...to get to the center of a tootsie pop? For some reason that commercial imprinted into my brain by a cathode ray tube as I watched Saturday morning cartons so many years ago comes to mind when I think about my last sail. So how long does it take to learn how to sail?
My computer logs all my sails, so I know that over the past 20 months I've gone out 56 times, travelled 496 miles, and spent 163 hours in the cockpit, not to mention the untold hours scraping, painting, and rewiring my boat, and probably even more hours reading all sorts of sailing books, magazines and websites. I started as a complete novice and soon progressed to where I considered myself in control and competent (i.e., not dangerous), but yesterday was a milestone of sorts.
It was not that I executed everything perfectly, quite the contrary. Motoring out with the wind astern I decided to raise the jib while still in the channel, but half way up it snagged, so I went forward and wrestled with it, but the halyard was helplessly tangled and I was heading for the sea wall, so back to the cockpit with a only half a jib. I pulled the downhaul to douse the flaying sail only to discover that when I rerouted it earlier that day I did it wrong, so the jib remained half-mast. After a course adjustment to avoid the wall I went forward again, fixed the downhaul problem, unwrapped the halyard and tried again. This time the jib went up smoothly but flogged in such a perfect rhythm that it caused the loose halyard to wrap repeatedly and tightly around the to-be working sheet, tangling it beyond use. So I lower the jib and start working on the main.
In a sail-born conspiracy the main was not going to cooperate either. The slides were binding in the track and the reefing line was not running free, which required a visit to the mast. In a good breeze the auto tiller has trouble keeping the boat pointed into the wind so by now the boat had turned which made it impossible to raise or lower the main. So another course adjustment, then once the main was set, another trip forward to untangle the rather complex sheet-halyard knot, and finally I had both sails set.
All this time there was a sailboat in front of me going out, I don’t know if he was watching the show but I must have looked quite the fool, with sails, and half sails flogging about for minutes on end.
One characteristic of the ODay 22 which used to startle me (understatement) but now I find a bit annoying is that if a gust causes an abrupt heel it will round up aggressively. No amount of rudder will overcome it. This tendency has saved me in the past I’m sure but now it gets in the way, not to mention it overwhelms the auto tiller rendering it useless. I did discover that when the auto tiller reaches the limit of its travel it will beep – which is nice, a call for help before it chews up a drive belt.
After a then mostly uneventful and pleasant sail I turned into the wind to douse the jib, and with the windy conditions I was soon turned around, so I had to jibe the main to get back around, and that’s when I realized it. Normally a jibe in a strong wind was a task I would break down into parts and plan my steps, but this time I did it without thinking, it was effortless and natural, I hardly remember doing it. I realized that the entire day of problems was like that as well. There was never any panic or concern, just fix the problem and move on. Click.
Now I’m not saying I've arrived, I've never had to sail in a thunderstorm, never been in anything over 3 foot waves (and have no plans for it in this boat in that lake) and I’m sure there are countless situations out there that will let me know there is more to learn, but this was the sail when I felt it all come together.
So for a day sailor I've packed a lot of sailing in 20 months, so for the sake of argument let's call it 2 years of dedicated study with the same boat under a variety of conditions to go from novice to, well, I'll call it a confident sailor. YMMV. Now I need a bigger boat.
My computer logs all my sails, so I know that over the past 20 months I've gone out 56 times, travelled 496 miles, and spent 163 hours in the cockpit, not to mention the untold hours scraping, painting, and rewiring my boat, and probably even more hours reading all sorts of sailing books, magazines and websites. I started as a complete novice and soon progressed to where I considered myself in control and competent (i.e., not dangerous), but yesterday was a milestone of sorts.
It was not that I executed everything perfectly, quite the contrary. Motoring out with the wind astern I decided to raise the jib while still in the channel, but half way up it snagged, so I went forward and wrestled with it, but the halyard was helplessly tangled and I was heading for the sea wall, so back to the cockpit with a only half a jib. I pulled the downhaul to douse the flaying sail only to discover that when I rerouted it earlier that day I did it wrong, so the jib remained half-mast. After a course adjustment to avoid the wall I went forward again, fixed the downhaul problem, unwrapped the halyard and tried again. This time the jib went up smoothly but flogged in such a perfect rhythm that it caused the loose halyard to wrap repeatedly and tightly around the to-be working sheet, tangling it beyond use. So I lower the jib and start working on the main.
In a sail-born conspiracy the main was not going to cooperate either. The slides were binding in the track and the reefing line was not running free, which required a visit to the mast. In a good breeze the auto tiller has trouble keeping the boat pointed into the wind so by now the boat had turned which made it impossible to raise or lower the main. So another course adjustment, then once the main was set, another trip forward to untangle the rather complex sheet-halyard knot, and finally I had both sails set.
All this time there was a sailboat in front of me going out, I don’t know if he was watching the show but I must have looked quite the fool, with sails, and half sails flogging about for minutes on end.
One characteristic of the ODay 22 which used to startle me (understatement) but now I find a bit annoying is that if a gust causes an abrupt heel it will round up aggressively. No amount of rudder will overcome it. This tendency has saved me in the past I’m sure but now it gets in the way, not to mention it overwhelms the auto tiller rendering it useless. I did discover that when the auto tiller reaches the limit of its travel it will beep – which is nice, a call for help before it chews up a drive belt.
After a then mostly uneventful and pleasant sail I turned into the wind to douse the jib, and with the windy conditions I was soon turned around, so I had to jibe the main to get back around, and that’s when I realized it. Normally a jibe in a strong wind was a task I would break down into parts and plan my steps, but this time I did it without thinking, it was effortless and natural, I hardly remember doing it. I realized that the entire day of problems was like that as well. There was never any panic or concern, just fix the problem and move on. Click.
Now I’m not saying I've arrived, I've never had to sail in a thunderstorm, never been in anything over 3 foot waves (and have no plans for it in this boat in that lake) and I’m sure there are countless situations out there that will let me know there is more to learn, but this was the sail when I felt it all come together.
So for a day sailor I've packed a lot of sailing in 20 months, so for the sake of argument let's call it 2 years of dedicated study with the same boat under a variety of conditions to go from novice to, well, I'll call it a confident sailor. YMMV. Now I need a bigger boat.
