraid of the ridicule I'd have to endure from my smart alecky co-workers if I chickened out.
That night I sailed a Capri 14.2, which has two sails, a mainsail and a jib. A brave classmate, Kris Barnhardt, volunteered to set sail with me. We made a successful team, only my wish for the winds to die came true. Too much so. The lake looked like a scene from Dead Calm. We had to paddle back to shore.
On the final day, Raper urged the class to not worry about all the new information.
"There's a lot to learn and it's kinda overwhelming," Raper told us. "But when you go out on the lake you'll find you have an 'ah-ha' moment. You'll go, 'Ah ha, now I understand.'"
And Raper was right. Each day, I understood more. My fears lessened. And I started to crave wind -- somewhat.
Bambi would be proud.
Contact Kerry Hall at 373-7061 or khall@news-record.com