Solo sailing has its risk and rewards but no one would argue it is not strenuous. You’re on constant alert. If something needs to be done you must do it. With sailing effort is required often and in a timely fashion. So when Steve, Brisa’s former owner, called to see if we could get a sail in I was delighted. Crew!
Steve has more sailing experience than me so I always welcome the opportunity to sail with him and learn. His fiancée Lilia is a good addition also. Put her at the tiller and her head is on a swivel checking behind, ahead and side-to-side. At the same time Lenny, Steve’s friend and long time sailing buddy, called and he was able to get the day off. Crew, crew, crew and not just any crew, experienced, hop to crew
My God, sailing is so much easier when you have crew but knowledgeable hop to crew —its fantastic. We slipped the docks at Dutch Wharf Marina shortly after five in the afternoon headed for the Thimble islands —a short three-mile journey. The WSW wind was perfect for the sail. At the jib tack connector located at the bow I added an extension to raise the foot of the jib twenty-one inches. The jib now cleared the pulpit rails and held off from the shrouds better for less chafing but the main reason for elevating the height of the jib was to see under it and have a full view ahead. Steve was amazed at the idea, thought it improved sail flow and kicked himself for not having thought of it when he owned Brisa. All I know is, on a beam reach Brisa picked up to a lively 5.2 knots, which is probably her max hull speed. Catching as much wind as he could Steve lay Brisa over around thirty-degrees where she stiffened giving her another three or four feet of waterline. Steve whooped as Brisa jumped and flew out past Branford reef where we jibed for a gentle but strong wing-and-wing downwind run. Just over an hour after leaving Dutch Wharf and one course change we tossed anchor at the moorings between High and Pot Island. I kid you not those are their names.
Swim call and a chance to test my new swim ladder. There is no easy way to get back on board Brisa. Steve and Lenny can muscle up but Lilia and I need a little help. Even with the swim ladder it is a struggle. I’m going to have to drop some weight and hit the gym if I ever want to board Brisa gracefully from the water. The water, a bracing 70 degrees, shimmered, a black liquid in the setting sun. The threat of thunderstorms never materialized and as we ate our treats and drank Dark and Stormies the wind caressed over our skin like silk gauze. Our evening sail was flawless.
At the deepest part of dusk with barely a trace of the suns energy shining down the water we weighed anchor and motored out. Securing the anchor Steve and Lenny stood on Brisa’s bow jumping up as the bow rose and coming down as she fell into the oncoming waves nearly shipping green water over the bow. It was an exercise in pure joy. Steve came back to the cockpit and Lenny continued to jump as we met each incoming wave. I turned to Steve and said, “you know, Lenny’s jumping is not good for our forward progress,” to which Steve replied, “ yeah, but it’s so good for his soul.”
Lenny continued to jump and a grin spread across my lips as Steve’s words settled on me. Dead into the wind we kept our SW heading, Lenny sending mighty sprays of water shooting port and starboard off our bow. Again, with only one course change we tacked back on a NNW heading cut the engine and, under the light of the stars, sailed Brisa into the mouth of Branford River. Our motor up river was peaceful and MY crew hauled down the sails, stored everything away and prepped for docking. No directions needed. I love having crew. With enough headway I cut engine and glided Brisa in silently, coming to rest on a gentle angle allowing Steve and Lenny to step off and unhurriedly turn her around so she pointed out again ready for our next adventure.
Boat emptied and stuff hauled to the cars I lead Lenny in his car and Steve and Lilia in theirs out to the freeway. A beautiful, haunting violin and cello piece on NPR played me out of the moment.