Buzzards don't know everything
I don't listen to Dr. Laura all that often, but I understand she has taken up sailing.
She often mentions the challenges and life lessons that can be gleaned by using the wind to propel your craft.
I'm no Dr. Laura, but I've learned a few life lessons from my limited time on the water.
It's rewarding to learn how to sail, how to tell a stay from a shroud and a traveler from the sheet.
It's even more rewarding to be able to shout orders: "uncleat that jib and prepare to come about!"
Actually, there are a couple of lessons related to that last order.
One, it's easier to come about if you don't uncleat the jib first; and
Two, shout too many orders and you'll find yourself sailing solo.
Sailing with your spouse or significant other is actually pretty good relational therapy.
There's nothing like trying to get your point across while racing across the whitecaps, trying to remember which is port and which is starboard, and attempting to keep your cool at the same time.
You get immediate feedback from the boat concerning your success or failure, indicated by whether the boat continues upright, sailing smoothly, stops dead in the water or, in the worst case, ends up looking more like a comic strip than a sunset post card.
We'd always wondered what would happen if our twin-hulled catamaran would capsize, but always hoped our better judgment would keep us out of the water.
On a recent outing, however, we decided to "stretch her legs," to quote Capt. Smith of the Titanic.
A friend, Ben, and his son Ryan were the crew for the day, and we had worked out a pretty good system. Ben manned the tiller, I adjusted the sails and Ryan was the cabin boy.
The wind picked up throughout the day, but we were making progress. We even learned the lesson of how to come about better than ever (see paragraph seven, above).
I should have seen it coming as we cruised along the northeast shoreline of Harry Strunk Lake. A flock of buzzards was waiting.
"Suppose they know something?" I asked the rest of the crew. Ripping along not much later, at Mach 12 (maybe 15-20 mph) it all happened in slow motion.
A gust of wind caught us, I saw the left hull begin to submerge, and suddenly we were on the poop deck off Newfoundland and Kate Winslet was no where in sight.
Somehow, I went over the rising right hull and ended up standing on the left hull, the mast stretching across the top of the water. Ben was in the water near the end of the mast, and Ryan was drifting off in the distance.
(Boating safety note: This situation is the reason you always wear an approved life jacket. Especially on sailboats.) Back on shore, the buzzards were licking their beaks.
Talking it over with Ben, we decided to put my considerable mass (that's Mass with an M) to use and try to right to boat. Ben pushed up on the tip of the mast, I pulled down on the top hull and, with the help of the wind, we were actually able to pull the mast back up to 90 degrees -- and with the help of the wind, right on over to 180 degrees.
We were capsized again, only this time with the left hull in the air.
By then, a pontoon boat of nice ladies came by, made sure we were OK and collected the flotsam, jetsam and survivors of our shipwreck.
Soon we had drifted to shore near the buzzard nest, and were able to stand in the mud to get the boat upright.
After another boatload of friends towed us back to our campsite, other friends and family were surprised to hear about our adventure. They had noticed that the wind was strong enough to blow lawn chairs over, however.
Ben lost his glasses and shoes, and I lost my favorite hat and dignity.
But we did find out what would happen if we capsized, and Ben, complete with temporary contact lenses, my wife and I were back on the lake the next day.
The captain, however, did have the sense to put to shore before the whitecaps kicked up again. The buzzards will have to wait until next year.
The folks at Cross Creek Golf Links are enjoying the fall a little more, thanks to the effort of Dave Houghtelling of the city of Cambridge, in finding the solution to their black fly problem.
They noted, however, that Howard Kester is groundskeeper for the course, which is in beautiful shape for a ladies golf retreat this weekend and the 10th Annual Pro-Am and Million Dollar Shootout, Sept. 15-16.
-- Bruce Crosby learned to sail on a homemade pontoon boat with an oak wagon tongue for a mast.