For one week in July, I lived on board my 20-foot catboat Kirsten during a cruise of over 130 miles to Block Island and back. It was my first extended cruise and first offshore passage, and I reaped a wealth of unexpected lessons, experiences, and encounters.
During the trip I became accustomed to a five-knot pace, damp air and clothes, the rocking and gully-whomping of a small boat at sea or in a narrow channel with large powerboats, awkward positions for relieving personal needs, and a self-contained world that shifted perspectives with every change of the wind and current.
Returning to shore was a culture shock. The incredible speed of cars, the overwhelming green of trees and lawns, the unchanging orientation of a house, the humble comfort of a flush toilet—all things familiar had become alien during a week of water-borne experiences.
At first, Kirsten’s slow pace and cramped quarters actually had me envying some of the large powerboaters, and wondering why anyone would choose a sailboat to go any great distance. The envy and self-doubt faded away, however, when the sail was drawing steadily.
Would a powerboater have even seen the Wilson’s storm petrels dancing on the waves, or know anything close to the pride and delight of sailing into a harbor? Or the ***** of excitement when a fluttering flag on a buoy or myriad dimples on the face of the water indicate the wind is returning?
Not an auspicious day to begin a voyage. |
During the trip I became accustomed to a five-knot pace, damp air and clothes, the rocking and gully-whomping of a small boat at sea or in a narrow channel with large powerboats, awkward positions for relieving personal needs, and a self-contained world that shifted perspectives with every change of the wind and current.
Returning to shore was a culture shock. The incredible speed of cars, the overwhelming green of trees and lawns, the unchanging orientation of a house, the humble comfort of a flush toilet—all things familiar had become alien during a week of water-borne experiences.
At first, Kirsten’s slow pace and cramped quarters actually had me envying some of the large powerboaters, and wondering why anyone would choose a sailboat to go any great distance. The envy and self-doubt faded away, however, when the sail was drawing steadily.
Would a powerboater have even seen the Wilson’s storm petrels dancing on the waves, or know anything close to the pride and delight of sailing into a harbor? Or the ***** of excitement when a fluttering flag on a buoy or myriad dimples on the face of the water indicate the wind is returning?
Dark, heavy clouds dominated the sky. | |