“Flyin’s easy. It’s landing that’s a problem.” Apparently that applies to more than airborne ships.
“Selkie” was ready to sail. “Selkie” is the name of the sailboat my guy has been renovating for more than five years. I learned from the get-go that in order to sail one must first motor. My Captain expertly set the sails and arranged a bunch of ropes and cranked her up with one push of a button. It sounded great.
He was a little worried about getting out in the river since our boat is surrounded by other boats. There is only a narrow window of space to get out of our spot at the dock, so our leave-taking had the potential for being tricky.
But it was slack tide, that sweet time when the tide is neither going out nor coming in. He steered the sailboat from its slip. No problem – other than the fact that it was hot as a swamp in July. Oh wait. We live in a swamp. And it is July. So it was normal for midsummer in Charleston. I thought I was gonna die.
Anyway we puttered out into the Wando. Motorboats were zizzing around all over the place, but not “Selkie.” She was straight ahead, steady as she goes. And then my guy cut the motor off and hoisted the sails.
Sadly, it was the only day of the year in which there was not a breath of air.
Hot and still.
“This is good,” I said cheerfully, “It will give us an opportunity to get used to how she handles in a non-threatening environment.”
He agreed, but I could see he was looking for wind.
About then a little breeze picked up and the sails filled and we lurched forward for a good few minutes. I could tell the boat, despite her considerable age, handled really well. (I like to think she and I have at least something in common.)
Anyway, it was touch and go as far as the wind and after several hours of maneuvering back and forth between the shores of the Wando, we headed back to the dock.
It was about 4 p.m. and the heat was oppressive to say the least. And as we entered the creek where the marina is, the heat worsened. I pulled a bottle of cold water from the cooler and drank half and dumped the rest on my head.
But the day had been successful and we would go home pleased with ourselves.
My Captain said we would have to back into the slip, so he took a little time to practice backing the boat up. It seemed to go fine so he motored us on over to the area where our empty spot sat beckoning to us. Standing on the dock was another boat owner, Brian. He would help us get into place.
And then it got a little weird.
As soon as we began backing up, the tide, now going out, grabbed hold of our 30-foot boat. We were possessed and no power seemed to make a difference. Brian was shouting instructions, then we saw him running down the dock and scrambling to board the boat that now seemed in our boat’s sites. We were heading sideways into the back end of a boat on which hung a rubber dingy with a motor on it.
The next thing I knew, I was holding the motor and Brian was miraculously on our boat and the Hubster was expertly managing the motor. It was like being caught in a riptide with airplane wings strapped to your arms.
After much shouting of instructions, and pushing and carrying on like I’ve never seen, we got away from the other boat and backed away to clear water. At that point we regrouped threw out an anchor and made a plan. The tide was seriously strong.
(And did I mention that it was hot? Personally, I’m not a big fan of sweat. I avoid it as much as possible. I was sweating big time. More than I ever had in my entire life, which at this point is a fair amount of time.)
The next attempt was as smooth as the surface of the deceitfully quiet water.
We’re contemplating the next trip out. We’ll check the tides. We’ll be aware of the wind conditions and the outdoor temps. We’ll be sure Brian is going to be available.
Or we could head out and never return.
Unlike an airplane, stopping in mid-flight is an option.