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Signs of Life

Nancy L. Horner

Tack, Swing, And Duck

During the time my husband and I were living in the Tulsa area, we happened across a fantastic deal on a small, cabinless sailboat or “daysailer”. Sitting neglected in a grassy side yard and obviously unused for quite some time, the little red boat needed a bit of work but its owners were as eager to part with it as my husband was to tow his molding prize home.

I was more than a little skeptical of my husband’s enthusiasm, at first. We had recently purchased our first house, had a toddler we couldn’t possibly take with us in an open boat, and didn’t have a lot of expendable cash. And, I’d never sailed in my life.

“You’ll love sailing,” he told me. “I promise you will. It’s great fun.”

“I’m not getting in that thing without lessons,” I told him.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Not setting foot in a boat until I know how to handle it.”

“Okay,” he said. “We’ll see what we can find.”

There was only one sailboat store in Tulsa and its owner did offer sailing lessons. While we began taking classes, David parked the sailboat at his parents’ house to begin the repairs. My mother-in-law spread the sails across her driveway and scrubbed them with bleach, working her way across both mainsail and jib with a scrub brush on hands and knees. I was awestruck by her effort. Meanwhile, my equally amazing father-in-law worked at replacing fading wood pieces and checking the working parts.

After 8 weeks of lessons, including an afternoon of hands-on experience on a beautiful 24-foot sailboat, we pulled the boat to our home west of Sand Springs and finished it up with a bit of touch-up paint, some minor equipment replacements and a black-painted name scrawled on both sides.

Finally, the day of our first attempt at sailing together arrived. I was nervous and excited at the same time. Joe Becker, the owner of the sailing store, had warned that being in close proximity and trying to coordinate efforts on a small boat often led to interesting marital conflict. Having taken lessons and handled the rudder of a 24-foot Catalina Cruiser, though, I felt fairly confident that we’d at least be able to keep the boat upright. I could imagine the argument if we managed to tip over and ended up clinging to the bottom of a sailboat. It would not be pretty.

Our house was only a few miles from Keystone Lake, so we were at dockside within ten minutes. We pulled into an open spot and stepped the mast, an awkward process for the two of us as the mast was a bit heavy for a short wimp and her 6-foot spouse; however, we had practiced on the driveway and didn’t make total fools of ourselves. Backing down the boat ramp was another story because we were obviously new to the experience and came as close to sinking a car as we did to floating a boat. Eventually—after a few shouted words about bubbles from the exhaust pipe moving farther into the water and “Clutch! Don’t forget the clutch!”—the boat was in the lake where it belonged, the car in a parking space, and the two of us ready to raise the sails.

Like a used house or car, you get to know the quirks of a previously-owned sailboat once you’re in it. We quickly discovered the first of our boat’s idiosyncrasies—a daggerboard that had a tendency to stick. Since a daggerboard is the cheap-boat version of a keel, we sailed in circles until we managed to get the board lowered into the water.

I took over the rudder first, tacking the boat across the lake with decent success while we both cautiously eyed a small leak. We got a kick out of using sailing terms, such as “come about” and attempting new maneuvers like hiking out when the boat began to heel. Brisk Oklahoma wind made for an exciting sail as the hull slapped vigorously against whitecaps.

At some point, David took over the rudder and I made my way to the bow of the boat. We had reached land and needed to make a dramatic turn but neither of us anticipated the sudden swing of the boom.

“Duck!” David shouted as he saw the boom arc in my direction.

I was seated directly in the boom’s path, but I moved so quickly that it passed right over me with a whoosh of air.

“Whoa! Wasn’t expecting that,” I said, after recovering my senses.

David looked as stunned as I felt. “ I had no idea you could move so fast.”

“Neither did I.” I fingered my life jacket. “All of a sudden, I understand why they made such a big deal about wearing personal flotation devices.”

From that point on, I kept a respectful eye on the boom while David counted his blessings, certain he would have gotten a major tongue-lashing if he’d managed to knock me off the boat during his first turn at the rudder. After several wild swings, we learned how to determine which turns would cause the sails to swing to the opposite side of the boat. We also learned that I had excellent reflexes and our marriage could handle the close quarters of a 16-foot sailboat just fine. Not bad for a first attempt at sailing.