“I have my binoculars handy, and I’ll keep an eye on you as I putter in the yard,” Dad said, his eyes bright, as he saw me off from the dock.
I smiled, waved, and called back, “Thanks Dad!” He understood how much I loved sailing, including sailing alone, now that I was able to skirt across the lake solo.
It was a glorious sunny Saturday in 1960, in the Pacific Northwest, perfect weather for an afternoon of sailing. The wind was light to moderate as I began to sail across Lake Washington. I was fifteen and a darn good sailor. My father had instructed me well, plus I had a whole summer of lessons at the Corinthian Yacht Club with a dozen other kids. Judy, my best friend crew mate, and I won the Wednesday night race this week, leaving the other ten in our Penguin class behind. We had rejoiced and celebrated when we returned to shore with hot cocoa and a big bowl of popcorn.
My right hand pulled as I tightened the mainsail, my fingers wrapped securely around the rope. The wind was just right for Athena to move along at a nice clip. My hair tossed about and my cheeks were warmed by the sun. My suntanned left hand gripped the helm as I sat on a firm cushion on the wooden floor of the cockpit.
I was alert yet relaxed. Oh what a lovely day! “Somewhere beyond the sea, somewhere waiting for me…My lover stands on golden sands…” I sang. I saw Charlie’s face, my steady boyfriend, in my mind even though my main focus was on the lake, boat and afternoon. My senses were awake in so many ways, so naturally, my first love was included as I sang.
Scanning across blue green lake, I could feel its liquid surface in my pores like a silken tactile sensation as my eyes scanned the visual beauty. I also felt held by the periwinkle sky with its puffs of cumulus clouds. This was such a perfect setting, water and sky, two heavens.
Being the “elder daughter” in a big family, with many tasks keeping up the house and caring for my younger siblings, I treasured alone time. Even fun with my friends did not feel like the same renewal. I breathed deeply and smiled broadly, my face lifted to the blue above. This day I could really relax and settle into the rhythm of sailing. The lake had very few boats, surprising for a sunny weekend, and all I could hear was the lap, lap of the waves against the hull and the hush of the sail as it caught the wind.
My stomach growled, Hmm, I am so hungry. Sliding my free–for the moment–right hand into the tote next to me, I took out a half-sandwich of cheese, mayonnaise and lettuce. Holding my food, I continued to grasp the helm firmly with my left hand. The food tasted so good in the fresh air and I finished quickly. I then sipped a can of 7-up. I’ll have one of those oatmeal cookies later.
Tacking with the wind, the sail pulled to just right tautness to meet the angle of the air currents, Athena and I sped along easily. It was also fun to ‘run’ with the wind, with the sail out as far as possible, a slower pace downwind. I enjoyed the changes of different tacks, also coming about to go in another direction. Practice time and me time, wonderful! “Ahh, this is so exhilarating!” I called into the wind.
Oh darn it, here came a motorboat, speeding toward me. “Stink pots” we sailors call them, though I did appreciate them when water skiing. Racing past me, then turning hard, the snickering boys jostled my boat and my peace with their rude antics. My whole body tensed. Their wake rocked Athena back and forth. This could be dangerous if they swamped the boat. Should I ignore them or yell at them? I was unsure, but I was peeved! Just then a blare of a loud horn from a water patrol came toward us and the boys quickly turned and sped away, with the patrol boat at their stern.
“Phew! They’re gone! Stupid show-offs,” I muttered, and then focused again as I felt the wind catch the sail with more vigor.
I could definitely feel the wind getting stronger, and soon Athena was really speeding along, “fhrooo, fhrooo” as the hull raced through the water. I headed toward the bay where our home sat in the green-lawned shore. There were many squalls rippling across the lake, darker than the rest of the water. The boat heeled steeply and I tucked the toes of my tennis-shoed feet under the floor boards and “hiked”–leaning way out on the windward side–while holding the extension to the helm firmly, my knuckles white with the effort. My heart raced and sweat poured under my arms and across my brow. This was my kind of thrill, so so fun! Whoopee!
After a few minutes of confidence and joy, there was a sudden huge gust of wind and in a tangle of sail, boat and water, I was flipped into the lake with a capsized boat floating next to me. I came up gasping, afraid and bewildered. Dad will see me. I am just out from our bay. I shook my sopped hair away from my face to clear my vision. Even on a sunny day, the water was so cold.
At least I had not gotten caught in the sail or lines. Good thing I always wore a life jacket, too, but now what? As I realized what had happened, I was more cold than afraid, but my shaking was hard to distinguish one from the other. Then I heard the motor before I saw Dad in his boat next to me, yelling instructions. His loving eyes beamed at me. “It’s okay, honey, you’ll be fine, we can do this.”
I was so grateful he had kept an eye on me. This was 1960 and my boat was wood, and heavy. Thank goodness for Dad’s expertise, because getting Athena in a safe position to tow was not easy. After we had secured the rope onto her, the sail furled and boat tipped back over, Dad pulled me into his speedboat. I flopped with a big exhale as I landed in the cockpit. “I’m freezing,” I chattered through clenched jaws. I was trembling all over, which included a coursing of energy from all the adrenaline quaking my body.
“Here, wrap that red wool blanket around you. We’ll be home soon.”
Moving slowly but steadily across the lake, Athena pulled behind, soon we were docking, pulling the boat on shore, and emptying the rest of the water out of her. The sail was spread out on the grass in the sun.
My adventure was complete for one day. Sprinting to my room, I pulled off my soaking clothes, grateful to be safely home. I hopped into a hot shower. Ahh, that felt so good. Patting myself dry with a plush towel, I put on a dry sweatshirt and fresh pair of jeans. Still rubbing my hair with a small towel, I joined Dad in the living room, where we chatted and laughed, drinking hot tea in front of a crackling fire.
Author: Wendy Lamson Collier
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