Between the sketchy weather and our general antisocial tendencies, we hadn’t taken anyone sailing this year. Tim and Andrea had a rare free weekend though, so we decided to give it a go despite a constant threat of thunderstorms.
We got the boat in the water and were immediately congratulated by a bystander for our launching technique. This was confusing on several levels—mostly because we don’t have bystanders and also because it sometimes takes me an inordinate amount of time to figure out if someone is being sarcastic or not, during which time I’m usually far more comfortable staring blankly than they are. I eventually snapped to and thanked him, and we had a brief conversation about the merits of the trailer tongue extension. I guess we are good at launching, although we’ve never seemed to have a problem with it. I tend to think of us as average and most other people as completely insane on the ramp, but maybe that’s a little skewed. We certainly have a system.
Tim and Andrea arrived shortly thereafter and we set off under a full main and slightly furled jib. There was a strong northerly component to the wind and we originally thought that we might be able to make Myers Hole, but it weakened and clocked around to the east as the sea breeze set in. We had an enjoyable sail but weren’t making great time, and eventually turned around near BB to make our way back toward Governor’s. Andrea took the helm for a large stretch of that run and did pretty well considering that she didn’t really have any useful instruction. As Jen and I attempt to push our sailing to the next level, I sometimes forget that normal people don’t process “you’re pinching” or “head up” as helpful suggestions.
We got the rail down a little when I took over, which was fun for me, but perhaps was unnerving to our guests. I specifically recall being preoccupied with my unusual view from leeward (Jen and I both sit on the high side when it’s just us) and then looking up [literally] to see Jen and Andrea clinging to the lifelines. If I would have taken a picture of it, I could have captioned it “Hang in There” in some bubbly 70s font. I eased off the main and we settled down.
We wound up motorsailing the approach to Governor’s and anchoring to the south. We hung out and enjoyed some Cuba Libres and an array of snacks. While writing this, I looked up the recipe to make sure that what I made was in fact a Cuba Libre and was surprised to see that the International Bartenders Association standard calls for white rum—I prefer my rum and cokes with Mount Gay Eclipse, and I prefer them with a healthy dose of lime, which is what makes them Cuba Libres in my mind. Regardless of any technicalities, they were enjoyable.
Fortuitous Cuba Libre
- Fill a rocks glass with ice
- Add the juice of half a lime
- Nearly fill the glass with Mount Gay Eclipse
- Add some Coke for color
- Stir with the wrong implement, like a juicer, rigging knife, carriage bolt, etc.
- Garnish with lime slice
We went swimming and Tim and I enjoyed some beers al mar. At some point, I did that dumb foreshadowing thing that people do and asked “Was that thunder?” Sometimes clouds look like the clouds in oil paintings, full of texture and light. If someone would have painted that sky, people would have just assumed that he was terrible at painting. It was one smoke-gray smudge across the western horizon. I thought that it might pass us, but it would have been too close to wait it out on the water and it had started to rain, so we packed up and motored home. The only good part about the precipitation was that I got to try out my new lightweight foul weather jacket. It kept me dry much better than my old packable rain gear, which never quite worked and is disgustingly delaminating like a molting reptile.
The lightning stayed mostly in the distance, but in the hurry to pack up the truck, I think I stole all of the remaining beer that Tim had brought. This was merely an oversight, and I was not invoking Captain’s Prerogative. Hopefully there will be opportunities for me to get the next round soon.