Two Tacks
We went sailing on Sunday. Bajan Girl was our boat, motoring out of the dock late Sunday afternoon. I was trying to check for wind in the trees on the drive up, but there didn’t appear to be much of any. A huge American flag adorning a boat dealership was flapping about decently, so that was a good sign, but things seemed pretty dead as Jessica and I made our way out into the creek, toward the main channel of Lake Lanier.
We patiently rode the chop of a constant stream of irrationally large boats, hoping that when we got out closer to the islands we’d find both quiet and wind. I have a tendency to get negative in blog posts, and it would be a lie of omission not to include it, so let’s get it out of the way: I fucking hate the fuel-burning mega-cruisers and eardrum-decimating cigarette boats of Lake Lanier. Fuel consumption aside, there’s a body of water that those things were designed for, and it’s called the Atlantic Ocean. You probably scoff at me too as you cruise on by with a four foot wake in tow. Sailboat snobs, you mutter. And you’re right. We are better.
Okay.
After about twenty minutes of motoring, we decided to take a chance and hoist the sails. There was a little wind, just barely enough to point the boat into and make the mainsail swish about lazily as it went up. Turning the boat to fill the main and cutting the engine, we unfurled the jib, which ballooned nicely for a few seconds before I tightened it up. Sailing, at last. It had been several months since Joel and I had been out. It was cold then, and the wind was great. There was a great deal of heeling that day (and there were no cruisers to scorn, either).
Still, Sunday was a beautiful day out, temperature somewhere in the eighties, and we were sailing, until the wind died. After several minutes of hopeful waiting and squinting at nearby boats who seemed to still have their sails filled, we decided to crank up the engine a bit and move further out into the lake. About fifty yards later the sails filled again and we had wind for the rest of the day.
For the next 45 minutes or so we held a port tack, passing the islands and drawing close to the far side of the channel before tacking and, again, riding a starboard tack back to the dock for the next hour. All of the chop and wake and moments where you say, “Wuughhhh” as the boat churns you about are only a footnote in the memory of the peacefulness of holding single tack for all that time, gradually leaving the islands behind and moving into the creek. For a few minutes there was a rush of boats heading home for dinner, but by the time we were back the wind was still steady and nice. It was hard to make myself crank the engine and drop the sails. In a few minutes we would be sweating on the dock as we cleaned up the boat and gathered our things. Perhaps it was best to leave on a high note, though.
Later that night Jessica cooked Kung Pao Chicken, one of her best recipes. It was special because, with the hours of her new job (which will be ending shortly — the job, that is), we haven’t been having many home-cooked meals (read: she hasn’t been fixing them). She’ll have to wait to get her Fat Matt’s fix, but it was still a good day.
May 24th, 2007 at 7:41 am
Wow, Adam drops the F-Bomb in his blog entry! Excellent occasion to use it though. I’ve never understood why people feel the need have a 700 foot cruise ship in a puddle of a lake.