Camp And Sail Part 4: Neither Boats Nor Curmudgeons Are Made To Stay In The Harbor

Note: I started today’s post with a photo of an gopher from this trip. That reminded me of a gopher story from a scamp/sail trip last year. Here’s a quote:

“Try it ya’ little bastard.” I hissed.

He didn’t back down. So that’s how it was going to be! I don’t take crap from humans and I sure as hell don’t take it from animals… I’ll throw down with a fuckin’ gopher if necessary.

This gopher joined me for breakfast and seemed happy to hang around while I read books. He had no fear of people at all.

OK, that’s enough gopher content for today. We return you now to your regularly scheduled post…

I’d heeded the demands of my aching wrist and battered joints. I’d wisely parked in a lawn chair and commenced to expending time. This would heal body (and also mind). I’ve nothing to prove to anyone so I would sit there and read from the library of paperbacks I’d bought.

“Sail?” Called my little boat, still strapped to my battered utility trailer.

“Sorry, Mr. Curmudgeon is taking a break.” I explained.

“Sail.” The little boat looked so cute on the trailer. Wrought of my hand and as practical as any sailboat that size, it wanted to get wet like an otter in the desert.

“Gonna’ read.” I grunted.

“Sail!” The boat implored.

I ignored it. Then the wind shifted. Just a mild breeze. Barely enough to fill a sail… but enough. I could smell the lake only ½ mile away. The scent drilled into my mind. So many happy memories. A lifetime of canoes, and campsites, and fish, and now my trusty little boat. I’m a lucky man. I smelled all that on the wind.

I put down my book, popped an ibuprofen, and started limbering up.

“Sail?” Asked the boat.

“Yep, lets go.”

Nobody made me do a damn thing but I’d been compelled by my own wanderlust. Ten minutes later I was at the more or less empty boat ramp. I haven’t sailed in a while and it took me a while to sort the rigging. Boom, mast, haulyard, mainsheet, etc… There’s a lot of knowledge wrapped in even the smallest sailing craft.

There was one guy at the ramp pulling out an aluminum fishing boat. I glanced in case he needed a hand but his wife was guiding him and they had an easy way of working together that indicated they had their shit together. When a husband and wife can launch or retrieve a boat working as a team; that’s a solid marriage.

Soon he was up at the parking area where I was still sorting lines. His boat had an antique Evinrude motor that sparked my fancy.

My boat caught his eye too. It was probably the only sailing craft to hit this lake all year. One thing I learned about boats is that whole eras’ and generations’ and encyclopedias’ worth of knowledge went out the window when piston driven outboard motors came into being. People sense that. They can tell something is lost. A home-built sailing craft was once mundane. Now it’s as uncommon as 35mm photography. The normal thing, now long replaced, still hints at its own magic.

We chatted about boats. Him about his motor rebuild project and I about my homemade plywood craft. His wife had disappeared. She was filleting fish.

“Your wife fillets the fish?” I was impressed.

“Yep, I’m not a big fan of fish dinners.” He didn’t see my awe.

“Any woman who’ll fillet a fish is a keeper.” I offered.

He grinned like a man who’d just been reminded how lucky he was.

I was nervous as hell. I’m always nervous when I sail. I’m not sure why but it’s a true thing. My sailboat has no motor. Once you put it on the water, it has a vote in all that happens afterwards. Just as a motorcycle is not a horse, a motorboat is not a sailboat. There’s a difference between flowing with the wind and using gas power to simply force a thing to happen. I was about to head out on a lake solo. I would have not the slightest hint of backup. (Not that I ever do.) There’s just so many things that can go wrong.

But the rigging was just about done and there was no point in procrastination. I hoisted the sail in the parking lot and it sure looked grand! I checked and rechecked everything. The guy’s wife showed up with a plate of fillets. She loved the brave little sailboat she found there.

It is nice to have help at launch and both of them eagerly offered to assist. All they did was hold the bow line while I drove my long suffering utility trailer into the lake to float the boat. With a tug it floated free and the fellow held the line while I parked the truck. (As an aside: if I were a truck company that wanted to encourage people to beat the hell out trucks so I could sell replacements… I’d give away boats. Even the tiniest boat ramp into a remote forested lake is the best chance you’ll get to trash your truck. It’s never happened to me but I’m keenly aware of the possibilities.)

I came jogging back and gingerly hopped in the little craft. The husband gave a mighty shove while the wife beamed. The wind had died and I drifted stupidly some 20 yards beyond the dock. I fretted over the daggerboard and mainsheet and spun in helpless circles. So much for departing with class.

Then the tiniest breath of wind…

…that’s the part that’s magic.

My boat only needs a small breeze to begin moving. Once it’s moving, even if it’s slowly, it’s a controllable craft; graceful even. It went from stupid plywood block to perky little craft. I shifted, adjusted the sail, and swished out onto the lake at the speed of brisk striding.

The nice couple waved to me from the dock and left. I’ll probably never see them again.

I scanned the lake from horizon to horizon. No boats of any sort. Nobody on shore. I was the only one there.

There’s more to come…